Storm of Desire (12 page)

Her companion claimed a place on the king-size bed and left a gap between them. The empty space didn’t go unnoticed. It felt huge and small all at the same time. A lump, a big fat lump of exaggerated panic crowded her chest. She sucked in a gulp of optimism and pushed the dread down into the depths of her gut.

Curiosity nagged at her until she gave in and settled her sights back on the masterpiece.
A Greek masterpiece
. Yep, he must be Greek.

Cobalt eyes, as blue as deep sapphires, assaulted her. Giddiness rained over her like a cool, summer shower and settled low in her belly with a tug of lust. She wanted to laugh, but her nerves caught it and shoved the urge back down her throat.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Niko. My name is Niko.” He inched closer and reached for her hand, the one holding the sheet over her breasts, and drew it to his lips.

She scrambled to grab the sheet with her free hand to cover herself. Soft, sensual lips grazed the top of her hand. The thrill of his touch swelled through her like a pebble rippling a pond. It was distracting. She hated that, but she liked the sensations tingling through her.

Her breathing quickened. It’s a shame she couldn’t remember the particulars from last night. Not that she objected to sexing it up with him again. She was sure she had last night, even though the details were hazy. That truly was a shame, but she needed to stay focused. Getting wrapped up in an extended sexual diversion, as tempting as that may be, wasn’t conducive to her goal—staying one step ahead of the press.

Retrieving her hand, she let concern furrow her brow, hoping it would do its job and overshadow the yearning building inside her. “Where are we?”

Niko pushed off the bed. “We’re at the Messardiere.” Towering over her, a frown suggested his waning patience. “Do you recall nothing about last night?”

Last night
? She muddled through the flashes of sexual overtures commanding her thoughts. Her brain seemed amazingly empty and void of anything—except those particulars detailing her shame and embarrassment back in the States. “No.” She lowered her head and crooked her eyes up at him. “I was, ah...washing away my sorrows yesterday.”

That was one way to put it. The divorce, the final decree barely two months old, still hurt. Actually no, it was the events leading up to the divorce that chipped at her ego, and the fact that the whole of America and half the world knew about her humiliation.

Ray Hudson, her rock-star ex, gave new meaning to the notion that men are dogs. He was probably where the label originated. And the son-of-a-bitch deserved what she’d done during the divorce proceedings in retaliation.

Niko’s biting laughter filled the room, bringing Veronica back to the present. His demeanor nibbled at her already fragile ego. He plucked a folded paper off the nearby table and tossed it at her.

The document, although written in French, looked official. The words
Certificat de Mariage
inscribed across the top freaked her out—even if it was in French, any idiot could figure it out. She stared at the paper, amazed and shaken. Two other decipherable lines jumped off the page. The names Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros and Veronica Renee Stanford confirmed her suspicions.

Holding the paper loosely between her fingers, she cut her eyes toward him. “Is this some kind of joke?”

* * *

“A joke?” Niko crushed the urge to laugh. He dropped into a plush chair near the bed. “The joke is that I let you talk me into this.” Okay, so that wasn’t entirely accurate. But she was already riled up, and he liked the way her frustration tinted her cheeks a blushing red. It was sexy as hell.

“Talk you into this? I did no such thing.” She defended herself, drawing the sheet closer to her neck. As if that could stop him.

“Oh, but you did, my dear.” He paused, turning on the charm. “You were very convincing.”

“Well apparently you didn’t mind obliging me.” Her eyes threw daggers of retaliation across the room.

Niko’s ego responded with the urge to laugh. “Not at all,” he said in a flirtatious tone. “Any time I can be of service...” His words trailed off, leaving the statement open to suggestion.

“In your dreams.”

“Reality is so much more fun.”

She snarled and threw him a nasty look. “Where are my clothes?”

Niko surveyed the room before settling his leisurely gaze back on her. “Scattered.”

“Do you know where the Des Lices is?” Anxiety creased her brow as she mentioned the hotel.

Why was he not surprised? The economically priced, mid-grade hotel was a favorite of Americans who pretended they didn’t care about the costs. If they truly didn’t, they’d be staying here, at the Messardiere.

“Inland. It’s not far.” His trifling and dismissive tone outed his disapproval.

“Well excuse me for not finding the most showy and expensive place I could to waste my money on.” She turned away, refusing to look at him. He didn’t like that either. He’d hurt her feelings, but he hadn’t meant to. Especially before he got her into bed again—sober.

But she was already in his bed. Right now. She was naked, and he was pretty sure she’d sobered up by now.

What am I doing?
God, it’d take an idiot not to take advantage of these circumstances.
Just move in and start talking
. When he turned on the charm, it was just a matter of time.

But he didn’t want to have to talk her into it. He wanted it to be her idea. He wanted her so enamored with him that nothing would do until he sated her fire.

A primeval groan rumbled up his throat as he rose from the chair and slinked back to the bed. Again, he left a space gaping between them. He could tell she was conscious of it and wanted him to close the gap. He acknowledged the break between them and locked his eyes with hers—as brown as chocolate. Considering her hair was as gold as the morning sun, he thought her eyes made her stand out among all those blue-eyed blondes that were forever vying for his affections.

No matter how attractive he found her, he couldn’t let whatever feminine wiles she’d bewitched him with last night reemerge. He gave himself a mental kick in the rear. Niko was a businessman who knew that neglecting the obvious could end up a costly mistake. And getting married without a prenup was definitely a mistake.

“By what right do you accuse me of being reckless with my money?” he asked, partly to goad her, but mostly to get a idea of what it was going to take to make him a carefree bachelor again.

She snorted and thrust her hands into the air, rolled her eyes and surveyed the room.

“Well, it’s not the Palais de la Mediterranee,” he said, hurrying his speech because he thought it made his words come across as blasé.

“What?” Confusion drained the color from her expression.

“It’s a hotel in Nice.” Seducing her amidst the rarity of the luxurious hotel was a brilliant idea. “Would you like to go there?”

“No.” She secured the sheet under her arms. “What I’d like is to find my clothes and get back to my mediocre hotel.”

“But you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“You just can’t go back to your hotel, like nothing happened.”

“Why not?”

“Veronica, my love,” he said, turning on the charm and moving closer.

Shaking her head, she tucked the sheet around the side of her body facing him. “I’m not your love.” The words breezed off her lips, just above a whisper. She was going to be a tough one to crack. But Nikolas Alessandrio Leandros was not a man to back down from a challenge.

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Undaunted, he crawled across the bed toward her. He invaded her space, propped his balled fists on either side of her and leaned closer in a slow, deliberate fashion. “You were all mine, last night.” He breathed the words against her ear and felt her body tremble.

She leaned away from him, eyes closed. “Apparently you have a clearer picture of last night than I do.” Her tone was filled with such reluctance that he almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

Niko wasn’t about to tell her his memory wasn’t any better than hers. Last night, he’d had far more to drink than he’d ever recalled consuming in the past. And w
hile he did have a muddled recollection of their sexual encounter, he had no idea how they’d come to be joined in holy matrimony. But it seemed a shame not to walk away with some little memento. She would undoubtedly leave with an undisclosed sum of
his
money.

“It’s a shame you don’t remember,” he said, retreating to sit on the bed beside her. “Maybe we should re-consummate the marriage...” He lost himself in the scent of her lingering perfume. Sweet and seductive.

She glared at him, her eyes throwing tiny daggers of resentment to pierce his ego. “What makes you think we consummated this farce in the first place?” Leaping to her feet, she yanked the crocheted blanket off the end of the bed and swathed it around her nakedness before her feet hit the floor. She stormed around the bed, and the sound of her footsteps charged through him like electricity.

“We did.” Niko stood and blocked her path. She sidestepped him effortlessly and moved into the bathroom.

“How do you know?” Her biting words caught him off guard. She slammed the door between them but it didn’t faze Niko.

“Because, I remember.” He elevated his voice enough to travel through the walls.

“Oh, yeah. That’s right. I forgot—” Her sarcasm flowed through the door, amusing him. “—I was the only one drunk last night. You were faking it.”

Niko stepped away from the door and moved toward the windows. “I wish I had a clear memory of last night,” he said to himself.

The sound of running water roared through the walls. She was getting in the shower. Alone. That distressed him, but Niko wasn’t the kind to push himself on a woman. He’d been known to use his powers of persuasion in the past. But not this time. This time, his conquest would initiate the affair.

His thoughts trailed off as he glanced out the window. St. Tropez in March was not the same as St. Tropez in July or August. In March it rains. Today was no exception. He’d thought about taking the boat out, but that wasn’t any fun in the rain. Luckily, he had something else to preoccupy himself with until the storm passed.

His new wife.

He had no intention of staying married to her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sample the cake. He’d already done so last night, obviously, since she was in his bed naked. Niko had never been so inebriated that he couldn’t perform when he had a naked woman at his disposal. Letting something as beautiful and sexy as Veronica slip through his fingers, without a decent memory of the experience, would be a shame.

* * *

A dull headache had cropped up while Veronica was in the shower, and it had settled between her temples. She tried to ignore it and push it aside, draping the hotel’s plush robe around her body.

“Mental note to self,” she said, just under her breath.
Quit drinking
. If the press got wind of this, and so soon after that mess back in the States, they’d almost certainly turn her into the bad guy. She’d probably get fired from L.A. Afternoon—a local interests television show of which she was co-host—and have to resort to waitressing again, like she’d done to work her way through college. And once that happened, Ray would undoubtedly show up on a daily basis to harass her and make her life miserable.

Veronica squared her shoulders. She’d flown halfway around the world to get away, and damned if she’d let Ray spoil it for her. She flung the bathroom door open and readied to face her newest problem.

Niko sat sprawled across a chair, leisurely picking food off a tray. Had she been in the shower that long? Long enough for him to order room service, apparently.

The scent of bacon and coffee stirred her appetite. Hunger pangs rumbled in her stomach.

He stood and moved to the other side of the table. “Are you hungry?” He dragged the chair out and waited for her to sit. Ray had never done that. Jerk.

Veronica eyed Niko cautiously as she eased into the chair. Then he did something that totally surprised her, he guided her chair toward the table.
God bless his mother.
Gentlemen were so hard to come by these days.

Drawn in by Niko’s thoughtfulness, she forgot about leaving. Besides, she was starving. Veronica reached across the table and snatched a piece of bacon.

“So, my dear,” he said, striding back to his seat, “what would you like to do today?” Straight-faced, he glanced to her before whipping his napkin back across his lap and returning to his feast.

She reached for an empty glass and the decanter of orange juice, letting her attention settle on him as she helped herself. Suspicion fueled her desire to keep an eye on him as she snagged a plate and filled it with scrambled eggs and home fries. She eased a piece of toast off a nearby platter, placed it on the edge of her plate, and grabbed her fork.

There were a lot of things she wanted to say. Like,
are you nuts? This isn’t normal. Why are you acting like it is? Is it a Greek thing?
She gritted her teeth and stabbed a piece of potato.