When Blair goes to Mykonos for a much-needed girls weekend she ends up having an impulsive one-night-stand with a mysterious Greek stranger. Imagine her mortification when she gets back to London and discovers he’s her new boss!
Kristos can’t believe it when the beautiful girl he bedded in the Greek Islands walks into his office. As his executive assistant, she’s determined not to continue what they started, but Kristos let her get away once, he’s not going to let it happen again.
This is the first installment in Louise Rose-Innes’s Greek Billionaire romance series.
THE GREEK BILLIONAIRE’S LAIR
“This holiday is just what you need, Blair,” said Greta, my incredibly swish London friend as we disembarked in Mykonos, Greece. “This island is the go-to destination of the summer for anyone who’s anyone.”
And she would know, being a model-turned-fashion blogger with over a million followers on Instagram.
“I’m so grateful I could come with you,” I said, “although I’m not sure the brand manager had dowdy old me in mind when he said to bring a friend.”
Greta swatted at me at the same time as slipping on this season’s Gucci sunglasses. Mine were buried somewhere at the bottom of my suitcase. “Stop it. You are not dowdy. You can look very glamorous when you dress up. You just choose not to.”
We descended the steep metal stairs onto the runway and walked the short distance to the terminal. I could see the heat radiating off the tarmac. It had been a balmy twenty degrees centigrade when we’d left Heathrow, and here it was at least thirty-five. I squinted against the sun.
“Use these.” Greta handed me a spare pair from her handbag. They were also designer and a gift from yet another sponsor.
“Thanks.” I put them on and immediately felt better. The great thing about having a fashion blogger as a best friend was that I got all her cast-offs, and she got given so much stuff that there was always plenty to go around.
“The only thing I have to do while we’re here is post a couple of snaps of their swimsuits.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” I said, glancing up at the cobalt blue Mediterranean sky. The photos I’d seen online of the beaches and the glistening ocean had made me salivate.
She raised an eyebrow. “You should see how many pairs of bikinis they’ve sent me. It’s their entire summer range.” She cast her eyes over my curvy figure. “I’ll have to get you into some too, otherwise we might run out of days. We’re only here for a week.”
“Don’t you dare. You know I don’t like being bandied across the internet.”
“It’s a small price to pay for a free holiday,” she said breezily as we entered the shade of the airport terminal. Half an hour later we had retrieved our baggage and were in a taxi headed to our hotel.
“Where are we staying?” I asked as the taxi pulled over on a congested road. Immediately, the cars and scooters behind us began to hoot. The taxi driver ignored them and got our luggage out of the boot and set it down at the top of a wide flight of stairs that led down to a little square. He pointed to a quaint white building with blue shutters, one of many, but this one had bright pink bougainvillea climbing up the walls and even from this distance, I could see the soft gauze curtains blowing in the breeze through the open windows. It looked idyllic.
“Hotel Elena,” he said with a nod. Then held out his hand for the cab fare.
“Efcharistó,” said Greta, showing off her Greek, and handed him ten euros.
We dragged our cases down the hill, digging in our heels so we didn’t go flying. Greta was worse off than me in two-inch sandals with a much heavier suitcase. I was still wearing my trainers, which I always travel in when I go away, which isn’t that often. In fact, summer holidays have been pretty non-existent these last few years. There didn’t seem any point. Not since Graeme… No. I stopped myself. I wasn’t going to think about him. Mykonos was too beautiful to sour by long not-so-forgotten memories of that prick. I took a deep breath marveling at the magnolia-scented air and smiled. “It’s perfect.”
We checked in and soon Greta had me dressed in a sexy, black bikini with straps that crossed at the front and the back.
“It looks like an S&M outfit,” I complained, sucking in my stomach.
“Rubbish, you look gorgeous and so sexy. The men are going to go wild for you in that.”
“Oh goodie,” I murmured, the sarcasm not lost on my friend who rolled her eyes.
“It might not be what you want, Blair, but it’s definitely what you need. How long has it been since you got laid?”
I spluttered on my Evian. I should be used to Greta’s plain-talking by now. “Not long enough,” I wheezed when I’d got my breath back.
She laughed. “It’s time you moved on. A holiday fling is just what you need.”
Greta knew better than most how hard my break-up with Graeme had been. Ten months of being talked down to and criticized until I was a shell of my former self. It had taken this long to feel normal again, but I was determined not to fall into the same trap twice. Me and men did not go together, not for any length of time, anyway. Perhaps she was right, maybe a holiday fling was just what the doctor ordered. But who was I kidding? Even a one-night stand required meeting another person and hitting it off, and failing that, copious amounts of alcohol, which I wasn’t fond of either.
“Take your hair out,” instructed Greta, smearing on some pink lip-gloss. Somehow, she always managed to look effortlessly glamorous. “It looks much better loose.”
“But it’s so hot, it’ll get all sweaty.”
She shot me a stern look. “Darling, you’re lucky enough to have thick, blonde locks. I’d kill for hair like yours.” She tugged at her short, dark curls. “Why not show it off? Besides, we’ll be at the beach. You can go for a swim if you get too hot.”
I sighed and pulled out the elastic band. She did have a point, and I loved to swim. It was so much better than a gym workout, which is why I did an hour swim session after work most days if I wasn’t too tired. Being an Executive Assistant meant I was usually dashing all over London, with little time to spare, but the indoor swimming pool on the corner of my block was my happy place. In the water, I could just be myself with no one to judge me, no one to tell me what to do. Just me, the warm water and tranquillity. It was bliss.
The bus ride to the beach was not an experience for the faint-hearted. Greta and I were sandwiched into the hot, crowded bus with lots of other beach-goers, and it smelled of sweat, sunscreen and anticipation. By the time we got there, my hair hung limply down my back and my loose T-shirt clung to my perspiring body.
“I vote we take a taxi back,” Greta said, fanning herself. Despite the thin layer of perspiration on her upper lip, she still looked amazing. Most of the men who’d got off the bus or who were waiting to get on it, were ogling her. By comparison, I was a hot, sweaty mess, and no one was looking at me.
“Come on,” I said irritably. “I need a swim and a cool drink, in that order.”
It was mid-afternoon in the middle of June and Mykonos’s famous Paradise Beach was packed. Blue deck-chairs were lined up in both directions as far as the eye could see, their pristine white umbrellas casting puddles of shade over the bronzed sunbathers. Everyone was slim, tanned, and gorgeous. For once, I was glad Greta had forced me to wear the bikini. At least I’d fit in among this glamorous crowd – if you discounted the tan.
“God, that water looks divine.” I began walking towards the sparkling aquamarine sea. “I can’t wait to get in.”
We got a pair of deck chairs two rows back and threw our clothes and beach bags onto them. Moments later, we dived into the cool water, languishing in the sunlit clarity of it.
“Now this was worth flying four hours for,” I sighed, floating on my back and staring at the impossibly blue sky.
“This is just the beginning.” Greta tread water beside me. “We have the whole week ahead of us.”
We frolicked a bit longer, then lay on our deck chairs and let the sun dry us off.
Dance music emanated from the beach bar behind us and the sound of people laughing and splashing in the sea made me smile. The warmth penetrated my stiff shoulders and melted away the tension. “Now, I truly feel like I’m on holiday,” I said.
Next to us were a group of guys, all in their mid-to-late twenties, drinking beers and chatting. They kept glancing over and I hoped they weren’t going to try and make conversation. Right now, I just wanted to relax. It was one of the less appealing aspects of having a glamorous ex-model as a best friend. She always got hit on, everywhere she went. It meant we were never short of attention, but I was usually the back-up girl, the one the hot guy’s friend ended up talking to because Greta was already taken.
So, I wasn’t too surprised when a blond, American guy strolled over and asked if we’d like a drink.
“We were about to go to the bar ourselves.” Greta smiled at them.
“No need,” he persisted. “Just tell me what you want.” He was cute.
“I’ll have a mojito,” said Greta giving him a winning smile, while I asked for a bottle of water.
He came back with two enormous mojitos and two bottles of water. Oh-kay.
Thanking him, I took a tentative sip. I didn’t usually drink, because when I did, it never ended well. Somehow, my inhibitions went flying out the window and I ended up in situations I later regretted. Graeme was a case in point.
Greta took a sip. “Wow, this is delicious.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Hey, if you don’t want yours, I’ll have it.”
It was good. I resolved to have a few sips then hand it over. A few sips wouldn’t hurt, right?
“Look who I found at the bar?” said the blond cutie. I couldn’t help but glance at the newcomer and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Oh. My. Gosh. He was gorgeous. Now, I understood what Adonis meant. He was easily six-foot plus and wore casual swimming trunks that showed of his mouth-watering body to perfection. Bronzed, muscular, and… he was staring straight at me.
Or was he? I couldn’t tell through his sunglasses, but his head was pointed in my direction and there was the hint of a smile on his full, sensual lips.
I took a huge gulp of my cocktail and tried not to splutter as it fizzed up my nose. I was glad I had my sunglasses on as my eyes watered.
Classy, Blair, I thought, and surreptitiously wiped my nose. Thankfully, he was distracted by a round of hellos and haven’t seen you for ages, but after he’d fist-bumped with everyone in the group, he turned his attention back to me. He pulled his sunglasses up onto his head and smiled. My stomach did a flip-flop. Even Greta was staring at him in awe. I waited for him to spot her, to change direction, but he didn’t. Instead, he held out a hand.
“Hi there, I’m Chris.”
“Blair.” His hand wrapped around mine, then lingered. He pulled over one of the sun loungers and perched on the side. “So, where are you from, Blair?”
Greta gave me a curious glance, then turned her attention back to the American guy who’d got us the drinks.
“London.” My voice came out as a high squeak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “I work in London.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I like London. I have a place here on the island.”
“Oh, really?” I noticed his eyes were light green, very unusual for a Greek man.
“Yes, it’s on the other side, but it has the most amazing views. I’d like to show you sometime.”
Warning signals went off in my brain, bright red flags waving hysterically, but I took no notice. “That would be nice,” I found myself saying. Before my brain could question what my mouth was doing, I took another sip of my mojito.
The music got louder and people began to dance. The guy chatting up Greta, whose name was Evan, bought several bottles of champagne over and submerged them in two ice buckets. I glanced at the label. Yikes. These guys had money to burn. I knew from my waitressing days that that brand retailed at a couple of hundred pounds a bottle.
“You okay?” said Greta, sliding over to me. We were all sitting on the sun loungers now, sipping champagne and talking and laughing. My mojito was a distant memory. She glanced at the plastic champagne flute in my hand.
“Yeah, I’m great,” I said, earning myself an approving look from Chris.
“It’s just you don’t usually drink this much, especially not during the day.”
I held up my glass. “It would be a shame not to.”
“Okay, but make sure you have some water too.”
I nodded. “Will do.” It was sweet of her to worry.
“I’m going for a swim,” Chris said, standing up. His ripped stomach was inches from my face. “Care to join me?”
Hell no. He was way too hot and I’d had too much to drink. “Sure,” I said getting to my feet. Whoa. The beach swayed a little and I realized I must be tipsier than I thought. A swim would do me good, it would clear my head.
I sashayed behind him down to the sea, forgetting I was clad in a bondage-style bikini that left little to the imagination. In it, my breasts were too large, my hips too wide, and my butt… well, I didn’t want to think about my butt.
He dove in and swam strongly a few meters out. I followed. He laughed and splashed me. I felt like I was in a condom commercial. I splashed him back but then gasped as he swam forward and put his hands on my waist under the water.
“You’re one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met,” he said softly, fixing his pale green eyes on my face. He was ridiculously good looking. I couldn’t believe he was interested in me and not Greta. As far as I could recall, he hadn’t even looked at her properly yet. That had to be a first.
“It must be the bikini,” I muttered.
“It’s what’s inside the bikini,” he returned. I gazed at him feeling a warmth spread over my body, despite the cool seawater. We were standing waist-deep, our bodies inches apart. I could feel the sand shifting beneath my feet, or was that the effect of two mojitos and a glass of champagne? He seemed to radiate sexuality. If I hadn’t been standing in the sea, my legs would probably have given in.
He saw the heat in my gaze and kissed me on the lips. It was a slow, sensual kiss, lingering and sweet. He tasted of saltwater and smelled of sunscreen and aftershave. It was a heady mix. The current pulled my legs out from under me, so I wrapped them around his to keep them from floating up behind me. He inhaled and gazed at me. “I like a woman who takes the initiative.”
“Oh, no. I…” I didn’t get time to finish before his lips found mine again. This time he pried my mouth open and slipped his tongue inside. It didn’t occur to me to resist. His masculinity was so overwhelming that I simply went with it. He explored my mouth with a thoroughness I’d never experienced before. I felt myself respond, my tongue dueling with his, and before long I was clinging to him, lost in the fever of my own desire. Somewhere in the back of my mind, it occurred to me that Graeme hadn’t been a very good kisser.
I heard him make a growling noise in the back of his throat and he put a hand on my butt and pulled me towards him. There was no mistaking how aroused he was. I should have been shocked, but it excited me. It had been so long since I’d had that effect on anyone. Graeme had needed lots of forepay before he got it up, and he never lasted very long. It made me feel inadequate that he couldn’t sustain an erection around me. Chris, on the other hand, felt like he was about to burst out of his swim trunks.
“God, you’re addictive,” he murmured into my ear, causing my skin to break out in goose-bumps. “I’d like to take you back to my yacht, right now.”
“Yacht?” I broke away and stared at him.
“Yeah, didn’t I say? That’s my boat over there.” He nodded out to sea and I did a double-take, for floating sleekly in the middle of the bay was a steely-grey yacht with two jet-skis on the back, a rotating satellite dish and white leather upholstery – and that was the back half.
My eyes widened, and he laughed. “You look surprised. A lot of Greeks have boats.”
But not forty-five-foot superyachts, I thought to myself. Who was this guy?
Greta was beckoning from the beach. “We’d better go in,” I said, somewhat reluctantly. We moved apart and the cool water flooded in between us.
“To be continued,” he murmured, taking my hand and dragging me from the water.
“We’re all going to Club Tropicana,” said Greta, nodded down the beach where the umbrellas were no longer white, but thatched, and a crowd of people stood around a rectangular bar dancing in their bikinis and swimming trunks. Even from here I could hear the music pumping.
“Come on,” said Chris, letting my hand go and picking up his towel. He dried off and I wasn’t the only one staring. Greta nudged me when his back was turned. “He’s so hot.”
“I know,” I whispered back. “And he’s got a yacht!”
She squeezed my hand. “Good for you, Blair. Go for it. You need to let your hair down.”
It was true. I ran a hand through my hair separating the strands. The sea had made it curly and now the sun was drying it into God only knew what kind of style.
I saw Greta glance at it and frown. She took my hand. “Hey guys, we’ll meet you at the bar. We’re just going to the ladies.”
“Sure thing,” said Evan, and he and his mates, Chris included, took off across the beach.
“Come on, I’ve got everything we need in my bag.”
I followed Greta into the restroom and gasped in horror. “I look like I’ve been in a tsunami,” I whispered, trying desperately to smooth down my wayward hair.
“Here, let me.” She pulled a wide-tooth comb out of her bag and smoothed down my wispy curls. “There, that’s much better. Don’t worry about the mussed-up look, it looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed.”
“Oh, great. Just the look I was going for,” I said dryly.
After my hair was under control, we dried off and pulled on our denim shorts. Mine was blue and frayed at the bottom, while hers were white, substantially shorter than mine, and showed off her self-tanned legs to perfection. Mine looked obscenely pale in comparison.
“I wish I’d self-tanned,” I muttered.
“Don’t worry, your Greek god won’t even notice. He’s too besotted.”
“I don’t know why, but I’m not complaining.”
“Please, look at you.” She made me face the mirror and take a good look at myself, something I’d tried to avoid doing. This time, however, I was pleasantly surprised. My chaotic lifestyle of late meant I’d lost a few pounds and for once I didn’t have excess fat spilling over my shorts. I was still curvy but in a good way. Sexy, not chubby. The denim shorts hugged the curve of my hips, and in the bikini, my breasts looked full and voluptuous.
“Remind me to take a picture of you for the blog,” she said, with a smile.
We rubbed some blusher into our cheeks and smeared some lip-gloss on, and we were ready to go.
The champagne kept on flowing and I lost count of how many times Chris refilled my glass.
He was an excellent dancer. As the sun set, casting the bay in a mesmerizing hue of pinks and peaches, I writhed in Chris’s arms, rubbing my body against his, swaying my hips and wriggling my butt.
It was nearly ten o’clock when he said to me, “Come.” That was it. One word and it sent shivers running down my arms and made my womanly bits tingle.
I looked around for Greta. She was on a pedestal, dancing erotically, her posse of male admirers cheering her on. I tried to get her attention. Eventually, she looked over and I pointed to Chris. She gave a nod and winked at me.
“Where are we going?” I asked Chris and he led me off the dancefloor.
“To my yacht,” he said, then he gave me a cheeky smile. “Do you want to swim or should I call for the rib?”
I glanced out into the bay where the sleek superyacht was lit up like a Christmas tree. I estimated about two-hundred meters. I did four times that at the gym.
“Let’s swim,” I said, feeling reckless. His eyes widened, and I realized he’d been joking.
“Yeah, let me just put my bag in Greta’s.” I stuffed my beach bag inside Greta’s bigger one. She’d find it there and take it home with her. I didn’t need it. I knew where the hotel was, and the receptionist was there twenty-four seven.
“Okay, let’s go.”
We ran down to the sea and dived in. Chris was a strong swimmer, well, he would be growing up on an island in the Cyclades. I was only a few meters behind him. I could see he was impressed as he reached down and pulled me onto the stern of the boat.
The back of the boat was like a floating terrace. The wooden deck was polished to a high sheen, and on it was a white leather sunbed, wider than my double-bed at home. A couple of fluffy towels were spread over it. Two smart jet skis were positioned to one side. Chris pulled me into his arms and drew me down onto the sunbed. The towels were warm after being left out in the sun all day. The yacht appeared deserted, but I knew he must have some crew.
“Is there anyone on board?” I asked, in between kisses.
“No, I gave the crew the night off.”
It felt so decadent, being kissed under the stars on the deck of this guy’s yacht. Dreamy, in fact. If it wasn’t for the rush of sensations flooding through my body, I would have pinched myself to make sure I was still alive.
I didn’t complain when Chris broke away to peel off my wet bikini. Then he knelt so he could take a good look at my naked body. I squirmed, wondering what he was thinking, but he simply stared in awe, then ran a finger very slowly from the base of my throat to my pelvis. I wish I’d shaved or plucked or waxed, but I hadn’t. To be fair, I hadn’t been expecting to be seduced on the deck of a yacht, either.
He groaned and lay on top of me. I’ve never been kissed so thoroughly in my life, and I enjoyed every moment.
“Aah,” I sighed, as his lips scorched a pathway down my neck to my breasts. He took one pointed nub in his mouth and tugged on it. It felt so good, so erotic, that I squirmed beneath him. He did the same to the other breast, then played with my nipples while he kissed me some more. My breath came in ragged gasps, and when his hand snaked down between my thighs, I was lost. Chris expertly caressed me and it wasn’t long before I was bucking under his hand as my first orgasm hit.
Somehow, he managed to keep me in a permanent state of arousal, and when he eventually thrust into me, I was so far gone I could only clutch onto him as I came again. The look in his eyes was one of supreme male pride. He was enjoying this, enjoying seeing me writhe beneath him, at his mercy.
“You’re amazing,” he whispered, sometime later when we lay entangled on the towels, the night breeze cooling our feverish skin. We’d just had sex a third time, and this time I’d lasted a bit longer. It was Chris who’d lost control first, pumping into me, his features tense with concentration as he secured his release. I’d orgasmed as soon as I felt him come inside me, my body convulsing around him, causing him to collapse on top of me in exhaustion.
I didn’t reply. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. Thank you sounded conceited and so are you sounded corny, so I lay there and stared up at the stars, marveling at how bright they were and listening to the water lap against the side of the yacht.
Eventually, we fell asleep.
It was the morning sun that woke me. It took a minute to remember where I was, and another to realize that Chris’s arm was wrapped around me so I couldn’t move without waking him. I lay quietly, wondering if the crew were back on board. How mortifying if they’d come back last night and found us naked on the sunbed? I hadn’t heard anything, and I was a fairly light sleeper. Then a painful stab radiated from my temple and I remembered the mojitos and champagne. Okay, perhaps not last night.
I needed to get off this boat, preferably before Chris woke up. It was one thing displaying my naked body to a strange man in the champagne-fuelled darkness but quite another in the unforgiving daylight. I lifted his arm and slithered off the sunbed, praying he wouldn’t wake up.
Where the hell was my bikini?
I found the bottoms under one of the jet-skis and the top hanging from the handlebars. I tugged it on, careful not to make a noise. Then, I put my denim shorts back on and made my way down the steps to the launch pad. I was relieved to see the launch boat was still missing. Hopefully, the crew had spent the night somewhere else and were yet to return. My denim shorts were still damp, but it didn’t matter. They were about to get wetter. With only the barest of splashes, I lowered myself into the water. It was cooler than yesterday since it was early morning and the sun had yet to penetrate its multiple layers, but I relished the freshness. It helped get rid of the fuzziness in my head.
I swam the two-hundred meters to shore and emerged, dripping wet on the beach. The deck chairs were empty, the umbrellas folded down, and there wasn’t a soul around. It was idyllic.
Now, safely away from Chris’s manly arms, I turned and gazed at the yacht bobbing in the bay. What a night. I’d never in my life experienced anything like that. The man was a sex god. I knew I ought to feel embarrassed about my impulsive one-night affair. It was so unlike me to do something like this, but I didn’t. Quite the opposite. I felt liberated and quite chuffed with myself. I’d finally exorcised the memory of Graeme. But, I didn’t fool myself. I knew the only reason it had been such a great night, the only reason I’d truly been able to let loose (other than the alcohol) was because there was no chance of me ever seeing Chris again.
To read more, preorder the book here.
© Louise Rose-Innes 2019