Greek Affairs: In the Boss's Arms: Ruthless Greek Boss, Secretary Mistress / Kept by Her Greek Boss / Greek Boss, Dream Proposal. Kathryn Ross

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      About a year ago they’d moved into her current small apartment. Lucy had still hoped that home help would be enough, but the cost of it had barely left her with enough to buy food at the end of each week. Her job at Levakis Enterprises was the only thing that kept them afloat. And now with her increase in wages, it was the only thing giving her mum the opportunity to have decent care.

      Lucy stared unseeingly down at the picture, and suddenly an image broke through—Aristotle standing right here in this room, holding her close, his hand between her legs. She could remember the way she’d throbbed and burned for that hand to go even higher, to where she ached. To where she still ached. Lucy shifted so violently in reaction that the picture fell from her lap to the wooden floor and the glass smashed in the frame. With a cry of dismay she put down her cup and picked it up carefully. As she did so, something hard solidified in her chest.

      She knew exactly how to handle this situation, how to handle Aristotle Levakis and make sure everything returned to normal. She couldn’t contemplate how her decision would impact her mother just yet. All she knew was that she had to protect herself—because she’d never felt under such threat in her life. She would make sure her mother was safe and cared for. She would. She just couldn’t do it like this.

      On Monday morning, early, Ari stood at the window of his huge office, with its commanding view out over the city of London and all its impressive spires and rooftops. From the moment he’d been placed in charge of Levakis Enterprises at the age of twenty-seven, on the death of his father five years previously, he’d moved the power centre of the business here to London, his adopted home.

      He’d told himself it was for strategic reasons, and certainly the business had thrived and grown exponentially since he’d moved it here, but it was also a very distinct gesture from him to his family, to say he was in control, not them. They’d shunned him enough over the years. No way was he going to play happy families back in Athens. And while he had left the original office there, which his half-brother now oversaw, they all knew that it was just a symbolic front for the business. Ari controlled its beating heart, and it lay here, under the grey and rain-soaked skies of London.

      But today his main focus was not on business; it was on something much more personal and closer to home. On something so exquisitely feminine and alluring that he didn’t know how he’d managed to control himself for the past weekend and not go back to that small dingy apartment, knock down the door and take Lucy hard and fast, before she could draw up that faux injured virgin response again. He could still feel the imprint of every womanly curve as he’d held her close to his body. She’d been more lusciously voluptuous than any fantasy he could have had.

      His hands were clenched to fists deep in his pockets now, and his jaw was gritted hard against the unwelcome surging of desire. His assistant was causing him frustration of the most strategic kind.

      She wanted him. And he couldn’t understand where her reticence came from. No woman was reticent with him; he saw, he desired, he took. It was quite simple and always had been. An alien and uncomfortable feeling nagged him as he acknowledged the dominant feeling he’d had the other night. He’d felt ruthless as he’d coaxed and cajoled a response from Lucy. When she’d finally capitulated, even for that brief moment, it had been a sweeter conquest than any victory he could remember. He didn’t usually associate ruthlessness with women—that was reserved for business—and the fact that such a base emotion was spilling over into his personal life was—

      Ari heard a noise come from the outer office—Lucy’s office—and his body tensed with a frisson of anticipation, all previous thoughts scattered to the winds.

      He wanted Lucy Proctor and she would pay for making him desire her by giving herself up to him, wholly and without reservation, until he was sated and could move back into the circles in which he belonged. He vowed this now, as he heard a sharp knock on his door, and waited for a moment before turning around, schooling his features and saying with quiet, yet forceful emphasis, ‘Come.’

      Lucy took a deep breath outside the heavy oak door. As soon as she heard that deeply autocratic ‘Come’ her nerves jangled and her heart started racing. Just before she opened the door, her hand clammy and slippy on the round knob, she prayed that the make-up she’d put on that morning would hide the dark circles under her eyes. She hadn’t slept a wink all weekend.

      Steeling herself like never before, she opened the door and stepped in. Aristotle was standing with his hands in his pockets and his back to the huge window. Waves of virile masculinity seemed to radiate from him and Lucy’s throat went dry. For an awful second her mind seemed to go blank and be replaced with nothing but heat … but as her hand clenched on the envelope she gave an inward sigh of relief and reminded herself that she’d soon be out of this man’s disturbing orbit.

      She walked further into the office and tried to ignore the way Aristotle’s narrowed gaze on her was making her even more nervous. She came to a halt just a few feet from the desk.

      She cleared her throat. ‘Sir, I …’ Heat washed into her face. ‘That is … Aristotle …’ She stopped. She was already a gibbering wreck.

      ‘I thought I told you there was no need for you to wear your glasses.’

      Lucy’s hand went reflexively to touch the sturdy frames. She cursed herself for having told him she didn’t need them, and bristled at his high-handed manner. The sharp edge of the envelope reassured her.

      ‘Well, I feel more comfortable wearing them. The fact is that—’

      ‘Well, I don’t.’ He was curt, abrupt. ‘You work for me, and I don’t want to see them again. And you can also stop tying your hair back as if you’re doing some kind of religious penance.’

      Lucy gasped. She could feel the colour washing out of her face, only to be swiftly replaced by mortified heat.

      Knowing that she had nothing to lose, she didn’t curb her tongue, but her voice when it came was slightly strangled. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to comment on while you’re at it?’

      Aristotle leaned back against the window and negligently crossed one ankle over the other, crossed his arms over that formidable chest. His eyes took on a slumberous quality that made Lucy’s breath falter and a tight coil of sensation burn down low in her belly.

      ‘Have you thrown out that skirt yet?’

      Lucy’s hands clenched. She didn’t feel the edges of the envelope any more, or remember what she was here to do. Right now she was being subjected to the lazy appraisal of a man who, she told herself, was just like every other man who had traipsed in and out of her mother’s life. The fact that her predominant emotion wasn’t the anger she’d expected made her feel very vulnerable.

      ‘It’s none of your business where that blasted skirt is. You can rest assured that you won’t have to be subjected to seeing me wear it again, because I’m here to—’

      ‘That’s a pity.’

      Lucy’s mouth СКАЧАТЬ