The Cinderella Seduction

Hope Tarr

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Hope Tarr. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Stacy Abrams and Alycia Tornetta

Cover design by Heidi Stryker

ISBN 978-1-62266-458-0

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition November 2013

Second Editon January 2014

The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Sweeney Todd, Crocs, Cinderella, Disneyland Paris, Starbucks, Wikipedia, iPhone, Raggedy Ann, Ann Taylor, Mad Men, Victoria’s Secret, Zorba the Greek, Bakers, ER, Full House, Hello Kitty, Retsina, Hershey, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, Safeway, Gorgon, Formula One, Ferrari, Grand Prix, The Secret, GPS, Facebook, iPad, Ralph Lauren, Saks Fifth Avenue, Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo, Angry Birds, Disney, Top Chef, Splenda, Vera Wang, Veuve Cliqot, Four Seasons, The Joker

Also by Hope Tarr

Operation Cinderella

A Cinderella Christmas Carol

The Cinderella Makeover

To the members of RWA NYC, the New York City chapter of The Romance Writers of America, for their unflagging support and encouragement, positivity and friendship these past five years—and counting. You ladies and gentlemen are the best!

Chapter One

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Old Town Alexandria, Virginia

“Happy Fourth, Stefanie!”

Personal chef Stephanie Stefanopoulos looked up from the tray of baklava she’d readied for baking to see her father standing on her kitchen threshold. “Hey, Pop, what’s up? You’re way early. The Fourth isn’t until next week,” she added with a smile.

Taking in his gaunt face and hollow eyes, she felt a queasy sense of unease plant itself in the pit of her stomach. Since falling prey to her former fiancé’s Ponzi scheme three months earlier, her father hadn’t been sleeping or eating much. And close though they were, it wasn’t like him to just show up, not without at least calling en route. Even with the traffic gods in your corner, his Northwest DC home was easily a half hour’s drive from Stefanie’s townhouse in Alexandria Virginia’s Old Town. Clearly this wasn’t a casual call. Something was wrong—very wrong.

Coming toward her, he circuited his gaze around her state-of-the-art chef’s kitchen, the granite-topped counter and modularized cooking stations buried beneath trays of pigs in a blanket, gourmet mini burgers, and bowls brimming with potato and macaroni salads. “You wouldn’t know it from in here.”

Several of her in-home catering clients were getting into the Independence Day spirit early, requesting picnic fare for their personalized menus. Stefanie didn’t mind. It was good practice for the two parties she’d signed on to cater for the Fourth, one a backyard barbecue at a congressman’s MacLean McMansion, the other a rooftop gathering at her best friend, Macie’s.

She swiped sticky hands on her once-white apron. “Usually business slows down after Memorial Day, but we’ve just added two new full-time clients.”

Despite the financial disaster that had exploded in their faces three months ago, she had a lot to be grateful for. Her personal chef business, Good Enuf to Eat, was thriving. Delivering readymade, healthful home-style meals to dual-career couples was proving to be surprisingly recession-proof. While on the surface her service looked like a luxury, the data she’d compiled for her website and brochures showed that signing up actually saved people money previously spent on carryout, prepackaged foods, and pricey dinners out. And all her ingredients, including the meats, were 100 percent organic, sourced from family farmers in Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania.

“You mean you added them,” he corrected, pulling out one of the high-backed stools to sit. “You’ve worked hard these past eight years.” The paternal pride in his voice didn’t quite cover the quaver.

Compliments had always left Stefanie feeling awkward, vaguely embarrassed, and now was no exception. “Thanks, but I had a lot of help, especially from you.” Despite being deeply disappointed that she wouldn’t be following him into the family real-estate business, he’d given her the seed money for Good Enuf to Eat.

He answered with a shrug, picking up a serving spoon she’d washed but forgotten to put away. Watching him turn it over again and again, she stepped out from behind the counter and slid onto the seat beside him. “Is…everything okay?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t.

A first generation Greek American, her father subscribed to the stiff upper lip school of manhood. If there was a problem or obstacle, the solution was to bulldoze through it. Complaining was a waste of time and in real-estate development, time meant money.

He let out a huge sigh and admitted, “I wanted to talk to you, father to daughter…without an audience.” By “audience,” he meant her stepmother and twin stepsisters; the latter had graduated from NYU in June and moved home for the summer.

Stefanie’s mother’s death had been hard on everyone, but her father’s remarriage a few years later to Jacquie, a divorced real-estate agent with twins, hadn’t done much to restore her faith in Happily Ever After. At first she’d tried welcoming her new family with food made from the Old World recipes her mother had passed down. But no matter how sizzling her souvlaki or how moist her baklava, her stick-thin stepfamily picked at their plates.

Fresh fear seized her. “Are you feeling all right? You don’t look so good.”

Still twirling the spoon, he shrugged. “I feel fine. It’s what’s happening with Olympia that’s sickening. I fear we may lose her. I may lose her.”

Olympia Development, the real-estate development firm founded by her immigrant grandfather to seize the opportunity afforded by the post–World War II building boom, wasn’t only a business to them. The company felt almost like another family member.

Stefanie dragged a hand through her hair, belatedly remembering the braid.

“You never have told me. Just how much did you invest with Pete?”

Even having had three months to digest the fact that she’d been engaged to a white-collar criminal, saying her ex’s name still made her voice hitch. The Ponzi scheme he’d perpetrated on her pop, among others, was under investigation by the feds. In the meantime, fantasies of grinding him into meat pies a la Sweeney Todd came up with frightening frequency. Safely beyond the reach of her serrated forks, poultry shears, and cast-iron bacon press as well as US law, he was likely roasting his larcenous lily-white hide on a beach in the Caymans.

The spoon stilled. Still staring down at it, her father let out a poof of breath. “Enough…too much. Three million.”

“Three million dollars?”

He nodded without looking up. “I’m going to have to start selling off our assets, starting with Acropolis.”

At the mention of Acropolis Village, a lump lodged in her throat. “Not Acropolis! But it’s your dream.”

Nestled on the Chesapeake Bay’s western shore in Southern Maryland, the mixed-use waterfront retirement village was to have been an oasis for Greek and Greek American seniors wishing to continue their cherished traditions into their golden years. Residents could transition from independent living in snug terracotta bungalows to sunny assisted-living condo-style apartments as needed. Once the final phase of construction was completed, amenities would include a private beach, coffeehouse, bakery, festival ground, and a clubhouse modeled on a traditional taverna. Stefanie had even planned to put a Good Enuf to Eat food truck onsite for the weekends.

Unfortunately, the project had proven to be a monumental money pit. In the aftermath of the 2008 global recession, construction had stalled. Currently more than 70 percent of the units remained empty. Despite the affordable pricing, it was hard to sell seniors on the promise of “someday.” All the construction scale models and architectural plans in the world couldn’t disguise that much of the property was still an open construction site. When Pete had assured them he could quadruple Olympia’s cash reserves in nearly no time, the “opportunity” had been too tempting to refuse. Like a hungry fish offered a juicy worm, the board, on which Stefanie sat along with her stepmother and their corporate attorney, had unanimously approved the deal.

“Dreams change,” he said sadly, broad shoulders slumping. “These days my ‘dream’ is to figure out a way to stay solvent and have some legacy to pass onto my grandchildren—your children.”

Stefanie swallowed against the emotion thickening her throat. It was bad enough that she’d been the one to introduce Pete to her father. That she hadn’t exactly been madly in love with him made her unwitting collusion seem even worse. Looking back, she saw that what she’d loved most was the notion of taking herself off the dating track.

DC wasn’t exactly fertile fields for a Junoesque personal chef whose clients were mostly couples. At twenty-nine, she’d started to wonder if putting all her eggs in one basket—work—had really been so smart. By the time Pete had pushed his way into her life, she’d jumped at the chance to be in a committed relationship. She should have known that a single, attractive man strolling into her shop and signing up on the spot for six months of weekly personal catering was too good to be true. Thinking of the oily way he’d ingratiated himself first with her and then with her father set off a salvo of guilt and fury.

Fitting his hand over his brow, he admitted, “It gets worse.”

She shifted to face him. “You’d better tell me everything.”

“You remember Costas International?”

She thought back to several board meetings ago. “Yeah, sure, it’s the Greek resort development company based out of Athens, right?”

He nodded.

“They loaned us the capital for phase two of Acropolis,” she added, casting her thoughts back to about two years ago. Other than sitting in on the quarterly sessions, she wasn’t actively involved in the company’s operations.

“They did. And now the new CEO has called in the loan. In full,” he added ominously.

Stefanie groaned. “Let me guess—thanks to Pete, we don’t have the money to repay it.”

He nodded again, this time darting a sideways look at her. “I’d hoped to recoup the losses through rentals and pre-purchases, but with two-thirds of the site still a mud pit, it’s hard to attract home buyers.”

According to the contract, if he defaulted, Costas could acquire Olympia and sell off the assets piecemeal. The prospect of her grandfather’s company being raided for parts like a junked car tore at her heart—and her family pride.

“There’s got to be something we can do.”

Eyes bleak, he shook his head. “Unless the CEO of Costas can be persuaded to grant me more time, losing the company is inevitable. Bankruptcy may not be far behind.”

“How much are we talking about?”

“Two and a half million.”

Stefanie felt her mouth fall open. It was close to the amount Pete had swindled, damn him. “Can’t you appeal to Mr. Costas, explain your circumstances, and ask for a modification of the contract?”

He eyed her. “What would you have me say? That I let a slick college boy make a fool of me?”

Ouch. Grasping for straws, she said, “But I thought you and Mr. Costas were old friends.”

“My relationship was with Maximos, the founder. Max retired last year and turned the company over to his son, Nikolaos.”

She sucked on her bottom lip, thinking. “Can’t you blame it on the economy? It’s not like you’re the only developer who’s been hit hard by the recession.”

He shook his silvered head. “Considering the Greek economy has been in the toilet for years, I doubt that would win any sympathy. And Max’s heir conducts business…very differently. He’s a lawyer,” he added, making a face, “with fancy degrees from Cambridge and Yale and a reputation as hard-nosed despite being a playboy.”

“A playboy?” Stefanie couldn’t help but smile at the old-fashioned word.

He nodded. “According to Max, Niko has a different girl for every night of the week—skinny girls, curvy girls, tall girls, short girls. Movie stars, models, cocktail waitresses, a coach from Dancing with the Stars—it’s like he can’t make up his mind.”

Stefanie hated to admit it, but Costas’s inclusive appreciation of female beauty was kind of refreshing, especially for someone in his privileged position.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s not a bad kid—no drinking or drugging—but he definitely has a weakness when it comes to women. Max used to worry he’d never settle down. He hoped turning over the business to him would ground him. Little did I know I’d end up in being the one grounded—buried alive.”

Stefanie settled a hand atop his arm. “Don’t talk like that, Pop. There must be a way out, something we can do.”

“That’s what I told myself, too, until I got…this.” He stuffed a hand into his pocket, pulled out a folded paper, and passed it to her.

Feeling queasy, Stefanie unfolded the e-mail and scanned the few curt lines. Nikolaos Costas was coming to the US to meet with his American business partner—Olympia. He expected a face-to-face meeting with its CEO—her pop—and his money repaid in full before he left for home. But it was the final line that sent a shaft of shock straight through her.

“He’s due into DC on July second? The Independence Day holiday week, seriously?” The ballsy timing solidified her emerging picture of Nikolaos Costas as a spoiled trust-fund brat, a selfish asshole who expected everyone else to clear their calendars at his command.

Gaze bleak, her father nodded. “I know it’s a busy time for you, but I need your help.”

The buck, or in this case all 2.5 million of them, stopped with her. “Anything—you know that.”

“I need you to act as my hostess, show Max’s son around town, stall while I work on raising the repayment. I’ve already gotten in touch with my banker about extending my line of credit and I may be able to bring on additional investors by selling shares in the project. I just need time.”

“Playboy” cycled back into Stefanie’s consciousness, and a kernel of an idea, totally crazy, of course, began taking shape in her mind. If Nikolaos Costas had a “weakness” for women, might that weakness be used against him? If he only went for stick-thin models, she’d be shit outta luck, but from what her pop had said, he didn’t have a type. She bit her lip and glanced down at herself. Her jeans were dusted with flour and the unpainted toes peeking out from her sandal-style Crocs were in dire need of a pedicure.

Confidence flagging, she looked up. “Maybe we’d be better off getting Lena or Leslie to take him around. They have the summer off and they love going out.”

Dazzling men with their model looks and killer wardrobes was what her stepsisters lived for. Coming of age in a pond of Paris Hilton-styled swans, Stefanie had always felt like an ugly duckling.

His fist came down on her granite countertop, sending party platters jumping. “You are my blood. You are my heir just as Niko is his father’s.”

Alarmed by his reddening face, Stefanie reached for his hand. Unfurling the taut fingers, she said, “Pop, please, remember your blood pressure.”

He nodded, blowing out a breath. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. It’s just that I’m sick and tired of watching you take a backseat to Jacquie’s girls. You have a good brain, a big heart, and your own beauty, the best kind of beauty, the kind that starts on the inside. Just like…your mother,” he added, laying a palm to his heart.

Chastened, Stefanie gave his hand a squeeze before letting it go. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Dropping his hand, he sighed. “All I’m asking is that you keep Nikolaos Costas fed and entertained while I work this out. He won’t have had a home-cooked meal since he left Greece. C’mon, little one, it’s only for a few days.”

Little one—talk about pulling out all the stops.

Still, he was right. She was the one who’d brought the wolf, Pete, into their family fold. It wasn’t her stepsisters’ responsibility to clean up the mess she’d made. It was hers.

Her thoughts boomeranged from the congressman’s high-profile party to Macie’s rooftop picnic. Being in two places at once had seemed a tough enough trick to pull off, but now it seemed she’d need to find a way to be in three. She chewed on her lower lip, mentally maneuvering food preparation, deliveries, and employee schedules.

“I suppose I can get Karen to cover the MacLean barbecue and Eli can do the drop-offs for the weekly regulars, but there’s also Macie’s party. She’ll kill me if I don’t show.”

She stopped, anticipating his objection. Surely for the Fourth he would want to host his VIP visitor at his home, the gracious Cleveland Park Tudor Revival where she’d grown up.

Instead, his grin reached from ear to ear. “Perfect, you’ll take him with you. A traditional American Fourth of July with your friends could be just the thing to soften him up. Besides, you haven’t taken off a holiday since you started eight years ago. As they say, all work and no play—”

“Makes Stefanie a dull spinster girl, yeah, I get it.” Dull and desperate, or so she’d been until three months ago.

He shrugged. “I’d like grandchildren someday. So sue me.”

Stefanie groaned. “Yeah, well, here’s hoping Nikolaos Costas doesn’t do it first.”

The earlier crazy kernel of an idea sprouted to a full-blown stalk. Her father needed Nikolaos Costas “softened up.” Plying him with her authentic Greek cooking could be a strong first step toward winning him over, but would it be sufficient? His weakness wasn’t for food but women, and Stefanie was certainly that as well as 100 percent Greek and a good—okay, awesome—chef. She knew how to dress a lamb and set a table to perfection.

But up until now, she’d been too busy to bother applying that aesthetic to herself. It had been easier—and safer—to take the backseat, as her father had pointed out. Could she maybe channel some of her culinary self-confidence to her life once she took off the chef’s jacket?

Thanks to Pete’s Ponzi scheme, she didn’t really have a choice. Beyond righting wrongs and familial duty, she had something to prove—to herself. With Pete she’d been easy prey, gulled by his glib tongue and smooth moves and her own sadly sagging self-esteem. But when it came to Costas, she knew in advance who and what she was dealing with—a player. A player for whom variety was the spice of life—and Stefanie’s life could definitely do with some spicing up. Only this time she would be prepared. She would be in control. She would be the wolf, not the sheep, the seducer, not the seducee.

She wouldn’t go all the way, of course, just far enough to whet his appetite—and win his sympathy for Acropolis Village. Taking him to the brink and then retreating once she’d gotten what she wanted would be even more satisfying than going through with the sex. Sleeping with Pete so soon had been the first of several big mistakes. Unveiling herself had made her vulnerable, blinded her to her better judgment. If she’d held back, she doubted she would have bought into his good-guy act for much longer, let alone set him up with her father. So long as she kept her clothes on—or mostly on—with Costas, she’d never have to worry about what he thought of her full thighs or less than six-pack stomach. Sheathed in SPANX and wreathed in worldly smiles, she’d stay invincible, ethereal, a goddess in total control.

She felt anticipation—excitement—building. She’d been a good girl for twenty-eight years. She’d not only read The Rules cover to cover but had played by them. Now after nearly a decade of sifting through Match.com profiles and suffering through bad blind dates, she was finally going to play a new game, one in which she got to turn the tables—and mind fuck the man.

Her pop’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Why are you so smiley all of a sudden?”

Composing her features, Stefanie shrugged. “I’m just thinking about what I’m going to serve for Costas’s welcome dinner, that’s all.”

What are you hungry for, Mr. Costas?

A growl greeted the statement. A thick finger wagged in her face. “You’re a good girl, you don’t forget that. You make him some meals, you show him around town—and that’s all you do for him. Understood?”

Another smile teased the corners of her mouth, but this time she made sure to flatten it. “Right, of course, Pop, so long as you promise to handle all the financial stuff upfront when you meet with him.”

He flattened a hand over his heart. “Stefanie, you wound me. I am a Stefanopoulos. My word is my bond.”

“Great, now how about I make you a plate? You look like you could use a good meal.”

He gave a grudging nod, and Stefanie slid off the stool. Ducking his watchful gaze, she stepped back behind the counter. Sprinkling paprika atop a platter of deviled eggs, it was hard not to hum. Nikolaos Costas liked variety, he liked spice—well, she would give him that and then some.

Who knew…she might even like it.

…

The Isle of Crete, Greece

“Papa, will I like America?”

Nikolaos Costas paused in packing and turned away from the suitcase lying open on his bed to his daughter. Her question made him smile. “I hope so, Mara. America is a very big country. We are traveling first to New York and then to its capitol city. Do you know the name of America’s capitol?”

Twirling the end of her ponytail, she shook her head.

He went down on one knee on the woven rug, putting them on eye level. “It is Washington, named after a great general who later became the first president.”

“Like Mr. Papoulias?”

Pleased that she knew that much, given how limited her life had been until recently, he nodded encouragingly. “It is similar, yes. Greece is a parliamentary republic; America a constitutional republic. We will have plenty of time on the plane to discuss the similarities and differences between our two countries.”

Nick had studied law at Harvard, but this would be his first trip to DC. He’d spent most of his summers in the exclusive resort community of Martha’s Vineyard. Standing out as exotic amongst the blue-blooded denizens, he’d seduced plenty of daughters of industry captains, entertainers, and politicians. During one such pleasure-seeking summer, Mara had been born back in Greece.

The revelation that he was a father—to a seven-year-old!—had come out of the blue four months ago. Before then, he hadn’t even known Mara existed, hadn’t had the vaguest suspicion he was a father, certainly not by the pretty Cretan art student with whom he’d hooked up on a holiday visit home. Fueled with Mythos beer and the stupid sense of immortality that accompanied youth, he’d foregone a condom. When he’d later heard Alexia had left for London to marry a British banker, his only thought had been to be happy for her. Tragically, her happiness had ended in a fatal car crash on the way home from a beach weekend in Brighton.

The news had come in an e-mail from Alexia’s mother. Before leaving Greece, Alexia had borne an out-of-wedlock child, a girl, in secret. At her parents’ urging, she’d given the baby up at birth to the nuns at a Cretan convent orphanage.

At first Nick had written off the e-mail as a hoax, but like puzzle pieces, the dates and details had begun fitting together, the gaps filled in by his sketchy memory and sudden gnawing guilt. It was possible, even probable, that Alexia’s child was his. Either way, he’d resolved to find out.

The mother superior who oversaw the orphanage had been gracious at their private meeting. She well remembered the distraught young woman who’d come to her all those years ago, pregnant and afraid, her furious family threatening to cast her out. When asked of her child’s father, the girl’s pretty young face had hardened. Refusing to name him, she’d explained he was a rich man’s son, a party boy studying law in the States. Hearing himself so described, Nick had felt his first true remorse.

She’d regarded him over steepled hands. “Mara is playing with the others in the garden. Are you prepared to meet her?”

Nick doubted he’d ever be fully ready, but he nodded nonetheless. A bell summoned a black-habited sister. Nick followed her out. The convent was a serene but poor place, the adjacent orphanage immaculate yet crumbling and small. The children ceased playing at their approach. Approaching, the nun announced, “Mara, this gentleman has come to see you.”

A little girl with coltish limbs, sun-streaked brown hair, and dirt-smudged cheeks lifted her face to Nick’s, and he found himself staring into thickly lashed hazel eyes—his eyes.

Heedless of the dusty stones, he’d dropped down on both knees. “I am very pleased to meet you, Mara. My name is Niko.”

Beaming, the nun put in, “Mr. Costas is your papa, Mara.”

Throat thick with emotion, he directed his words to his daughter. “You also have a grandpapa and a grandmamma and three aunties as well as many cousins, a few near your age.” What age was she? Knowing next to nothing about children, he’d looked up at the sister, who’d mouthed seven.

Stunned, Nick could scarcely believe it. His daughter was seven. For seven years this creature—this angel—had occupied the same earth, the same country, the same island as he, having birthdays and Christmases and saints’ days and ordinary days, all of which he’d missed.

That day, four months ago, he’d made a pact with himself. Going forward, he would be a stronger man, a better man. A father.

A soft knock sent them turning to the open door. His mother, Hermione, stood on the threshold, her abundant silver hair piled atop her head, a richly embroidered silk shawl draped about her shoulders and pinned with a jewel-inlaid starburst broach, his father’s fortieth anniversary gift.

“Ya-ya!” Mara ran to her grandmother, wrapping her arms about her waist.

Nick stood. “Mara and I were just discussing the differences between Greece and the United States.”

His mother gently eased Mara away. Cupping her cheek, she said, “That is wonderful, my clever one, but it is time for you to go to bed. You and your papa have an early day tomorrow. You need rest.” She slanted a look to Nick as if including him in the admonition.

Mara dug in her bunny slipper shod heels. “But I’m not sleepy.”

Nick intervened, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Brush your teeth and say your prayers and I will be in very soon to say good night.”

“And read me a story?” she wheedled, grinning up at him.

Defeated, he nodded. “Yes, and read you a story.”

Hugs and kisses made the rounds and Mara padded out of the room.

Watching her go off, his mother said, “It is not too late to change your mind and take the private jet. More than sixteen hours on a crowded aircraft is a great deal to ask of a seven-year-old.”

The sixteen-hour flight would take them directly to New York’s Kennedy Airport. They would spend several days touring the city before continuing on to their final destination, Washington, DC.

“I know, Mama, but we will be fine.”

“Are you certain you will not reconsider and leave Mara here with us until you return?” she said, brushing a no doubt imaginary speck of dust from his black shirtsleeve.

Having Mara with him meant curtailing—eliminating—any partying, but that didn’t bother him as it once would have. He’d seen sufficient A-list clubs, casinos, and five-star resorts to last a lifetime. Now that he was a father with his family’s corporation to run, indulging himself that way would be beyond irresponsible—it would be a betrayal of all he held sacred.

Nick nodded. “Mara and I have already endured seven years of separation. Where I go, she goes.”

Disappointment flickered over his mother’s face but in it he read respect, too. “Hearing you speak with such devotion, I cannot argue further. You are a good father, Niko.”

Nick paused, grateful for the praise but unsure that he’d as yet earned it. “I am trying to be. Whether I succeed or fail, know this: I am a changed man.”

Her hands found the tops of his shoulders. Holding him at arm’s length, she searched his face. “No, my son, you are the man you were always meant to be, the one who has been inside you all along.”

Humbled, Nick bowed his head. “Thank you, Mama.”

She dropped her hands and stepped back. “I will leave you to finish packing. Please bring Mara by before you leave in the morning. I have a small going-away gift for her.”

Nick groaned. “Mama, you promised.”

Like him, his parents were desperate to make up for the lost years, and inundating their newly discovered granddaughter with presents was an understandable temptation to which they yielded far too frequently. Her room at the villa, painted “Cinderella Pink,” was stuffed with the spoils of his parents’ recent retail rampage through Disneyland Paris.

Frowning, she clicked her tongue. “I know, but she is my only granddaughter, my one little rosebud amidst a brood of boys.”

“Very well, we will come to say good-bye,” he conceded, reminded of how fortunate he was to have a warmhearted family who’d taken in his love child without hesitation. “But I hope your gift is indeed small. The overhead compartments of commercial planes are not large, and I plan to do some shopping as well.”

She laughed. “Why is it I have the feeling your papa and I are not alone in being wrapped around Mara’s little finger?”

Nick didn’t deny it. Mara brought out all his soft spots, vulnerabilities he hadn’t known he had.

But in business, he had a spine of steel and a will of iron. The man he was traveling to Washington, DC to meet, Christos Stefanopoulos, owed his family two and a half million US dollars, monies Nick had earmarked to fund the new state-of-the-art orphanage he meant to build for the convent. As the mother superior had told him, many homeless infants and children were turned away for lack of space. It was a heartbreaking situation. Nick couldn’t undo the past, but he could do his utmost to build a brighter future for unwanted and unclaimed children as Mara once had been.

But given the recessionary state of Greece’s economy, his plan for the orphanage hinged on him retrieving the money from the American real-estate developer. So far the bastard had yet to repay a single Euro. Instead he’d answered Nick’s numerous e-mails and letters with excuses and evasions.

In such a situation, with such a man, Nick knew exactly how to deal. He would show no mercy, cede no quarter. He would return to Greece with the loan repaid in full or Olympia Development transferred to him, the latest of Costas International’s foreign acquisitions. Given what he’d so far discovered of the company’s financials, he expected repayment to be the latter. Either way, his family’s honor would be restored and ground broken on the mother superior’s new orphanage.

Fatherhood was as yet a mystery, but business he understood.

Chapter Two

Wednesday, June 25

The Starbucks at the corner of King and Union had been the site of Stefanie and Macie’s weekly coffee catch-up since Macie had moved back to the city the winter before. They collected their coffees at the counter and then settled into a suite of high-backed wing chairs by the window.

“Thanks so much for switching days. I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient,” Stefanie said, sipping her café mocha before the whipped cream could melt.

“Not at all,” Macie assured her, taking off the plastic lid and blowing on her soy latte. “Now that Samantha’s out of school for the summer, I have a lot more flexibility. Is everything okay?”

Striking up her courage, Stefanie blurted out, “I need you to help me get gorgeous.”

Once her father had left the night before, she’d spent several hours looking up Nikolaos Costas online. According to his Wikipedia entry, Nikolaos Hesperos Costas was born in 1976 on the island of Crete, the eldest of real-estate mogul Maximos and Hermione Costas’s four children. Though he might embrace romantic variety, A-list celebrities and fashion models were his go-to companions, the French Riviera and Lake Como his preferred playgrounds. Reading the litany of his academic and athletic achievements, celebrity friends, and global travels, Stefanie had felt like grabbing the tray of baklava and crawling into the closest closet.

But it was time to press pause on the self-pity party and make use of what skills and gifts she had. If Nikolaos Costas was anything like the Mediterranean alpha male he came across as in the media, feeding his stomach and his ego with a few well-placed compliments and sultry smiles might be sufficient to soften him—provided she could hold his wandering eye for the requisite week.

If she could just get him in a car to Acropolis Village and show him firsthand the good they were doing—or attempting to do—for Greek American seniors, surely he’d see that giving them more time was the only humanitarian course. Who knew? Maybe he’d chip in even more money. Or at least let them work out a plan where the 2.5 million could be repaid in installments. Heck, it wasn’t like he was hurting for cash. Hard-nosed was one thing but there was no need to be a hard ass, not when you were a multimillionaire with more money than you could ever hope to spend.

Macie eyed her over the top of her paper cup. “You’re already gorgeous, and I’ll be more than happy to help, but why the sudden change of heart?” A committed clotheshorse, Macie had been on Stefanie’s case to up her fashion game since they’d first met during their freshman year at Catholic U.

Stefanie trained her tone to come off as casually as she could. “A bigwig international investor of my pop’s is coming into town from Greece, and I promised to show him around. Speaking of which, is it okay if I bring him for the Fourth?”

“Sure, the more the merrier.” Macie studied her a moment more before asking, “Would this investor happen to be single?”

Shifting in her seat, Stephanie admitted, “Yes.”

“Single and…fuckable?” As usual, her friend didn’t mince words.

“Macie!”

The blonde chuckled. “What’s with the face? It’s a fair question.”

Nikolaos Costas was fuckable—and then some. Based on the celebrity gossip Stefanie had skimmed—the hot-tub threesome in Lake Tahoe, the peccadillo with the wife of a prominent American film producer at Cannes the previous year—he was a sex machine, well-oiled and nary in need of a shutdown for system maintenance.

“O-okay, you win.” Stefanie pulled up his most recent media mention on her iPhone and passed the cell over.

Taking it, Macie’s blue eyes popped. “Wow! What a hottie! He looks just like—”

“John Stamos. Yeah, I know.”

From the top of his dark brown head to the biceps and washboard abs showing beneath his fitted shirt, Nikolas Costas bore a striking resemblance to the hunky Greek American television actor.

Macie gave back the phone. “Exactly when is he arriving?”

Stefanie hesitated before admitting, “July second.”

Macie handed back the phone. “That’s…not a lot of time.”

Her friend was right. One measly week to transform herself into a svelte Greek American princess wasn’t much, but given that was all the time she—they—had, she might as well make the most of it. Once he went back to Greece, she’d be free to turn back into a pumpkin, or at least a laidback personal chef who wasn’t always the best about remembering to shave her legs.

Macie pushed back her chair and stood. “Come on, Stef, unless someone spots me a wand, we have some major shopping to do.”

…

Over the plane’s crackling intercom, the captain announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, we will begin our descent to Kennedy International airport shortly. Please resume your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

Awakened, Mara lifted her head from Nick’s arm. “Are we there yet, Papa?”

He reached down between their seats and retrieved his mother’s parting gift, a classic Raggedy Ann doll, from the floor. Tucking the doll into Mara’s pink backpack, he said, “Not quite, darling, but we are very close.”

The captain’s intercom announcement had saved him from having to wake her. One’s first view of the New York skyline was not to be missed.

From across the aisle, the gabby grandmother from Brooklyn who’d earlier talked Nick’s ear off about her first holiday to Greece leaned toward them. “You poor little mite, you look beat,” she said, shoving her face up to Mara’s. “I betcha you’ll be glad to see your mommy.”

Horrified, Nick opened his mouth to intercept but Mara did so first. “My mommy doesn’t live in America. She lives in Heaven.”

The woman’s face fell. “Oh, I’m so…s-sorry,” she sputtered, looking quickly away.

Fuming, Nick looped an arm about Mara, hugging her close. She snuggled against him, and together they turned toward the window. As annoying as the intrusive comment was, it reopened an internal dialogue Nick had begun having more and more of late. Did he have a duty to marry? Not for Costas International—his fecund sisters had well-established the next generation—but for Mara? Based on the hints his mother had begun dropping, she had several candidates under consideration, all from wealthy Greek families, their reputations and lineages above reproach.

But Nick wasn’t interested in entering into another business alliance. When—or if—he wed, his bride must be not only a wife to him but a loving mother to Mara. And there was another criterion he was as yet reticent to voice for fear of seeming—and feeling—foolish.

She must be someone with whom he could fall deeply, passionately in love.

After years of irresponsibility and selfishness, did he even have the right to hope that such a pure and perfect union might be within his grasp?

The clouds parted and the New York skyline came into view, a harbinger of hope, a beacon of new beginnings. Or perhaps those were simply the fancies of a sleep-deprived traveler. Either way…

“Look, Mara, below is the city of New York.”

For the next several minutes, he occupied himself with pointing out several well-known landmarks. Smiling at Mara’s oohs and ahhs, he promised himself that just as soon as this trip to the States concluded, he would give serious consideration to his marital situation.

…

“It’s not like I’m marrying the guy,” Stefanie protested as she and Macie stood side by side, raking the sale rack at Ann Taylor on Alexandria’s North Washington Street.

Until now, Stefanie had always considered “shop till you drop” to be a meaningless cliché. Not so now. Shopping bags brimming with previous purchases sat parked at their feet. Her arms ached and so did her arches. Her growling belly begged for brunch.

Macie pulled a cream-colored shift dress off the rack, held it up to Stefanie, and shook her head. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t look amazing—for yourself, not for anyone else. Though of course, if this Costas guy should happen to be smitten and sweep you off to his yacht or castle or wherever Greek tycoons live, that wouldn’t suck, either.”

Stefanie snorted. The sort of Happily Ever After ending Macie described was reserved for fairy tales—and those blessed to be born into petite, princess-size bodies. “Just for the record, in my next life I’m coming back as a size two.” Why was it that clothing store changing rooms were invariably outfitted with florescent lights and the equivalent of fun-house mirrors?

Macie’s eyes widened. “Are you kidding? I’d kill for your body. You’re like a Greek American version of that actress who plays Joan on Mad Men.” She shoved the discarded dress back on the bar and continued riffling through.

Stefanie snorted. “Christina Hendricks has curves; I have flab.”

Macie sent her the familiar exasperated look. “All she has that you don’t is self-confidence and a personal stylist—only now you have me in your fashion corner. That’s half the battle won.”

Stefanie wasn’t so sure. It was one thing to wear comfortable clothes and practical shoes and absolutely no makeup and convince the world that she didn’t care how she looked, but if she were to make an actual effort and fail… Imagining the jibes from Jacquie and the girls sent heat striking her cheeks.

Courage petering, she said, “Maybe this is a mistake. You know the old saying about how you can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear? I’m betting that goes for the whole sow, not just the ear.”

She let out a laugh but Macie didn’t join her. “That is so not funny. I’ve been listening to you put yourself down since college. Enough already.”

Chastened, Stefanie nodded. “Sorry, you’re right. Bad habit, I guess.”

Macie turned away from the clothing. “It is, so break it. Speaking of which, maybe we should take a time-out.”

Stefanie perked up. “There’s a new gelato place I’m dying to try. It’s walking distance, so we won’t have to move the car,” she added as an enticement. As in DC proper, parking along Alexandria’s tony historic district streets was at a premium.

“That sounds nice, but unfortunately we don’t have time.”

“We don’t?” Stefanie’s stomach mutinied, letting out another rumble.

Macie shook her head—and shuttered her gaze. “Nope, we don’t.” The telltale gesture tipped Stefanie off that a confession was coming.

“Why is that?”

“While you were in the changing room, I sort of…booked you an appointment at my day spa.”

Oh, was that all? “You mean like for a massage?” She’d been so tense ever since her pop’s visit. Having a professional knead away the knots sounded all kinds of heavenly—not gelato, but a close second.

Macie hesitated. “Not…exactly.”

Her gaze slid away but not before Stefanie caught the telltale glimmer. She knew that look. It was the same face her friend had worn last summer when she’d talked Stefanie into helping her fool Ross into thinking she was a housekeeper instead of an undercover reporter on a muckraking mission. It spelled trouble, pure and simple.

Summoning the firmest voice she could find, she said, “I think you’d better tell me exactly what you have in mind.”

Macie scooped up their shopping bags and steered them toward the counter. “I’ll explain on the way over.”

…

“Ahhhh!”

Stefanie shot up from the treatment table. So much for the day spa’s touted “ouch-less waxing.” She heaved a quaking breath, feeling as if a sheet of her skin had just been ripped off. Then again, looking down at the raw, salmon-pink stripe bisecting her pelvis, it kind of had.

Posting guard by the door, the room’s only exit, Macie chuckled. “Look on the bright side—no more razor bumps.”

Eyes watering, Stefanie shook her head. “Are you crazy? Razor bumps don’t hurt like this! I’ll never complain about shaving again.”

Macie sent her a smug smile. “You won’t have to. Sheila’s fantastic. Her treatments always last me a solid three months.” She exchanged smiles with the spa technician standing tableside.

Wearing a white lab jacket and disposable gloves, Sheila dropped the used waxing cloth in the chrome trash can. “It is true. I am very thorough.”

Stefanie stared between them. “You do this every three months?” Assuming she survived, she didn’t plan to repeat the experience—not ever.

“No pain, no gain,” Macie affirmed with a matter-of-fact nod.

Pressing Stefanie back down onto the tissue-paper-covered pillow, Sheila cooed, “Relax, missus, I use only the soft cream wax. Beeswax based, all natural, no synthetics. Is gentle, no?”

“No, it’s not gentle at all.” Stefanie stared down at the remaining strips yet to be pulled and swallowed. If this was what the soft wax felt like, she didn’t care to come into contact with the hard stuff. “Maybe we should, uh…stop now?”

“Nice try.” Grinning, Macie turned to the technician. “Sheila, take it away!”

…

Wednesday, July 2

Caught up in a whirlwind week of makeover madness, the Big Day snuck up on Stefanie before she knew it. Too nervous to sleep beyond a few hours, she rose early, made a pot of coffee, and started cooking. By three o’clock, the prep work and most of the precooking were completed, the loaves of country-style bread set on racks to cool, the grape leaves stuffed and laid out on their serving platter in the refrigerator, the lamb marinating in preparation for roasting.

Thank goodness her father and Jacquie would be hosting the welcome dinner. Converting the downstairs of her 1870s Federal-style pied-à-terre into a commercial kitchen had saved her having to rent a separate commercial space, but it didn’t leave much room for entertaining, certainly not for a sit down dinner. Her family’s stately home in northwest Washington’s tree-lined Cleveland Park would make a far more fitting venue for a visiting Greek tycoon born to champagne wishes and caviar dreams.

Preparing the food was the easy part. Getting herself ready provoked significantly more anxiety. More than once, she regretted refusing Macie’s offer to come over and help with her hair and makeup. Still, she had to fly solo sooner or later. Her eyebrows had been threaded, her armpits, legs, and…lady garden waxed to pristine smoothness. The triangle between her legs, winnowed to a narrow landing strip, was still slightly pink and sensitive, but if she were honest, she had to admit that the pruning, along with her new blush-worthy Victoria’s Secret bikini-style panties, made it mentally easier to slip into her seductress role.

She stepped out of the shower, bundled herself into her terrycloth robe, and walked up to the mirrored vanity. Using kitchen utensils was second nature but styling products and tools still felt foreign in her hands. She picked up the rounded styling brush and the hair dryer and got to work, mimicking the movements Macie’s DC stylist had taught her. Switching off the dryer, she admitted the result was surprisingly good.

Chopped to just below shoulder length and with her formerly heavy bangs swept to the side and softened into face-framing layers, her new haircut made her look and feel like a different person—a woman a visiting Greek tycoon might find worthy of a second glance, maybe even more. Bolstered by the beaming smiles of Macie and the stylist and the fizzy wine they’d fed her, she’d even let herself be persuaded into “playing with color.” The caramel highlights were a subtle touch that added texture and volume to the cut’s chic simplicity. Given she’d be serving food, she settled on a softly upswept French twist, following Macie’s suggestion to loosen a few face-framing tendrils.

Next was makeup. Surveying the baffling array of brushes, she took a deep breath and dove in. Twenty minutes later, she stepped back to evaluate her handiwork. The smoky shadow and smudged liner accentuated her eyes, which until now she’d always thought of as “boring old brown.” Freed from glasses and framed by mascara-lacquered lashes, they didn’t look boring at all but large, even luminous. A dusting of blush brought out cheekbones she hadn’t realized she had. Lining her lips with a peach-colored pencil and filling in with like-colored lipstick made the mouth she’d always thought of as too wide look lush instead.

A spring in her step, she padded out into the bedroom. The lapis-colored belted swing dress was an eye-catching alternative to black with a similar slimming effect, or so Macie had said. Unused to wearing anything remotely fitted, she’d required considerable coaxing to even try it on but had been pleasantly surprised. The dress had seemed to peel off ten pounds.

She took a deep breath and unbelted her robe. Letting it slide, she reached for the dress. She stepped into it and brought it up over her legs, buttocks, and shoulders. She reached for the zipper tab and, out of habit, sucked in her stomach. There was no need. The zipper glided effortlessly upward, its metal teeth closing without a hitch. Letting out her breath, she stuck her feet into strappy white kitten heels and stepped up to the full-length mirror anchored to the closet door.

“Wow,” she said, belatedly realizing she’d spoken aloud.

She scarcely recognized herself. The polished, put-together woman who stared back at her might not be a perfect ten, but she was…inviting. She hadn’t dropped a pound and yet for the first time in her adult life she felt genuinely sexy and pretty.

Keeping watch on the time, she went downstairs to begin boxing up the dishes. In the midst of doing so, her cell phone sounded. The theme to Zorba the Greek identified the caller as her pop.

Holding the phone to her ear and pulling plastic wrap over a cheese and olive platter, she said, “Hey, Pop, I’m getting ready to leave in a few.”

“Stay put.”

Stefanie dropped the roll of wrap. “Why? I’m on my—”

“I am stricken. I have a terrible flu.”

“You sounded fine when we spoke last night.”

His froggy voice didn’t fool her for a moment. He was faking it.

“It came on very suddenly.”

She tapped her recently manicured nails on the granite counter. “Hmm, you don’t say. What are your symptoms?”

“Er…a terrible griping in my belly and…a fever, very high. Considering the circumstances, I’m putting myself and Jacquie and the twins under quarantine until this passes.”

“Quarantine!” She nearly dropped the phone.

“I cannot very well welcome Niko Costas into a hotbed of germs, now can I?” he said reasonably—too reasonably. “I am afraid you will have to host him at your house.”

Stefanie groaned. “Pop, don’t do this to me.” It was one thing to take Costas around town, to flirt in the service of softening him up, but quite another to be left alone with him on the front lines, solely responsible for his care and feeding.

“It is done,” he announced firmly, not sounding sick at all. “I’ve already contacted the car service with the change of plan and your address. The limo driver will pick him up from Dulles International as planned—”

“The limo driver! You hired a limo?” Considering their money troubles, shouldn’t they be cutting back?

Selective hearing was her pop’s specialty. As though she hadn’t spoken, he continued, “—and drive him directly to you. He should arrive soon.”

Soon? Was it possible to have heart failure and a racing pulse simultaneously? “Pop—”

“I must go. I feel another bout of the sickness coming on. We’ll speak again tomorrow. Good luck, little one.” He clicked off the call.

Setting down her cell, Stefanie felt her frustration slide into panic. Her personal living area was limited to her loft, a barebones space furnished with a dresser, night table, and her bed.

I could seriously use a hit of chocolate right now.

There must be a bite of Bakers’ tucked away somewhere. Pawing through her pantry, struggling to remember where she’d deliberately hidden it from herself, she heard the front door knocker drop. Holy shit, it was him. Nikolaos Costas. It had to be.

She closed the cabinet and drew a deep breath, forcing air into her seizing lungs. A second clang, this time more of a slam, reminded her that her “guest” still waited and with less-than-perfect patience. She crossed the wormhole-riddled floorboards on wobbly legs, only now noticing how her fancy new shoes pinched. Her clammy hand curled around the cut-glass knob, slowly rotating it. She pulled back, the door opening on a squeal of rusted hinges and heat-swollen wood.

Thickly lashed hazel eyes stared back at her. “Miss Stefanapoulous?”

She opened her mouth to answer but a mute nod was the best she could manage. The paparazzi photos didn’t begin to do him justice. Nikolaos Costas had chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the latter worn layered and longish, the ends curling about the collar of his crisp white shirt. Olive-colored skin stretched over a high forehead, sharply boned cheeks, and a nicely squared jaw. Light lines bracketed his magnetic eyes and full-lipped mouth, suggesting that he was no stranger to smiling as well as in his mid to late thirties. And he was tall, at least six feet. Wearing her modest two-inch heels brought them at eye level.

His mouth curved upward as if stunning women to speechlessness was a matter of course. Then again, from all she’d read about him, it probably was. “Good evening. I am Nikolaos Costas,” he announced, his accented voice deep and velvety. “We are expected, yes?”

Lost in his eyes, it took a moment for his question to sink in. We? Stefanie stepped back—and stared down.

A second pair of thickly lashed and openly curious hazel eyes looked up into hers.

Shock slammed her. Her Greek player had a kid with him.

The little girl, who looked to be about six or seven, was a feminized Mini Me version of Costas as well as a real cutie. Her brown hair was gathered into a single ponytail, the pink bow matching her dress. She held a Hello Kitty miniature purse in one hand; her other hand wound about Costas’s pinkie finger.

“This is my daughter, Mara. I hope it is all right that I brought her.”

Daughter? Daughter! Her playboy captain of industry was a…family man?

Even though she’d surmised as much, his confirmation that he had not a niece or young cousin along but an actual…offspring sent Stefanie reeling.

Stepping back for them to enter, she said, “Y-yes, your daughter, right, of course she is. Please…come in.”

He steered the child inside ahead of him, his broad-shouldered body filling her foyer, his musky sandalwood scent seesawing her senses. “Thank you for your understanding,” he said, the sentiment sounding sincere, even gracious, not at all like the glib player she’d anticipated.

Not trusting her shaking hands, she closed the door with a push of her foot. “No problem. I love kids,” she said truthfully, mentally seeing her “seduction” plan as a balloon pricked by a pin.

Amidst the dissipating shock, a strange mixture of disappointment and relief set in. She wasn’t going to have to stray from her comfort zone after all. Nikolaos Costas had a child traveling with him and presumably a wife waiting back in Greece. She might as well have met him at the door wearing her comfy T-shirt, sweatpants, and Crocs. Thinking of her plucked pelvis and Victoria’s Secret thong, her closet crammed with designer clothes and bathroom vanity blanketed by cosmetics and styling products brought laughter bubbling.

“Something amuses you?” Costas asked, gaze sharpening.

Battling the giggles, Stefanie shook her head. “I’ve just had a…very unusual week.” She focused on the child, extending a hand that thankfully was no longer either sweaty or shaking. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mara.”

Tiny fingers took firm hold of hers. The innocent trust implicit in the gesture gave Stefanie’s heartstrings a jerk. Pink ribbon lips parted to proclaim, “I’m hungry.”

“Mara, mind your manners,” her father admonished. Shifting his attention to Stefanie, he said, “Please accept my apologies. I’m afraid Mara missed her lunch and her nap, a calamitous combination when one is seven.” He punctuated the apology with a sheepish smile.

Charmed despite herself, Stefanie shrugged. “No worries, I get pretty cranky when I’m hungry, too.” Smiling down at the child, Mara, she asked, “You like baklava, baby?”

Mara brightened. “Oh, yes, very much.”

Stefanie felt a smile breaking over her face. “In that case, you’ve definitely come to the right place.”

Chapter Three

So married and so hot—this was so not fair!

Averting her gaze from her VIP visitor, Stefanie opened the bottle of chilled retsina and poured two glasses, a full one for her guest and a half for her. Even knowing Costas must be married, she couldn’t afford to relax her guard, not while he held her pop and their family business in the palm of his broad, capable-looking hand. Softening him up by flirting was now out of the question, but she had one last card to play: her cooking. She’d always believed the adage that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach—even if the stomach in question happened to be a perfect six-pack.

“It seems we’re the first to arrive,” Costas remarked, lifting Mara up onto one of the counter stools. “You look as though you are preparing for a picnic,” he added with a smile, surveying the cookware packed in portable sleeves.

Pouring a plastic cup of milk for Mara and adding a generous squeeze of Hershey’s syrup, Stefanie admitted, “Not a picnic, but there has been a change of plan.”

He served the milk to Mara, his gaze losing its good humor. “How so?”

“Unfortunately my father is flattened with the flu. He sends his regrets.”

He met the news with a stony stare. “He is canceling?”

“Postponing,” Stefanie amended, handing him a wineglass. He reached out to take it, and she noted he didn’t wear a wedding band. Then again, not all married men did—especially not the cheaters… “Sending you home to Greece with the flu hardly seemed the way to express our appreciation for all that Costas International has done over the years to help us thrive,” she said, choosing her words with care.

He looked at her askance. “Sometimes these sudden attacks of influenza are but a day’s duration,” he said, twirling the untasted wine by the glass stem. “Perhaps he will be sufficiently recovered tomorrow for us to meet?”

“Perhaps,” she said doubtfully, folding back the foil from her secret weapon, the rack of lamb.

“It is not my custom to chase business associates across the seas. I made this journey as a courtesy in deference to your father’s longstanding relationship with mine.”

Willing a whiff of rosemary, thyme, and pearl onions his way, she answered, “Relationships are important, especially long-term ones. My father appreciates the honor you do us by making this trip. We all do.” He greeted that statement with a grunt, and Stefanie hurried to add, “And I will be most honored to host you here.” Serving him from her kitchen counter wasn’t ideal, but given her space constraints, it would have to do.

He regarded her over the rim of his untouched glass, though she didn’t miss the slight twitching of his nostrils as he breathed in the aromatic steam. “Yes, I will permit it…provided I may help.”

Considering the gilded surroundings he must be used to and the fleet of servants at his beck and call, his offer surprised her.

Before she could determine whether or not he was sincere, Mara piped up, “I want to help, too!”

Dividing her gaze between them, Stefanie smiled. “Thanks but I have everything under control.”

The kitchen was her kingdom. Helpers, no matter how well intentioned, were more often than not a hindrance. Working under Nikolaos Costas’s eagle eye was distracting, to say the least. Keeping a counter’s length between them at least provided some barrier to being completely immersed by his hotness.

His hazel gaze locked onto hers. “I insist.”

She opened her mouth to refuse when it struck her that she’d just been given a golden opportunity to begin her gastronomic seduction. She picked up a ladle, dipped it into the sizzling juices from the lamb, and blew on the liquid. “Okay, as long as you don’t mind being my taster.”

“Taster?” The look he sent her suggested suspicion of poison.

“For the spice,” she said quickly, holding the ladle toward him. “I’m not sure I’ve got it quite right. Too much rosemary, not enough pepper, it’s hard to say,” she lied. The lamb, her lamb, would be superbly seasoned as it always was.

His big, athletic body relaxed visibly. “I am sure you are a most competent cook.”

Competent, hah! Mister, better buckle up, because you have no idea what ambrosia is about to hit your taste buds. Sugaring her tone, she answered, “Please, I want to make certain it isn’t too spicy for your taste—or Mara’s.” She slanted a look to the child, who’d climbed down from the stool to examine her reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator front.

“As you wish,” he conceded, reaching out to guide the ladle to his mouth. As he did, his hand brushed hers. The casual contact flared her fingertips, the sensation that of static electricity—on steroids.

He bent his head to taste, and Stefanie had the sudden crazy urge to reach out and feather her fingers through his dark hair to test its seeming softness.

“Mmmm.” He straightened, his tongue gliding over his lower lip, his expression one of unguarded ecstasy.

Is that how he would look after sex? Stephanie wondered and then slapped aside the thought. Whether or not he upheld his vows, so far as she was concerned he was still married—and strictly off-limits. Still, it struck her as weird that all her Internet sleuthing hadn’t surfaced a single mention of his wife.

Stepping back, he said, “That is good, very good, even better than my mother’s—but you must promise not to tell her I said so.” His teasing smile all but knocked the breath from her lungs.

Caught up, it took her a moment to wonder why he’d mentioned his mother’s cooking but not his wife’s. Could he be a widower? The surge of hopefulness that possibility brought about bordered on sinful.

“Thanks, but I doubt I’ll be running into your mother anytime soon, or ever, so your secret is safe with me.”

He shrugged, but his gaze held hers, drawing her like metal to a magnet. “One cannot always predict whose paths Fate will choose to cross.”

Handsome and charismatic—add in brilliant and billionaire and there was no mystery why A-list actresses and supermodels swooned at his feet. Flushed, she slipped the platter of dolmades from its traveling case. Pulling back the plastic wrap, she proffered the plate. “Would you mind trying this, too? I’m concerned the rice may not be cooked through.”

Another lie. The rice would be perfectly cooked as it always was. Along with the traditional parsley, dill, mint, and salt and pepper, she’d added her secret ingredient: finely chopped pine nuts. Even after all her years of cooking, it never ceased to surprise her how adding or subtracting a small amount of a single ingredient could alter the character of a dish. And though it cost her more in money and time, she always bought fresh vine leaves—always. They made all the difference.

His pleasant smile belied the feral gleam in his eyes. “Certainly, only I have not yet washed my hands. If you will be so kind…?” Gaze locking on hers, he leaned forward for her to feed him.

Oh…my…God.

Was this how they entertained in Greece? Aware that her hands had begun to tremble, she picked up a grape leaf and aimed the olive oil-drenched appetizer at his parted lips. As she did, her fingertips grazed his moist mouth. She shivered, a tingle traveling the length of her spine.

“Mmmm.” He slid his tongue along his lower lip, savoring, and Stefanie’s tingle ceased traveling and settled squarely between her thighs. Straightening, he swallowed, the motion tugging the corded muscles of his throat. “Where did you learn to cook like this?” The question and the praise underlying it seemed genuine.

She set down the plate, grateful she didn’t drop it. “My mother was from Athens.”

His smile broadened, the warmth of it reaching his eyes and igniting the flashes of amber in his irises. “She taught you well.”

Swallowing against the sudden thickness in her throat, Stefanie nodded. “Thanks, I like to think so.”

Their culinary mother-daughter sessions had been about more than cooking. Although Stefanie hadn’t realized it at the time, Rosaria had used food as a metaphor to teach her about life, molding her into the woman she hoped she’d become. A watched pot never boils—be patient, results take time. Likewise “haste makes waste” hadn’t been only about setting out too much flour.

Stefanie shifted away to open the refrigerator. Bending, she brought out the platter of sliced feta and olives she hadn’t had the chance to pack. Turning back, she set the platter on the counter. “I don’t have a dining room anymore, so we’ll have to eat here at the counter.”

He shrugged, as if dining informally were a way of life for him, which she knew it couldn’t be. “It is good here.”

Still, Stefanie felt compelled to explain, “I own a personal-chef business—a catering company called Good Enuf to Eat,” she added, his confused expression reminding her that English wasn’t his first language. “I run the business from this kitchen and live in the loft above. Unfortunately it’s only big enough for…my bedroom.” Ridiculous though it was, saying bedroom brought on a blush.

“You do not work with your father?” He sounded surprised.

Reaching for the knife to slice the bread, she shook her head. “I sit on the board, but I’m not actively involved in running the business.”

“I see,” he said, and his tone had Stefanie thinking the admission might have been a mistake.

Fearing she might have given him a false impression, she hastened to add, “I’ve been on the board since I turned twenty-one. While I’m not hands-on, I am knowledgeable about all projects, especially Acropolis Village. It’s the—”

“I am familiar,” he broke in. “I would very much like to visit the site while I am here.” The site, meaning he was well aware the project wasn’t close to completion.

Heart drumming, Stefanie moistened her dry mouth. Could getting him there really be this easy? “I can drive you out tomorrow morning if you’d like,” she said, trying not to sound overeager. If she could manage to sell him on the vision for the project, perhaps he might be more open to overlooking how far behind schedule they’d fallen.

He inclined his head. “I would like that very much, yes.” He picked up his wine, yet to be tasted, and looked over at her expectantly.

Right, oops, shit. So much for the Greek manners her mother had worked so hard to instill. As the host, it fell to her to make the first toast. Until she did, a guest would not drink. In all the confusion, the custom had slipped her mind.

Feeling like an oaf, Stefanie raised her glass. “Stin iyia mas.” To our health.

The generic sentiment satisfied the social obligation and yet something inside Stefanie spurred her to claim her courage and say more. Her grandfather had not sacrificed to come to America and build Olympia Development from the ground up only to have his legacy dismantled by the machinations of an oily con man and the greed of her present handsome, smiling houseguest.

Channeling the boldness of that maverick generation, she added, “And to a continued profitable partnership between our families.”

“Yamas.” Cheers. Gaze unwavering if noncommittal, he touched his glass to hers.

Stefanie waited for him to drink and then took a sip from her glass.

Setting aside his wine, he said, “I am Niko to my family unless Mama is cross with me, in which case I am Nikolaos. But please call me Nick as my other American friends do.” He flashed another smile, and Stefanie felt as if a Mediterranean sun seared her face.

“Nick it is,” she said, resisting the urge to fan herself. “I’m Stefanie.”

“Stef-an-ie,” he repeated slowly, carefully, as if savoring each syllable.

Gaze on his lips, the bottom one balancing the tiniest droplet of wine, she caught herself licking her own. “Great, well, I’ll just uh…see about getting supper—”

Clanging cut her off. Had her father changed his mind about delaying and decided to confront Costas after all?

She glanced over to her guest…Nick. “I’ll just…see who that is.” She dusted off her hands and hurried out into the hall.

Feeling as though she were living a remake of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, she opened the door. Instead of her father, her stepfamily—Jacquie, Lettie, and Lena—stood on her stoop.

“Your bell’s busted.” Her stepmother shoved a store-purchased plastic party platter at her.

Stepping aside for them to enter, Stefanie stared down at the unappetizing platter—anemic vegetables served with a side of grayish dip—and suppressed a shudder. “A crudités platter, how…thoughtful.”

Jacquie shrugged bony shoulders. “Don’t thank us, Stefanie, this is what families do.”

“The dip is made with low-fat sour cream,” Lena put in, nibbling polish from a metallic-blue nail. Given all the dieting she did, the poor thing was probably that hungry.

“It says so in the ingredients,” Lettie added, crowding close and stabbing a finger at the store sticker.

Stefanie bit back a laugh. “Yes, I see. I’m sure it’s delicious.”

Jacquie shrugged as if taste were her very last consideration. “I bought it with you in mind,” she said, raking her gaze over Stefanie, her red lips twisting. “I know how you struggle with your weight.”

Hard-pressed not to hunch her shoulders and hide behind her hair, Stefanie focused on pulling the Safeway price sticker off the domed plastic lid. As galling as she found her stepfamily’s insults and innuendos to be, she’d so far refused to stoop to their level. “I thought Pop put you all under quarantine.”

Dropping her voice, Jacquie admitted, “We’re in perfect health and so is your father, other than stress making his ulcer act up. I couldn’t very well stand by and leave you stranded here with the sole responsibility of upholding our family name.”

At times such as this, it was hard to hold back from pointing out that Stefanie had been born a Stefanopoulos while Jacquie had married into the name. But as her mother had been fond of saying, a wise head keeps a closed mouth. The evening held more than enough challenges without them bickering.

“Thank you, Jacquie, that’s very…considerate.”

“So is he as hot as he looks in pictures?” Lettie asked in a carrying voice.

“Quiet,” Stefanie warned in a whisper. Jerking her head to indicate the kitchen, she added, “He’s here.”

“Girls,” Jacquie interceded, dividing her gaze between the bristling pair. “Remember what I’ve taught you about the importance of making an entrance. A first impression can be made but once.”

Swishing her long, blond hair, Lena cut her sister a look. “Yeah, chill out, dumb ass.”

Stefanie drew a deep breath and reached for her patience. Considering how the night was shaping up, she would need it. “Before you go in, you should know he’s brought his daughter with him.”

Lena screwed up her face. “His…daughter?”

Expression put out, her twin demanded, “Is she like…a kid?”

“Mara’s six or seven, I’d say, and so far she’s been extremely well-behaved.” Better behaved than any of you, she was tempted to add. “They’ve come directly from the airport, and I’m sure they’re starving. I’m going to get supper out as quickly as I can. In the meantime, I’ve opened a bottle of wine. Won’t you all come inside?” Not waiting for them to answer, she turned on her heel and headed for the kitchen.

“Come along, girls,” Jacquie called, shouldering her way past Stefanie, her demeanor that of a captain calling his troops to battle. “It’s up to us to keep Costas entertained while Stefanie finishes up…whatever.”

Watching them push past her, all but falling over each other to be the first to breach the alcove, Stefanie felt like Cinderella, only for her the ball wouldn’t be happening. Her playboy “prince” was off-limits, almost certainly married. She wouldn’t be seducing him, not tonight, not ever. All the makeover magic of the past week—the plucking and waxing, shopping and shearing, dieting and eye poking—had been for nothing.

Talk about fairy-tale fail.

…

Nick took a last sip of espresso and set the cup down on its saucer. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I cannot recall the last time I sat down to such a superb supper. I’ve never tasted more succulent lamb,” he added truthfully, looking over the counter to Stefanie.

Despite her persistent good grace, the evening had taken a visible toll. Her lipstick had been bitten off. Her naked lips looked plump and inviting and infinitely kissable. The pins holding up her abundant hair had likewise come loose. Much of her thick, silky tresses trailed her back. Imagining her looking thus after a night of vigorous lovemaking had Nick thickening.

This wasn’t like him. Contrary to the tabloid tales, he’d never had a problem keeping his lust in check. Whether indulging in a three-way with twin actresses backstage at a Hollywood premiere or an X-rated soak with a sexy female ski instructor in an Aspen hot tub, his recreational sex had always stayed exactly that—a fun way to blow off steam after hours. Never had he mixed business with pleasure—and he’d no doubt that going to bed with Stefanie would be a very great pleasure indeed. Since he’d first set eyes on her standing in her doorway, he hadn’t been able to stop mentally peeling off her clothes.

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it,” the detestable stepmother, Jacquie, preened, as though she’d contributed so much as a crumb. “Once my husband is recovered, I hope to host you at our home. It’s much more suitable for entertaining and both my girls are excellent cooks. I taught them myself.”

Nick looked pointedly at the plastic platter of withering vegetables and then back to her. With her sprayed and teased hair, icy eyes, and angular body bundled atop the stool, she reminded him of a Gorgon. Taking such a woman to wife didn’t speak well for Stefanie’s father. Small wonder Olympia Development was in such turmoil. A man who mismanaged his domestic life couldn’t be expected to fare better in business.

“Remind me again of the nature of his ailment,” he asked, purely to bait her.

She hesitated. “Pneumonia.”

“No, Mom, bronchitis,” her insipid twin daughters chorused.

“The flu,” Stefanie put in firmly, darting the trio an exasperated look.

The byplay established Stefanie as the clear leader, her father’s loyal agent. Tucking that knowledge away for later, Nick smiled. “No wonder he is feeling…how is it you say…under the weather. Job himself could not have been more afflicted.” Snuffling sounds drew his attention over to Mara. Nestled on the stool next to his, she slumped over the counter, her head resting on her folded arms. Despite the two servings of baklava she’d recently inhaled, any sugar rush had bottomed. “It is growing late. We must make our way to our hotel.” Setting his napkin aside, he slid off the stool and stood, grateful that he’d worn his shirt untucked.

“Must you go so soon?” Jacquie asked, puckering her lips into a pout. “I feel as if we all just sat down.”

Stefanie had not sat down at all, though Nick refrained from saying so. Leader or not, she’d spent the entirety of the meal waiting on them all. Instead of offering to help, her stepfamily had treated her almost as a servant, flooding her with complaints. Really, hadn’t she thought to chill more wine? Why wasn’t there skim milk instead of cream for their supersized American coffees? Whoever heard of serving a heavy dessert at this time of night? Wouldn’t fruit have been a healthier choice?

Stefanie must be exhausted and yet not so much as a cross word had left her lips. Had their roles been reversed, Nick would not have shown such forbearance. More than once he’d been tempted to step in and deliver a cutting comeback on her behalf. Each time he’d resisted, reminding himself why he’d made this trip. He had his reasons, 2.5 million of them, none of which involved interfering in the Stefanopoulos family’s private affairs. Championing Stefanie wasn’t his place or his problem, especially when she was so obviously running interference for her father.

“I’m afraid I must. As you can see, it is past Mara’s bedtime.” He took out his phone and tapped a text message to his driver, letting him know he was ready for pickup.

Stefanie spoke up, “Of course, we’ve kept you long enough. You’re both exhausted. I’ll walk you out.”

“Thank you,” Nick said sincerely. It wasn’t often he found himself facing a business opponent possessed of such lovely, solicitous manners. He reached over and lightly touched Mara’s shoulder. “It is time for us to leave, little one,” he said softly so as not to startle her.

She turned her face to the side, her eyelids lifting, her rosebud mouth stretching into a yawn. “Can’t we stay the night with Stefanie?”

He ventured a sideways look to their hostess. The innocent question had her pretty face flaming. Remembering earlier how she’d fed him from her hand, tempting him with bites of her beautiful food, he felt himself throbbing. If she were even half as bold in the bedroom as she was in the kitchen, her future husband would be fortunate indeed.

But he couldn’t afford to have such thoughts about her, couldn’t afford to distract himself in any way. Bringing his gaze back to his child, he shook his head. “We must drive to our hotel where your own big bed awaits.” Easing her off the stool and into his arms, he gazed again to Stefanie. “For all we know, Stefanie may have other plans for the evening.”

Did she? The pretty blue dress had spent most of the evening buried beneath an apron, but that didn’t mean she might not wear it out later. It wasn’t quite ten o’clock. Before Mara, Nick would have been about to begin a night of partying. Bed would have been the furthest thing on his mind—unless there was a nubile model or curvy actress joining him in it. It still amazed him how having a child changed one’s perspective and priorities.

An unbecoming snort drew his attention to the other “guests.” Rising, the three women cast disgruntled looks their way.

The twins exchanged smirking looks. “Stefanie with plans, yeah right,” one of them sneered, rolling her eyes.

Jacquie made a show of chastising her, although the corners of her made-up mouth twitched. “Now, girls, don’t tease your stepsister in front of our guest. Not everyone can be a social butterfly.”

Nick had never before considered shaking a woman, but the vicious remarks made him want to grab the nearest bimbo by the shoulders and shake her until her unnaturally whitened teeth rattled.

“My plans for the rest of the evening involve bed and a book,” Stefanie admitted. Avoiding his gaze, she headed into the hallway.

Mara in his arms, Nick followed. Jacquie and the twins trailed them to the front door.

Opening it, she turned to face him. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“No, thank you,” he said, wishing his arms were momentarily child-free so that he might give her a hug. “You are a wonderful hostess and a credit to your father.”

She swallowed visibly, and Nick’s gaze riveted to the elegant arc of her throat. Given how pretty and nice she was, it was too bad he would likely end the week by going for her jugular. “Thank you, that means a lot. Usually I’m in someone else’s kitchen, overseeing someone else’s parties.”

Catching sight of more smirking from the corner of his eye had him feeling fierce. The twins were too insipid to be taken seriously, but their mean-spirited mother was intolerable. “Such a lovely woman should not be hidden away. She should preside over her own parties where she is seen and appreciated.”

Jingling drew his attention back to the trio clustered by the stairs. “I’m parked in the garage on King. Can we drop you at your hotel?” Jacquie asked, jingling her car keys.

He shook his head. “Thank you, but your husband graciously arranged a car and driver. Surely he must have mentioned it?”

Jacquie’s face fell so swiftly that Nick was surprised her heavy cosmetics didn’t crack, confirming his suspicion that in coming here with her daughters she’d acted behind her husband’s back. He felt a twinge of pity for the man he’d yet to meet. With such a shrew for a wife, it was no wonder his business was bottoming.

“Of course, it must have slipped my mind.” She elbowed her daughter’s side. “Lettie, don’t you have something you wanted to ask Nick?”

A blank blue stare greeted the question. “I…uh…”

“It was great meeting you,” Lena broke in, sending him a simpering smile. “I’d love to hear more about Greece sometime,” she tacked on, though Nick didn’t recall her being all that interested earlier.

Recovering, Lettie pressed closer. “Yeah, maybe we could like…do something tomorrow? I’m around…all day.” She produced her iPhone, encased in a hot pink case festooned with glittery stickers. “What’s your number? I’ll text you so you have mine.”

Even had he not held Mara, Nick would have left his phone in his pocket. “As delightful as that sounds, Stefanie has graciously granted my request for a tour of your Acropolis Village.”

Jacquie’s blond head swiveled. “Why wasn’t I told?” she demanded, shooting a withering look Stefanie’s way. “I oversee the leasing for all our properties, including Acropolis,” she said, sweetening her tone and turning back to Nick. “What time are you planning to take off? We can all drive over together.”

Nick couldn’t imagine a less-appealing scenario than being cooped up in a car with a harridan such as Jacquie. Being blindsided and pressed into her company for the past few hours had been unavoidable, but he had no intention of spending an entire day similarly captured. “That is most kind but I cannot in good conscience keep you from your ailing husband, whom I am certain you are eager to nurse. Stefanie and I will manage on our own, but should I find myself with questions concerning…leasing, I will be certain to bring them to your direct attention.”

Satisfied he’d put her in her place, he stepped aside, clearing their path to leave. They filed past and out onto the porch, then down the three short steps to the sidewalk, their progress putting him in mind of ducks. He waited until they cut across to the curb before turning back to Stefanie. “Your family is most…interesting.”

She answered with a sigh. “They can be a bit…much, I know.”

Nick didn’t deny it. “I think this is not the mother who taught you to cook such delectable food.”

“No, she’s uh…not. My mother died when I was twelve.”

Her wounded look had him rushing to apologize. Being opponents in a business venture didn’t grant him the right to hurt her personally. “I am sorry. I am too blunt.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s fine. It was a long time ago. My parents were very much in love and after my mom…passed, my pop was pretty devastated. He met Jacquie at an open house where she was the listing agent. She was divorced with two little kids, the twins you just met.” Biting her lip, she asked, “H-how uh…long have you and Mara’s mother been married?”

Startled, he said, “I am not married.”

Her beautiful brown eyes widened. “You’re not?”

He shook his head. “No, I have never married.”

She stared as though they were only now meeting. “But I thought… Well, you have Mara with you and— Jeez, I’ve really put my foot in it this time. Please, forget I brought it up.” The apology brought on a fiery flush and bevy of lip biting, none of which struck him as an act.

Wondering why she should care whether he was married or not, Nick nonetheless rushed to reassure her. “Please, it is fine, a natural assumption. Mara is my love child. I do not hide this. Until four months ago, I did not know she existed. Her mother was killed in an accident, and her family contacted me about Mara.” Too ashamed to admit she’d been abandoned to a convent orphanage, he stopped there. “I do hope to marry someday. My parents have been married for more than forty years and, like yours were, they are very much in love. It is, as you Americans say, a difficult act to follow.”

“I think you mean to say a tough act,” she amended with a smile.

Ordinarily Nick disliked being corrected but seeing how his grammar gaffe had erased the shadows from her lovely face, he felt another smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Steering the conversation to a less personal topic, he asked, “What time in the morning shall I come for you?”

She hesitated. “Thanks, but there’s no need for you to backtrack to Virginia. I’ll swing by your hotel and pick you and Mara up. Really, it’s no problem,” she added when he opened his mouth to protest. “Most of my clients live in the District. I usually cut through Georgetown anyway. My catering van likely isn’t what you’re used to but—”

“I am sure it is charming,” he cut in, noting how once again she’d made a point of including Mara. “But you will forgive me if I insist.” Modern though he was in many ways, imposing upon a woman to chauffeur him, even if he was a foreign visitor and the city her home didn’t set well.

“Okay,” she relented, “but traffic in this area can get pretty intense, especially at rush hour.”

Nick held back a smile. As one who’d driven his Formula One Ferrari in several Grand Prix races, he felt confident he could navigate his way around the DC Beltway. “Fortunately I can be…pretty intense myself. Is nine o’clock too early?”

She shook her head, sending more rich brunet hair tumbling. “Nine’s perfect. If you come a bit before, we can have breakfast before we leave.”

“Oh no, you have already made this most beautiful meal. I cannot impose again so soon.” When at his flat in Athens, he lived very simply. Other than a part-time housekeeper who came once a week, he lived without servants. Regretting the mess she’d been left, he wished he were at liberty to stay and help her clean up. Were it not for Mara, he would.

She shrugged. “It’s no imposition. Leftover baklava makes a great breakfast, and I have some beautiful fresh fruit from the market.” She reached up and tucked a caramel-colored lock behind her ear. The slight movement brought her full breasts jutting forward.

At cross-purposes though they were, he was hard-pressed not to smack his lips. “I look forward to it with pleasure.”

Car lights and an engine idling had them turning back to the screened door. Peering out, Nick saw that the town car waited.

Drawing back from it, Stefanie she sent him a sleepy smile. “Looks like pumpkin time.”

“Pumpkin time?”

She tilted her head and smiled. “You know, in the Cinderella fairy tale, at midnight everything goes back to the way it was before.”

If only real life worked so neatly. Though he’d read the story to Mara many times, he’d never given it much thought before.

Mara stirred in his arms. “Is it midnight, Papa?” Staying awake to see the magical twelfth hour was a goal she strove to reach.

Stefanie answered for him. “Not yet. Go back to sleep, baby.”

She reached over and stroked the hair back from Mara’s forehead. The gentleness of the gesture struck a chord within Nick. Until now he hadn’t realized that women like Stefanie existed in his generation. Under more neutral circumstances she would be someone he could foresee becoming a friend, perhaps more. Unfortunately she was daughter to the man who owed him a lot of money. If he had to mine Olympia project by project and stone by stone to retrieve it, he would do so. The mother superior and the orphans were depending upon him to honor his word. Letting her hand fall away, she lifted her face to look at him. “I’d better let you get this little one to bed.”

Mesmerized by her mouth—such sweetly parted lips—he nodded. “Kali nichta.” Good night.

“Kali nichta,” she repeated slowly as if she hadn’t spoken the Greek in a while. She slipped past him to open the door, and the closeness of the space brought their bodies brushing.

Nick felt the brief contact almost as an electrical charge frissoning through him. This was more than attraction—this was what those of his parents’ generation called “chemistry.” Who would have imagined that the temptress sent to test his willpower and newfound resolve to put aside his player ways and be a better man would take the form of his business opponent’s daughter?

Thinking God must have a sense of humor indeed, Nick shifted Mara in his arms and turned to go. “Sleep well, Stefanie.”

Chapter Four

Thursday, July 3

Why did it have to rain overnight? Stefanie lamented, staring out her screened front door waiting for Nick. Much of Acropolis Village was still a big dig. Any standing water would reduce the unfinished areas to bog land. She schooled herself to stay positive. It was pointless to focus on what she couldn’t change, in this case the forces of nature. To put the best face on the project, she’d try steering her VIP visitor away from the unfinished areas and focus on those that were at least partially built. The private beach was lovely, cleaned up after Hurricane Sandy, and the wildlife sanctuary lovingly restored. And then there was her trump card, her super secret weapon: Mona, a.k.a Mrs. G. Among the current homeowners, the retired office manager from Baltimore City’s Greek Town was the closest to a champion she had. So long as the senior stuck to the script they’d rehearsed, highlighting the development’s very real good points while glossing over the negatives, all should be well.

A gleaming red Ferrari turning onto her street announced Nick’s arrival. By eight thirty, he stood on her stoop dressed in jeans, a collared black shirt, and a cream-colored linen blazer that was clearly custom-made. The crisp fabric fitted him as though sewn to his skin. Imagining anchoring her hands to his broad shoulders and absorbing his steely strength, Stefanie sucked down a steadying breath.

“Good morning,” she said, stepping back for him to enter.

He did, filling her foyer with the same spicy, musky, altogether yummy male scent she’d detected the night before, only intensified. Had he put on cologne with her in mind? She dismissed the flattering thought with the reminder that the other evening he’d come directly from the airport. Today he was freshly showered and shaved, rested and pressed to perfection.

“Kali mera,” he said with a sunny smile, handing her a Starbucks bag filled with pastry. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a rock,” she answered, the lead into what would be a day chockfull of half-truths and deliberate deceptions. The truth was she’d scarcely slept at all, weary and yet too wired to do more than doze. Even when she had managed to drift off, sexy images of Nick had followed her into her dreams.

So far, stepping into the role of player didn’t feel as empowering as she’d expected. Had Pete felt this shitty about gaming her? Of course he hadn’t. Deception was what white-collar criminals did best. For her, however, spieling even little white lies was already proving to be a lot more taxing than she’d thought.

Holding out the takeout bag, the contents oozing grease, she said, “You didn’t need to bring breakfast.”

He inclined his head. “Need—perhaps not. But it is my pleasure. And I thought we might eat on the way.” His gaze flickered over her, warm and searching, the scrutiny making her glad she’d forgone the jeans she usually wore for site visits in favor of a chic floral-print two-piece.

Distracted, it took her a moment to realize that something, or rather someone, was missing. “Where’s Mara?”

He scraped back a lock of damp, dark hair that had fallen forward over his brow. Fixating on his fingers, tapered yet strong, she snapped herself back in time to hear him say, “I was able to arrange for a sitter through the hotel concierge. She was still sleeping when I left.”

So they would spend the day alone together. That was…convenient. With his bachelor status confirmed, she no longer needed to rely on food alone to woo him. Seduction, according to Macie, was one-third action and two-thirds tease. For her pop’s sake, Stefanie resolved to do her best on the provocation part. Falling into bed with him was out of the question. Single or married, Nick Costas was the enemy. Lust was apparently unavoidable, but she couldn’t afford to like him.

She peered past him to the Ferrari occupying a prime street parking space directly in front of her house. Really, who leased a Ferrari for just a few days? Apparently a visiting Greek billionaire did. And damn, she almost never scored that spot. Her ramshackle car was parked on a side street five blocks away, the closest she’d been able to get the last time she’d driven it. In addition to being extremely genetically blessed and born into the best of families, was he also like…living The Secret?

“What happened to the driver my pop arranged?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as miffed as she suddenly felt. Was the town car with its driver—a splurge for them—not good enough?

“I—how do you say it?—ditched him,” he said, his grin making him look more like a mischievous schoolboy than a mogul with the power to bulldoze her father’s business and her grandfather’s legacy.

Stefanie had planned on doing the driving, an intention she’d made clear last night. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You don’t know the area.”

He had, she grudgingly admitted, saved them a hike in the heat. Still, the way he seized control as a matter of course—as if being the leader was his birthright—galled her. As the owner of her own business, Stefanie was used to calling the shots. Ceding the proverbial driver’s seat didn’t sit well with her, not that it seemed she had a choice. Apparently “seducing” him would involve embracing her more traditional side.

He shrugged. “True, I do not, but you do. And the car has GPS,” he added in a teasing tone, reaching past her to open the door.

Remembering she was supposed to be winning him over, not picking him to pieces, she pasted on a smile. “In that case, how can I resist?”

Grabbing her handbag off the hook, she deliberately brushed his biceps, the muscle beneath the fine tailoring solid as steel. “Oh, sorry,” she said though of course she was anything but. Unfortunately she was turned on as well. Fantasizing about what it would feel like to be banded by his powerful embrace, wondering if she’d get to find out for real, she shivered against the sudden tingling tripping along her spine.

If Nick was affected by the casual contact, he gave no sign of it. Letting out a laugh, his big hand took possession of her shoulder, the heat from his palm searing through her clothes. “Do not look so worried, Stefanie. You will be safe with me.”

…

“And this is where the agora will be,” Stefanie said as they walked the periphery of the fenced-off marketplace, their safety boots sloshing through mud.

Apart from a pair of Doric columns and set of steps announcing the facade, the market building was still an empty slab of concrete foundation. It was a stark and sad contrast to the billboard depicting the architect’s rendering of an elegant glass-enclosed gallery containing a Greek grocery and specialty shops.

Silently Nick admitted the situation was even grimmer than it appeared on paper. The overnight rains had turned the unpaved pathways into a bog. Danger, Do Not Enter signs were prominently posted. Staked tarps, deserted cranes, and rusted construction equipment surrounded them. Other than the leasing office and one of the three mini-residential “villages,” most of the project was still a working construction site. Not working—abandoned. Stefanie had attributed the ghost town-like quality to the upcoming holiday, but Nick had his doubts. It was evident that the site had lain fallow for far longer than a few days.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked when she pulled out her iPhone yet again. The frequency with which she’d checked it since their arrival a few hours ago had him wondering what she might be up to.

The brim of her bright yellow hard hat slid forward, shadowing her lovely eyes, but not so much that Nick couldn’t detect the anxiety they reflected. Not for the first time since they’d arrived, he faulted her father for placing her in this position. What kind of coward fabricated having the flu and sent his daughter to defend him?

Shoving the phone back in her pocket, she walked on. “Just…keeping watch on the time. We’ll want to start back before four; otherwise we’ll get caught in rush hour.”

The hour drive up had been uneventful, the I-495 traffic running in a steady stream. Given that it was the summer holiday season, he surmised the return “rush hour” would also be more manageable than usual.

Curious as to what she would say, he asked, “Have you considered using more cost-conserving materials such as EIFIS?”

The synthetic stucco was a popular alternative frequently found in lower-budget residential development. Improper installation and testing often led to bulging and cracking of the outside surface and to water stains on the outer and inner walls, especially around windows and doors.

Stefanie wheeled around to face him. Shoving back her hat to look up at him, she jerked her chin to indicate the site they’d left behind. “Yeah, and the results look fine for the time being, long enough to unload the property on some poor, unsuspecting home buyer. Then you get a weather event or the building settles naturally and suddenly your dream house isn’t looking so dreamy at all. No thank you. I’d rather we take our time finishing things the right way than see Acropolis Village turn out like some tatty suburban strip mall. At Olympia, we don’t cut corners. We build to last, not for five or ten years out but for generations. That’s not just an empty slogan, Mr. Costas. That’s our covenant with consumers.”

Pleased by her passion, even if she had resumed calling him “Mr. Costas,” he said, “For one who is not ‘actively involved in daily operations’ you have an impressive knowledge of construction matters.”

She shrugged, her chin lifting in obvious pride. “Olympia Development has been in my family since my grandfather founded it in 1949. I grew up listening to him and my pop hashing this stuff out over Sunday dinners. I guess some of it sunk in.”

It seemed their backgrounds were more similar than Nick would have thought. He also had learned the family business at the knee of his father. He was still learning. Even having assumed the patriarch’s title and responsibilities, he hoped to have him around for many more years as a mentor.

For now, it was delightful to finally meet a woman with whom he could discuss these matters. Without exception, the models, actresses, and socialites he’d dated would have expired from boredom. Instead, Stefanie stood prepared to debate, even battle him if need be.

But their commonalities didn’t alter the unfortunate fact that they represented opposing sides of a significant business deal. Given those circumstances, he couldn’t afford to enjoy her company too greatly. He suspected that her accidental touch back at the house hadn’t been accidental at all but a deliberate power play. Laying his hand on her shoulder had begun as pure retaliation—and ended in sparking a great deal more. That she’d fitted his palm perfectly was an unfortunate coincidence. Nor had he been as unaffected as he’d forced himself to appear. Going forward, he’d need to be certain to raise his guard around her at all times.

Nick nodded. “I would say a great deal has sunk in. Only please, go back to calling me Nick. ‘Mr. Costas’ makes me feel like I am as old as my father,” he added with a wink, a calculated attempt to disarm her.

Her expression lightened. An adorable dimple appeared on the right side of her mouth. “All right…Nick.” She looked up at him with a smile, sending the construction hat seesawing. Acting on instinct, Nick shot out a hand to right it.

Before he could, something or someone caught Stefanie’s eye and she spun away. “Mrs. Gianikos!” she shouted, throwing both arms high into the air.

Dropping his hand, Nick followed her gaze to the roadside where a seventyish woman wearing a sports visor and wrist weights power-walked up the jogging path toward them. “This is a friend of yours?”

Expression fevered, she turned back to him. “Mrs. G and her husband were among the first wave of purchasers in ’07. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”

Grasping his hand, she ferried them forward. Taken by surprise, Nick hesitated, then relaxed, allowing her to tow him along. Though her behavior struck him as odd, even suspicious, he followed anyway. Like his hand molding to her shoulder, her slender fingers fitting about his felt so very…right.

They met the newcomer midway. Stefanie broke hands and sallied forward. “Mrs. Gianikos I’m so glad we ran into you. How are you today?” she asked, pitching her voice higher.

“Fit as a fiddle,” Mrs. Gianikos replied, a smile cracking her wizened face. Tanned, slender, and silver-haired, she could have been a poster “child” for AARP. “Only how many times do I gotta tell you it’s Mona?” She turned to Nick, raking him from head to foot with her keen, wizened eyes. “Who’s the hottie?” she asked, waving a wrinkled hand his way.

Face heating, he stepped forward. “Nick Costas,” he answered, taking her hand in his.

Cheeks pink, Stefanie hurried to explain, “Mr. Costas’s company provided the startup funding for Acropolis Village. He’s visiting us from Greece.”

The two women exchanged what struck Nick as a significant look. “Oh, that’s swell,” Mona enthused. “My family emigrated from Rhodes when I was a little girl. I don’t remember much but what I do remember I miss.”

“Mrs. G—Mona—and her husband own one of the lovely two bedroom bungalows,” Stefanie added, steering the conversation back to the project. “Every room has a water view.”

The woman bobbed her silvered head. “All my life it’s been my dream to live by the water. We bought one a block from the beach. Since making the move, we’ve come to think of ourselves as pioneers,” she added with a chuckle.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick caught Stefanie flinch. “Why is that?” he asked although standing amidst the staked tarps and rusted construction equipment, the answer seemed obvious.

Mrs. G hesitated. Looking from him to Stefanie, she said, “Well, there aren’t all that many neighbors, not that we mind. After living in the city for most of our lives, we appreciate the peace and quiet.”

Stefanie cleared her throat. “Since this is Nick’s first time seeing the project, I’m hoping you can spare a few minutes to talk about why you and your husband decided to retire here.”

The leading question confirmed Nick’s suspicion that Mrs. G hadn’t just happened by. She was a plant, a setup Stefanie had enlisted to dupe him. Still, one of the many lessons Nick’s father had impressed upon him was that a wise man put his pride aside long enough to listen. Even when people set out to deceive you, they almost always revealed something of value. In that spirit, he folded his arms across his chest and waited.

“A few minutes, ha! Honey, I’ve got the rest of my life. What do you want to know?”

Stefanie opened her mouth, but this time Nick cut her off before she could get the first word out. “Perhaps you would be so good as to take me through a typical day?”

She blinked. “A typical day?” Clearly his question must mean going off script.

Nick nodded. “Yes, in your own words, if you please.” He darted Stefanie a deliberate look. Really, she must think him a fool.

Mona pursed her lips. “Well, we keep retirement hours, so we usually don’t get up in the mornings until around nine. We have our coffee, read the paper, and fiddle on Facebook and e-mail. If it’s a nice day, I’ll pack us a lunch and we’ll take the folding chairs and head to the beach for a few hours. We both just love living on the water, as you can probably tell.” She stretched out a wiry arm in evidence.

Nick glanced back to Stefanie, busy biting the lipstick from her lower lip. Addressing Mrs. G, he quizzed, “You carry your own chairs from home and back? But I thought the plan called for providing rental-free beach chairs and umbrellas to residents and their guests?” He stared past her to Stefanie.

“We haven’t quite finished construction on the cabana,” she admitted, shoulders drooping.

“And the snack bar?” he asked purposefully.

“Actually, that was reimagined as a food truck—mine.” Her wistful look told him that much, at least, was sincere. “The menu would be—will be—Greek street food—gyros, krokets, tyropitas—all made with heart healthy recipes and ingredients. The idea was—is—to start by having it on weekends and then expanding into weekdays, assuming the interest is here.”

“It all sounds wonderful, honey, it really does,” Mona broke in. “And once the festival hall is finished, you can maybe set up a food cart inside, too.” Her gaze flickered to Nick. “This year again we drove back to Baltimore for the annual Greek Festival and Parade. The kids and grandkids met us on the steps of our church, Saint Nicholas.”

“That sounds nice,” Nick said, wondering where she was leading.

“Oh, it was,” she agreed. “We had a ball.” Smile dimming, she added, “Only my Constantine’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be, so we left earlier than we would have liked to get back before dark. Next year we hope to be able to invite the family out here to celebrate at the new festival hall.”

Everyone’s gazes veered back to the crater. So far only the foundation had been laid.

An awkward silence descended. Mona broke it, swinging her gaze around to Nick. “Do you want to hear the rest of my typical day?”

Watching Stefanie out of the corner of his eye, Nick shook his head. “Thank you but that will not be necessary. We have diverted you from your walk long enough.”

Mona hesitated. “All right then, I’ll be on my way. Toodles.”

They stood side by side watching Mona wind her way up the path at an impressive pace. “Would you uh…like to see the taverna next?” Stefanie asked in a pained voice.

“Is it unfinished, too?” he asked, surmising the answer. She looked so downtrodden that despite the attempted setup, Nick found it hard not to feel for her.

Turning away to look out toward the beach, she admitted, “Actually it is un-started.”

Although a generously built woman, she suddenly looked achingly small and fragile, swathed in her borrowed construction hat and boots standing amidst the ruins of her family’s failing legacy. The impulse to reach out to her, to take her hand as she had earlier taken his, nearly overwhelmed him—nearly, but not quite. As her pathetically transparent attempt to deceive him had demonstrated, her allegiance was all to her father. That was as it should be. But Nick too had a father and a family legacy to uphold as well as his pledge—his word of honor—to the mother superior that he would build a new orphanage.

And then there was that other vow he’d made, this one to himself, to put his player days behind him and be the father Mara deserved. He didn’t intend to weaken, even if his hostess did have the lush, buxom body of an Aphrodite and the most soul-stirring eyes he’d ever stared into.

Forcing his hands to remain at his sides, Nick shook his head. “I have seen enough. Let us start back and face this fierce traffic of which you speak. Mara will be missing me.”

…

Stefanie acknowledged she’d blown the visit to Acropolis Village—badly. The mud and standing water had made everything look that much bleaker and unfinished. Slogging Nick through field upon field of fallow dreams had brought home just how rough the site still was. By now it shouldn’t be a site at all but a bustling community. She couldn’t even find it in her heart to be miffed at Mona—even the most energetic cheerleader had to put down her pom-poms at some point.

Beyond how badly her plans had backfired, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d lost hard won ground with Nick. The drive back to DC had been a quiet one. Beyond the radio, there’d been little talking—and absolutely no flirting.

Fortunately the following day was Friday, July Fourth, and the party at Macie and Ross’s. Several of Macie’s friends from New York were driving down for the holiday and, as she’d promised her pop, she’d be bringing Nick. After Mona’s bungled testimonial, she’d braced herself for his refusal or at the very least some serious hemming and hawing. Instead he’d graciously agreed to go, provided he could bring Mara. Relieved, she’d assured him the gathering would be totally kid-friendly. She only hoped that some of the party spirit would wear off on him.

In the interim, between preparing for Macie’s and the congressman’s barbecues, she was kept too busy to do much brooding. Sending her assistant off to MacLean in her spare van packed with party platters, she hurried to get herself ready. Acknowledging that she needed to get her seduction plan back on track and fast, she shoved aside the last of her modesty and reached for the V-neck, paisley-patterned halter top she’d sworn to Macie she’d never ever wear in public. Staring at her reflection with a critical eye, still she had to admit that Macie had been right. The skimpy top looked pretty damned good on her.

True, her stomach might not be the flattest but her arms were worth showing off, her biceps sculpted not from Pilates but from years of lifting heavy coolers and packed market bags. And then there were her other…assets. She hesitated and then dropped a second button from the front. In for a penny, in for a pound or so her mother had been fond of saying.

Given that her pop was in to Nick for a hell of a lot of pounds—2.5 million of them—flashing him a glimpse of the girls felt justified. She supposed she could always e-mail Gloria Steinham and ask for absolution once Olympia was restored to solvency and safely in family hands. Until then, feminism felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford.

When Nick pulled up in front of her house, Mara occupying the front passenger’s seat, she was just pulling up the zipper on her new low-rise jeans and slipping her feet into white patent-leather strappy sandals.

There was no way that her coolers and myriad thermal food sleeves were going to fit into a Ferrari. Fortunately, for once she’d found street parking close by. Watching him load everything into her Good Enuf to Eat van and then slip behind the wheel decimated any remaining determination to see him as a spoiled international party boy. One-Percenter status notwithstanding, Nick was a really decent guy. The business deal their fathers had forged, and her former fiancé’s scam, had put them both in a seriously stinky situation—a situation that Stefanie was committed to helping her pop turn around if at all possible.

But today was a holiday, America’s birthday, and when Nick made no mention of her father or the flu, Stefanie allowed herself to feel a measure of relief. Nor did she miss how his gaze kept edging over to the front passenger’s seat. Steeling herself not to squirm or slouch, she forced her shoulders back and held her head high, even experimenting by tossing in the little hair-flicking gesture she’d seen Lena and Lettie use to great effect. Certainly Nick was substantially more sophisticated than the recent college grads her stepsisters dated and yet despite the quiet in the car she flattered herself that he wasn’t unaffected.

Now that she knew what an excellent driver he was, Stefanie found that she actually enjoyed being chauffeured. Standing in the hallway outside Macie and Ross’s, she admitted she was actually looking forward to the day. Even though she was, technically speaking, “working” the party, she couldn’t imagine a better group with which to celebrate—or a hotter “date” to bring. Enemy or not, Nick was breath stealing. Until now, she hadn’t realized his arms were so…big, but then this was her first time seeing him in anything other than a long-sleeved dress shirt. The wine-colored Ralph Lauren polo showed off his bulging biceps to perfection. Imagining what it would be like to run her hands along that smooth expanse of tanned, rock-hard flesh, she turned her flushing face away to the car window.

She’d been worried about traffic and blocked-off streets but Nick managed to get them to the Watergate in impressive time. Emptying the van took several trips. Once they did, Nick left Stefanie in the lobby and went to park in the garage. He returned and with the help of the doorman, they loaded up a luggage rack with the coolers and handled bags and headed into the elevator.

Following Nick as he rolled the cart up to Macie and Ross’s apartment door, Stefanie felt a thrill of anticipation. After all the years of showing up dateless and later dragging a grudging Pete along, she was looking forward to her friends’ reaction.

Macie must have been waiting since the doorman first buzzed them in. Standing on the open threshold, she stared from Stefanie to Nick, a smile breaking over her face. “Wow, you must be…wow.”

Ross appeared in the doorway behind his wife. Tall, sandy-haired, and seemingly unflappable, he smiled at Stefanie and shoved a broad-backed hand toward Nick. “Welcome to our home,” he said in a pronounced Texas twang. “I’m Ross, and this here is my wife, Macie.” He looked beyond them to the full cart. “First things first, put us to work.”

They spent the next hour ferrying food and drinks up to the building’s rooftop. The deck would afford a bird’s-eye view of the national fireworks, a civilized alternative to camping out on the crowded Capitol lawn. Fortunately Ross had already brought up several folding tables and chairs. Even Ross’s teenage daughter, Samantha, stepped up to help, keeping Mara entertained with her iPad while the adults set up.

“You two are the most chill clients ever,” Stefanie remarked as they finished up in the condo’s kitchen. “But really, you didn’t have to stockpile disposables. I always bring flatware, serving utensils, and cutlery and take them away at the end of the event. It’s part of the service.”

Standing at the sink arranging a bouquet of red, white, and blue carnations for a centerpiece, Macie looked back over her shoulder. “No way am I sending you home on a holiday loaded down with our dirty dishes. You have better things to do with your evening,” she added, cutting a look to Nick, busy emptying another bag of ice into the standing cooler.

Mesmerized by his broad back and tight butt, Stefanie managed a mute nod. At times such as this she had to remind herself that he was the enemy—and she the one in control.

“Don’t worry,” Macie went on. “It’s all 100 percent recyclable.” She glanced over to Nick. “I work for an environmental magazine. If my coworkers caught wind that I was going less than full-throttle green, they’d have my hide.”

Chuckling, he straightened and turned toward them. “Your rubbish secrets are safe with me.”

Momentarily overcome by his hotness, Stefanie quickly averted her gaze. Addressing Macie, she conceded, “Okay, so long as you didn’t cook, too.”

Carrying the centerpiece out into the main room, Macie snorted. “Ha! Other than huevos rancheros and grilled cheese and tuna-fish sandwiches, I don’t know how to make anything.”

“Huevos rancheros?” Nick asked, darting a look between them.

“Don’t ask,” Ross warned him with a grin.

“It’s sort of an inside joke,” Stefanie admitted.

If Nick was offended at being left out, he gave no sign of it. “Perhaps, Stefanie, you will share the story with me…later?”

Was he hinting that their evening might continue beyond the party? Or was she maybe reading too much into his casual remark? Feeling flushed despite the AC running at full blast, she nodded. “S-sure.”

He smiled, the tanned skin bracketing his eyes crinkling. “Good, then I shall—how is it you say?—hold you to it.”

God, but he was good-humored. And hot, so very hot. A beep brought her back to sanity—and her iPhone. Picking it up from the counter, she saw the text message from her assistant, and her heart dove into her stomach. Luckily, though, the text wasn’t to report any calamity. Instead it confirmed the congressman’s event was unfolding exactly as planned. Even better, his wife was so impressed with the food and service that she wanted to hire Good Enuf to Eat for her family dinners as well. Stefanie typed a quick “Awesome!!!” and put the phone away. Thinking of all the holidays and vacations she’d missed since she’d begun the business, she wondered if she really needed to remain 100 percent hands-on. She had two good people working for her and with the addition of the new clients, including the congressman’s family, she could probably afford to hire a third. If she took some time to train one of them as a manager, she could finally take that trip to Greece she’d spent the past eight years postponing.

Immersed in envisioning herself wading in sky blue waters, sighing over stunning sunsets, and eating beautiful food—all alongside Nick—she lost track of time. She’d just pulled the plastic wrap off the last of the platters when the first set of guests arrived. Ross’s ex, British-born fashion photographer Francesca, breezed in with her Silicon Valley CEO boyfriend, Greg. From Macie, Stefanie knew that the two had fallen in love on the set of an LA reality TV show where Greg was the ugly duckling contestant and Francesca his “fairy god mentor.”

Macie’s former magazine managing editor, Starr, and her hunky Florida-born fiancé, Matt, arrived just behind them. Once known for her fiery temper and curmudgeon ways, the pixie-like redhead looked entirely angelic wrapped up in her lover’s brawny arm.

In deference to her international guest, Stefanie had added Greek salad, cheese-and-leek pie, and baklava to the traditional Independence Day menu she’d made. Their party of ten began noshing at noon. Though she’d made more than enough food, Stefanie was hard-pressed to keep the platters filled.

Cornering Stefanie alone in the kitchen, Nick reached for the platters she’d collected. “Stop,” he said, reaching for them. “It is a holiday, is it not?”

Stefanie hesitated and then surrendered the stack. “It is, but I’m the caterer. And you’re a guest.”

Setting the plates on the counter, he shook his head. “No, today you are a generous friend who has made beautiful food to be enjoyed by, it seems, everyone but herself.” A dark brow lifted. “Have you even tasted this baklava?” He gestured to the tray set out on the counter.

Stefanie hesitated. It wasn’t as though she needed the extra calories, though she could hardly say so to him. “No I haven’t, but I make it all the time.”

“For others, yes. When was the last time you sat down with a sweet and an espresso and savored?”

Stefanie hesitated. She spent so much time tasting dishes in her kitchen as she was preparing them that she was rarely hungry—and just as rarely full. Sitting down to an actual meal, or even a snack, was a rarity. “I don’t know. A while, I guess.”

Nick reached around her to the counter, his pectoral brushing her breast, whether deliberately or accidentally Stefanie couldn’t say for certain. What she could say for certain was that it felt good—really good. Good enough to want more.

I am the seducer, not the seducee, I am the seducer, not the seducee…

No matter how many times she mentally repeated the mantra, she didn’t feel in complete control at the moment. She didn’t feel in control at all.

Eschewing the spatula, Nick stuck his hand in the pan and pulled off a gooey precut wedge.

“You know what you just did is sacrilege,” Stefanie said, fighting a smile.

Smiling back, he brought the dessert to her lips. “I am making the food gods very angry, I am sure, but I will risk it if you will. Open.”

The last time someone had fed her she’d probably been all of five. Stefanie hesitated and then opened. Gooey, honeyed heaven sweetened the inside of her mouth.

“Chew,” he ordered softly, bringing his face down to hers, and to her surprise once more, she obeyed.

A syrupy thumb slid across her bottom lip, raising a bevy of tingles. “It is good, yes?” His eyes locked on hers and suddenly she wasn’t at all sure he referred to the pastry.

Fighting the urge to suck at his digit, Stefanie swallowed—hard. “It’s delicious.”

Nick stepped back, eyes dark and dancing. “Yes, Stefanie, it is. Now come upstairs and join the party. Your friends are missing you. I am missing you.”

“But I—”

“No buts.” He held out his hand, the same hand he’d used to feed her. “There is a time for staying behind-the-scenes, for hiding out in the kitchen, and this is not it.”

By nine o’ clock, most of the platters were scraped clean. At nine fifteen the fireworks began. Standing beside Nick as the sky exploded into a kaleidoscope of glittering, multicolored constellations, Stefanie reflected that it had been a surprisingly good day. Though she wasn’t sure what the interlude in the kitchen had meant, or not meant, she’d enjoyed it—a lot. As great as Nick was one-on-one, he was also a fun addition to their group. Although she’d been nervous about bringing him into a party of strangers, especially one comprised entirely of couples, he hadn’t seemed to mind. Affable and charming, he’d won over everyone, including…Stefanie.

Emboldened by the semidarkness, she stole a sideways glance at him, his profiled face reflecting rapt attention. Staring skyward, his kiss-worthy lips were ever so slightly parted, his one hand resting idly on Mara’s shoulder. Recalling the sensation of his big thumb stroking across her mouth, she shivered despite the muggy night.

The final salvo faded to smoke. Sighs and claps drifted on the balmy air. Flipping the overhead light back on, Macie rallied the group. “Let’s move the party inside. This humidity is killing me, not to mention frizzing my hair.”

Ross chuckled. “If you think this is hot, try Texas in the summer.” He reached into the cooler. “Who’s up for another beer?”

Matt shook his head. “No thanks. I’m driving us back to the hotel.” Walking up to the rail, he peered over the side to the bumper-to-bumper traffic blocking New Hampshire Avenue. “Will you look at that gridlock?”

“Yeah, it’ll be bad for a few hours yet,” Ross agreed, passing out sodas and beers.

Greg reached for a Heineken. “Since Francesca and I are bunking here for the night, I’ll have one more.”

Popping the cap on a Coors, Ross turned toward Nick. “What about you?”

“Thank you but I am driving as well,” Nick answered. Gaze flickering over to Stefanie, he slanted a slow smile that sent her heart somersaulting.

Aware of Macie watching her, she picked up a platter upon which one lonely deviled egg rested. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

Ross took a swig of his beer. “We’ll join you ladies in a few.”

Samantha took Mara by the hand and led her toward the stairwell. “Come on, Mara. We can watch the replay of the fireworks on TV.”

“Cool,” Mara answered, using slang she’d learned that day.

Back in the apartment, Stefanie and Macie commandeered kitchen cleanup while Starr and Francesca plopped down at the breakfast bar to wrap up the remaining leftovers. It was the first time they’d been apart from the men all day, and Stefanie could feel the collective curiosity cresting toward combustion.

Francesca looked up from the barbecued beef ribs she’d been foiling. “Samantha, darling, weren’t you about to show Mara your room?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Don’t anyone wet their pants. We’re going.” Looking down at Mara, she added, “This is what’s known as making yourself scarce.”

They waited for the confirming click of the bedroom door and then started in. “Oh…my…God,” Macie proclaimed in a high hush. “He really does look like a young John Stamos only…hotter if that’s even possible.” She turned to Stefanie and lifted her hand in a high-five.

“In his Dr. Tony Gates days,” Starr amended. “I couldn’t handle the Uncle Jesse mullet.”

Expression pensive, Francesca added, “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I met him in Milan during Fashion Week a few years ago.”

Stefanie bit back a groan. “Let me guess, he was trolling for models?”

Francesca hesitated, and then admitted, “He had a…friend with him—two friends, actually.” She leaned in and whispered their names, one an international porn star, the other the twentysomething daughter of a former European president. “But I’m sure that’s all water under the bridge. He certainly seems very…attentive to you.”

Stefanie felt herself flush. “I’m his hostess. I’m sure it’s nothing more than good manners on his part.” Thinking back to their earlier food flirting, she hoped that wasn’t true, at least not totally. It seemed that her seduction plan might finally be gathering steam. But she needed to proceed with caution. Neither she nor Olympia could afford a replay of the Pete situation—and she was a lot more attracted to Nick than she’d ever been to her nefarious fiancé.

Francesca turned to Starr. “When I heard you and Matt would be coming down for the Fourth as well, I packed your Saks shoes with the intention of returning them, but it occurs to me that Stefanie might be in a position to put them to use.”

Starr’s aquamarine eyes lit. “You brought the Cinderella slippers with you? Excellent!”

Confused, Stefanie echoed, “Cinderella slippers?”

Starr nodded. “That’s what we call them, but really they’re vintage red-velvet heels from the thirties.”

“Originally owned by Maddie Mulligan, the silent film star,” Macie added, closing the refrigerator on the last of the leftovers. “They were a gift from Franc before I left New York for DC,” she added. The celebrity stylist turned reality TV host was filming in LA and hadn’t been able to get back for the holiday.

Starr spoke up, “And I got them as a Christmas birthday present from Macie. Best Christmas and birthday of my life,” she added, her twinkling eyes leaving no doubt.

“I got them on loan from Starr at Valentine’s after I broke it off with Evil Freddie,” Francesca explained, referring to the sous chef she’d kicked to the curb the previous winter. “I wore them to the final taping of Project Cinderella but Franc, the sly fox, never let on he’d found them in the first place.”

Stefanie waited for a lull before asking, “What’s so special about these shoes?” Her friends were an exceedingly well-shod bunch. Macie easily owned close to a hundred pairs, including multiple Manolos and Jimmy Choos.

“Legend has it the shoes bring luck in love to whoever wears them,” Macie explained with a straight face. “According to Maddie’s memoir, the shoes prompted her confirmed bachelor beau, Carlos Banks, to propose. Each of us has a similar story related to wearing them.”

Starr grinned. “Yep, you’re looking at three Happily Ever After testimonials.”

Stefanie couldn’t credit how three such smart, logical women could flip out over shoes. “That’s…crazy.”

Macie shrugged. “Any crazier than a feminist New Yorker finding her Happily Ever After with a conservative Texan? Maybe crazy has a time and place.”

Looking around the room, Francesca said, “We’re either dreadful regifters or members of a potent female sisterhood that passes about shoes in lieu of pants. Regardless, it seems to me it’s Stefanie’s turn.”

“But you’re all skinny girls,” Stefanie protested. “I’m a big girl with big feet, plus they’re probably swollen from the heat.”

“That’s the great thing about these shoes; they seem to fit everyone,” Macie countered.

“Like magic!” Starr exclaimed, eyes dancing.

Standing, Francesca sent Starr a quelling look. “The leather is exceedingly supple,” she added in a more measured tone. “I’ll just go fetch them from my luggage,” she added, heading to cut through the great room.

She returned with an antique inlaid wooden box and gave the box to Francesca, who passed it to Starr, who passed it to Macie.

Smile encouraging, Macie held it out to Stefanie. “Go for it, girlfriend.”

Wondering what the big deal was, Stefanie reached for the box. “Okay, but remember when I split the stitching that I warned you,” she added, lifting the hinged lid.

Two red-velvet-covered sling backs lay nestled against the satin-lined box. Canary-colored rhinestones winked up at her from the straps and vamps. The shoes were worthy of a Hollywood starlet—or a fairy-tale princess.

“Do you like them?” Macie asked, moving in for a closer look.

Stefanie could only nod, her gaze glued to the shoes. Despite being seventy-five or so years old, they were in amazing condition—no distinct signs of damage beyond one missing stud.

Gingerly she picked one up. It was as tiny as she’d feared. “These must be a size six.” A peek inside one shoe confirmed it.

“American sizing was very different back then,” Francesca said encouragingly.

Small was small no matter what the official label. Willing her size eight feet to shrink, she slipped off her right sandal and slid her foot into the plush velvet. Looking up at her anxiously awaiting friends, she admitted, “It’s a perfect fit. How is that even possible?”

“Magic,” Starr persisted without apology, handing her the mate.

Stefanie put it on as well.

A grin wreathed Macie’s face. “Get up and take a victory lap.”

Stefanie scooted off the stool and stood. At five foot ten, wearing heels always made her feel even more ungainly, but standing among her friends, she felt elegant and statuesque—magic indeed.

Hearing the men approaching from the hallway, they quieted. Grabbing the shoebox, Stefanie ducked behind the breakfast bar rather than being caught playing dress up.

The apartment door opened. The men entered.

Nick’s gaze circled the room before coming to rest on Stefanie. Eyes lighting, he announced, “I sense a secret.”

“You ladies look positively conspiratorial,” Ross concurred, walking up to them.

“They do,” Greg agreed, heading for Francesca as though they’d spent days apart.

Matt followed. “I know that look,” he said, tipping up Starr’s chin, “and it almost always spells trouble.”

Ross laid a hand on either of Macie’s slender shoulders. “Spill it, sweetheart. What’d we miss?”

Macie planted a peck on her husband’s square jaw and stepped back. “Not a thing, baby.”

The casual PDA brought a blush burning Stefanie’s cheeks. What would it be like to touch and be touched that way by Nick, in public as well as in private? She sent a sideways glance his way and was surprised—and pleased—to find him watching her, his gaze inscrutable and yet undeniably intense, even…burning, as though he wanted her.

A warm shiver shot through her. Surrounded though they were, she suddenly felt as if they were the only two in the room—alone and awash in a sea of pheromones. But then softening him up, seducing him—albeit stopping short of sex—was her self-appointed mission for the following few days. The romantic shoes she’d just been handed were another prop for setting the scene, a reminder that she didn’t have time to waste.

She discreetly slipped off the heels, returned them to the box, and crossed to the front of the counter. “It’s pumpkin time for me,” she said, patting away a broad, fake yawn. If nothing else, being gifted with the shoes had reminded her of her seduction mission. Looking over at Nick, she slipped on a smile. “If you’re ready to brave the holiday traffic, we should probably start packing up. Besides, I still owe you a story.”

Chapter Five

“Thanks for coming out,” Stefanie said from behind her kitchen counter as Nick carried in the last of what he’d begun thinking of as her “food luggage.” “I hope you weren’t bored.”

“Not at all,” he said sincerely, setting the stack of thermal sleeves on the granite top and trying not to think about all the ways that sturdy surface might be employed in making love to Stefanie. Ever since the night of the welcome dinner, he’d been plagued by the mental picture of her perched atop it, naked except for her flowing hair. Forcing the fantasy to the back of his mind, he added, “Your friends are delightful. I know Mara enjoyed herself as well.”

“Sam and I played Angry Birds and I even won once!” Mara piped up from her place on the floor. Using the cooler as a makeshift picnic table, she and Raggedy Ann were having a pretend Fourth of July picnic with the plasticware Stefanie had given her.

“That’s great, sweetie,” Stefanie said, pausing from putting away the unused dishes to flash a smile. “I’m so glad you had a good day.”

Her pretty hair, which she’d pinned up in deference to the heat, was once more tumbling down. The urge to reach across and sink his fingers into the silky tresses struck him and not for the first time. All day he’d found himself fighting excuses to touch her. Keeping his hands otherwise occupied by helping with carrying and cleanup was his best defense—that and Mara. It was a good thing he had her with him; otherwise he wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t weaken.

Still he found himself searching for an excuse to prolong the evening. “I’m afraid I must hold you to your earlier promise.”

Stefanie’s head shot up from the padded dishes pack she unloaded. Stiffening, she asked, “My…promise?”

She must assume he referred to the outstanding loan. For Nick, the reminder was the equivalent of wading into an icy lake. Feeling his good mood dip along with his libido, he hastened to clarify, “You still owe me a story.”

Shoulders relaxing, she said, “Oh, right, the huevos rancheros. Do you want the long or the short version?”

Despite it being beyond Mara’s bedtime, Nick wanted the long version that would provide him with an excuse to linger. Rather than say so, he shrugged. “I want whatever version you are most happy to share.”

She nibbled her lower lip, her habit when gathering her thoughts. “Okay, so, a year ago Macie was living in Manhattan and working as the features editor for On Top, a liberal women’s magazine. Ross had moved from Texas to DC to host this pretty conservative radio talk show. By accident, he came across a copy of the magazine in his daughter’s room, saw it opened to an article on teenage birth”— she glanced over at Mara— “on a subject he felt was too adult for her, and went absolutely ballistic.”

Ballistic? “He was very angry, yes?” And she was close enough to touch. Nick flattened his hands atop the counter and willed them to remain there.

“Oh yes,” she confirmed, rolling her beautiful brown eyes. “He broadcast this big rant about the magazine and the fallout almost got Macie fired. Anybody else would have hunkered down until it all blew over, but not Macie. She changed her looks, came to DC, and got herself the job as his live-in housekeeper so she could dig up any skeletons he might be hiding.”

“And did she find these…skeletons?” he asked, Incredulous and intriguing as the tale was proving to be, the charm lay in Stefanie’s vivid telling of it.

“Not…exactly,” she hedged and once again he suspected she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“That is a most intriguing story, but what does it have to do with…eggs?”

Again she bit her lip and regardless of the money and Mara in the room, it was a battle for Nick not to reach across, take her in his arms, and kiss her. “Macie didn’t—doesn’t—cook, so she got me to agree to bring in Good Enuf to Eat meals every day once Ross left for work.”

Sweet Stefanie, it seemed she was forever being compromised and imposed upon by the people she loved. “And you did this?”

Her chin lifted. As she had the other day during their debate over construction costs versus quality, she forgot her shyness and looked him squarely in the eye. “She’s my best friend.”

It was yet another example of her loyalty, the same loyalty she’d showed to her father the other day when she’d taken him on her selective tour of Acropolis Village. Misguided though her attempts to trick him might be, he couldn’t help but admire her motives, which seemed to be based in selfless love.

“She is most lucky to have you as hers.”

She shrugged off the compliment, her gaze veering away. “Lucky goes both ways. She recently helped me out big time with…something I needed to do. But to finish up my story, once she and Ross started falling for each other—which FYI took all of five minutes—she wanted to cook him something herself. Coming from Texas, he’s crazy about Tex-Mex food, huevos rancheros especially, so I walked her through how to make it. Now she cooks it for him and Samantha practically every morning. At this point, they must have guacamole coming out of their ears,” she added with a laugh.

Nick laughed, too. “You may not have vegetables coming out of your ears but you are about to lose an earring.” Now who was being less than truthful? The black pearl looked slightly loose but nowhere near separating from its post.

He’d half expected Stefanie to step back and fix it herself only she didn’t budge. Standing in place, she lifted her gaze to his. Looking up at him through her lashes, she moistened her lips. “I don’t have a mirror in here. Maybe you could help me?”

Nick didn’t answer beyond a nod. He lifted his hand from the counter and reached up. Tucking a strand of silky hair behind her ear wasn’t strictly necessary but he did it anyway. Stefanie’s breathing quickened or so it seemed to Nick. Glancing downward, he saw that one of her top blouse buttons had come undone. Dragging his gaze from the generous vista of creamy cleavage, he took her lobe between his thumb and forefinger and gently pushed the earring post in place.

“Thank you,” she said, still staring up at him, her gaze luminous, captivating.

Nick neither dropped his hand nor stepped back. “You are most welcome.” Tracing the juncture of her jaw with light fingers, he leaned in and guided her face to his.

Banging drew their attention down to the floor. Nick dropped his hand and jerked around. Unsupervised, Mara had a handful of fused ice cubes and was busy banging the block on Stefanie’s refinished floor.

“Mara, stop that!” Nick said, darting toward her.

Mara dropped the ice, face crumpling. “I was trying to make ice for the tea like we had today,” she said, shrinking away from him. Her small, trembling voice told him he’d overreacted.

“It’s okay,” Stefanie intervened, grabbing a roll of paper towels. “All kids are fascinated by ice. I know I was.”

Nick grabbed the roll and walked over to his daughter. Dropping down beside her, he said, “No, Mara, it is I who am sorry.” It is I who am at fault. “I shouldn’t have shouted.” He tore off a handful of paper sheets and began sponging up the water. Instead of taking out his adult frustrations on an innocent child, he ought to be thankful. Were it not for Mara’s timely interruption, he would have broken his own rule and blended his personal and business affairs in the most compromising of ways. The lovely day spent with Stefanie in the company of her friends, all happily coupled, had him wishing that they’d met socially, as simply a man and a woman, rather than as representatives of their families’ at-odds business interests.

Stefanie crossed to the front of the counter and joined them on the floor. She tore off more paper towels and erased the remaining water with one efficient swipe. “There. All dry, see? Like magic.” She wrapped Mara in a consoling one-armed hug.

Seeing his child rest her head trustingly against Stefanie, Nick felt as if an invisible fist closed over his heart, milking him of both blood and feeling. This woman was what his American friends called a “keeper.” If only her surname were any other than Stefanopoulos. If only she lived in Greece rather than America. If only he’d met her before any loan had been made. If only one of those caveats could be met, Nick would not hesitate. He would ask Stefanie out on a date. He would wine and dine and woo her and when the time was right, he would sweep her into his arms and carry her to his bed.

But circumstances being what they were, the most he could offer her was a fling. Even were he to go through with breaking his no-mixing-business-with-pleasure rule, Stefanie did not strike him as a fling sort of woman. She was what his mother and those of her generation referred to as a “good girl.” One did not take such a woman to bed and then leave her after a few brief days.

Which left them sitting facing one another on the kitchen floor, Mara wedged between them, a tiny but effective chaperone. Stefanie’s eyes edged over her to him. “Uh, by the way, my pop called earlier while we were still at Ross and Macie’s.”

The remark was yet another reminder that the debt dividing them was not going to magically dissolve. “You spoke to him?” he asked, raising his guard. She shook her head. “No, but he left a message asking me to pass on his apologies.”

He studied her flushed face and downcast eyes. She truly was a terrible liar. “Do his apologies include making a meeting date?”

Looking nearly as miserable as Mara had a moment ago, she shook her head. “He’s going to need another day or two before he’s uh…strong enough.”

“I see,” he said, half tempted to demand a doctor’s note.

The situation was as clear as the melting ice. The old man was still stalling, putting Stefanie in the unenviable position of acting as his apologist. Ordinarily Nick wouldn’t tolerate such transparent trickery. He didn’t plan to tolerate it, not indefinitely.

She sent him a tentative smile. “If you’re free tomorrow, I’d love to show you and Mara around the city.”

Nick hesitated. It was obvious she was working on behalf of her father to put him off. But two could play this game and the almost kiss in the kitchen had confirmed that the strong attraction he felt wasn’t in any way one-sided. Stefanie had wanted him to kiss her. Disavowing his player past didn’t mean he’d lost his touch. The weekend ahead should provide him with ample opportunities for pushing past her defenses to discover exactly where his money had gone. Realizing she still awaited his answer, he found his smile and nodded. “That would be delightful. I know Mara will love it,” he added, lest he seem overeager.

Her smile spread, lighting her wonderful eyes—eyes from which Nick found it difficult to look away. “Is there anything you think she’d particularly enjoy seeing?” she asked, glancing to Mara, whose head was drooping.

“Why not surprise us?” he suggested gamely, gathering Mara and Raggedy Ann into his arms and rising. Whether motivated by business or pleasure or both, keeping her out any longer would be unpardonable parenting.

Standing as well, Stefanie’s smile dazzled. “Great, then it’s a date.”

…

Saturday, July 5

“Can we see the elephants next? Can we, Papa?”

Nick smiled. “We can see whatever you wish, Mara, but let us complete the Asia Trail first. We still have the giant pandas to see.” He glanced over at Stefanie. “I only hope we are not wearing out our welcome—or our hostess.”

She shook her head. “Not at all,” she answered honestly. Even though the National Zoo was just a few minutes’ walk from Cleveland Park where she’d grown up, she hadn’t visited since she was a teenager. Seeing it again through Mara’s eyes was a total treat. As for Nick, spending time with him was akin to taking a magic carpet ride, the most fun she’d had in years. Warmhearted, generous, and hotter than flambé, he was a modern-day Prince Charming. Watching him with Mara, she felt her heart melting like chocolate simmering over a low flame.

The rest of her was melting as well. It was a typical DC summer day, in the mid-nineties, and soupy with humidity. Self-conscious about her thighs, which she’d always thought of as heavy, she refused to consider shorts. The pastel, cotton print sundress from Ann Taylor was a perfect compromise, the A-line skirt skimming her hips without bunching, or so she hoped. Fortunately the winding bamboo trail they presently followed provided shade as well as an impressive array of animals indigenous to Asia—otters, sloth bears, leopards, red pandas, and giant pandas.

She fanned a hand in front of her face. “I’m not sure if the Elephant House is air-conditioned, but it’ll be good to get out of the sun for a bit.”

“Of course, forgive me. In Crete we have the heat but it is dry. And my family’s house is on the Aegean, so there is always a breeze.”

Stefanie released a sigh, again regretting having relegated her dream vacation to “someday.” “It sounds beautiful.”

Ebony eyebrows lifted. “You have never been?”

“Not yet.”

He looked shocked. “But how can this be? Your family is Greek. You are Greek.”

Put like that, Stefanie had to admit her excuses sounded seriously lame. “My parents always planned for us to go together as a family. They wanted to wait until I’d be old enough to appreciate the trip. My dad was busy expanding the business and an overseas vacation kept getting put off to ‘some day.’ Then my mom got sick. After she…passed, we didn’t have the heart to go without her.” She left off adding that once Jacquie had entered the picture, Greece was set aside in favor of other destinations. “Once I started Good Enuf to Eat, I couldn’t afford to take off the time or spend the money.”

He nodded. “Most of the Americans I’ve met seem to live to work. We Greeks work to live. But tell me more about this…Good Enuf to Eat. How did you decide to start it?”

A man who expressed interest in her work—this was a novelty. Suddenly shy, she shifted her shoulders. “There’s not all that much to tell. I was in my senior year at Catholic U when I got the idea. Most of the professionals I encountered in DC, including academia, were always so stressed out about meal planning. Even those who’d committed to eating healthy couldn’t seem to make it happen, not with both spouses working long hours. At first the business was just a sideline, a weekend job to earn extra money, but then it started to really take off. By the time I graduated, I knew this was what I wanted to do full time.”

“What did your father say?” Another wonderful smile accompanied the question, the tanned skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling, his irises in the shade more amber than brown. Not that she noticed—much.

On the verge of submerging in those golden pools, Stefanie hauled herself back. She was supposed to be the seducer, not the other way around. Given all that stood at stake, she couldn’t afford to forget that Nick was still the enemy.

“He wasn’t thrilled at first,” she admitted, “but I begged and pleaded, showed him my business plan, and eventually he loaned me the start-up money. The delivery van, the commercial kitchen equipment, my assistants—I couldn’t have afforded any of it without him.” The tradeoff was that the trip to Greece, or anywhere overseas, had gone on the back burner—indefinitely.

His gaze speared hers. “And did you honor your word and repay him?”

Talk about your loaded question. “Yes, I did, but it took me several years and…the economy was a lot better back then.”

His smile flattened. “The global recession is a grim reality for us all but for some it is also an easy excuse for shirking their responsibilities. America, like Greece, is filled with people seeking easy money, a fast buck as you say. Oftentimes their greed blinds them to the risks they are taking until it is too late. Should governments and those who have proceeded more prudently be held responsible for rescuing them? I do not believe so. But tell me, what do you think?”

Despite the lovely moments they’d shared since his arrival, Stefanie felt herself bristling. Were circumstances otherwise, she wouldn’t have hesitated to serve him a healthy helping of her thoughts. What did Mr. Harvard Law and Greek tycoon’s kid know about belt tightening? But she wasn’t here with Nick as only herself. She represented her family, her father, as his daughter as well as a board member of the company that owed Nick’s two and a half million dollars. He could break them if he chose, seize Olympia, and mine it for assets or absorb it altogether.

Biting her lip, she looked away. “You forget I’m just a…caterer.”

He stared at her as though disappointed. “We are all of us many things. No, you are not only a caterer as I am not only the CEO of Costas International. We are each someone’s child, someone’s grandchild. I am also a father, an enthusiastic if less-than-gifted soccer player, a skilled sailor.” He snagged her gaze and, lowering his voice, added, “A lover…or at least I hope to be again.”

Stefanie caught her breath. Was he flirting? For a player like Nick, flirting probably came as easily as breathing. With his laser focus and ready smiles, he was the type who could make any woman feel as though she were the center of the universe—for a time. Sternly she told herself not to read too much into anything he said. The words, the looks, must mean nothing, though the warmth spreading through her certainly felt like something.

His gaze flickered over her again. “What of you, Stefanie? You are passionate about food, your family, your business. It is obvious you are a devoted daughter to this father of yours, whom I have yet to meet, but what else?”

Seen through his worldly eyes, her life must look dull indeed. What would he think of her were he to find out that she was the cause of her father’s financial plight? Would he feel pity, disgust, perhaps both?

“Isn’t that enough?”

His expression gentled. He shook his head. “No, I do not believe it is. But more to my point, I do not believe you think it is, either.”

Her job called for early mornings and occasional late nights. On evenings when she didn’t have an event to staff, she was in bed by ten, asleep by eleven. For the first time it struck her that maybe Macie had been right all along. Maybe her dateless existence wasn’t about not being thin or pretty enough. Maybe she hadn’t put herself out there. Chunky thighs had made an easier target for blame than admitting the truth: fear.

Her phone went off, belting out the first few bars of Zorba the Greek. Her pop’s timing was as infallible as ever.

Holding in a groan, Stefanie dug inside her purse. “Sorry, I have to get this.”

“Of course, please take your time.” He withdrew and walked over to join Mara in looking at the otters.

Lowering her voice, Stefanie answered, “Pop, this isn’t a great time. What is it?”

“This is how you answer your phone? What happened to ‘hello’?”

“Sorry, it’s just that I’m not alone. I’m with…Nick. We’re at the zoo.”

“The zoo?”

Not prepared to go into Mara, she said, “It’s a long story. What do you need?”

He hesitated. “If you must know, I called to apologize.”

This was a first. “For what?”

“For the other night with Jacquie and the girls. I was on the phone with my banker when they snuck out. I just found out. It was wrong of them to barge in on you.”

Was that all? The welcome dinner seemed an eternity ago. “Don’t worry about it. Everything…worked out.”

She left it at that. Her pop was fond of his svelte second wife, but then he was also a man who preferred being married, just as Jacquie preferred dabbling in their business to working as a full-time real-estate agent. In that sense, their union made sense. And yet not even on their wedding day had Stefanie seen her father look at his second wife with anything close to the tenderness, the deep affection, he’d showered on Stefanie’s mother. Her parents’ fairy-tale happiness hadn’t last “ever after,” but surely a big love like theirs was worth holding out for—wasn’t it?

She glanced over at Nick, who’d lifted Mara into his arms so she could get a better view. He was a complicated man, a study in contradictions. As Stefanie had seen, there was a great deal more to him than his player past.

“What do you mean by ‘worked out’?” Her father’s demand jarred her back to the moment.

The High Road only ran so far. “Why don’t you ask Jacquie?”

“I’m asking you.”

“It went…fine.”

“Fine?”

“Naturally he wanted to know why you weren’t there. I explained about your…flu, and then I served dinner. We ate, we talked, and then everyone left. That’s about it.”

“How do you find him?”

Stefanie hesitated. It was hard to form an answer with words like drool-worthy and delicious cropping to mind. “He’s…nice, super-smart, a little on the arrogant side, used to getting his way but funny, too—and kind,” she added, thinking of how he was not only with Mara but with her.

“So he is Max’s son after all,” he said, his tone softening.

Stefanie blew out a breath. “I really have to go. I promised to keep him posted on your…condition. At this point, I’m not sure what you expect me to say.”

“Say I am confined to my bed until Tuesday at the earliest.” He sighed. “It is not far from the truth.”

The latter brought on a frisson of fear. The years with Jacquie had changed him. Even before the crash of ’08, he was tense. He drank ouzo every night instead of only on weekends. And as was the case with Acropolis Village, he kept secrets. None of it did him any good.

“Are you okay? Jacquie said your ulcer was acting up.”

“It is. How could it not be? I haven’t told her yet, but I may have to take out a second mortgage on the house.”

“Oh, Pop.” That house, the kitchen especially, was Stefanie’s last tangible connection to her mother. The possibility of losing it too, along with the company, made her heart clench.

“Don’t despair, little one. Monday morning is not here yet.”

“What are you going to say to him once it comes?”

“That depends on what happens or does not happen in these next days. For now, keep him happy. Whatever news Monday brings, I am going to need Nick Costas in a good mood.”

…

Sunday & Monday, July 6 & 7

The following two days sped by in a flurry of sightseeing as they ticked off the items on Stefanie’s suggested agenda—the Washington Monument, the Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials, the National Museum of American History, the International Spy Museum, the White House, and paddle boating on the Tidal Basin. The Treasury tour would have been fun, too, but she decided against it. Watching currency being minted was always a kick, but given the purpose of Nick’s visit, it seemed smart to avoid anything that might bring up money as a topic.

A midday Monday check-in with her father brought mixed news. His broker could probably get him a home equity loan at 125 percent of his house’s value, but the interest rate would be nosebleed steep and the application would require a new appraisal to confirm the property’s estimated value of $1.25 million. Even with pulling strings and calling in past favors, getting approval would take time. The process couldn’t possibly be completed before Nick left for Greece on Thursday. Did Stefanie think he could be persuaded to wait a few more weeks if shown proof that a major chunk of the repayment, possibly as much as half, was being mustered?

Keeping an eye on Nick and Mara, stuck in a vendor’s snack line a few yards away by the Tidal Basin, she dragged a hand through her hair. “Maybe, Pop, but honestly I don’t know. I mean, he’s going to want to know your plan for raising the other half. If you were him, wouldn’t you?”

“Who’s side are you on?” he snapped.

Stefanie swallowed hard. “Yours, of course,” she said, though the reply didn’t ring as true as it would have just a few days ago.

She thought not only of Nick and his father, who had given the loan money in good faith, but of Mrs. G—Mona—and all the other retiree residents like her and her husband who’d been promised so much and so far had received so little. Maybe it was time her father and the board, including her, admitted they were in over their heads. Maybe it was time to come clean and ask for some help.

But that wasn’t her call to make…was it?

Her pop’s voice called her back to the present. “Little one, forgive me. I did not mean to snap at you. It’s not your fault.”

Tearing up, Stefanie said, “Actually, it is my fault. Pete—”

“Is a very bad man who fooled many people, not just us. If anyone should have known better, it’s me.”

“What shall I tell Nick? I can’t put him off for much longer. You could have bubonic plague at this point, and he still isn’t going to leave without meeting with you.” Or his money, she held off adding.

He sighed into the receiver. “Jacquie has gone out somewhere and I am stuck here at the house waiting for the appraiser. He’s promised me a report in twenty-four hours. As soon as I have that number, I will know how much I can promise to repay upfront. I hate to ask but can you—”

“Stall him for another day, right, got it.”

…

At Stefanie’s suggestion, they ended Monday’s touring with a ride on a mule-drawn barge on the C&O Canal. Despite the muggy temperature and persistent flies, the one-hour boat trip departing from and returning to Georgetown was a huge hit with Mara. Watching park rangers dressed in eighteen seventies clothing lift and lower the locks provided a particular kick as well as a painless history lesson.

Strolling along the towpath back toward Nick’s hotel, Mara just ahead, Stefanie waited for him to ask the daily question: when will I meet with your father?

Instead, he turned to her and said, “Have dinner with me tonight.”

The invitation jolted her, and not only because she’d been caught up in going over the earlier phone call with her pop. Still, she told herself she must be reading too much into it. Since her first night’s welcome supper, their meals had mostly consisted of fast food eaten on the go or quick bites in kid-friendly eateries.

Fanning away flies, she said, “Given the hot dog, soft pretzel, and lemonade Mara inhaled at lunch, are you sure she’s even going to want dinner?”

“I mean the two of us.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers, his mint-spiced breath fanning the side of her face. Casual as the contact was, Stefanie didn’t think it was incidental. The path wasn’t that narrow.

Feeling as if she were melting, she slowed her step and asked, “What about Mara?”

“The hotel concierge arranged for the same sitter who came last week to return this evening.”

So, he’d already set it up. Stefanie supposed she hadn’t been the only one of them to step aside and make a covert cell phone call. Flattered as she was, she still hesitated. He was pretty obviously asking her out on a date. If she went, where might it lead? Even if the 2.5 million dollar debt was to magically melt away, there were plenty of other obstacles to consider. Nick lived on another continent. He was a full-time single parent. Lastly there was his Elysian lifestyle, a world of private jets and yachts and multiple mansions straight out of a Danielle Steele novel whereas Stefanie had grown up as solidly middle class.

Whoa, talk about getting ahead of herself! It was just dinner, right? Dinner that might lead to him making a move and landing them in bed. Could she really go there knowing that once he left for home she’d likely never see him again? As delicious as a few days’ fling would be, she was and had always been what Macie referred to as a “relationship person.” And yet the attraction she felt for him was beyond any prior physical feeling. Beyond the palpable lust, she simply loved spending time with him.

There wasn’t much left. He flew out on Thursday. There was only tonight and two more days, one of which—tomorrow—he’d already told her he needed to spend prepping for a teleconference of international investors. Wednesday was the sit down session with her father. For all she knew, tonight might well be their last alone together.

Stefanie couldn’t say how it happened but at some point they’d stopped walking. Standing still, he laid light hands on her elbows, drawing her toward him, his scent filling her senses, overcoming both her inhibitions and better judgment. “What do you say, Stefanie? Will you have dinner with me?”

His moist mouth was mere inches away. Stefanie licked her own parched lips before answering. “Yes.”

Mara ran up to them, breaking the spell and bringing Stefanie, at least, to her senses. She stepped back and Nick’s hands fell away.

“Race you to the hotel!” Mara squealed, obviously still in the throes of a sugar high.

Nick grabbed hold of her hand. “It is too hot to race.”

Stefanie took her other hand. “Your father’s right. What if we walk really fast?”

The Four Seasons on Pennsylvania Avenue was five minutes away. Until now, Stefanie hadn’t ventured beyond the hotel lobby. Entering the sleek space and heading to the private elevator with Nick and Mara, she admitted that hanging out with a One Percenter came with perks. Maybe I could get used to this, she mused, watching the floor numbers ascend as the car glided upward.

They stepped out and Nick led the way down the hall, his card key in hand. “After you, please.” Drawing back the door, he held it for Stefanie to enter.

Schooling herself not to stare, she walked into the foyer. She had catering clients in stately Capitol Hill brownstones, suburban McMansions, and sleek city condos such as Macie’s, but Nick’s penthouse suite still stood out as impressive. Cream-colored calla lilies served as the centerpiece for a circular foyer table. Original artwork hung from the walls. French doors opened onto a furnished terrace. Elegant crystal fixtures contrasted with rich wood paneling and a pale palette of silver and cream, offsetting a decor that was cleanly contemporary yet richly classical with Art Deco detailing. More fresh flowers, hydrangeas, were set in low vases about the living and media rooms. Even this late in the afternoon, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. What must it be like to live in such grand style, to have extravagance as one’s “normal”?

Aware of his eyes following her, she turned to look at him. “It’s beautiful,” she said simply, tracing a finger along a table’s rich wood inlay.

He flicked his gaze from the fireplace to a large flat-screen TV to the bar area as if seeing it all for the first time. “I suppose it is.” He focused back on her. “So are you.”

Heat suffused her face. Nick’s flirting suggested she’d soon be getting the spice she’d craved and yet she’d never been the best about accepting compliments.

Mara’s yawn saved her from answering. She crawled up onto the cream-colored couch, and Stefanie and Nick exchanged glances.

Nick walked over, propping Raggedy Ann beside her. “The sitter will be here soon. You should have a nap.”

Mara frowned. “But I’m not sleepy.” Another yawn, even bigger, belied the protest.

Stefanie intervened. “What if I tuck you in? If you’re not asleep in five minutes, you can get back up, deal?”

Mara sent her a skeptical look. “How will I know when it’s five minutes?”

“You can count…sheep,” Stefanie said, sliding Nick a glance. “By the time you reach one hundred, it will have been five minutes.”

“That’s a lot of sheep,” Mara said, expression sober.

“The trick is to count them backward starting with one hundred. That makes the counting go more quickly,” Stefanie fibbed. “I’ll help you get started.”

Mara picked up her doll and slid off the sofa. She looked over to her father. “I will be back in five minutes, Papa.”

“Yes, Mara,” Nick said, losing the battle against smiling.

Taking hold of Stefanie’s hand, she announced, “I will show you the way, so you don’t get lost.”

Folding her fingers around that little hand, Stefanie fought a smile. She’d always wanted a big family. Guiding them toward the alcove, Mara said, “At home I have my own room, but here I share with Papa.”

Oh, God. Unwittingly she’d invited herself into Nick’s bedroom.

She swiveled to look back at him, his innocent smile at odds with the glint in his gaze. “The hotel brought in a rollaway for Mara but she prefers sleeping with me,” he confirmed.

The casual comment further confirmed that Nick’s womanizing ways were in the past. His focus now was on being a father. Turning away, Stefanie gave herself up to Mara’s lead.

The bedroom was big and beige with touches of chocolate brown. A door left ajar revealed an en-suite bath. A love seat, coffee table, and chair created an elegant yet cozy sitting area. Twin pedestal tables bracketed the curtained floor-to-ceiling window, one holding the sort of amorphous modern sculpture Stefanie had never been able to appreciate, the other a low vase of hydrangeas. A man’s long-sleeved dress shirt was draped over the chair back. A closed laptop had been left out on the coffee table along with a handful of coins and a fountain pen; otherwise there was nothing in the way of mess, no socks or other dirty clothes strewn about.

Dominating the room was the bed, a California king draped in cloud soft colors. The mattress could have fit a small family. But Stefanie wasn’t thinking of a small family; she was thinking of Nick. Knowing he’d spent the last several nights beneath its no doubt 100 percent Egyptian cotton sheets made it impossible not to imagine him there now—and her with him.

Breaking hands, Mara pounced atop the mattress. Following her over, Stefanie drew down the comforter. As she did, Nick’s scent wafted up to her, still exotic and yet now achingly familiar.

Mara’s burrowing beneath called her back to more chaste thoughts. Slipping Raggedy Ann in beside her, Stefanie hesitated and then sat down on the side of the mattress.

“Stefanie?”

“Yes?’

“Will you visit Papa and me in Greece?”

Taken by surprise, Stefanie hedged, “I uh…don’t know, honey. It depends.”

Mara eyed her. “On what?”

“On a lot of stuff.”

“What sort of…stuff?” Clearly Nick’s daughter had inherited his persistence.

“Well, I’d have to be invited.”

Beneath the covers, narrow shoulders shifted. “Oh, is that all? I invite you.”

Touched, Stefanie nodded. “Thanks, sweetie. Now let’s get you counting those sheep, okay?”

Mara nodded. “One hundred, ninety-nine, ninety-eight, ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four…” The counting broke into soft snuffling.

I’m not so bad at this kid stuff. She eased off the bed and tiptoed toward the door, a lump in her throat. Before the end of the week, Nick and Mara would be on their way home to Greece. Stefanie could go back to wearing no makeup and her old comfortable clothes, resume all her normal routines.

Only normalcy no longer seemed like such an awesome deal.

Chapter Six

Nick used Stefanie’s stepping out to answer e-mail. The one from his mother was filled with questions about Mara. In the midst of reassuring her that her granddaughter was not only well but thriving, more than once he’d caught himself enthusing over Stefanie. His father had written as well. Naturally he wanted to know how things were progressing with Stefanie’s father. Reluctant to admit they’d yet to meet, Nick postponed answering. Instead he’d fired off a few lines to Stefanie’s father.

Subject: Wednesday Meeting Re: Debt Repayment to Costas Internat’l

From: N_Costas@CostasInternationalcorps.com

To: C_ Stefanopoulos@OlympiaDev.com

Sir:

I look forward to meeting with you this Wednesday, the 9th of July, regarding the terms of loan #d08xch-08-12-6, specifically your obligation to repay the outstanding lump sum amount of 2.5 million US dollars—with interest as previously agreed.

I anticipate the session will require, at minimum, two hours, possibly more. Please reply with a time that you and your attorney will be available. If you remain indisposed, I am prepared to conduct the meeting at your bedside.

i anticipate your timely response and may be contacted directly at the above e-mail address and/or mobile number provided below.

sincerely,

n. costas, president and ceo

P.S. my father sends his regards.

Justified though he was, he couldn’t help feeling torn. Pushing for the loan repayment would likely lead to seizing Olympia Development and its assets and that wouldn’t only hurt Stefanopoulos. It would hurt Stefanie, too. He thought back to their onsite visit to Acropolis Village, and her failed attempts to fool him. Looking past all the subterfuge, he hadn’t missed how her pride in and passion for the project had shown in everything she did and said—or didn’t say. Despite the past missed milestones and current construction shutdown, an affordably priced residential resort community for Greek seniors was a really good idea, even a noble one. It was exactly the sort of project Nick hoped to launch back in Greece—just as soon as he completed construction on his orphanage.

A ding drew his attention back to the screen. An automated receipt showed his message had been “read by the recipient.” So far no reply had shown up in his in-box. Par for the course.

Nick didn’t get it. Were he Christos Stefanopoulos, he would have launched into his recovery pitch on day one. Instead the old man had seized on sickness and sent Stefanie to stall for him. The tactic had worked but only to a point. If Nick were honest with himself, he’d admit he’d gone along with the stonewalling for one reason: it had bought him more time with Stefanie. Was it possible to have his company’s money back and her both? Nick couldn’t yet know, but suddenly he was determined to find out.

Hearing the bedroom door open and then close, he logged out and closed the laptop. He’d just put it away when Stefanie entered.

He stood. “She is asleep so soon?” If so, Stefanie wasn’t only warm and loving and maternal. She was a child whisperer.

She nodded. “Out like a light.” Hesitating, she bypassed a wing chair and slipped onto the couch cushion next to him. “She almost made it to ninety-four. I have to admit I’m impressed.”

Nick was impressed, too—with Stefanie. How was it possible to hold so much in his heart for someone he’d so recently met?

Sitting down beside her, he resisted the very real urge to embrace her. Instead he said, “You are good with her.”

“So are you,” she said, battling another of those adorable blushes. “I’m going to miss her when you leave on Thursday.” She bit her lip, turning to look out the window. Despite the curtain having been drawn, she stared at it intently.

Gaze on her profile, pure as a sibyl’s, Nick swallowed against the sudden thickness in his throat. “As she will miss you—deeply.” Regardless of how Wednesday went, he didn’t want to think about leaving. “If you will excuse me, I have a few calls to make before Mara’s sitter arrives.”

He also wanted a shave. If things went as he hoped, he would be kissing Stefanie very soon. She was altogether too sweet, too tempting, and too good-hearted to let go without first exploring the possibility that she might be his soul’s mate, his perfect love.

“Of course,” she said, gaze going to her handbag as if she too might be contemplating freshening up.

Eager to get on with their evening, he rose. “The guest powder room is there,” he said, gesturing toward one of several side doors. “Please help yourself to anything you desire—a glass of wine, a snack perhaps. There is a bar and a mini-refrigerator and—”

She cut him off with a smile. “Thanks but I have everything I need.”

Once he’d discovered Mara, Nick had thought the same, but since meeting Stefanie, he’d become keenly aware of how very much his life still lacked. He’d known women aplenty but none of them had come close to being someone he might see as a partner. Then again, he hadn’t been looking for anything beyond a good time. Glancing at Stefanie, it struck him how hollow his bachelorhood had been.

“Very well. I will be back soon.”

Whatever they might be to one another remained to be seen. At the moment, he couldn’t contemplate a future beyond Wednesday’s meeting. Whether he seized Olympia or bankrupted her by forcing repayment of the 2.5 million, Stefanie would likely despise him. He couldn’t blame her. But if he reneged on his word to the mother superior, he would despise himself. It was, indeed, a Catch 22. So far, he couldn’t see a way out.

But it was not yet Wednesday. The night stretched ahead, filled with possibilities, none of which involved work. Determined to make the most of it, he retraced Stefanie’s path to the bedroom.

…

Once Nick stepped out, Stefanie seized on the opportunity to phone her father.

As soon as he picked up, she asked, “How did the appraisal go?”

“The market is a little…soft. The comparables may not… We will have to wait and see.” He might not be sick, but he certainly sounded it. “I will know tomorrow. We must be patient and give it another day.”

Another day. “Pop, you can’t avoid him forever,” she whispered into the cell. “He’s leaving on Thursday. He’s got…stuff to do tomorrow.” She declined to specify the nature of the “stuff.” She didn’t think her father hearing about the international investors meeting could hurt Nick, but there was no way to be sure. Feeling like a double agent, a traitor, she added, “That only leaves Wednesday.”

“Why are you whispering? And for your information, it is still Monday. I need one more day and then yes, I will see him on Wednesday. It has been…arranged.”

This was news. “It has?”

“What, you are interrogating your own father? Do you work for the Department of Homeland Security now? You are FBI, CIA, what?”

“Pop, come on, that’s not f—”

“Where are you?” he demanded, turning the topic—and the tables.

Stefanie hesitated. This was awkward, really awkward. “I’m in DC.” That was nothing but the truth.

“Where in DC?”

“Georgetown.” True again.

“Why do you sound so guilty?”

“I’m not guilty. I-I’m at the Four Seasons.” There, she’d said it.

“With Nikolaos Costas?”

“Yes.”

“You’re in his room, aren’t you?”

Stefanie surrendered. “Actually, it’s a suite, and I absolutely am. We’re about to hit the sheets, and I thought I’d give you a shout first. Quick, before he rips off my clothes and makes passionate love to me, where are you on repaying the rest of the 2.5 mil?”

“You have a fresh mouth. You never used to have a fresh mouth. You used to be a nice, respectful girl.”

Stefanie blew out a breath. “He’s taking me out to dinner tonight, just the two of us. There you have it, the whole truth.” The latter wasn’t a lie—yet.

“Put him on the phone. I want to speak with him. If he thinks he can dishonor my daughter because I owe—”

“It’s not like that. It’s not what you’re thinking.” Stefanie felt herself flushing. Though she’d sooner eat tofu than admit it, she’d started wishing it was exactly “like that” between her and Nick. “His little girl has been with us the whole time.”

Her father’s voice thundered through the phone, “He’s married!”

“No, he’s not.”

Calmer, he asked, “He’s a widower, then?”

“That’s not exactly the situation.”

“There’s a situation? What kind of situation?”

“Listen, Pop, he’s coming back at any minute. I’ll call you—tomorrow.”

“But, Stef—”

“I love you. Good night.”

Stefanie clicked off the call just as Nick emerged from his bedroom. Judging from his damp hair and smooth face, he’d shaved as well as changed into a fresh shirt, the one she’d seen hanging on the chair. Had he planned their dinner as far in advance as that morning?

He slanted a smile. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”

“That’s okay, I don’t mind. I had a call to make, too,” she added in case he’d overheard her. Feeling her courage curdle, she asked, “Are you sure Mara’s okay with staying behind? Maybe after her nap—”

“Stefanie.” He moved closer. He smelled more strongly of mint, as though he’d just brushed his teeth. Like lasers, his hazel eyes seemed to see straight through her, boring into her brain, her soul. “Last week when I returned from leaving her with the sitter, watching Disney DVDs and eating pizza from the box was all she could speak of. She will be fine.”

Her breath caught. Suddenly this whole seduction scheme seemed to be working…a little too well. He’d asked her out on what was undoubtedly a date. She was going to dinner with Nick—alone. The kiss that had almost happened on the Fourth in her kitchen was going to get a serious second chance. At the very least, it was going to happen. She wanted it to happen and yet a part of her felt frightened and unprepared. Until now, all her flirting had taken place with Mara around. Like a circus performer scaling a tight rope, knowing there was a safety net had made it easy to feel bold, confident, poised. But now that net was about to be whisked away, raising the stakes—and the risk.

“Okay, as long as she doesn’t mind.”

“She does not seem to. Do you?”

“Of course not, why do you ask?”

“You seem…on edge.”

“No, it’s just…”

He leaned in, sending another whiff of minty breath her way. “Tell me.”

His intensity had her wishing she’d remembered to refresh her lipstick. She hadn’t packed her travel toothbrush either but at the very least she could have popped a breath mint. “I hadn’t planned on dinner out. I’m not sure what I’m wearing is appropriate.”

It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was certainly true. Her print sundress and sandals had been ideal for sightseeing, but the outfit didn’t really transition into evening. And though she probably couldn’t ever come close to matching his pressed-ness, a shower would be a big boost in the self-confidence department.

His gaze softened. “You look lovely. You always look lovely. But if you would feel more comfortable changing, we will stop by your house.”

He was so accommodating, even chivalrous. Pete had complained if she took an extra ten minutes to flatiron her hair. “Are you sure?”

He shrugged off the question. “In English, I believe the proverb is ‘good things come to those who wait.’”

Her mother had said the same. “In that case, thank you.”

He stepped back. His gaze, however, remained fixed on hers. “The sitter should arrive shortly. I will call for the car to be brought from the garage.”

“Okay…thanks.”

Watching him walk over to the desk, pick up the hotel phone, and punch the button for valet parking, Stefanie caught up on her breathing. Or at least she tried to. So much for staying in control, for being the seducer and not the seducee. Nick was still the enemy, but she’d never wanted to sleep with a man so badly in all her life. Could she really take them both to the brink and then walk away? Until now, she’d told herself that wouldn’t be a problem but looking at him across the breadth of the room, she was no longer so sure. He was everything she’d ever wanted in a man and if it wasn’t for their cross-purposes and disparate geography, she might actually be able to have him.

He’d just put the phone down when the buzzer sounded. The sitter was fresh-faced, twentysomething, and working on a master’s in early childhood education. After confirming cell phone numbers and mutual assurances that no problem was too minor to merit an immediate call, Nick and Stefanie headed out.

They crossed the sleek, cream-marbled lobby to the entrance. Laying a light hand on her elbow, Nick steered her toward the waiting Ferrari.

The valet opened the passenger’s side door and Stefanie slid inside. The other day she’d been too nervous to note it but now her body melted into the buttery, cream-colored leather. Nick turned the ignition and they were off, weaving seamlessly through the heavy Georgetown traffic. As she’d observed before, he was an excellent driver, although he drove faster than she was used to. Once he crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge, he let it rip. She watched the escalating speedometer with widening eyes.

Catching her gripping the dashboard, he chuckled. “Too much?”

She hesitated and then admitted, “A little.”

“Sorry, it’s just that I am in such a good mood.” He slowed immediately, the barometer dropping to a tame forty-five MPH. “This is better, yes?”

Exhaling, she nodded. “Much, thank you.”

Turning off North Fairfax Street onto Wilkes, he once again scored a parking space in front of her house.

“How do you do it? I hardly ever get parking this close!” Stefanie exclaimed, unbuckling her seat belt.

Cutting off the ignition, he turned to her. “I suppose I see it as mine and then it becomes so. Or perhaps the gods are on our side.”

She reached inside her bag for her city resident parking decal. “Just in case they decide to go on break, you’d better put this on the dash.”

Grinning, he reached out to take it. The motion brought their fingers brushing and Stefanie felt the now familiar frisson of awareness—desire. Part of her willed him to lean across and kiss her. But kissing Nick would mean something. She knew that now. Could she really risk losing her heart to someone who, cross-purposes aside, would be getting on a plane and flying out of her life in a few short days?

“It’s such a sweet spot it’s a shame to give it up. Are you sure I can’t talk you into letting me make us something at home?” She couldn’t say what might happen once they were alone together within her four walls, but the prospect of leading him upstairs to her twin-size four-poster definitely popped to mind.

But Nick was adamant. “There is no need to concern yourself with the car. I made a booking—my apologies, a reservation—at a restaurant off King Street. We can walk there if you wish.”

That would work, too.

Stefanie found her smile. Maybe she didn’t always have to be in the driver’s seat—not when Nick was there to drive for them both. “That sounds nice.”

Used to fending for herself, she tamped down the impulse to vault out of her seat. Instead she stayed put and waited for Nick to cross to the passenger’s side and open her door. He did, offering her his hand. Taking hold, she climbed out. He waited for her to clear the car, then reached around and closed the door.

Releasing his hand with reluctance, she thought, I could get used to this.

Not that she’d have much more of a chance. By Thursday Nick would be gone, back in Greece and out of her life. Given his player past, like the steam from a perfectly risen soufflé, he would quickly cool. For Stefanie, it would take considerably longer for the sizzle to cease.

Inside her house, she gestured him to one of the high-backed stools in her kitchen. “I’ll be ten minutes tops,” she said, hurrying toward the stairs.

He answered with a tsk. “You Americans are always rushing about. Please take your time. I will wait.”

Wondering what she should wear, she turned back. “You still haven’t said where we’re going.”

“Somewhere worthy of you or such is my hope.” He smiled but his eyes stayed serious.

At a loss for words, she smiled back. “I’ll be fast.”

In her room, she shucked off her clothes and headed for the shower. Her bathroom lay directly above the kitchen. Laving herself with liquid soap, she tried not to think about Nick just one floor below. She focused back on practicalities, namely what to do about her hair. Unfortunately there was no time to wash it, but leaving it in a post-shower frizz wasn’t an answer, either. Stepping out, a spritz of styling spray finger-combed through tamed any frizz into waves. She quickly brushed her teeth, rolled on deodorant, and swiped on mascara and lipstick.

Searching her narrow, sloped-roof closet, her new clothes grouped on hangers at the end, she settled on a dusty-pink, cotton-fringe dress. Cream-colored crochet open-toe wedges were stylish while comfortable enough for walking. For jewelry, she slipped on what Macie called a “statement piece,” a sterling silver cuff bracelet beaded with beach glass.

Descending the stairs, she reached the landing and stepped off.

Nick looked up from checking his phone. He shoved the iPhone in his pocket and stood. “As you Americans say, wow.”

Suddenly shy, she said, “I’m sorry I took so long.” Her promised five minutes had turned into closer to fifteen.

“I am not.” He met her at the foot of the stairs. “You are well worth any waiting.” His gaze traveled over her—her face, her breasts, her belly and lower. Returning to her eyes, he said with feeling, “You look enchanting.”

Beyond a shy “thank you,” Stefanie wasn’t certain what to say. In the past several days, she’d received more compliments from Nick than from any other man. Unlike the empty flattery Pete had laid on, his seemed sincere.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Feeling light-headed, she tucked her arm into his. They stepped outside, pausing long enough for Stefanie to lock up the house. Though it was still muggy, the temperature had cooled considerably. Strolling alongside Nick through eighteenth-century streets fronted by brick-and-frame townhouses, boutiques, art galleries, and restaurants, she felt like Cinderella indeed.

In true Nick fashion, he kept their destination a surprise until the final few moments. It wasn’t until they turned off Prince Street onto South Pitt that Stefanie realized where he must be taking her. Housed in a restored eighteen hundreds warehouse, Restaurant Eve was laidback yet elegant, the menu featuring artisanal fare from local country markets. Walking up the cobblestone path limned with candles, she felt as though she was living the Cinderella fairy tale meets Top Chef.

They entered, the softly lit interior humming with quiet conversations. An affable host showed them to their table in the chef’s tasting room.

Nick’s eyes, black in the low light, sparkled like jet. “You are pleased, I think?”

Pleased didn’t begin to describe it. She hadn’t really given much thought to where he might take her, supposing he’d choose one of the popular tourist restaurants on King Street or along the waterfront. She should have known Nick would never settle for the ordinary.

Laying the napkin onto her lap, she admitted, “I have wanted to come here forever.”

He sent her an amused smile. “Forever is a very long time.”

“Okay, since 2004 when it opened.”

His face registered surprise. “But why have you never dined here before? It is so close for you.”

Pete had been a strictly beer-and-burgers guy. Before him, she’d held the rustically romantic restaurant in reserve to share with someone special. Looking into Nick’s shining eyes, she realized that her dream was finally coming about, though not as she would have imagined.

Helpless to explain without embarrassing herself, she shook her head. “I know. I’ve been bad about taking time off from working. I need to fix that.” She did—along with so many other things, starting with Olympia International. Meeting Nick’s gaze over the flickering votive candle, it was all too easy to slide into the romance of the moment and forget what was at stake.

As if sensing there was more she wasn’t saying, Nick reached over and lightly squeezed her hand. The contact sent her senses seesawing. Threading his strong fingers through hers, he said, “Tonight we have all the time in the world. At least until they chase us out,” he added with a grin.

Their nine-course meal began with the heirloom tomato tart with golden brown basil and featured butter poached Maine lobster with Eastern Shore corn. Between courses, Nick spoke of his life in Greece—his sister, Nina, who, growing up, had liked to play practical jokes even more than he had; the holidays, when the entire family gathered around the long, linen-draped dining room table; and the lovely beach house in Crete, which more so than his sleek, modern flat in Athens, seemed like home.

“But enough of me,” he said, abruptly ending the narrative. “I wish to know more of you.”

Tracing a finger around the rim of her wineglass, she said, “I’m not sure there’s much more to tell.” What was left to say—her past with Pete, the predicament she’d gotten her poor father into and was desperately working to get him out of—was uniformly unflattering.

He smiled over at her, and once again she caught herself wishing that this lovely dinner might be exactly that, a date pure and simple. “I do not believe that for a second,” he assured her, his smile broadening.

Lulled by the wine and the ease of his company, she settled on safer subjects, especially the Sunday dinners she’d helped her mom make, feasts of spanikopita, grilled meats and fishes, stuffed peppers and zucchini, pastas and rice dishes, all lovingly prepared and beautifully presented.

“Even after plates had been cleaned, my parents and aunts and uncles would linger over their ouzos and espressos, telling stories of ‘home.’”

The Greece they’d described was an earthly paradise of impossibly blue water, cloudless skies, and ever-present sunshine, their village a utopia where no one was too busy to sing, to joke, to dance. The poverty and the lack of opportunity that had driven them to leave for America were never mentioned, as if erased from memory.

“You must come and see it for yourself. Soon,” he added, reaching for the wine bottle to top off her glass.

Had he just invited her to visit him? Or was she reading too much into the statement? “I want to.”

Time spent in Nick’s company really did seem to sprout wings. Before Stefanie knew it, they were finishing dessert and considering coffee. Mindful of her new wardrobe, which she was determined to continue to fit into, Stefanie settled for a single bite each of the gianduja french toast and the apple donuts. Afterward, Nick ordered ouzo for himself and a cappuccino for her.

He leaned closer. “You have a bit of powdered sugar just…here.” Before she could reply, he slid his thumb along her bottom lip. The glancing touch had her fighting a fierce tingling. “There, it is gone.” Holding her gaze, he sucked the sugared digit into his mouth.

Oh. My. God. That had to be one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen a man do in public. Pete had licked his fingers, too, mostly at meals involving copious quantities of ketchup and barbecue sauce, and all she’d felt was annoyed and vaguely grossed out.

Gaze riveted on his mouth, she fought for breath. “Thanks. Um, sorry about that.”

“Do not be sorry. It is my pleasure. On the night of my arrival, you fed me from your own hand, do you remember?”

She more than remembered. “You said you hadn’t had the chance to wash your hands.”

A wicked grin lit his eyes. “I lied.” He leaned closer, as if to kiss her.

For a terrifying, exhilarating few seconds she was almost certain he would. But then the server’s reappearance had them straightening in their seats. Nick waited for her to set down their beverages and withdraw before admitting, “Dear Stefanie, I am afraid I have not been entirely honest with you.”

Uh oh, here it comes… Stefanie tensed, girding herself for whatever bad news he was about to lay on. The takeover was a done deal. He was suing them all in court. Acropolis Village was being razed to make room for a parking lot. The twister of terrifying possibilities tore through her mind.

“About Mara.”

Relief washed over her, but a new fear quickly followed. “She’s okay, isn’t she?” In less than a week, Nick’s daughter had carved a very special place in Stefanie’s heart. So had Nick, but his was too complicated to contemplate beyond the present moment.

He nodded. “She is perfectly healthy.”

“That’s good. You had me worried.”

His expression turned tender. “You are very sweet to care for a child you’ve just met.”

“I can’t imagine anyone not falling in love with Mara. She’s such a great kid.”

Paternal pride shone in his face. “She is, though I cannot take credit.”

Now who of them was being too modest? “I don’t believe that.”

He exhaled as though seeking to find his way around a weight on his chest. “It is a complicated situation.”

In Stefanie’s experience, “complicated situations” were code for bad news. She dropped her gaze to her cup. Her grandmother had taught her to read tea leaves—sort of—but unfortunately she hadn’t ordered tea. The barristo had fashioned a perfect fern in the center of the foam topping. She blew on the coffee to cool it—and the image blurred to an unrecognizable blob. That was life. One minute you were having a perfectly romantic dinner and the next you were hearing stuff that would probably be a deal buster for both of you.

She forced her gaze back up. “Her mother passing away must have been really hard on her. I lost my mom when I was twelve, but I’m so grateful for the years we had.”

His pained look had her wondering if she’d said something wrong. Holding her gaze, he admitted, “Mara never knew her mother. Alexia gave her up for adoption as soon as she was born. Until I found her four months ago, the only family she knew was that of the sisters and the other orphans at a convent in Crete.”

Shocked, Stefanie let the spoon slip. “I had no idea.”

Expression raw, he bowed his head. “I am a man of many flaws but willfully abandoning my child is not among them. Had I known Mara existed, I would not have hesitated to claim her. If nothing else, I hope you believe that.”

Stefanie nodded. “You don’t owe me an explanation, but for what it’s worth, I do believe you.” Acting on instinct, she slid her hand across the table toward him.

He grasped it as though she offered a lifeline. “It is extremely important to me that Mara grows up feeling loved and wanted.”

She squeezed his hand. “I am sure she does. It’s obvious she adores you.”

Emotions flooded his face. “I cannot imagine my life without her. I love her very much.”

“It shows. You’re great with her.”

“Thank you, that means a great deal. So are you.”

Warmed by the compliment, she still shrugged. “I’ve been having a blast hanging out with her, but then I’m kind of a big kid myself.”

“I think you are modest, perhaps too modest for your own good.”

Stefanie didn’t have an answer to that. Macie had said pretty much the same to her many times, and so had her pop. She withdrew her hand under the pretense of adding more brown sugar to her cappuccino.

“What of you, Stefanie?”

Startled, she looked up. “What about me?”

“Is there a special man in your life? Do you have an understanding with someone?”

A catch in her voice, she admitted, “There was…someone. But not anymore.”

Dear God, please don’t let that be pity softening his eyes. “Then he must be a fool of which you are well rid. You have such passion, such fire, such a generous capacity for giving that it would be a crime to waste yourself on such a man. But I see I am too forward. You are blushing.”

She pressed the back of her hand to one cheek. Her skin felt scalding. “No, it’s fine. I’m just not used to being the center of attention. Usually my stepsisters are the ones at front and center.”

At her mention of the twins, his expression soured. “Yet another great shame.”

She picked up her cup and forced down a sip of the sweet coffee. Only Stefanie no longer hungered for sweets. Since Nick, all her cravings were for the spicy. “I don’t mind being behind the scenes.”

Orchestrating a fabulous party from the sanctuary of the kitchen must be a lot like directing a play, or so she thought. Still, if she were honest with herself, she had to admit it felt nice, flattering, to have someone—Nick—appreciate not only her food but her.

He nodded. “As the eldest of four and the only male, I am used to being, as you say, at front and center. It can become wearying. I used to beg my parents for a baby brother to even the odds.”

Stefanie bit her lip against admitting she’d read his Wikipedia entry as well as sundry press clips. “You’re lucky. Big families are the best,” she said, feeling wistful once more.

“I think so as well.” His gaze turned serious once more, his irises darkening. “You want children someday, do you not? Forgive my impertinence, but I see the way you look at Mara with such…longing.”

Stefanie felt more than unmasked. She felt stripped bare. She’d always envisioned herself as the matriarch of a big, boisterous family, a husband and kids all congregating in her huge, homey kitchen, impatient to taste “Mom’s” latest creation. Since Pete, she’d started thinking she might have to settle for being a single auntie to her friends’ children.

Nick reached across the table and took her hand again. “I didn’t mean to pry—or to make you sad.”

“I’m not sad,” she insisted even though she suddenly was. “It’s just… Yes, I’d love to have kids, lots of them,” she admitted, straining to speak past the lump in her throat.

His fingers firmed about hers. “Before Mara, I never thought I wanted a family. I valued my freedom above all else. But her coming into my life has changed everything. I hope to give her a brother or sister someday should the right woman come into my life and I into hers.”

Could she be hearing him right? The same man who’d once given two female mud wrestlers twenty thousand dollars each to put on a “private” match wanted to settle down? But the Nick she knew was not that man. He was not a player, not anymore. If she’d had any doubts that he’d changed, the sincerity she saw in his eyes and heard in his voice put them to rest.

The server’s reappearance saved Stefanie from answering. Looking between them, she asked, “May I get you anything else?”

Yes, a crystal ball. Overwhelmed, Stefanie shook her head. “No thank you. Everything was wonderful,” she added quickly.

More so than any flirting, the intimate conversation had bound them, or so it seemed to Stefanie. Nick and she came from different worlds, lived on separate continents, and were currently at cross-purposes, and yet she suddenly felt as if she were staring into the face of her soul mate.

Nick looked up to the server. “We are ready for the check.”

Chapter Seven

The walk back to Stefanie’s was a quiet one.

They reached Nick’s parked car just as a church bell tolled the midnight hour, “pumpkin time,” or so the fairy tale told. Flickering flames from the Gaslight-era-inspired streetlamps played upon his profiled features, making him seem princely indeed.

He gestured toward her house on the other side of the street. “I will see you to your door.”

Stefanie knew what that meant. At the very least, he was going to kiss her. More than likely he was going to ask her to invite him inside. She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to invite him inside, not for a few minutes or an hour but for the night—all of it. And yet the lovely dinner hadn’t erased the facts. He was still the CEO of Costas International, still the man to whom her father owed 2.5 million dollars, who might very well choose to ruin them. He would be going home to Greece on Thursday—for good. Given those circumstances, how could she possibly go to bed with him? Even though she wanted to—a lot.

She reached for her strength. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary.”

He frowned. “I am Greek. You are a woman under my protection. It is necessary.”

He was an alpha male to his core as well as absolutely swoon-worthy. By now Stefanie knew better than to argue. “O-okay.”

They cut across the sidewalk to her front steps. Holding back for her to ascend ahead of him, he set a steering hand on the small of her back. The heat from his palm was searing, the gesture one of possession, claiming.

She reached the porch on shaking legs. Floorboards creaked as Nick stepped up beside her. His hand slipped away.

Feeling its loss, she turned to face him. “Thank you again for dinner. I had a lovely time.”

The words scarcely did justice to the emotions roiling inside her—sadness and arousal, temptation and fear. The latter was as much for herself as for her father. Unlike Pete, unlike any of the men before him, if she wasn’t careful, Nick could break her heart.

“Thank you for accompanying me.” He hesitated. His stark gaze searched hers in the shadows. A rare look of uncertainty weighted his handsome features. “Stefanie?”

“Nick?”

He swallowed hard, setting off a ripple along the corded column of his throat. “I should like very much to kiss you.”

Stefanie’s heart beat so soundly she felt as though it might break through her chest, not because a kiss was out of bounds so far as her seduction mission went, it wasn’t, but because she finally acknowledged exactly where kissing Nick would lead—bed. Lifting her gaze to his, all pretenses of staying in control flew out the proverbial window. There was no way you could want someone the way she wanted him and still be in charge, at least she couldn’t. The game she’d played this past week was on par with messing around with firecrackers, fun for the moment but ultimately bad for you, even dangerous. And yet for once in her life, this once, she couldn’t resist putting caution on the back burner—and turning the front burner up to high, not for Acropolis Village or even her grandfather’s legacy but for herself. After twenty-eight years of being an ugly duckling, it was finally time to embrace her inner swan.

Moistening her lips, she admitted, “I’d like that, too.”

He reached out, cupping her cheek in the cradle of his big, square palm. His gaze fastened on her mouth. A smile played about the corners of his. “I had hoped you would agree.” His thumb flicked over her bottom lip, stroking the curve as he had back at the restaurant, but this time there was no pretense of powdered sugar, only the honesty of desire. Using the bridge of his knuckles, he tipped up her chin. “I have wanted to do this since the night I first met you standing in this very doorway.”

Despite the heat, Stefanie shivered. She started to answer…God knew what, but before she could, Nick’s mouth descended. Lips, soft yet firm, claimed hers. A knowing tongue stroked across the seam of her lips, teasing them apart. For once Stefanie didn’t stop to second-guess herself. She opened. He tasted of anisette and desire, yearning and experience. Neither Pete nor any of the few men she’d dated before him had ever kissed her anything close to this.

The kiss deepened. Their tongues touched, tangled, sparred, their heavy breaths filling the porch. Like a thirsting woman suddenly given water, Stefanie drank him in, her arms twining about his neck, her hand sliding into his soft, thick hair.

His heat and hardness brushed her lower belly, and instead of drawing back, she ground against him. Nick groaned, the vibration echoing inside her. His arm cinched about her waist, his other slipping lower to shape her buttocks. She chafed her aching breasts against the hard plane of his chest, her firmed nipples pressing against the thin lace of her bra. A damp throbbing began between her thighs, thighs that no matter how dimpled, she suddenly badly wanted to bare and open. As if reading her mind, he settled a hand there and gently squeezed.

Laying her hand atop his, Stefanie lifted herself against him.

Nick jerked back as though she’d burned him. Taking hold of her upper arms, he held her away from him. “Forgive me, Stefanie, I did not intend to so lose control.” He pivoted to peer over his shoulder.

She followed his gaze out to the street. Other than the lights of a passing car and a few porch lanterns left on, the block looked to be bedded down for the night. If one or two neighbors spied on them from darkened windows, she was past caring.

“We’re not exactly disturbing the peace.” Cupping his jaw, she drew his face back to hers. “Even if we were, I wouldn’t care.”

“But I care. You deserve to be treated with the utmost respect, not pawed in public.”

She smiled, his Old World ways striking a tender chord within her. Emboldened by the knowledge that he wanted her, really wanted her, she told herself that tomorrow would take care of itself. For once in her life, this once, she was prepared to live for and in the moment. “In that case, would you like to come inside for a drink?”

A shuddering breath was his first answer. “I would like…whatever will permit me to delay saying good night to you.”

Smiling through her heart’s fierce fluttering, she teased, “Even if I only have milk to offer?”

It wasn’t far from the truth. The two bottles of Retsina she’d bought had been drunk at the other night’s dinner and the dusty bottle of ouzo had likewise been drained of its last drop.

A smile skated across his mouth. “I love milk.” He reached down for her hand, lifted it, and brushed his lips across her knuckles.

The caress, tame compared to the kiss they’d just shared, nearly dropped Stefanie to her knees. Her breath catching, she said, “Calcium is…good for you.”

A flash of white teeth answered that statement. “That is good. I will need to keep up my strength.” There was no mistaking the smile in his voice—or the promise in his words.

She turned away, fumbling inside her bag for the key, shivering as Nick nibbled her neck. Key in hand, she fitted it to the lock. The latter was old and likely rusted, the wooden door swollen from the heat, and Nick’s nuzzling a dizzying distraction against which she was powerless to defend. It took several tries, but she finally heard the confirming click. A twist of the knob took them tumbling inside.

She’d forgotten to leave a light on. The door fell closed behind them, blanketing them in blackness. And then Nick’s hands were everywhere—her face, her breasts, her belly. Spanning her waist, he lifted her as though she were made of feathers and swung her into his arms. Keys slipped from her fingers and struck the wood floor. Her hands found the tops of his shoulders. She wound her arms about his neck. Everywhere their bodies touched he was hot and hard, moist and muscled.

Carrying her through the foyer, he passed the staircase and entered the kitchen.

He set her down upon the counter’s edge, the granite hard and chilly. Hands on her knees, he parted them and stepped between. The feral gleam in his eye made her feel entirely desired and entirely safe. “Unless you object, I am going to make love to you now.”

Stefanie didn’t object.

Bracing his fisted hands on either side of her, he leaned in and kissed her again—hard. Bruising and deep, primal and passionate, Nick’s kiss was a sensual assault that accepted nothing less than her complete submission. Stefanie gave it. Caged by his strong arms, caught between his body and the wall, she moaned into his mouth, not because he was hurting her but because she loved it.

“God, I can’t wait to have you.” He lifted his hands from the granite, reached between them, and began tugging at the buttons fronting her dress.

It fell open. Air-conditioning brushed the tops of her breasts. Caught up in kissing him, Stefanie scarcely registered him unhooking the front clasp of her fancy new bra. His sharp intake of breath had her dragging her mouth away and looking down.

The lace cups fell away and her breasts spilled free. He took her in his hands. “You are beyond beautiful,” he said softly, thumbs flicking over her nipples.

A wave of pleasure washed over her. Stefanie shuddered. Before now, she’d thought of herself as big and not much more. But now she looked at herself, really looked, striving to see what Nick saw. While she was indeed big-busted, she was also pleasingly firm and prettily shaped. Coral-colored nipples stuck out as if begging for his touch. Nick gave it, rolling her between his thumbs and forefingers. Intense pleasure struck her, not only in her breasts but everywhere, in her whole body.

He bent his head and fitted his mouth over one throbbing peach point. Heat hit Stefanie—again, everywhere. She gasped and arched against him, seeking to bring them closer. As amazing as his mouth felt on her breasts, she craved his kisses and touch lower. A lot lower.

It was as if Nick divined her thoughts yet again. Taking a step back, he took hold of the hem of her dress. Gliding his palm upward toward her waist, he ferried the fabric with him. Chilly air touched the tops of Stefanie’s bared thighs, the gooseflesh a stark contrast to the heat pooling inside her.

Looking down, he murmured, “So very pretty,” and traced the top of her Victoria’s Secret panties with a single, teasing finger.

Stefanie thought she might die on the spot, not from embarrassment but from anticipation. “Please,” she whispered, arching upward, her touch-starved body begging for release.

She didn’t have to say more. Sliding a hand between her thighs, he palmed her through her panties. Musk rose up between them. Stefanie didn’t need to look down to know that she was wet, her arousal seeping through the silk.

He stilled his stroking. “Do you trust me?”

A sob caught in her throat. “Y-yes.”

It was true. The billionaire playboy of tabloid and entertainment blog infamy was not the same man with whom she’d spent the past week. The Nick she knew was a loving father and now a tender lover.

It was herself she no longer knew. Gone was the ugly duckling, the Cinderella sans fairy godmother and ball. In their place was a swan, a fairy princess, a woman both desired and desirable. Primal power poured through her, sexual energy thrummed.

She smiled down at him. “I’m glad you like my underwear.”

White teeth flashed in the near darkness. “I like you.” Looking away, he grabbed the thin strip of lace and silk and drew it down to her ankles. His dark head shot up. “You are a woman of many surprises.”

He rubbed a knuckle along the narrow queue of curls bisecting her mons, and the painful waxing Macie had talked her into suddenly seemed worth it. So worth it.

He followed the line downward to the cleft parting her inner lips, and Stefanie caught her breath. “So responsive,” he murmured, grazing her slit.

The intimate touch carried Stefanie to the edge of the counter and the brink of orgasm. Wetness dampened her inner thighs. Everywhere he touched her, her flesh frissoned. “More, please, I want…more.”

Nick gave it. Slipping in her slickness, he slid a finger inside her. A second followed. Rhythmic scissoring nearly sent her over the edge.

Stefanie wasn’t wet; she was drenched. She lifted herself against his hand, her bottom leaving the counter. But Nick refused to be rushed. With his other hand, he found her clit. Slow circles brought him to her throbbing center.

He dragged her to the counter edge and dropped to his knees. His dark head brushed her lower belly as he angled his mouth to her sex. Beyond shame, Stefanie spread her legs to make room. The bottoms of her feet anchored to the shelf of his broad shoulders. She leaned back on her palms and prepared to give herself up to the pleasure.

But Nick seemed determined to draw out the torture, scattering petal-soft kisses inside one thigh and then the other. Deft fingers spread her. Warm breath fell upon her sensitized flesh. The point of a tongue probed her, teasing her clit. She jumped, her buttocks clenching against the counter as he drew the moisture from her slit.

“You taste like honey,” he murmured, licking damp lips.

He fluttered his tongue until Stefanie was sure she would die of pleasure. Only she didn’t die. She exploded. It was once more the Fourth of July, only the fireworks were all from within. Her engorged sex rocketed, setting off a starburst of spasms that seemed to travel all the way to her womb. Keening sobs tore forth from her throat.

“Nick!” She raked her nails over his scalp and lifted against him.

Finally the salvo faded. Breathing hard, she tugged down her dress, and then looked to Nick resting back on his heels on the floor. Sweat dampened his shirt, molding the material to his broad shoulders and muscled back.

“You’re amazing,” she said, though she suspected that wouldn’t exactly come as news to him.

She might be the nearest thing to naked, but Nick hadn’t dropped so much as a button. As much as she had always fantasized about a man putting her first, right now she didn’t want chivalry. She didn’t want to be relegated to a pedestal—or a kitchen counter. She wanted sex. With Nick. Sweaty, all-consuming, mutually satisfying sex. As amazing as his mouth and tongue and fingers had felt, as satisfying as her climax had been, she still ached to draw down the zipper of his jeans and take him inside her.

Chest heaving, he got to his feet. Sliding an arm about her, he looked from her agape dress into her eyes. “And you are even more succulent than your food.”

She reached between them and boldly cupped his groin. “Then stay with me. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

Reaching down, he covered her hand with his. “No, I will not be sorry. I only hope that tomorrow you can say the same.”

…

They made it as far as the foyer. The moment Stefanie turned to climb the stairs, exposing her beautiful backside through the sheer dress, Nick was once again lost, an animal. The taste of her in his mouth, the scent of her clinging to his skin, the echo of her release still keening inside his head—all slammed into him, a sensual swell he was powerless to resist. Suddenly he couldn’t wait to climb those creaking wooden steps to her room. He had to have her—now.

He lunged, taking hold of her beautiful buttocks, his fingers sinking into her lushness. Stefanie sank to her knees on the step above. Nick followed, throwing up her dress. He slid his hand beneath and stroked the elegant curve of her backside. Her panties were left lying in the kitchen. Were it up to him, she’d never wear more than a G-string again. Her ass cheeks were pale twin moons, taut and lush, and he longed to sink his teeth into them. He kissed first one buttock and then the other and then gently bit.

“Oh!”

He slid a hand between her splayed legs to the soft, fluttering flesh at her front. Warm and wet, she took his first probing finger without so much as a whimper, arching her back and bucking as if silently begging for a second. Nick gave it without hesitation, without warning. She moaned this time, her back and ass and thighs pearling with perspiration. He withdrew, anticipating her begging. Once again, she didn’t disappoint. She turned to look back at him, her eyes pleading for more.

Nick delved into her again, three fingers parting and probing her without apology or mercy. A strangled sob escaped her. Her fingers clawed the uncarpeted step above. Breathing in her arousal, Nick flexed his fingers, searching out the hidden sweet spot that would allow him to send her over the edge.

A strangled cry confirmed he’d found it. He worked his buried knuckles against it, again and again until…

“Oh my God, Nick!”

Stefanie convulsed, her inner muscles pumping against his buried partial fist, her cream drenching his hand, his wrist…

He waited for the spasms to ebb, then leaned forward and gently bit the back of her neck. “I am taking you to bed.”

Like the nymph Daphne fleeing Apollo, she scrambled to her knees and flew up the remaining stairs. Nick followed, taking the steps two at a time. Gaining the landing, he caught her roughly in his arms. Her dress hung open; her breasts swung free. Her mouth was swollen, her velvety brown eyes filled with wonder and satisfaction, challenge and lust.

He backed her inside the room to the foot of the brass four-poster. Thinking of all the ways those four sturdy posts could be used, he felt his erection firming to the point he feared his zipper might break.

She freed her arms and reached for him. “My turn.”

Buttons sprayed as she tore open his shirt. Her nails grazed his skin as she yanked the shirttail from his pants and peeled the sleeves off his shoulders. She bent her head, licking and suckling and nibbling her way from his neck downward. Her teeth grazing his nipples nearly sent him over the edge. Reaching down between them, she cupped him through his trousers. Nick groaned, covering her hand with his, coaxing her to work him. Only Stefanie didn’t need coaxing. Stroking his cock through his clothes, she lifted her head and kissed him, plundering his mouth as he had hers on the porch, bruising and biting and sucking him deeply into her mouth.

Breaking the kiss, she sank to her knees. Her tongue tasted his belly. Her teeth nipped the flesh sheathing his hip bone. She found the tab of his zipper and tugged it down. Reaching inside his open fly, she guided him to her mouth.

Her sweet lips sliding over him brought Nick to the brink of blowing his control. It had been six months since he’d been with a woman and the past week with Stefanie had kept him in an almost constant state of arousal. Threading his fingers through her hair, he closed his eyes and let her have her way. Stefanie took it, licking and laving and suckling him. Palming his balls, she slid one hand to his ass, her fingers stroking a trail along the seam bisecting his buttocks.

Determined not to lose control and cheat them both of the ultimate pleasure, he reached down, easing himself away to a saner space. Catching her bewildered look, he stretched out a hand and hauled her upright. Clearing away her clothes was the matter of a moment. Stepping back, he pushed her dress the rest of the way down, taking her unclasped bra with it. Naked, she stood before him, a dark-haired Aphrodite with satiny skin and bottomless eyes. A supple waist flared into generous hips and long legs that were both muscled and pleasingly slender. And her breasts, dear God her breasts… Despite his earlier feasting, Nick doubted he’d ever be truly sated.

He reached into his pocket and took out a condom packet. Eyes on hers, he shucked off the rest of his clothes, then tore open the foil and sheathed himself. Sitting on the side of the bed, he reached up and tugged her onto his lap.

She went willingly, winding her arms about his neck and wrapping her legs about his waist. “Are you really here or am I dreaming?” she asked with a sigh, her dark, disbelieving eyes shining into his.

He scooted them to the edge of the mattress and slid a buffering hand beneath her bottom. “You are not dreaming, sweet Stefanie. We are both here, and I intend to worship every exquisite inch of you. Only this time when you come, I want to see your beautiful face.”

He reached down and fitted himself against her. She was still very wet, easily as aroused as he, for all that she’d climaxed twice already. He thrust, sharp and sure, deliberately grazing her clit as he entered her. Stefanie drew a shuddering breath. She drew back and bore down on him again, driving him as deeply as he could go.

Nick groaned. “The kitchen and the bedroom,” he muttered to himself, his hands firming on her backside, his fingers sinking into flesh that was both generous and firm.

She blinked. “Sorry?”

Holding her securely, he shook his head. “A…story for later.”

They fell into a mating dance of advance and retreat, their movements as perfectly matched as if they were longtime lovers. She was beautifully responsive, a dream seductress in every way. He fed her passion with deep kisses, questing caresses, and copious praise. “My beauty, my goddess”—the heartfelt compliments tumbled from his lips. My love nearly slipped out as well. In the midst of his passion, he managed to stifle it.

Wrapping her arms about him, she rocked against him, fisting him with her warm flesh, using her inner muscles to milk his member.

Only Nick wasn’t yet willing to surrender.

“Hold onto me,” he said. Standing, he brought them both off the bed.

Still inside her, he carried her across the room to the wall. Bracing her against it, he pulled out and sank back into her, faster and harder, slamming into her again and again, marking her with kisses and bruises, claiming her with his hands and mouth and cock, determined that whatever the next few days brought, they would both remember this night, these moments, this joy, for the rest of their lives.

For the time being, the world reduced to their mutual moaning, to the slapping together of damp flesh, to the fevered look in Stefanie’s eyes just before she threw her head back against the wall and screamed. One word. His name.

“Nick!”

Her legs slackened around him. Holding her in place, Nick pulled out and sank in, releasing all the past week’s hopes and dreams and desires in one final, cosmically splintering thrust. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against Stefanie’s and let his climax claim them both.

…

Tuesday, July 8

Lying in Stefanie’s bed, covered by her quilt, Nick pulled up on one elbow and looked down at her. Her head tucked into his shoulder and her curvy body molded to his side, she was the picture of innocence and sexual satiation.

It was a compelling combination.

She looked like a Greek version of one of Mara’s fairy-tale princesses, lips softly parted as if in preparation for true love’s awakening kiss, silky, dark hair spilling over the snowy-white bed linens. Unable to resist, he reached out and smoothed the pillow crease on her cheek.

Her eyelids fluttered and then lifted. “Hi, you,” she said with a smile, her voice raw from sex and sleep.

He smiled down at her. “Kalimera,” he answered, though the sky beyond her sheer curtains was still pitch-dark.

Her sleepy look vanished. She pushed up on one elbow, her gaze going to the window. “But it’s still dark out,” she protested, turning back to him. “Stay.” Wrapping her arms around him, she hauled him back against her, her breasts brushing his back—a temptress determined not to take no for an answer.

“It is almost three in the morning.”

“Three! But what about Mara?”

Nick hesitated. “Back in the restaurant when you excused yourself to use the ladies room, I er…texted the babysitter and asked if she could stay the night.”

Stefanie slanted him a look. “You were that sure of me, huh?”

“No, but I was…hopeful.”

Banking his pillow against the headboard, he settled back, bringing her with him. “Still, I do not want Mara to wake up and find me gone.”

She turned to look up at him, the motion causing the sheet to slip. “I understand. Of course you have to go.”

“I will…in another few minutes.” He spotted the faint blue bruise blooming atop of her left breast and quietly cursed himself. Reaching over, he touched it tenderly. “I am a beast. I was too fierce in my passion. I have hurt you.”

She caught at his hand. The press of her lips to his palm moved him deeply. “No more than I wanted you to. And you didn’t exactly escape unscathed, either.” She reached up, trailing fingers along the side of his neck. “I hope you don’t mind hickeys.”

Knowing he was branded with her love bite made him smile. “You can mark me as you wish, but in the future I will take care to be gentler.” Belatedly it occurred to him that their “future” was now fewer than two days. Unless, of course, he could come to a reasonable resolution with her father.

A shimmy of creamy shoulders answered the promise. “I’d rather be treated like a woman than a china doll.”

He studied her face, scoured of makeup and unbelievably beautiful. “How is it you are still unmarried?”

Her gaze shuttered. “I was engaged for a while but it…didn’t work out. There hasn’t been anyone since, or really anyone I was serious about before. What…what about you?”

“I have never asked a woman to marry me but there have been…relationships.”

“I know, mostly with models and actresses.” She hesitated and then admitted, “I read your Wikipedia entry.”

Though hardly surprised, Nick didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or amused. Blogs and articles on his past life seemed almost to describe another person, a stranger.

He leaned over and kissed the frown furrowing her forehead. “Those other women, they are as ghosts to me now,” he said with feeling.

She drew back. Earnest eyes looked into his. “But you brought condoms with you.”

So she still didn’t trust him, not completely. Nick didn’t blame her, but whatever happened or didn’t happen between them after Thursday, he couldn’t bear that she might look back on him as a player.

“I bought them yesterday from the hotel gift shop…for us.” It was the absolute truth.

Lifting her head from his shoulder, she asked, “The hotel gift shop sells condoms?”

He nodded, fighting a smile. “With the shaving cream and toothpaste.”

“So you really were sure of me!”

He hesitated. “Hopeful—and feeling most unfortunate at the moment.” He bent and pressed a kiss atop her shoulder.

Her expression softened. Threading her fingers through the hair on his chest, she asked, “Do you really have to work today?”

“Alas, I do.”

The answer came with real regret. The teleconference had been arranged before he’d decided to make this trip and involved several powerful influencers in the international development community. As much as he might wish to reschedule, doing so would be beyond irresponsible.

“But we still have this evening,” he added. It would be his last chance to woo her before the Wednesday meeting, and he had every intention of making it count. “I would very much like to take you out again, that is, if you do not have other plans,” he added, not wanting her to think that because they’d slept together, he took her for granted.

She brightened. “Yes, I’m free, and I would love to go out on a proper date with you. But what do you call last night, this?”

Leaning over, he lightly touched his lips to hers. “I call it practice.”

…

For the first time in years, Stefanie didn’t set a wake-up time. When she awoke again, it was noon. Noon. She bolted upright, belatedly remembering there was no need to rush. Staying put, she stretched, deliciously sore in all the very best places. Her rumpled bedding smelled of Nick. She buried her nose in the pillow he’d occupied and closed her eyes, replaying the night in her mind.

The sex had been incredible, mind blowing. For the first time in her life, she’d forgotten to fret about the circumference of her waist or the cellulite dimpling the backs of her thighs. She forgot to worry about any of those things because Nick had made her feel utterly cherished, breathtakingly beautiful. Already she was counting the hours until she would see him again. Once their evening began, however, it would be hard not to will time to stand still. Tomorrow was Wednesday, the day set aside for the meeting with her father. As much as she wanted to stay positive, Stefanie didn’t see how there would be any more dates, proper or otherwise, before Nick flew home on Thursday morning.

A knock on her front door sent her springing out of bed and rushing to find her robe. Throwing it on, she hurried down the stairs, tying the belt on her way.

A courier bearing a long white box tied with a bright red ribbon stood on her stoop. “Stefanie Stefanopoulos?”

“Yes, that’s me.” She reached out to take the clipboard and pen.

She signed, and he took back the clipboard and handed her the box, too big to be flowers. “Have a good day, ma’am.”

She would wager the client list for Good Enuf to Eat that the box held a gift from Nick. Really, who else could it be? Curious to see what was inside, she nodded. “Thanks, you too.”

She closed the door with her hip and walked into the kitchen. Setting the present atop the counter, she slid off the ribbon, too pretty to cut, and lifted off the lid.

Oh. My. God.

Wrapped in red tissue paper, a scarlet satin gown lay inside. Feeling as though she were living a dream, better yet a fairy tale, she lifted it out and held it up. The label was designer, the size exactly hers. Though formalwear could be tricky, she had the sense it was going to fit—perfectly. Holding it against herself, she took a few turns about the bricked floor. The long flared train swept the floor—a fairy-princess gown, indeed.

A folded note on thick, cream-colored stationery was still in the box. Pulse skipping, she broke the seal and read:

A gown for a goddess. I will send a driver for you at six. Until then—

Yours, Nick

Nick wasn’t hers, not yet. But despite all the obstacles in their path, Stefanie determined to hold onto the hope that somehow, magically, he might be.

Chapter Eight

The temptation to try on the dress had proven too great to resist. Unfortunately, doing so had made Stefanie late for her Starbucks meet-up with Macie. Hurrying over to their table, she said, “Coffee’s on me. What would you like?”

Macie looked up from her e-reader and smiled. “Since you’re buying, make my Splenda latte a venti.”

A few minutes later, Stefanie settled back in with her café mocha and Macie’s latte. Taking a sip of her drink, Macie eyed her. “You look…different.”

Stefanie forced a shrug. “That’s the point of a makeover, isn’t it?”

Her friend wasn’t fooled. “You’ve had sex!”

“Shush!” Mortified, Stefanie darted her gaze about the crowded cafe.

Lowering her voice, Macie leaned over and said, “You slept with Nick Costas.”

Knowing that denial was pointless, Stefanie nodded. “Guilty as charged.” Hours later, she still couldn’t stop smiling. Even with all the worries and unknowns still weighing on her mind, she felt sort of…wonderful.

“So?” Macie prompted, “How was it? Judging from the way you’re glowing, I’d say it must have been pretty freakin’ amazing.”

Blushing, Stefanie admitted, “It was.”

“So when are you seeing him again?”

Stefanie sat back. “Tonight. He wants to take me on another date.” She couldn’t imagine anything topping the previous night, but the gown he’d sent certainly suggested the evening he had planned would be special as well as formal. Was he intending for tonight to be a last hurrah—or the start of something new and wonderful?

Macie’s smile dimmed. “What is it? What’s with the face?”

For the first time since the night before when Nick had swept her off her feet—literally—Stefanie felt her spirits hit a lull. “I just wish we had more…time. He goes back to Greece on Thursday.”

She didn’t mention tomorrow’s meeting or the reason for it. Macie was her best friend, but some things were best kept among family. So far as her friend knew, she’d only been playing tour guide to her father’s business associate.

Setting down her coffee, Macie shrugged. “You’ve been talking about going to Greece ever since I’ve known you, so buy a plane ticket and visit him.”

Macie had a knack for making everything seem so straightforward, so simple. “You think?”

Macie nodded. “I don’t think. I know. But it’s still only Tuesday. Take it from me, a lot can happen in twenty-four hours. The best approach is to stay positive about the present. Speaking of which, what are you wearing tonight?”

Perking up, Stefanie reached into her bag and took out her phone. “He bought me a dress.”

“Get outta here!”

“No, I’m serious.” She brought up the picture she’d taken of the dress hanging on her closet door and handed over the phone.

Macie’s eyes popped. “That’s not just a dress. That’s a dress.”

“I know, I know. And Mace, it’s…Vera Wang.” Even Stefanie recognized the famous designer.

Grinning, Macie said, “With most men you’d be lucky to get a text message next day, flowers if he’s really into you. This guy sends a designer gown. He doesn’t do anything by half measures, does he?”

“No, he certainly doesn’t,” Stefanie agreed with a sigh, thinking back to all the ways he’d made love to her last night.

“If you need it altered, I know a fab tailor who does same-day turnarounds for special clients. I’ll text you the info. Be sure to tell him I sent you.”

Stefanie felt her smile widening. “Thanks but I tried it on—that’s why I was late—and it fits me per-fect-ly. I don’t even need shapewear!” The latter almost made her giddy.

Macie shot her an I-told-you-so look. “That’s awesome.”

“I’m not sure how he knew my size, but he did.”

She stopped there. After the sexy night they’d shared, Nick must be intimately familiar with every inch of her. Or perhaps he’d looked in her closet before leaving. That he’d thought of her after leaving her bed certainly seemed like a positive sign.

A gown for the goddess you are.

“Have you worn the shoes yet?” Macie asked. “The Cinderella slippers,” she prompted.

“There really hasn’t been an occasion.”

Macie grinned. “Well, there is now. They’ll be stunning with this dress.”

“You’re right. They will be,” Stefanie agreed. The shoes were still in their elaborate box, tucked onto a shelf at the back of her closet. Until now, she’d as good as forgotten them.

But they were definitely coming out of the closet tonight. She hoped whatever pixie dust or other magic they possessed would be enough to rub off on Nick and her both.

…

Waking up in Stefanie’s bed had been a wake-up call for Nick in more ways than one. Despite the hot sex they’d had, and her obvious enthusiasm, he sensed that apart from her fiancé she hadn’t much prior experience. Considering she must be in her late twenties, that carried her as close to virgin status as a non-virgin could come. She was the sort of woman a man took for his wife, for the mother of his children, not for casual sex.

There had been nothing casual about last night.

Lying beside her that morning, his arms wrapped around her curvy body and his face buried in her fragrant hair, he’d felt closer to peace than he could ever remember being. Warmhearted, funny, and wonderful with Mara, she was unlike any woman he’d ever dated. And as good as she was in the kitchen, last night had demonstrated that she was even better in the bedroom. He wasn’t sure how or even if she fit into his life, especially after Wednesday’s contentious meeting, but after last night he was determined not to let her slip away without a fight.

He’d begun by buying the dress. A quick glance in Stefanie’s closet once she’d slipped back to sleep had confirmed her size. As to the color, there had been only one thought in Nick’s mind: red. Returning to the hotel, he’d waited for the concierge desk to reopen at nine, and then given the man the details along with his credit-card information, a short list of preferred designers, and his preferred color—red. The hotel’s recommended personal shopper had taken it from there, including arranging the delivery. Nick’s online check of the tracking number confirmed that the gift had been delivered and signed for. Seeing Stefanie’s signature on the scanned document, he’d felt his pulse quickening. Imagining how beautiful she would look dressed—and undressed—had him counting down the hours.

The teleconference with the other international investors would take up most of the day. Seated at the secretary desk, his laptop open and reports of charts and graphs fanned out in front of him, Nick started when house phone rang.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Costas,” the hotel desk clerk apologized, “but there is a Ms. Stefanopoulos here to see you. Shall I send her up?”

At the mention of Stefanie, Nick’s heart began revving like the engine of the expensive car he’d raced at the Indy 500 in his daredevil days. Had she rethought their second date? Had his gift offended her in some way? “Yes, please, provide her with the elevator code.”

He ran a hand through his hair to smooth it, vaguely aware that he was nervous. It wasn’t like Stefanie to drop in. She must have something important to say. Nick only hoped it wasn’t a preemptive good-bye.

The suite doorbell sounded. “Coming,” he called out. He crossed the carpet to answer it, tucking in his shirt on the way.

He opened the door. “Jacquie,” he managed to get out, staring down at Stefanie’s stepmother. Heart plummeting, he stepped back for her to enter. “This is a surprise.”

Sporting a white fur coat, black jeans, and thigh-high boots, and wearing red lipstick far too bright to flatter a woman of her years, she sauntered inside. “No doubt you were expecting my stepdaughter.”

Nick didn’t deny it. Why should he? Stefanie was a grown woman and free to spend time where and with whom she wished. Beyond that, from everything he’d so far seen, Jacquie had never bothered to be anything near a mother to her.

“Nice digs,” she observed, her crassness setting Nick’s teeth on edge. Looking around, she seemed to catalog the suite’s every nook and cranny. “Fresh flowers make all the difference.” She plucked a calla lily from the vase. Twirling the flower, she added, “Back when I was working full-time as a realtor, I always made sure all my showings were staged with fresh flowers in every room. The smell of baking cookies and fresh wall paint helps, too,” she added with a piercing laugh.

In no mood for her real-estate reminiscences, Nick followed her over. “I am afraid I am in the midst of preparing for a teleconference.”

She followed his gaze over to the desk where he’d obviously been working. Turning back, she nodded. “That’s fine. I’ll be brief.”

“That would be appreciated, thank you.” He didn’t bother asking her to sit.

She drew an audible breath. “Are you aware that my husband is looking into taking out a second mortgage on our home to repay you?”

“I was not,” Nick admitted. “But then since he has not yet deigned to meet with me, how would I know this?”

If she were expecting sympathy, she was destined to be disappointed. A developer risking his multimillion-dollar home because of a botched business deal wasn’t quite the same as innocent orphans and frightened young mothers being turned away for lack of space.

Her eyes narrowed. “Of course he hasn’t met with you yet. He’s been too busy lining up his ducks, meeting with bankers and brokers and debt consolidators and… Well, our house has been like Grand Central Station ever since you got here.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “Look, this charade has gone on long enough. Are you going to grant him an extension or not?”

Nick was stunned and not only by the bald rudeness of her demand. Nick had no intention of granting additional time, but that was beside the point. “That is one of many matters he is free to propose to me tomorrow.”

She scowled. “I know how you Old World types operate. The world’s one big Old Boys’ Club so far as you’re concerned. For your information, I’m not just his wife. I’m a member of the board.”

“Congratulations.”

She glared. “We both know my husband has been pretending to be sick. I think he has this crazy idea that if you spend enough time with Stefanie, you’ll fall for her and forgive his debt.”

Nick didn’t speak. If that was indeed the plan, then Stefanie’s father was even more reprehensible than he’d considered.

“But men like you don’t fall for girls like Stefanie. You may sleep with them out of boredom or pity or convenience but that’s the end of it.”

Though burning to tell her how wrong she was, for Stefanie’s sake Nick sealed his lips.

Apparently mistaking his silence for agreement, she continued, “Stefanie and I have never been what you’d call close, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let her whore herself out for the family—even if Christos’s financial crisis is all her fault.”

This really was intolerable. “How is your husband’s reneging on repaying his debt any fault of Stefanie’s? Other than being on the board, she doesn’t have anything to do with running the company.”

Her brow, likely Botoxed, lifted. “You really don’t know, do you?”

Heart drumming, Nick forced a shrug. “Enlighten me.”

“Stefanie’s former fiancé swindled us out of three million dollars. It was a textbook Ponzi scheme—and poor Stefanie made an easy mark. I warned Christos not to give that mini-Madoff any money, but he did anyway. I think he wanted to get in good with his future son-in-law, feather the nest for Stefanie, so to speak. We were all so relieved she’d finally found someone.”

I was engaged for a while but it…didn’t work out…

Looking pleased with herself, she tapped his arm with the flower. “As you can imagine, Stefanie blames herself. She’d do just about anything to make things right for her dad—anything. Putting herself through an extreme makeover in one week is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“A makeover?” One of the things he’d first noticed and liked about her was her utter absence of artifice.

She nodded. “I know she’s still plain and chunky, but if you saw how she normally looks, you wouldn’t even recognize her. That messy braid, those geeky glasses, and don’t even get me started on her clothes. Before she heard you were coming, I don’t think she even owned eye shadow. I know it’s hard to believe, but what you’re seeing is actually her ‘after’ look.”

Shocked, he demanded, “Why would she do all this?”

She looked at him askance. “To seduce you, of course, so you’d let her precious pop off the hook.” She rolled her eyes. “Pathetic, I know. I’m sure she’ll be back in her sweats just as soon as you leave for the airport on Thursday. Now my girls, on the other hand—”

“Get out.” Nick rounded the table and closed the gap between them. Grabbing her by the elbow, he ferried her toward the foyer, the flower falling to the floor.

Her mouth flew open, making her look like a hooked fish. “Let go of me. You may not comprehend our American laws,” she hissed, apparently forgetting he was a Harvard-educated lawyer, “but this could be construed as assault.”

Nick bit back a bitter laugh. “Then sue me.” Reaching around her, he threw open the door.

Left with little choice, she backed into the hall. “You should be thanking me, not manhandling and insulting me. I came here to warn you. You’re being played.”

“Your unpleasant visit has only confirmed what I knew already. You’re a conniving shrew. I may not forgive your husband’s debt, likely I will not, but after today I do pity him.”

He closed the door in her face. Turning, he barricaded it with his back.

All along he’d known Stefanie was covering for her father, but he’d never considered she’d use sex to manipulate him. His scandalous past with women must have made him seem like easy prey. That he’d fallen for her good girl act, for her, made it hard to hold back from putting his fist through the nearest wall.

Instead he scraped a hand through his hair and fought to fathom how the last few minutes could so completely alter everything. Just that morning, he’d left Stefanie wrapped in a bed sheet and a postcoital cocoon, her satiny skin still rosy from his lovemaking, the innocence of her sleeping smile rivaling an angel’s. Based on what he’d just heard, though, she wasn’t so very innocent. Until now, he’d assumed he’d seduced her, but now he saw he’d had it all wrong.

He hadn’t seduced Stefanie. She’d screwed him.

Chapter Nine

Nick’s car and driver showed up at Stefanie’s shortly before six. Having an entire stretch limo to herself was the modern day equivalent of a coach-and-four. She stretched out her arms, sheathed in elbow-high evening gloves, her hands smoothing over the adjacent empty seats. A bucket of shaved ice accommodated an uncorked bottle of vintage Veuve Cliqot. Once again Nick had thought of everything. She poured herself a glass from the barware rack and settled back to sip. Whatever tomorrow brought, she was finally getting to have her Cinderella night.

Even traffic was on her side. They arrived at the Four Seasons in no time at all. She made her way through the lobby, turning heads and admiring glances following her progress to the elevator bank. Feeling like an ugly duckling no longer, she entered the elevator leading up to Nick’s floor.

Stepping off, she allowed herself one final look in a hallway mirror. The asymmetrical, off-the-shoulder scarlet gown did indeed hit her body in all the best places. Her arms weren’t skinny but they were sculpted, not from workouts at the gym but from years of hefting heavy coolers and catering trays. Her waist wasn’t narrow but it nipped in where a waist should, offset by ample hips that now seemed womanly, not fat. The fitted skirt flared at the train, making her feel like a mermaid, ethereal yet seductive.

Showing beneath it, the canary-colored stones studding her vintage red shoes winked up at her. Cinderella slippers, or so Macie and Starr and Francesca had called them. Considering all the women who’d worn them, beginning with Maddie Mulligan and funneling down the decades to her own fabulous friend circle, she felt a lump form in her throat. Now she, formerly plain, mousy Stefanie Stefanopoulos was about to take her place as yet another link in the legacy of strong, hopeful women, taking responsibility for her happiness by claiming Happily Ever After as her right. Sure, she wanted the whole HEA enchilada—the handsome prince, the castle—complete with customized chef’s kitchen, of course—and the brood of little princes and princesses. But for now, she wanted this magical evening, not as a bittersweet memory to be looked back upon with smiles and tears but as the first brick in building a foundation beneath her fairy-tale dreams.

I feel like a princess, she thought, walking up to Nick’s suite. Not only a princess, but a goddess, or so Nick had called her last night while making love and again in today’s note. As great as the gown and makeup and even the shoes made her feel, the true transformation was on the inside. For the first time in her life she felt beautiful and desirable, worthy of an incredible man’s love.

Did Nick’s feelings for her run that deeply? Slipping on the shoes earlier that night, for the first time she’d allowed herself to envision a future beyond Thursday. Would he invite her to visit him in Greece? If he did, would that stay lead to a more…permanent arrangement? They’d only known one another a week and yet after last night, anything—everything—seemed possible.

Happily Ever After here I come.

She drew a deep breath and raised her fist to knock. Her first tentative tap brought no response. She rang the bell, but it also went unanswered. Nick had said he was working today. Was he still tied up with the teleconference? Rather than risk disturbing him, she took out of her purse the extra key card he’d given her and let herself in.

Nick sat behind the Queen Anne-style secretary desk nursing a glass of ouzo. Anticipating his kiss, eager for the press of his arms around her, she hurried across the carpet toward him, satin swishing.

“There you are. Why didn’t you answer? I thought you must still be in your meeting. How did it go?” Coming up on the desk, she took in his unshaven face, mussed hair, and rolled up shirtsleeves, her smile fading.

Something was wrong, very wrong. “Am I early?”

“No, you are perfectly punctual. One of your many virtues, along with your devotion to family.”

His clipped tone cast a chill over her earlier optimism. And he still hadn’t bothered to stand. The Nick she knew was a consummate gentleman.

He looked up from his glass. “Why didn’t you tell me about your fiancé?”

Stefanie’s heart stopped. “Former fiancé. And I did…this morning, remember?” Obviously he knew there was more to the story, but how much more?

“Do not toy with me, Stefanie. I know all about the Ponzi scheme. And I know about the makeover you underwent in the hope of seducing me so that I would forgive Olympia’s debt.”

Stefanie felt as if the floor were falling, carrying her with it. She reached out, clutching the edge of the desk to steady herself. “H-how did you find out?”

He shrugged his shoulders, the same broad shoulders that last night she’d clung to. “Your stepmother stopped by.”

Jacquie! Stefanie had always known her stepmother wasn’t the nicest person; still she was stunned that she would sink to such depths to hurt her. And not just her but Olympia, their family’s bread and butter.

He shook his head at her. “Telling me the truth would have saved us both a lot of time and trouble.”

Time and trouble—was that how he saw their week together?

“Instead your father has spent the past seven days hiding out like a criminal and you—”

“What about me?”

He inhaled deeply as though the question hurt him. “You’ve spent the week making a fool of me.”

Guilty tears flooded her eyes. So much for mind fucking the man. She’d set out to game him and now that she had, she was reaping her just reward—and finding it a bitter harvest indeed. “I didn’t sleep with you because of the money.” That much was true. She hadn’t meant for her seduction to go beyond flattery and flirting. Once it had, she’d been as swept away as he. “I’ll admit I planned to soften you up with some meals and…maybe a little flirting and sure, looking nice was part of that, but that was it.”

The askance look he gave her confirmed he wasn’t buying a word. “And your kindness to my Mara, was that part of your plan too?”

Tears spilled over her bottom lashes. She shook her head. “Whatever else you may think of me, please don’t think that.”

He slammed down his drink, sending ouzo lopping the glass. “What am I supposed to think?”

Stefanie didn’t have an answer, not that he seemed to expect one. And she couldn’t really blame him. Were she to stand in his shoes, she probably wouldn’t believe her, either.

She’d finally turned the tables on a man—only doing so didn’t bring the satisfaction she’d anticipated just a week ago. Instead she felt wretched and ashamed. Miserable, she watched him stand and cross to the front of the desk. He looked so fierce that it took all her remaining courage not to back away.

Stefanie choked back a sob. “May I say good-bye to Mara at least?”

His mouth thinned. “You are not to go anywhere near my daughter, do you understand? You have lost the privilege.”

“Nick, please.” She reached for him, but the ice in his eyes stalled her.

“Good-bye, Stefanie.” He turned away as if unable to bear the sight of her. Again, she didn’t really fault him.

Voice cracking, she managed, “Please give her my…love.”

He didn’t answer. Staring at his broad back, she felt tears pooling.

I have to get out of here—now.

Wheeling away, she picked up her skirt. Flying through the foyer, she nearly upset a vase of hydrangeas in her haste. She reached the door and wrenched it open. She stepped outside as the first sob wrenched her. Anchoring herself to the wall, she doubled over, wrapping her arms around herself, her heart hammering against the snug bodice. Mascara-laced tears burned her eyes. Her nose ran.

Dinging at the far end of the hallway announced that the elevator had landed. She shoved away from the wall and bolted toward it. Halfway there, the heel of her right slipper snapped. Her ankle buckled, the shoe flying off. She tried stooping to retrieve it, but her gown wasn’t made for such maneuvering. She teetered, nearly toppling, her painted nails clawing at the carpet. If she could only hook it with a finger…

Ahead, the elevator started closing. The prospect of hanging around for its return, perhaps encountering other hotel guests or worse yet, Nick, was too terrible to risk. Macie and the others would just have to forgive her. Abandoning the shoe, she hobbled toward the elevator and shot out her arm. The doors snapped back, and she stepped on, grateful that it was empty. Catching her reflection in the plated glass, she saw that her melting makeup brought to mind the late Heath Ledger’s final screen performance as The Joker.

Legend has it the shoes bring luck in love to whoever wears them, Macie had said.

Only Stefanie’s bad luck in love had proven more potent than the shoes’ mojo. Or, more likely they’d never worked at all, the legend another empty fairy tale.

Either way, for her the fairy tale was a weeklong chapter, not a Happily Ever After book.

…

Alone, Nick fitted a hand to his forehead and focused on his breathing. He’d met Stefanie only one week ago. It was impossible to fall in love with someone in such a short time.

Or was it?

Dinging from the hallway had him whirling toward the suite door. The elevator had landed—and in all likelihood Stefanie was in it. Despite the despicable way she’d played him, he still felt hopelessly protective toward her. He shouldn’t allow her to leave so upset. Who knew what might happen.

He grabbed his key card off the foyer table and headed out into the hallway. An obstacle in his path nearly sent him sprawling. He looked down. A scarlet velvet slipper studded with canary-colored rhinestones lay in his path. Stefanie’s slipper. It must be hers and yet he didn’t recall her feet being quite so small. Still, there was no mistaking the distinctive detailing. Though it hardly seemed worn, the workmanship proclaimed it to be old, vintage. As a boy, he’d seen similar shoes at the back of his grandmother’s closet.

He bent to pick it up. The heel was cracked, split straight down the middle. It must have broken as she’d rushed for the elevator. He was reminded of Mara’s favorite fairy tale, Cinderella. All that was missing was a clock striking midnight.

He straightened, bringing the shoe with him. He must have drunk more than he’d thought because the velvet-covered leather seemed to pulse against his palm. His hand felt warm and tingling, his heart empty and aching.

This isn’t like me.

He’d had more hookups and short-term relationships than he cared to count but never once had he come close to feeling so desolate and utterly miserable. As much as he hated to admit it, there was only one plausible explanation: love. Despite the short time they’d known one another he’d fallen in love with Stefanie. Even in the midst of feeling furious with her, when she’d walked into his suite, he’d been hard-pressed not to forgive everything and take her in his arms to kiss her.

From inside the suite, his cell phone sounded. Thinking the caller could be Stefanie, he hurried in to answer it. But when he dug it out from beneath the papers on his desk, he saw that the number, a DC exchange, wasn’t hers, nor was it in his contacts list. The disappointment came not as a pang but as a blow.

He picked up and said, “Costas here.”

“This is Christos Stefanopoulos.”

Nick couldn’t help himself. “For a man stricken with influenza, you sound remarkably fit. If you are thinking to once again cancel our meeting, you are a foolish man indeed.”

“We will speak of tomorrow’s meeting in a minute. But first, I think you’ve got a wrong impression about my daughter.”

…

Limping barefoot through the lobby, Stefanie was once again aware of heads turning her way, only this time the looks she received were curious, concerned, or pitying. Too miserable to care, she made her way to the exit. Outside, the canopied entrance was crowded with well-heeled hotel guests headed out to dinner. In the pull-up, Nick’s hired limo still waited. Tempting though it was to simply climb inside, what was left of her pride wouldn’t let her. After what had just gone down in Nick’s suite, she didn’t care to be beholden to him in any way. If she’d had a change of clothing, she would have gone into the lobby restroom and ripped the beautiful red dress straight off.

After some argument, the driver finally accepted her dismissal and drove away.

Sagging against the side of the building, she considered what to do, or rather where to go next. Home was the obvious choice, only she didn’t want to be alone. Crawling into bed and pulling the covers over her head, covers that still smelled of Nick, probably wouldn’t be all that consoling. For the time being, dropping in on her pop was out of the question. Confronting Jacquie could wait until she was calm. An ice-cream shop where she could binge her way through the flavors? Georgetown was lousy with bars to suit every age group and preference. Too bad she wasn’t much of a drinker. Regardless of which poison she picked, she wasn’t getting very far with only one shoe. If the hotel gift shop sold condoms, did it also sell flip-flops?

In the midst of pondering the possibilities, her cell phone went off. She thought about ignoring it, but what if it was Nick? Upstairs in his suite, she’d been too blindsided to do much in the way of defending herself. Not that she was blameless, she wasn’t, but she also wasn’t the Mata Hari he seemed to think her.

She opened her bag. Rooting around the envelope he’d given her, she dug out her phone. The caller wasn’t Nick. It was Macie.

“Hey, Stef, I just wanted to check in and wish you luck tonight.”

She’d thought she was done with crying but when she opened her mouth to answer, instead of words, sobs spilled out. “Oh, Macie, I…he…I…”

“Stef, where are you?”

“The…F-Four…Seasons.”

“Listen to me, just listen. Do not drive. You’re way too upset to get behind the wheel. Have one of the hotel porters put you in a cab and tell the driver to bring you to my place, okay?”

“B-but Ross—”

“Would say the same thing if he were here, only he’s not. He’s out of town. I’m here chaperoning Sam’s sleepover. I could use some adult company. You’ll be doing me a favor.”

“O-okay.”

Hanging up, Stefanie shuffled over to the cab queue. The uniformed porter took one look at her and led her to the front of the line. “Sorry, folks, the lady has an emergency,” he said to the waiting guests, some sympathetic, others irate.

Stefanie thanked him, passed him several crumpled dollars from her purse, and got in. Ten minutes later, she stood in the hallway outside Ross and Macie’s condo.

Macie met her at the door. “Oh my God, honey, come right in.”

Crossing the threshold, it struck Stefanie that, other than the surviving Cinderella slipper she’d held onto, she was coming into someone’s home empty-handed for the first time in years—no coolers or food chests or handled bags. Her arms felt as empty as her heart.

“I lost…” She wanted to say Nick but instead she held out the red sling back. “Your shoe.”

Macie’s arm went around her. “Don’t worry about it. Maddie’s shoes have had a good long run. Maybe it’s time to retire them and the legend.”

Stefanie fought to firm her trembling lips. “The fairy tale, you mean?”

Macie guided her over to the breakfast bar and gestured for her to sit. An open bottle of wine and a box of tissues had been set out. Half-full bags of processed snacks—popcorn, chips, and candy—crowded the countertops. Thinking of all the empty calories and preservatives, Stefanie suppressed a shudder. Then she remembered the reason Macie was at home—Sam’s sleepover.

She glanced around the deserted dining area and living room. The condo was as quiet as a library. “Don’t tell me I chased away the party?”

Macie looked up from opening the wine. “I relocated Sam and her friends to the event room. Fortunately no one’s booked it tonight. They love it down there. It has a Ping-Pong table, a pool table, and a wide-screen TV even more gargantuan than ours. For all I know, they’re down there watching porn, but at least I know they’re safe.”

Impressed, Stefanie asked, “When did you get so good at this stuff?” A year ago, Macie had been a self-avowed single girl. She was no Julia Child, but she seemed to have struck an impressive balance between her busy work and home lives.

Macie paused in pouring their wine. “You were right all along. Being part of a family changes everything.”

Stefanie reached for a tissue. “I said that?”

“Yes, you certainly did. It was great advice, so let’s see if I can return the favor.” She slid one very full glass of red across the counter. “First, talk to me.”

Stefanie bracketed the wineglass between shaking hands. Between sips of Shiraz, she poured out her predicament, starting with Pete’s Ponzi scheme.

Macie piped up. “I never did like that guy. He had beady eyes—and a seriously weak chin.”

Stefanie didn’t disagree. “There’s…more.” She filled Macie in on her father’s business dealings with Nick’s, his inability to repay the loan in full, and Stefanie’s plan to seduce Nick up with her food and flirting.

Macie let her finish and then said, “I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but I think your father should have manned up and met with Nick on day one.”

Setting down her glass, Stefanie shook her head. “He was hoping to bring on additional investors and get the bank to extend his credit line. He’s even taking out a second mortgage on the house. And let’s not forget that I’m the one who got him into this fix in the first place.”

“Not you, Pete,” Macie corrected.

Rather than debate their relative roles, Stefanie sipped her wine. It must be a testimony to how high her adrenaline had spiked that she wasn’t even buzzed by now. “Pop just asked me to stall him. The seduction thing was all my idea,” she admitted, hoping confession was indeed good for the soul. Miserable though she was, it was a relief to unburden herself to someone she could trust.

Stefanie blew out a breath. “ I figured I’d be helping out my pop and getting myself out of my post-Pete slump. I never expected for things to get so…out of hand. I know we’ve only known each other a week, but the thing is I have…feelings for him.”

Macie’s crack of laughter took her aback. “Feelings schmeelings, you’re in love with the guy.”

Stefanie felt her face flame. “I don’t know about that.” That she—they—might be headed toward falling in love had seemed pretty appealing at the start of the evening. Given what had gone down in Nick’s suite, it no longer seemed like such a smart idea.

“Well I do. And guess what? If he didn’t have feelings for you, too, the thought of you doing him just to get your dad out of his debt wouldn’t make him so freaking crazy. He’d take the sex from you and the company from your father and head back to Greece, mission accomplished.”

Until now Stefanie hadn’t thought of it that way. “You really think so?”

“I know so.”

Topping off their glasses, Macie added, “So, Cinderella, the way I see it, you’re down one magic slipper and one possible Prince Charming. What’s your game plan?”

Stefanie didn’t answer. Whatever her plan shaped up to be, she was pretty sure it involved going back to the Four Seasons for her shoe—and Nick.

Chapter Ten

“You will have one-third of the repayment money within the next two weeks, perhaps sooner,” Christos promised. “You have my word—and that of my banker.”

Stefanie’s father sounded sincere, still Nick would withhold any victory celebration until he held the check in his hand. “I will expect you in my suite tomorrow morning at eight o’clock—and please be certain to bring your delightful wife with you.”

Clicking off the call, Nick paced the four corners of his suite, carrying Stefanie’s shoe with him. Preoccupied, he didn’t hear Mara walk up.

“Papa, can I try on the pretty shoe?”

Startled, he spun about to see her standing in the archway. “It is too big for you, darling. Besides, you are supposed to be resting. You have a cold.”

He’d returned home in the wee hours of that morning, dismissed the sitter with his apologies and a healthy bonus, and checked in on his daughter. Her slightly warm forehead and congested breathing had struck him at once. Likely just a case of the sniffles, but being a novice father bestirred him to err on the side of caution.

But stubbornness was a Costas family trait, and it seemed Mara had inherited her share. She tucked her little arms in front of her and dug in her booties. “It’s Stefanie’s, isn’t it?”

Defeated, Nick nodded. “It is.”

Seemingly satisfied, she yawned. “Where is the other one?”

“I cannot say for certain.” It was with Stefanie, he hoped.

Mara persisted. “When is she coming again?”

Setting the shoe aside, he went down on one knee, putting them on eye level. “I am afraid she isn’t.”

The sleepy look left her eyes. Her face crumpled. “Not ever? You mean like my mommy?”

Nick’s heart twisted. He stroked her hair, trying his best to console her. “We have only known Stefanie for a week. She is a…friend, not family.”

“She could be. If you asked her to marry us, she could live with us all the time.”

Another twist of the knife. “I do not think she would say yes. America is her home just as Greece is ours.”

Expression mutinous, Mara insisted, “You can still ask her! Ask her when you give her back her shoe. That’s what true princes do.”

She stuck out three fingers and pointed to the animated picture fronting her pajama top. Cinderella sat perched upon her stool before her kneeling prince as he slipped the glass slipper on her slender foot. If only real life were so simple.

Improbably, Nick felt his eyes filling. “I am afraid your papa is no prince, Mara,” He said, thinking of how he’d dismissed Stefanie not only from his life but from Mara’s too without affording her an opportunity to explain herself.

No, Nick was no prince. His behavior was that of a frog.

Feeling like he’d been stabbed in the heart, he managed to get Mara settled back into bed, not before reading her a story, of course.

Just his luck, she begged for Cinderella.

…

Nick’s call to Stefanie came later that night as she was settling into Macie’s spare bedroom. With half a bottle of red wine in her stomach and not much else, spending the night had been the smart thing to do. She’d just peeled off the crumpled red dress and pulled on her borrowed sleep shirt and sweat pants when her cell sounded.

Sitting on the side of the bed, she reached for the phone. Seeing Nick’s name pop up sent her heart into her throat. “H-hi.”

“Hi. I am not calling too late? You were not sleeping?” He still sounded stressed if no longer angry.

“No, I’m still up.” Dropping her voice in case any of Sam’s sleepover friends might be stirring, she added, “For the record, going to bed with you wasn’t part of my plan. By that point, it was just about us. And I never once manipulated you through Mara. I’ve loved every minute I spent with her.” That those minutes were now all in the past tore at her heart.

He hesitated. “Did you really…how do you say it, make yourself over for me?”

Oh God! She hugged the pillow against her. “I changed my hair and got rid of my glasses and bought different clothes and learned to apply makeup.” She declined to point out that she’d also gotten the waxing for him as well. Okay, maybe not for him but more in the way of a confidence booster.

“Why?”

Stefanie bit her lip. “Isn’t it obvious?”

From the online pictures she’d seen, Nick had been born beautiful. The Greek newspaper photo accompanying his baptismal announcement was worthy of a Pampers ad. How did an ugly duckling explain the lure of looks to someone who’d been born a swan?

“You are a beautiful woman, Stefanie, with or without makeup—or clothes,” he added with a hint of mischief.

He’d certainly made her feel beautiful the other night.

“I am meeting with your father and the other board members in my suite at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. I would very much like for you to be there as well. Will you come?”

Throat tight, she answered, “Yes, of course I’ll be there.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “It is late. I will leave you to your rest.”

As if she could sleep now. “Good night—kali nichta.”

He didn’t answer. Ending the call, Stefanie acknowledged that missing the meeting would be unthinkable, and not only because she was a voting member of Olympia’s board.

Tomorrow might well be her last chance to say good-bye to Nick in person.

…

Wednesday, July 9

The following morning in Nick’s suite started out as a mob scene. Jacquie had brought her insipid daughters along as well. Between cracking gum and complaining about the early hour and bemoaning the state of their “inheritance,” Nick was tempted to phone the concierge and inquire about engaging the sitter, not for Mara but for them.

He refused to begin until everyone stopped speaking at once.

Clutching a croissant from the room service breakfast cart, Mara piped up, “I’ll be quiet—promise.”

She made a show of stitching her lips closed with invisible needle and thread. Under other circumstances, the comical gesture would have had everyone laughing but no one seemed to be in a laughing mood, not even Stefanie.

Not for the first time since she’d arrived, Nick glanced over to her. Dressed in a navy silk jacket, pleated trousers, and a white collared blouse, she looked utterly feminine as well as all business. Beyond offering him a brief “kali mera” she hadn’t said a single word. Perched on one side of his sofa, she sat still and silent as a sphinx, her normally expressive face an unreadable mask. Nick feared the latter might not bode well for him.

Her father, a bear of a man with thick, graying hair and a barrel chest, was looking wan and not due to any flu. The porcelain coffee cup around which his big white knuckled hands were gripped might not survive the hour.

Holding each of their gazes in turn, Nick announced, “I am certain you are all anxious to know why I asked you here this morning.”

Jacquie spoke up, “Summoned us, you mean.”

Her husband turned to her, face fierce. “For once in your life, be silent, woman!”

Beneath the mask of makeup, her face froze. “But Chris—”

“Zip it!” Christos turned to Nick. “Please, continue.”

Nick acknowledged the courtesy with a nod. “I have a proposal for Olympia.”

Predictably every gaze in the room riveted on him including those of the curious ones of the two hotel waiters he’d asked to remain on standby. A pin dropping would have seemed like a shattering glass. The only person whose opinion he cared for was Stefanie’s. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted a widening of her beautiful brown eyes, but otherwise she remained perfectly poised.

“Now that I have received a check for partial payment—” he held up the check he’d received from Christos on his way in “—I have decided not to exercise my option to acquire your company. Provided the principal is repaid within the next year, Olympia will stay within the Stefanopoulos family.” The partial payment wasn’t enough to complete the orphanage but it was sufficient to break ground.

Hesitant hand clapping greeted that announcement. Christos spoke up. “That is very generous. And I want you all to know that in a few weeks, I should have raised an additional third of the 2.5 million, so you will not have to wait a whole year.”

Nick nodded. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. He directed his gaze out over the suite. “There is still the problem of cash flow to conquer. Based on my analysis of your P&Ls, you are going to have to do business very differently if you are to survive let alone thrive in a competitive marketplace.”

Face reddening, Christos interrupted with, “We are not a builder that cuts corners.”

Nick cut Stefanie a look. “Yes, I have been made aware of that. Nor would I suggest it.”

More mildly, Christos asked, “Then what do you have in mind?”

“I want to assume oversight of the Acropolis Village project effective immediately. The environmental impact studies have already been approved, and your site plans and architectural designs are solid. With a sufficient infusion of capital, construction could be completed within the next year to eighteen months. My engineers, foreman, and workers can accomplish the task in half the time of your American construction crews and at a high quality.”

Christos mouth dropped open. “You want to invest even more money? How can this be? What do you want in return?”

Nick didn’t hesitate. “A seat on your board as well as equity shares.”

“Equity!” Jacquie gasped.

Ignoring her, he continued, “I intend to take an active role in restructuring the company so that it can become profitable once more.”

Arms folded over her chest, Jacquie demanded, “What kind of restructuring?”

This time he answered, though he addressed the room at large. “A return to solvency will require an immediate cutting of costs internally, beginning with the board.”

Jacquie had served as the bookkeeper for the last several years. The Ponzi scheme had catapulted the company into crisis mode, true enough, but even before it, money had been going missing. Though he’d yet to make public his suspicions, a second set of books seemed a possibility.

“Effective immediately, there will be no more expensed lunches to five-star restaurants, no more ‘wardrobe perks,’ and no more overseas travel ostensibly to scout locations for future development projects,” he said, recalling a few of the costly line items that an earlier cursory review of the corporate ledger had brought to light. The full audit he meant to have conducted would likely reveal more.

Predictably, she scowled. “According to our bylaws, with the exception of our legal counsel, only members of the Stefanopoulos family can sit on the board.”

“Bylaws can be revised,” her husband broke in, glancing back to Nick.

Smiling, he answered, “I do not believe that will be necessary in this case.” Directing his gaze to Stefanie, he added, “at least I hope it will not.”

Signaling the service staff, he made his way over to where she sat. Amidst quizzical looks, he watched them roll out the room service cart. As he’d ordered, the waiter set it in front of Stefanie and withdrew.

From the back of the room, one of the twins whined, “I don’t get it. What’s going on? Is there like a cake or something?”

Ignoring everyone but Stefanie, Nick lifted the lid off the silver serving salver. She gasped. Perched in the center of the plate was her ruby slipper precisely where he’d ordered it to be placed.

She blinked as though disbelieving her eyes. “The hotel lost and found came up empty. Now I understand why. You’ve had it all along.”

Tenderness rushed him. “Only long enough to have it repaired.”

Finding a cobbler specializing in vintage footwear who also offered a twenty-four-hour turnaround hadn’t been easy, but as usual persistence had paid off.

Eyes suspiciously bright, she admitted, “I thought I’d lost it for good.”

“I thought I’d lost you,” he admitted, lowering his voice for her ears alone. Picking up the slipper, he pushed the cart aside and went down on one knee. “Since I do not yet have a ring to give you, I must make do with a shoe.” Sliding off her plain black pump, he set it aside and guided her foot into the sparkling red slipper. “Marry me, Stefanie.”

“Nick, are you sure you know what you’re—”

“Marry me and I promise to pass the rest of my days searching for new ways to make you feel cherished and adored, lusted after and loved, beginning with building you the biggest, most state-of-the-art kitchen you could possibly want in every home I—we own. What do you say, my love?”

Smiling through tears, she reached out and laid a hand along his jaw. “Yes.”

Resisting letting out a whoop of triumph, he repeated, “Yes? Yes!” Chest swelling, he reached for her. Heedless of the roomful of onlookers, he slid a hand beneath her silky hair to her nape and guided her face to his.

Her lips trembled, parted, opened. Given their audience, including Mara, he kept the kiss as chaste as possible, though it was hard when all he wanted was to banish everyone and carry her to his bed.

Clapping had them pulling apart. Nick looked back to see her father pounding his palms together, tears filling his eyes. A nudge to Jacquie had her grudgingly joining in as well, the twins following suit.

“You should still ask my father for his permission,” Stefanie whispered, darting a gaze to where Christos hung back.

Nick took her earnest face between his hands. She was so good and dear, the perfect combination of custom and modernity, Old World and New. “I have already done so, my love. I received his permission on the phone last night,” he admitted with a wink. “As soon as I did, I called you.”

She opened her mouth as if to ask more but before she could, Mara rushed over to them. Pushing in between, she slipped her hand into Stefanie’s. The other found her father’s thumb and held fast.

Looking up, she divided her beaming gaze between them. “We’re going to live happily ever after just like they do in the fairy stories, aren’t we?”

Meeting Stefanie’s glowing gaze, Nick felt as if his heart might burst with joy. “Yes, baby, we are, only for us real life is going to be even better.”

Epilogue

Upper East Side, Manhattan

July 4, One Year Later

Seated beside Stefanie, Nick lifted his wineglass in toast, gaze honing in on their host and hostess batting smiles back and forth from the head and foot of the red-white-and-blue cloth-draped table. “To our dear friends, Greg and Francesca, we thank you for your gracious hospitality in hosting us for your Independence Day celebrations—and congratulations on your engagement!”

Raised glasses, cheers and shouts of “here, here!” traveled the four corners of the apartment’s open dining room. Feeling fortunate indeed, Stefanie scanned the guests’ beaming faces: Greg and Francesca, Ross and Macie, and Macie’s stylist friend Franc and his husband, Nathan, recently returned from LA. Samantha and Mara had retreated to hang out in the living room but would be brought back for dessert.

Only Starr and Matt were missing. The newlyweds, also newly pregnant, planned to join them for the Macy’s-sponsored fireworks later that evening. In her first trimester, Starr was sensitive to scents, foods especially. Laying a hand atop her own burgeoning belly, Stefanie was thankful her pregnancy nausea had ended after the first few weeks.

Taking a sip of milk, she glanced at her husband’s handsome profile. After almost a year together and now with a baby on the way, she still found him as swoon-worthy as ever, even more so. “A Fourth of July engagement party is a great idea. I wish we’d thought of it.”

Their October wedding had been celebrated in Crete, accompanied by the traditional feasting, drinking, and dancing, all of which had lasted into the next morning. Though in the process of divorcing, her father had been there to give her away. Nick’s audit had revealed that Jacquie’s wrongful expensing in support of her lavish lifestyle was the least of her sins. A second set of books showed she’d been skimming funds for years, including taking kickbacks from construction companies in return for ensuring that their bids were accepted. It was no wonder Acropolis Village had been behind schedule from the start. Slowly the money was being recovered and the construction completed. Thanks to Nick’s new marketing campaign, nearly 90 percent of the units were sold. What had been a mud pit was now a thriving Greek American retirement community.

All of her friends had been able to make the trip over as well. Macie had been her matron of honor, Mara the adorable flower girl. Turning the catering over to staff supervised by her soon to be mother-in-law, Hermione, had called for a fair degree of self-restraint but as everyone had pointed out, being a bride was a full-time job. A monthlong honeymoon exploring Greece had followed. Her long awaited “dream vacation” had finally come true and then some.

Beneath the table, Nick’s fingers laced through hers. Turning to face her, he lifted her hand to his lips, the light caress causing her to shiver. In a voice meant for all to hear, he answered, “That would have meant waiting a year to marry you and that, my darling Stefanie, I was not prepared to do.”

Giggles from the women and groans from the men traveled the table.

Reaching for another caviar deviled egg, Ross glanced at Macie. “Nick, have a heart. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

“Quite,” Franc put in, forking up a bite of braised beef rib and popping it into Nathan’s mouth.

“I just bought a diamond, so I’m pretty sure I get to coast on that for a few more days at least,” Greg put in, shooting his wife to be a wink.

“I should say so.” Smiling blithely from the far end of the table, Francesca waved her left hand in the air, the vintage canary diamond bringing to mind the stones in their communal Cinderella slippers. Prior to everyone sitting down, the ring had been passed around and duly admired by all the females present. “The only things I adore more than this ring are you and Samantha.”

Thinking how far they’d all come since last year’s celebration in DC, Stefanie squeezed Nick’s hand beneath the table. “I can’t wait for the fireworks later.” She turned to their hostess. “And, Francesca, the food is fantastic.”

Emerging from the living room, Samantha carried her plate up to the table for seconds. “Yeah, Mom, it sure is. I haven’t had truffle mac n’ cheese like this in a l-o-n-g time,” she said, piling on more pasta.

Macie held up her hands in mock surrender. “What can I say, kid, I may not be much in the kitchen, but I’m the queen of carryout.”

“You sure are, honey.” Ross leaned over and planted a smacker on his wife’s cheek. “Though you do make a helluva huevos rancheros.”

Macie’s laughing gaze moistened to melting. Using her thumb, she wiped a dab of barbecue sauce from the corner of her husband’s grinning mouth. “I ought to. I learned from the best.” She shot Stefanie a wink.

Expression amused, Francesca said, “Finding a competent caterer is half the battle, isn’t it?” Looking down the table to Greg, seated closest to the open kitchen, she added, “Darling, can you check in with our culinary lovebirds and see where they are with serving dessert?”

“Sure thing, babe.” Greg turned and called toward the kitchen, “Fred, Deidre, can you put a move on the menu? We’re ready for the strawberry shortcake.”

Makeup melting and short, blond hair sticking out in all directions, fashion photographer and erstwhile reality TV coach Deidre Dupree stomped out from the kitchen, an apron tied about her black linen shift dress. “Hold your horses, we’re working as fast as we can back here, aren’t we, sugar plum?”

Sugar Plum, a twentysomething man wearing a chef’s jacket and a nearly soaked-through head scarf, frowned out the open kitchen at Francesca. “Dee’s deal with you, which I had no part in, was dinner for four, not nine.”

“I make ten,” Mara called out from the other room. “Can’t you count?”

The table roared.

Dabbing at her eyes, Francesca answered, “True, but you might consider the difference as payment in part for the year I allowed you to live here rent-free.” She swung her head to Deidre. “And considering it’s taken you more than a year to honor our wager, which you proposed, adding additional guests as interest is only fair.”

That shut them both up.

Watching Deidre slink back inside the kitchen with her lover, Stefanie bit her lip against laughing. Chef Freddie, Stefanie had learned, was Francesca’s former boyfriend. Deidre had snapped him up to be her latest boy toy, flaunting the relationship to fuel an old feud between the two photographers. Her further scheming on the set of Project Cinderella had caused Francesca and Greg to break up—nearly for good. Upholding her end of their bet on the show’s winner—Greg—was the very least she could do.

Still, old habits were the hardest to break. Stefanie pushed back from the table. “I’ll go in and help them.”

A chorus of “Nos” greeted that proclamation, Nick’s voice leading. “For once, Mrs. Costas, you are going to sit and be served if I have to tie you down.” A wicked smile and the brush of his thumb over an especially sensitive spot on the inside of her wrist accompanied the “warning.”

Mrs. Costas. Coming up on their first year anniversary, Stefanie should be used to the title but hearing Nick address her as such never failed to melt her. Giving up, she settled back into her seat. “I’ll try.”

Mara popped her head inside the dining room alcove. “We’re having strawberry shortcake!”

After almost a year of living in the US, she was expanding her roster of approved desserts, although Stefanie’s baklava still led the list. Once Acropolis was complete and Stefanie’s baby safely delivered, they would return to Greece for six months. Nick was eager to get back to Crete to oversee Phase II of the new convent orphanage. With Olympia once more operating in the black, the dividends from his and Stefanie’s shares had enabled him to expand the project plans beyond its original scope. For her part, Stefanie had fallen head over heels in love with her adopted homeland. Then again, it was the birthplace of her beloved mother and now her adored husband.

Stefanie waved her over to join them. “You bet we are, baby.”

Trotting over to burrow in between her and Nick, Mara laid her hand lightly atop Stefanie’s stomach. “I’m tired of waiting. Is the baby here yet, Mama?” She’d already put in her “order” for a brother, although Stefanie and Nick were keeping the sex as a secret until the big day.

Everyone laughed. Stefanie shook her head. “No, not yet, sweetie, though hopefully dessert will arrive soon.”

A smile erased Mara’s momentary disappointment. “This is the best Fourth of July ever!”

Looking between her handsome husband and their adorable daughter to their circle of smiling friends, Stefanie felt a wave of gratitude wash over her.

Eyes filling with happy tears, she said, “Yes, sweetie, it absolutely is.”

…

Eternity AKA The Great Beyond

Standing at the portal looking down onto Earth, screen legend and now spirit guide Maddie Mulligan took in the festive scene with Carlos Banks, her likewise-departed husband.

“I do so love a good party,” Maddie enthused, clasping satin-gloved hands. “Only where is the champagne fountain? You can’t have a proper party without bubbles.”

Beneath his immaculate mustache, Carlos smiled. “As in Life, my love, your wish is my command.”

He snapped his fingers, and a marble fountain spraying pink champagne appeared beside them. A second snap brought two fluted glasses materializing in midair. He retrieved them and filled each in turn.

Handing one to his wife, he raised his glass in salute. “Brava, my darling, you’ve done it! All four of our Cinderellas are settled Happily Ever After with their soul mates.”

Taking a sip of her champagne, Maddie nodded. “First Macie and Ross, then Starr and Matt, followed by Francesca and Greg, and lastly Stefanie and Nick—it’s been quite a journey for everyone.”

“For us as well.” Carlos lowered his glass. “Time to retire the shoes, I should think. Perhaps we could arrange to have one of our protégées donate them to the proper museum, somewhere they’ll be displayed for others to see and enjoy?”

Maddie glanced down to her feet, shod in red velvet heels festooned with canary-colored stones, the divine replica of the physical shoes on the earth plane. “There is the Museum of the Moving Picture in Queens, I suppose,” she suggested with half a heart.

The pitched voice of a young woman, still a girl, pierced through the stratosphere of pink clouds, floating angel fluff, and the ubiquitous harp music. “But, Dad, that is so not fair!”

Maddie and Carlos exchanged alarmed looks. “Oh, dear, don’t tell me there’s trouble in paradise so soon?” she said.

Holding hands, the dearly departed pair edged closer to the portal and peered down to Francesca’s flat. Samantha Mannon paraded about the parlor, the cuffs of her denim trousers rolled up past her ankles, her feet tucked into the red velvet slippers.

Voice gruff, Ross, her father, said, “No seventeen-year-old needs vintage shoes, or vintage anything for that matter. They’re too adult for you. Take them off and give them back—now!”

She folded her arms and glared. “But Mom and Macie promised it would be my turn next!

“She’s right, we sort of did,” Macie answered, shooting a beseeching glance at Francesca.

“We can’t keep her as a little girl forever,” Francesca said around a sigh.

Expression exasperated, Samantha looked to each of the assembled adults in turn. Other than her father, the men remained wisely silent. “Do I really need to remind you all that I go to college in the fall?”

Pulling back from the portal, Maddie murmured, “They do fit her perfectly.”

“But she’s a child yet,” Carlos protested, sounding much like Samantha’s father.

“Yes, she is,” Maddie agreed. “But children grow up. I was not much older than Samantha when I left Dublin for Hollywood to find my fortune—and my True Love.”

Softening, he said, “Since you put it that way—”

“Mind you, the decision is not ours to make,” Maddie broke in. “The shoes only fit those whom they are meant to guide toward Happily Ever After.”

Knowing that was true, Carlos heaved a sigh. He looked down at his half-finished champagne, hesitated, and then blinked the fountain and glasses back into oblivion. “Are you saying we haven’t yet earned our retirement? Must we labor to bring about another Happily Ever After for another headstrong young woman?”

Maddie reached out and laid her gloved hand on the lapel of his smoking jacket. “Perhaps we must, my dear Carlos, someday soon—but not quite yet.”

Acknowledgments

As I wind up my Suddenly Cinderella series, I’d like to thank the following: my team of talented editors, Stacy Cantor Abrams with assistance from Alycia Tornetta; Danielle Barclay, Jessica Estep, and Barbara Hightower for doing such a diligent job of publicizing the books; and of course my wonderful agent, Louise Fury for everything—always.

For years I’ve signed off on my blog posts, e-mails, and books with the sentiment, “Wishing you fairy tale dreams come true.” Heartfelt thanks to Entangled publisher Liz Pelletier for providing such a dream home for my series.

About the Author

Award-winning author Hope Tarr earned a master’s degree in psychology and a PhD in education before facing the hard truth: she wasn’t interested in analyzing people or teaching them. What she really wanted was to write about them! Hope has written more than twenty historical and contemporary romance novels for multiple publishers and is also a cofounder and a current curator of Lady Jane’s Salon® New York City’s first and only monthly romance reading series, now in its fifth year with seven satellite salons nationwide. Find Hope online at her websites at www.HopeTarr.com and www.LadyJaneSalonNYC.com as well as on Twitter (@HopeTarr), Goodreads (www.Goodreads.com/HopeTarr) and Facebook (www.Facebook.com/HopeC.Tarr).

Check out the first chapter from A Cinderella Christmas Carol!

Chapter One

Christmas Eve, December 24th

Union Square, Manhattan, New York

“Happy Holidays, Ms. S.”

Standing in her apartment building’s marbled lobby, managing editor of On Top magazine Cynthia Starling—Starr—scowled at her doorman’s grinning face. Even in the midst of pulling a double shift on Christmas Eve, Jimmie was so chock-full of holiday cheer it was almost sickening. Strike the almost—it was sickening.

He let the glass door fall gently closed behind her, his thin navy uniform scant protection against the raw, gusty evening. “Got big plans?” His eagle-eyed gaze rested pointedly on the plastic bag of takeout Thai food weighing down her left arm.

Starr swallowed a groan and settled for a noncommittal shrug. Doormen were notorious gossips, and a nice guy like Jimmie was no exception. She thought wistfully of her former Brooklyn Heights pre-war walkup with its creaking pipes, cracked plasterwork—and patina of privacy. Her current sleek new building boasted an onsite laundry room, gym, and a rooftop deck, not to mention its posh Union Square location, a mere ten-minute subway commute to the On Top offices. Still, at times such as this, she’d gladly sacrifice the luxury and convenience to be able to slip in and out without an audience.

Jimmie walked over to the kidney-shaped front desk, its glossy maple veneer buried beneath stacks of newly delivered parcels. “Before I forget, something came for you this morning.”

“Great,” she said, glancing down at her already full arms. Another holdup, just what she needed. Would this day—this holiday—never end?

Jimmie darted behind the desk. Burrowing through the piles, he brought out a medium-size box covered in plain brown packing paper and handed it to her. “Hope it’s just what you asked Santa for.”

Santa—oh, puh-lease! “Yeah, whatever, it’s probably a work thing, but thanks.”

Her gaze zoned in on the return address, and she snatched it, pulse picking up. Although there was no name, the Washington, D.C., address gave her a pretty good idea of the sender.

Macie Freakin’ Graham!

She hadn’t spoken to her former features editor since Macie had gone rogue on her that autumn, falling for the subject of her undercover investigation—famous radio personality Ross Mannon—and quitting not only the story but also the magazine, right in the middle of Starr’s staff meeting, no less. That Mannon had once done his damnedest to take down the magazine was apparently forgiven and forgotten in the hormone rush that Macie’s month-long masquerade as his housekeeper must have released.

So much for five years of grooming! So much for gratitude! If it hadn’t been for Starr, Macie would still be writing engagement announcements for her hometown newspaper. At the very least, Macie might have given her a heads-up on the whole quitting thing. Still, a part of Starr—the squishy soft part she worked really hard to hide—wasn’t only professionally put out but personally hurt. Over the course of five years of shared Fine Wine Fridays and Sushi Saturdays at On Top, plus the occasional movie and drinks meet-up outside of work, she’d thought she and Macie had become more than just boss and employee, that on some level they were…friends.

Lesson learned.

So far she’d refused to reply to the wedding invitation along with Macie’s other overtures—e-mails, texts, and even a few sad-sounding voice messages. If Graham—make that Graham-Mannon—thought she could soften her up with some bullshit holiday peace offering, she was about to learn otherwise. Still, being human meant being, on some level, curious. She’d take the box up to her apartment, allow herself a quick peek inside, and then give it to Jimmie with instructions to ship it back.

“Thanks.” She tucked the parcel beneath her arm and turned to go.

Jimmie’s voice stalled her. “Look, Ms. S., I was just wondering if you maybe don’t have plans for tomorrow”—once again his gaze slid down to the takeout bag knocking against her knee—“maybe you’d like to join me and my family at the homeless shelter for women and kids in Astor Place. They put on a big Christmas spread every year. My wife and kids help with serving the food, and I dress up as Santa. We’ve been going every Christmas Day for five years now, and I wouldn’t miss it. If you could see the smiles on those little kids’ faces when…”

He bleated on, but Starr tuned him out. If Jimmie wanted to spend his day off stuffed inside a Santa suit, that was his business, but Starr considered holiday-inspired volunteerism a crock. Being charitable one day a year might make do-gooders like Jimmie feel all soft and gooey inside, but people needed to eat three hundred and sixty-five days a year, not only on December twenty-fifth.

Aiming her gaze at the bank of elevators, one of which was out of order yet again, she shook her head. “I have other plans, but thanks.”

It wasn’t, strictly speaking, a lie. She did have plans—plans to spend the holiday home alone with her cat—but that didn’t mean Jimmie’s was her only invitation. There had been another—from the magazine’s new art director, Matt Landry.

With his sexy half smile, washboard abs hinted at beneath his T-shirts, and hazel eyes that shifted from mostly blue to mostly green with mesmerizing swiftness, Landry was too hot for her to manage as she did the other members of her team and too damned good at his job for her to do anything other than get out of his way. Being anywhere in his vicinity turned her insides to Jell-O and other parts of her to the scalding liquid mocha lava cake they’d featured in December’s food column. The degree to which she’d noticed him, every nuance of him, from that very first interview seven months earlier had alarmed her. It still alarmed her. At thirty-four—okay, soon-to-be thirty-five—she was too old to indulge in an office crush, but also sufficiently senior that she couldn’t risk letting it become anything more. And then there was the issue of their not-exactly-insignificant age gap. Landry might have the aura of an old soul, but his smoking hot body had walked the earth for just twenty-eight years.

For a guy still in his twenties who’d spent most of that time in his native Florida, he’d amassed an impressive portfolio. Even the low-profile catalogue and hotel brochure stuff had blown her away with its unique vision and edgy creativity. His was a high-energy vibe that On Top needed to tap into. To live up to the boast of its name, the magazine needed more than a new logo. It needed a fresh vision, an artistic voice that would resonate with its Generation-Y readership. Leafing through his book, Starr had quietly conceded that Matthew Gabriel Landry was the very best candidate for the job. She couldn’t exactly justify not hiring him simply because she didn’t trust herself around him. Time was money and interviewing candidates took up both. Besides, a stud like Landry probably had a harem of twenty-something twits on the hook. She’d figured on being more or less invisible to him as a woman.

She’d figured wrong.

That evening, while cramming papers into her laptop case in preparation for leaving, she’d had the sudden disconcerting sense of being watched. She’d looked up—and found Landry standing in her open office doorway, his intense hazel eyes stroking over her, the shifting sands of his irises caressing her face. The times when he showed up unexpectedly, and her guard was down and her will weak, the brilliance of his beauty seemed to burn her aquamarine eyes to ash and drain the last drop of moisture from her mouth.

“What is it, Landry?” she’d snapped, and immediately felt the hot sting of a blush strike her cheeks, her redhead’s porcelain complexion, as always, a dead giveaway.

He’d hesitated, the fluorescent hallway lights haloing his shoulder-length hair—the wavy chestnut locks freed from his customary work ponytail. “A group of us is going for drinks. You know, chill out and celebrate tomorrow being a holiday. I—we—were wondering if you might want to come with.”

She’d shoved a copper-colored curl out of her eyes and let out a brittle laugh to cover her heart’s wild drumming. “And risk being lynched? I don’t think so. Thanks but no thanks.”

It might be Christmas week but the magazine world had already moved on to Valentine’s. As the month of hearts and flowers, February was their single biggest seller of subscriptions and generator of ad revenue. It was also scarily behind schedule, and with Macie’s replacement yet to be found, Starr was seriously short-staffed on the editorial side. To make up the missed time, she’d told her entire team, including Landry, to be back in the office on December twenty-sixth. She’d never been exactly popular with her people, but the tough decision to curtail Christmas vacations had hefted the bar toward hate.

The December holiday-themed issue had come out weeks ago. She mentally ticked off the article titles and taglines. Cuddling up on Christmas Eve, Latest Lingerie Trends and Mistletoe Must-Haves, What to Wear (and NOT to Wear) to Sleigh Him on New Year’s Eve, and, of course, the latest reworked take on what was pretty much every month’s anchor story: sex. Hanukkah Hankie Panky and Christmas Canoodling: Seven Sexy Secrets to Have Him Ho-Ho-Hoing in the Sack. Imagining canoodling with Landry beneath a brightly lit Christmas tree—the silken feel of his taut, Florida-tanned flesh bared and rippling beneath her fingertips, her wearing skimpy scarlet lingerie and five fewer pounds—shot a quiver of desire through her.

“The way you’re smiling, Ms. S., you must be planning on some serious celebrating for sure.”

Snapped back to attention, Starr spied the knowing smile on Jimmie’s face and felt hers flame. “My plans aren’t anyone’s business.”

Like a bum Christmas tree bulb, Jimmie’s smile flickered to blackout. “Sorry about that, Ms. S. You have a good hol—time whatever you do.”

Eager to escape, she marched over to the working elevator and jabbed the button. Tapping her foot as the floor numbers dipped downward with maddening slowness, she silently ticked off her to-do list. Most of the action items had been taken care of earlier, if not altogether crossed off. Still, the sense of having let something slip nagged at her. The elevator landed—finally!—and the double doors pulled back. She stepped swiftly inside and pressed the fifth floor and close buttons before anyone could join her. Not that there were many people left around. The one upside to Christmas was it emptied out the building. By now, more than half of her fellow residents would have left the city for somewhere else, somewhere they identified as “home.” The laundry room, gym, and elevator would be more or less hers until Sunday night.

Watching the elevator climb to her floor, she couldn’t wait to get inside her apartment. Christmas Day might be a load of crap—it was a load of crap—but it was still a day off. A day to read, to marathon watch all the TV she missed during the week, and to chill out with her Maine Coon cat, Molly Jane. Hers might not be a storybook existence, but at least she was living in reality, not some glittery Christmas Fools’ Paradise.

But the biggest reason of all for spending the holiday alone, the reason for the single Crumbs cupcake tucked inside the top of her takeout bag, was that tomorrow wasn’t only Christmas Day. Crappy Christmas was also her crappy birthday, her thirty-fifth.

Yes, Virginia, there was a Santa Claus—and in Starr’s case the Jolly Old Elf had pulled double duty as Santa Stork.