Beauty and the Greek Billionaire Read online

  I want you to fuck me. Hard. Take your big cock and bend me over.

  Her eyes widened as she looked at the device and saw it was on.

  “Give it to me. Now. I mean…crap. Give the ereader to me.” She cringed as he handed it over, hugging it to her torso like a protective shield. “How much did you see?”

  “Not much,” he replied. “I stopped reading after bend me over.”

  A flush of embarrassment pinkened her cheeks, matching the pretty shade of her lips. Stunning. He especially liked the way her hands fluttered at her neck. He’d expected a woman reading such bold words to be a little more confident, but the contradiction grabbed his attention. He was always attracted to those.

  “Oh god.” She pressed a palm to her face. “How’s the jaw?”

  He chuckled. “I’ll live. I’ve taken worse punches.”

  Actually it damn well stung like a bitch, but he didn’t want to make her feel bad. She’d only been trying to protect herself. And he was pretty damn impressed by her swing.

  It was lucky he’d even noticed her coming out of the café with Daniel Halsey, otherwise she’d have more than a broken handbag to worry about.

  What had her brother told her? That Nico was a cold-hearted bastard? An asshole? Probably. It’s not like he could dispute it. One didn’t make it to his level by being nice or by accepting every “life-changing” offer that came his way.

  The Australian man had come to him so full of energy and excitement, wide-eyed with naïveté. A system that could allow people to crowdsource cryptocurrency price predictions? Right, and why would Nico want to endorse that? He’d made success by learning the ropes and honing his ability to marry gut instinct with a critical mind. By doing the work. Predictions were worthless without an experienced man in possession of them, and assuming anyone could do what Nico did by simply sourcing a bunch of predictions was even more of an insult.

  Nico had shut the meeting down quickly. If Daniel Halsey had bothered to agree to a phone meeting first, he could have saved himself a flight. But the man had obviously assumed he could talk his way into Nico’s endorsement easier in person. More fool him.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have punched you.” She bit down on her lip. “I took a few self-defense lessons at university, and I guess all that training must have been waiting for a moment to be used.”

  Her skin was slightly damp with perspiration, and it gave her an ethereal glow. The fabric of her white sundress clung to her in patches, making the conservative cut sexier than it should have been. Nico was surprised to notice his normal urge for solitude was absent around this woman. He found himself wanting to know more about her.

  “Apology accepted,” he replied.

  The crowd had dispersed now, the thief long gone. Corfu was a mostly safe place, but anywhere tourists congregated there would be someone looking to take advantage.

  “Can I buy you a drink to say thanks for saving my wallet?” she asked. Her dark eyes bored into him, unsettling something deep inside his chest.

  Nico raised a brow. Most often women expected him to buy drinks. Not that he planned on letting her pay, mind you. And any bartender in Corfu wouldn’t take Nico’s money even if he offered it. One of the perks of being rich enough that everyone wanted you drinking at their establishment. Not that Nico got out much these days, mind you.

  What had his business partner called him the other day? A hermit?

  But that was beside the point. He shouldn’t be fraternizing with the sister of a man he’d just rejected for a business deal. There was always a chance that it could end badly.

  “I’m Bianca, by the way.”

  Bianca? Nico frowned. Daniel had mentioned his sister in passing, calling her Marianna. Unless he was mistaken in assuming they were related? Daniel had kissed the top of her head with such platonic affection that Nico would have been shocked if they weren’t close.

  “I’m Nico.”

  He accepted her hand and closed it in his fist, surprising himself at the steady hum in his blood. From a distance, he might have simply called her pretty. But up close there was a subtle complexity to her, a depth only those with a keen eye would see. And he was a man who loved details.

  Long, dark hair tumbled down her back. It was so dark one might mistake it for being black, but the shade was so much more interesting than that. Sunlight bounced off strands rich with red and gold undertones, giving them a faint but fiery gleam. Her skin was incredibly fair, her eyelashes long and dark. Thick. They framed wide eyes the color of rich cocoa.

  Whatever this woman was playing at with her fake name, she’d officially intrigued him.

  “Sure, let’s get a drink,” he said. “But how about we find you a new bag, first?”

  Chapter Two

  Breathe. He’s only a man, even if he looks like a god.

  After the incident in the street, they’d walked through a set of quaint shops where she’d purchased a cheap and cheerful embroidered bag after refusing to let Nico the not-Greek-god pay for an expensive replacement. He’d then suggested a bar down a narrow street filled with pretty white buildings, where they now sat waiting for the bartender to finish serving another customer.

  “What should I get?” Marianna squinted at a small menu.

  “Have you been to Corfu before?” he asked, and she shook her head. “Ah, well you have to try the tsipouro. It’s strong, but very good here. They make it in-house.”

  When the bartender appeared, Nico ordered their drinks. The melodic words rolled off his tongue in a way that mesmerized her. A sexy man speaking a foreign language was pretty much the definition of hot.

  “Efharistó,” she said with a smile. Thank you. It was one of the handful of words and phrases she’d memorized in preparation for the trip.

  He raised his glass. “Yamas. To your health.”

  She repeated the word slowly, testing the feel of it on her tongue, before touching her glass to his. She raised the glass to her lips and took a sip, sending herself immediately into a coughing fit.

  “What the hell is this made from?” She sucked in a breath, the strong alcohol hitting her hard. “It tastes like paint stripper.”

  “It’s made from grapes.” Nico watched her with an amused smirk. “And yes, it’s strong.”

  “You don’t say.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I feel like I’ve been punched in the face.”

  “That would be me, remember?”

  Marianna cringed. “I wish I could forget.”

  “You’re Australian, right?” Nico asked, taking a sip of his drink.

  “Good guess.”

  “Not a guess,” he said. For some reason, the comment struck her as a little cryptic, but perhaps he recognized the accent. “Are you here with anyone? I saw you walk out of the café with somebody.”

  He’d seen her with Daniel? She’d noticed him when she’d first exited the café, but how had he noticed her? Marianna was skilled in many things, but standing out in a crowd was not one of them. Well, except when she made a fool of herself for mistaking someone trying to help her as a pickpocket.

  “That was my brother,” she said. “He’s here on business.”

  “And you?” He leaned forward slightly, his arrestingly pale eyes glowing against deeply tanned skin and a touch of dark stubble.

  “Pleasure.” The word seemed to suck the air from her lungs.

  “The best reason for a vacation.” His lips quirked. “You picked a good place.”

  Was it her imagination or was she getting some serious vibes from him? What had the romance novels told her? When the male characters were attracted, they seemed to lean toward the heroine. Check. Their eyes often roamed over the woman’s body. Double check. And their voices were often described as gravelly or low or rumbling.

  Check, check, freaking check.

  “I had heard that Greek men are very beautiful.” She sipped her drink, trying her hardest not to cough this time.

  This is it. You’ve got a s
exy Greek man drinking with you, bikini is on, and liquid courage is acquired. You’re three for four! All you need now is a venue.

  He cocked his head, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead. “And what’s your assessment? Are you happy with the offerings?”

  Her fingers came to the end of her hair, and she rubbed the strands back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. “Yes, very happy.”

  His eyes raked over her, hungry and hot. It was like being lit on fire from the inside out, the sensation growing stronger as his gaze lingered on her mouth. And boy oh boy did he look like a god. Seriously. None of the men gracing the digital covers on her ereader even came close to Nico. It occurred to Marianna then that she was way out of her depth.

  But what on earth was she supposed to do now? He’d accepted her offer for a drink and was making polite conversation with her. According to her checklist, things were going well.

  But phase two of her seduction was to start flirting. That’s the bit she wasn’t so sure about.

  Marianna had quite the stable of talents. She could speed-read, knit just about anything and make Instagram-worthy macarons. From scratch.

  But this… She swallowed. This was her downfall.

  Think, dammit. How do you flirt?

  The romance novels were a little less clear on this. Not quite as instructional as she would have liked.

  So many women complained that men wanted to jump straight into bed without doing the whole “getting to know you” thing first. But Marianna would have given anything to have Nico lean over and whisper “let’s go back to my place” so she could avoid this whole awkward part of her plan.

  Maybe she should try and dazzle him with her intellect. Lots of the romance novels had smart kick-butt ladies as the heroines, and Marianna liked to think of herself as an intelligent woman. So maybe it would be best to go with her strengths?

  “Do you want to know something interesting?” she asked him.

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a language in Spain called Silbo Gomero that’s made up entirely of whistling sounds so people can communicate over deep ravines and narrow valleys.”

  Nico looked at her with a mix of confusion and amusement. “That certainly is interesting.”

  Ugh. It had sounded smart in her head, but now that the words were out in the open she wondered if maybe quirky language facts were not the best way to get a man into bed. But what else did she have?

  She reached for her drink and brought it to her lips, tipping her head back until all the clear liquid was gone. More alcohol would help. And since she wasn’t much of a drinker back home, it wouldn’t take long to get her in a state of fuzzy confidence. Nico ordered them another round.

  “I love languages,” she said. “Especially their history and how they evolve. Did you know that linguistically the Basque language is unrelated to any other European language? It’s a language isolate, which means there’s no demonstrable genealogical relationship with other languages. Fascinating, right?”

  Oh god. Now she was on a roll. This always happened when she got nervous. She started spewing out facts like some kind of language trivia machine.

  “And the Bible has been translated in some part into over three thousand languages.”

  Somebody stop me. Now.

  “I didn’t know there were over three thousand languages to begin with.” Was he smirking or smiling? Was he trying to plot a way out of this crazy encounter? It was so hard to tell.

  “There’s over six and a half thousand, actually.”

  He chuckled. The sound was rich and warm, liquid and honeyed. It sent goose bumps skittering across her bare arms. “You learn something new every day.”

  “I’m sure there are so many other things you’d rather be talking about. I, uh…someone told me once, if I wasn’t sure what to say then I should share an interesting fact. It kind of turned into a personal quirk.”

  A quirk that bordered on a crutch…but who was splitting hairs?

  “Do you have a whole bank of them saved up?” He leaned an elbow on the bar, and Marianna swallowed.

  He was easily a head and a half taller than her, and his hands dwarfed hers. His broad shoulders were close enough that she was oh-so-tempted to lean into him. And his long legs touched the ground, while hers dangled several inches above the gloriously patterned blue-and-white tiles.

  “Yep. I sure do.” She sipped her drink and cringed a little at the taste.

  It felt like everything had been going so well, and then she had to get all socially awkward on him. Ugh, story of her life.

  “Tell me another.”

  “You don’t have to humor me.”

  He looked affronted. “I’m not.”

  “You are.” She was sure her cheeks were as red as tomatoes.

  Tomato comes from the Spanish word tomate, which was derived from the Nahuatl word tomatl.

  Now she was spitting out facts in her own head! Not a good sign.

  “You don’t know me very well,” he said, touching her arm. It was like being hit with a blast of hot air—suddenly her body temperature was burning her up. “But if I am not interested in talking to someone, they are usually very aware of it.”

  If that was his way of saying he was interested in talking to her, then it was a funny way to put it. But he didn’t look like the kind of guy who put up with bullshit, so perhaps that’s what he meant.

  “So please.” He motioned for her to continue. “Another fact.”

  “Okay.” She thought for a second. “The word ‘cliché’ originated as a French word and was originally an onomatopoeia because it represented the sound that old printing presses made while making copies.”

  “Fascinating.” He drained the rest of his drink, seemingly unfazed by both the strong alcoholic taste and the actual alcohol content.

  Marianna, on the other hand, was feeling delightfully buzzed. “It really is. Language is a truly extraordinary thing. We have so many words at our disposal, and yet communication is such an incredibly complex thing that can so easily go wrong.”

  “That’s because communication is more than words.”

  He wasn’t wrong. Marianna realized she was communicating with much more than her words at this very moment. Her body was leaning toward his, her arm resting on the bar a mere fraction from his while she continually toyed with the strand of hair by her ears.

  Classic romantic behaviors, if the novels could be believed.

  “Very true,” she conceded.

  “What am I communicating right now?” he asked.

  Marianna steeled herself against the full force of Nico’s confident stare. His eyes were a pale, silvery blue, and against the deep warmth of his olive skin and the silky blackness of his hair, they were out of place and otherworldly.

  Maybe he was a god who’d come to toy with mere mortals like herself.

  “I can tell you’re confident. You’re obviously important enough to have the bartender jumping at the click of your fingers.” She studied him—noted the curious flicker of confusion across his face. An expression which was replaced by easy nonchalance in a blink. “You could probably have any woman you want.”

  “I could,” he replied smoothly.

  Well, crap. She’d meant it as a throwaway line, an indication she was attracted to him. But his ready agreement unsettled her. Why on earth would a guy like him want someone like her? The women he took to bed probably knew how to do all kinds of things. Sexy things. Dirty things.

  And Marianna was still yet to see a man fully naked.

  Oh god, do not think of naked men right now.

  Too late. Her brain switched gears. Suddenly it was all bow-chicka-wow-wow, and she couldn’t help but drop her eyes down to his lap.

  Stop it. You do not seduce a man by openly drooling over his crotch.

  “Could, but I don’t,” he clarified. “I’m rather…particular.”

  “I’m glad we cleared that up. You’re perfection in man form and you
have high standards.”

  Higher standard than what would include an awkward woman who could talk ad nauseum about syntax and morphology, anyway.

  Nico laughed. The sound was so genuine and carefree that the bartender looked at them with a raised brow, as though it was a highly unusual occurrence. “And what about you, Bianca? Can you have any man you want?”

  “Well, I…” Oh dear. She was even worse at answering questions than she was at asking them. “I have been known to attract men…on occasion.” She reached for her drink and tossed a long gulp back. “Some men.”

  “Some men?” He looked like he was trying not to laugh.

  “Real men. Not internet men.” Dig up, stupid. “You know what I mean.”

  “I really don’t.” He rubbed a hand along his jaw.

  “It’s a complex situation,” she said.

  “Sex and attraction? It’s the simplest thing in the world. After all, it’s what we humans have been programmed for. It’s our nature.”

  Then why had it been so freaking hard for her? Her brothers were the final nail in her very boring, very lonely coffin. Even without their overbearing protectiveness she suspected that pickings would have been slim.

  “Nature isn’t always easy,” she said. “You know, survival of the fittest and all that. Not everyone excels. Although I’m sure you have no idea what that’s like.”

  The ground needed to open up and suck her deep under the earth’s crust. Like, now. Why did she think she could do this?

  “I’m very good at surviving.” An undercurrent of darkness in his voice sent a tremor through her.

  A guy like him didn’t merely survive. He attacked life full-force, like a lion.

  She gulped. “More than surviving, I would say.” Her voice had taken on this breathy quality. Marilyn Monroe–esque. She didn’t sound like herself. “You look like you’ve come out swinging.”

  “I could say the same,” he teased, rubbing his jaw.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  “You look like you can take it.” She swallowed. “You have a very strong jaw.”

  “Are you flirting with me?” Nico asked. His amusement burned through her, stirring up the shame from the darkest depths of her soul.