Tempted By Her Greek Tycoon. Katrina CudmoreЧитать онлайн книгу.
Chapter Two
LOUKAS THREW OFF his bedclothes, his heart pumping.
What was that noise?
In the pitch-dark he fumbled for his phone.
Four forty-one.
There it was again. A soft banging.
He eased out of the bed and grabbed the gym shorts he had left out the night before.
He slowly opened his bedroom door.
The sound was coming from downstairs.
He bunched his fists and crept along the corridor, his bare feet moving silently across the tiled floor.
His nostrils twitched.
He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes, bewildered for a moment, his mind a dizzying blend of childhood memories, his heart kicking against his chest.
He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all, trying to shake off the disorientation of waking from a deep sleep to the reminder of his mother’s baking.
Slowly the penny dropped.
His house guest.
Thee mou! He was going to kill Nikos...and probably her too.
Downstairs, he followed the corridor to the kitchen-dining room at the far end of the villa.
The dining area was in darkness, but the recessed kitchen lights reflected like satellites at night off the angled bank of patio doors out onto the terrace.
He followed the sweet, seductive scent of baking, heard the soft thud of an oven door closing, cursing Nikos every step of the way.
He had back-to-back meetings later today. There were management problems at their hotel on Hydra, and yet more planning problems with their hotel on Santorini. He needed his sleep disturbed like he needed a hole in the head.
He pulled up short of the kitchen.
Who the hell...?
Thrown, he stared at the woman who was busy transferring items from a baking tray to a wire cooling rack. Barefoot, and dressed in lilac pyjama shorts and a cropped white T-shirt, she was humming to herself.
Who was she?
And then she turned ever so slightly, and those full lips, high cheekbones and glittering eyes were unmistakable.
‘Georgie?’
* * *
Georgie screamed and dropped the baking tray. The tray ricocheted off the edge of the kitchen counter with a clang, flipped onto its side and plummeted straight down, the corner catching the middle of her foot.
She yelped at the sharp pain and jumped back, hopping on her uninjured foot. But then she stood on one of the just-out-of-the-oven croissants scattered on the floor. The croissant crunched under her weight before becoming firmly attached to her sole. She yelped again and shot up to sit on the kitchen counter, frantically shaking her foot in a bid to remove the scorching hot pastry.
The pastry dropped to the floor with a disgruntled plop.
She stared down at her throbbing feet in disbelief before daring to turn towards Loukas.
‘Georgie?’ he said again.
Why did he sound so confused?
And then she remembered. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers over her shoulder-length light ash-brown hair. ‘I was wearing a wig last night.’
His gaze immediately moved to her feet, and as he moved towards her, her already hysterical heart switched into frenzied mode when it sank in that he was wearing nothing other than a pair of black gym shorts.
Her eyes skimmed over him briefly before she stared again at her throbbing feet, her mind flashing with images of what she had just witnessed. Broad shoulders, muscle tightly wrapped against bone... A powerful muscular chest... Taut stomach... Long athletic legs... Hard thighs... Sharply defined calves.
He was beautiful. It made her itch—no mere mortal deserved such perfection. No wonder he didn’t have to try too hard with his social skills. People would bow down at his flawless feet regardless.
She watched in disbelief as he crouched before her, his huge frame curling effortlessly and fluidly to balance on one knee. His thumb moved against her foot, gently testing the area where there was an angry-looking cut, and a bruise starting to blossom around it. Then he tenderly lifted her other foot to examine its sole.
Unable to breathe, she dug her fingers into the countertop, fighting against the tide of emotions welling in her. Loukas was the first person to touch her in what felt like a lifetime. She wanted to pull away, overwhelmed. And yet she wanted this moment to last for ever.
Her foot still cradled in his hand, he looked up and grimaced, his expression worried. ‘I’ll get the first aid kit.’
‘There’s no need...’ Her words trailed away as he disappeared into the utility room.
He was back within seconds.
Quickly and efficiently, he applied a burn spray to her sole and swabbed a disinfectant wipe across the broken skin of the other foot. She gasped as it stung.
He paused and gazed up at her. ‘Are you okay?’
She nodded, her voice stolen by her surprise at the gentleness of his tone, the tenderness of his touch.
‘The cut isn’t deep, but I’m worried that you might have broken something.’
She wriggled her toes. ‘It’s fine—honestly. The pain is already practically gone. I got a shock, that’s all. I thought you were asleep.’
Balancing her foot on top of his bended knee, he reached into the first aid kit and took out a sticking plaster.
‘Why were you baking in the middle of the night?’
With delicate care he placed the plaster on her foot, his thumbs softly running over each end, gently applying pressure to ensure it was firmly in place.
‘I couldn’t sleep. I take pastries into work most days... Marios especially loves my croissants. I prepared some dough yesterday, before work, and decided to bake the croissants now as it helps me to relax.’ She inhaled a deep breath and gave a guilty grimace. ‘I’m guessing that I woke you?’
He didn’t answer her question, but instead said, ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes...don’t move.’
Georgie threw her head back and stared at the kitchen ceiling when he left the room. She was mortified at being so clumsy. And thrown by Loukas’s patience and care.
What a great start to her employment. All night she had tossed and turned, her mind reeling with thoughts. Her escalating bills. The endless chasing of her builder. The fact that her new boss, who for some reason made her feel as if she was plugged into the electricity mains, was less than happy to employ her. The fact that she had volunteered to be a matchmaker to said boss in order to retain her job.
Was she out of her mind? Undoubtedly a neat queue would form if she advertised the fact that Loukas Christou was looking for a wife—who wouldn’t want to marry a hotel tycoon with dark movie-star looks and the body of a professional athlete? But what would happen when the women learnt it was a practical business marriage, love not included?
Would that work for some women? Perhaps. Look at how successful arranged marriages where in some cultures. But where was she going to find such a woman within the next few weeks? She had needed a distraction. She’d tried reading and then counting sheep, but they had disturbingly morphed into belligerent goats. After that she had known that her usual fail-safe of baking was the only answer.
Why was the prospect of getting Loukas onside so daunting? After all, she had done this a hundred times before. For as long as she could remember in every new country, new city, new school,