Greek Mavericks: Giving Her Heart To The Greek. Jennifer Taylor
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be like to lie with him. Something about him got to her, making her blood run like cavalry into sensual battle. Sadly, Viveka had reservations that made the idea of being intimate with him seem not just ill-advised but completely impossible.
So she tried not to think of it and video-called Trina. Her sister was both deliriously joyful and terribly worried when she picked up.
“Where are you? Papa is furious.” Her eyes were wide. “I’m scared for you, Vivi.”
“I’m okay,” she prevaricated. “What about you? You’ve obviously talked to him. Is he likely to come after you?”
“He doesn’t believe this was my decision. He blames you for all of it and it sounds—I’m not sure what’s going on at his office, but things are off the rails and he thinks it’s your fault. I’m so sorry, Vivi.”
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Viveka snorted, hiding how scared the news made her. “Are you and Stephanos happy? Was all of this worth it?”
“So happy! I knew he was my soul mate, but oh, Vivi!” Her sister blushed, growing even more radiant, saying in a self-conscious near-whisper, “Being married is even better than I imagined it would be.”
Lovemaking. That’s what her little sister was really talking about.
Envy, acute and painful, seared through Viveka. She had always felt left out when women traded stories about men and intimacy. Dating for her had mostly been disastrous. Now even her younger sister was ahead of her on that curve. It made Viveka even more insecure in her sexuality than she already was.
They talked a few more minutes and Viveka was wistful when she ended the call. She was glad Trina was living happily-ever-after. At one time, she’d believed in that fairy tale for herself, but had become more pragmatic over the years, first by watching the nightmare that her mother’s romance turned into, then challenged by Aunt Hildy for wanting a man to “complete” her.
She hadn’t thought of it that way, exactly. Finding a soul mate was a stretch, true, but why shouldn’t she want a companion in life? What was the alternative? Live alone and lonely, like Aunt Hildy? Engage in casual hookups like Mikolas had said he preferred?
She was not built for fair-weather frolics.
Her introspection was interrupted by a call from Hildy’s doctor. He was impressed that she was able to get her aunt into that particular clinic and wanted to make arrangements to move her the next morning. He assured Viveka she was doing the right thing.
The die was cast. Not long after, the ship docked and Viveka and Mikolas were whisked into a helicopter. It deposited them on top of his building, which was an office tower, but he had a penthouse that took up most of an upper floor.
“I have meetings this afternoon,” he told her. “A stylist will be here shortly to help you get ready.”
Viveka was typically ready to go out within thirty minutes. That included shampooing and drying her hair. She had never in her life started four hours before an appointment, not even when she had fake-married the man who calmly left her passport on a side table like bait and walked out.
Not that this world was so different from living with Grigor, Viveka thought, lifting her baleful gaze from the temptation of her passport to gaze around Mikolas’s private domain. Grigor had been a bully, but he’d lived very well. His island mansion had had all the same accoutrements she found in Mikolas’s penthouse: a guest room with a full bath, a well-stocked wine fridge and pantry, a pool on a deck overlooking a stunning view.
None of it put her at ease. She was still nervous. Expectation hung over her. Or rather, the question of what Mikolas expected.
And whether she could deliver.
Not sex, she reminded herself, trying to keep her mind off that. She turned to tormenting herself with anxiety over how well she would perform in the social arena. She wasn’t shy, but she wasn’t particularly outgoing. She wasn’t particularly pretty, either, and she had a feeling every other woman at this party would be gorgeous if Mikolas thought she needed four hours of beautification to bring her up to par.
The stylist’s preparation wasn’t all shoring up of her looks, however. It was pampering with massage and a mani-pedi, encouragement to doze by the pool while last-minute adjustments were made to her dress, and a final polish on her hair and makeup that gave her more confidence than she expected.
As she eyed herself in the gold cocktail dress, she was floored at how chic she looked. The cowled halter bodice hung low across her modest chest and the snug fabric hugged her hips in a way that flattered her figure without being obvious. The color brought out the lighter strands in her hair and made her skin look like fresh cream.
The stylist had trimmed her mop, then let its natural wave take over, only parting it to the side and adding two little pins so her face was prettily framed while the rest fell away in a shiny waterfall around her shoulders. She applied false eyelashes, but they were just long enough to make her feel extra feminine, not ridiculous.
“I’ve never known how to make my bottom lip look as wide as the top,” Viveka complained as her lips were painted. The bruise Grigor had left there had faded overnight to unnoticeable.
“Why would you want to?” the woman chided her. “You have a very classic look. Like old Hollywood.”
Viveka snorted, but she’d take it.
She had to acknowledge she was delighted with the end result, but became shy when she moved into the lounge to find Mikolas waiting for her.
He took her breath, standing at the window with a drink in his hand. He’d paired his suit with a gray shirt and charcoal tie, ever the dark horse. It was all cut to perfection against his frame. His profile was silhouetted against the glow of the Acropolis in the distance. Zeus, she thought, and her knees weakened.
He turned his head and even though he was already quite motionless, she sensed time stopping. Maybe they both held their breath. She certainly did, anxious for kind judgment.
Behind her, the stylist left, leaving more tension as the quiet of the apartment settled with the departure of the lift.
Viveka’s eyes dampened. She swallowed to ease the dryness in the back of her throat. “I have no idea how to act in this situation,” she confessed.
“A date?” he drawled, drawing in a breath as though coming back to life.
“Is that all it is?” Why did it feel so monumental? “I keep thinking that I’m supposed to act like we’re involved, but I don’t know much about you.”
“Don’t you?” His cheek ticked and she had the impression he didn’t like how much she did know.
“I guess I know you’re the kind of man who saves a stranger’s life.”
That seemed to surprise him.
She searched his enigmatic gaze, asking softly, “Why did you?” Her voice held all of the turbulent emotions he had provoked with the act.
“It was nothing,” he dismissed, looking away to set down his glass.
“Please don’t say that.” But was it realistic to think her life had meant something to him after one glimpse? No. Her heart squeezed. “It wasn’t nothing to me.”
“I don’t know,” he admitted tightly. His eyes moved over her like he was looking for clues. “But I wasn’t thinking ahead to this. Saving a person’s life shouldn’t be contingent on repayment. I just reacted.”
Unlike his grandfather, who had wanted to know he was actually getting his grandson before stepping in. Oh, Mikolas.
For a moment, the walls between them were gone and the bright, magnetic thing between them tugged. She wanted to move forward and offer comfort. Be whatever he needed her to be.
For one second, he seemed to hover on a tipping point. Then a layer of aloofness fell over him like a cloak.