The Greek's Hidden Vows: An Uplifting International Romance

By Maya Blake

Pretend turns to reality in this scandalous marriage of convenience romance by Maya Blake!

An irresistible wedding bargain
A secret desire…

Divorce lawyer extraordinaire Christos will stop at nothing to inherit his family’s private island, even secretly wed his unflappable assistant, Alexis. Now it’s time for her to honor their vows and travel to Greece to put on a convincing public performance…

Alexis has been burned in romance before and won’t repeat that mistake—not even with the uncompromising Christos. But as they act the perfect married couple for his grandfather, their chemistry becomes overwhelming. Is Christos different from the ruthless businessman she thought he was…or is his ardor all for show?

From Harlequin Presents: Escape to exotic locations where passion knows no bounds.

   

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlequin Presents
• Release date: Jun 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9780369706843

Maya Blake

Maya Blake's writing dream started at 13. She eventually realised her dream when she received The Call in 2012. Maya lives in England with her husband, kids and an endless supply of books. Contact Maya: www.mayabauthor.blogspot.com www.twitter.com/mayablake www.facebook.com/maya.blake.94

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

EAVESDROPPERS NEVER HEARD anything good about themselves. Wasn’t that how the saying went? Christos Drakakis gritted his teeth at that inconvenient reminder as he stood frozen in the middle of the smaller of his two adjoining conference rooms. Except he wasn’t eavesdropping per se. Both rooms had been empty when he entered five minutes ago, searing disappointment and blazing frustration colouring his perceptions.

Something that seemed to be happening with unwelcome frequency lately—

‘I think we can safely assume it’s reached DEFCON One around here.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of nuclear fallout, until I saw his face, then I knew we were already way past that. Apparently, it’s been three years since he lost a case. I wasn’t here then, but I know heads rolled on that particular case.’

The sentence was delivered with deep apprehension.

Gary Willis, one of his associates, had every right to be feeling the same sickening sensation churning Christos’s guts. That was the reason he’d sidetracked to the conference room instead of continuing to his office a few dozen floors above.

Most lawyers, no matter how stellar their reputation, accepted a degree of failure in the course of their profession. Most divorce lawyers took on certain cases with the expectation of having to compromise.

Not him.

Christos never took on a case unless he’d calculated how to achieve his endgame. His first loss had jolted him enough to vow never to take his eye off the ball again. His second had been because his client was a pathological liar who couldn’t speak the truth even to salvage his own divorce proceedings.

Today’s loss had been...out of his control. He’d debated every scenario, investigated every piece of information and triple-checked the opposition’s weak points. Everything should have gone his way. Yet somehow here he stood, disbelief shaking through his veins, with the dire reminder that the past was always there, waiting to rear its ugly head. Today’s lesson had been aimed at his client and friend, Kyrios, but it was Christos who was feeling the full after-effects of losing his third case in five years.

‘Are you sure it’s just this case troubling our esteemed leader? We only took it on three weeks ago. He’s been channelling Vlad the Impaler for the better part of two months now!’

Christos’s guts turned to stone, even as his mouth twisted in acid amusement.

Vlad the Impaler was an apt description. He’d been that way ever since the incident. And his grandfather’s increasingly pressured demands had only contributed to the...chafing that resided beneath his skin, making him excruciatingly aware that things weren’t settled in his world. Or as settled as they should be.

He detested excuses from his subordinates. Making them for himself was even more of an anathema. Which was why his inability to have this situation sorted successfully grated so badly.

‘Did something happen?’ Ben Smith, another associate, asked.

‘No idea,’ came Willis’s reply.

Yes, something happened. A moment of weakness with his executive assistant, which should’ve been easily dismissible, had somehow become lodged in Christos’s memory and refused to budge.

A late-night dinner with his EA in the company of an unusually friendly married couple who had chosen the high road to an amicable divorce. Drinks afterwards at his private club.

Nothing seemingly out of the norm.

And yet by the end of the night, a fundamental rule had been broken. He’d stepped over his own strict, personal line. A line they’d both agreed they’d never cross.

Rich, silky hair sliding between his fingers...

Full, eager lips beneath his own...

His greedy hands exploring the mounds and valleys of her supple, curvy body...

Breathless, lust-stoking moans he continued to hear in his dreams...

Christos’s blood immediately rushed south and he gritted his teeth tighter, tried harder to banish the focus-shredding thoughts from his mind. But clearly the gods weren’t on his side today, because right then the subject of his thoughts entered the conversation.

‘Alexis Sutton deserves sainthood for dealing with him. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her react to him with anything but unruffled calm.’

Except for that night two months ago. His usually immaculate executive assistant had been thoroughly ruffled that night. And in a most delectable way that still dogged his imagination with a riling persistence.

In his more unforgiving moments, he laid the blame on his clients, who’d chosen to separate with affection instead of acrimony. Alexis had been vocal in her admiration for them during dinner, stating boldly it was what she’d prefer to do in a similar situation.

That had...thrown him. Enough for him to veer from professional to personal.

And so he’d succumbed to temptation and was now suffering from a peculiar inability to excise the memory. A problem, it seemed, she wasn’t having.

But even while he’d been satisfied that their agreement remained in place and was unlikely to suffer further misguided bouts of temptation, a part of him remained vexed that he couldn’t seem to move on from it. The taste of her lingered in his mouth. The soft, silky texture of her skin made the tips of his fingers vibrate whenever she was in his vicinity.

The way she’d gasped his name as he’d pinned her against his sofa echoed in his head when he least expected it.

Christos knew the confounding inability to forget those brief minutes had contributed to his disgruntlement lately. But he refused to accept it was the reason he’d lost this case.

No, part of that blame lay with his grandfather and the increasingly unreasonable demands the old man had been making for the better part of two years.

‘To be on the safe side, I’ve called my wife and told her not to expect me home before midnight tonight.’

Willis’s words broke through Christos’s thoughts, bringing him back to the present.

‘Oh, come on, this is ridiculous. The nuclear winter can start tomorrow. I have drinks scheduled with a hot second-year associate at that new bar across the street. It took my secretary six tries just to get a reservation. I’m not cancelling.’

Willis exhaled despondently. ‘I’d probably do the same thing in your situation.’

Enough.

Christos yanked open the doors and entered the adjacent conference room. He watched with dispassionate eyes as the associates caught sight of him and turned varying shades of the rainbow.

‘Willis, send your wife my apologies along with a large bouquet of her favourite flowers charged to the business expense account, because she won’t be seeing you for the next week.’ He turned to the other man, who was now visibly quailing. ‘Smith, I’ll let you make your apologies to your date at your own expense. You, too, will not be seeing daylight for the next week. Any active files you’re working on I’ll have reassigned to your colleagues. But between the two of you, I expect a preliminary report on my desk by morning as to how this case was seemingly airtight forty-eight hours ago but still ended up blowing up in our faces. I want to know how an illegitimate child was missed right under our very noses. Understood?’ he asked in a deceptively calm voice.

Swift nods came his way. ‘Of course, sir,’ Smith replied.

‘We’ll get right on it, Mr Drakakis,’ Willis added straightening his tie and his spine.

Christos turned to exit the room.

‘Sir?’

He paused at Smith’s nervous prompting, eyebrows raised.

‘Umm...about what we were saying—’

‘You were right. I don’t like to lose. And yes, heads will roll this time too. You have one opportunity to make sure it’s not yours. Use it wisely. And in the future I suggest you check you’re alone before indulging in schoolyard gossip.’

Christos ignored the buzzing phone in his pocket as he left, silently cursing himself for not containing his roiling reaction to the verdict until he was back in his office. The apprehensive whispering and furtive looks that came his way from his employees as he prowled down the hallway he could withstand. Even on his best day the ruthless determination with which he attacked his punishing caseload gave the most hardened subordinate meaningful pause before they attempted to engage him.

With the news of his loss, no one would dare offer him even a benign greeting. For all intents and purposes, Christos Drakakis was an island—much like the one his grandfather was dangling frustratingly out of his reach—and not the most welcoming one at that. He didn’t regret that reputation. After all, it had seen him rise through the ranks of marital law to make partner by twenty-six, and, shortly thereafter, paved the way for him to establish one of the most successful law firms in the world.

The notion that he’d been off his game because he’d come within a whisker of bedding his assistant—an incident that should’ve remained in his rear-view mirror—stuck in his craw like the sharpest tack.

The doors to the lift parted.

At the last moment, he bypassed the button to his office and stabbed the one for his penthouse. Only then did he reach for his phone. But it wasn’t to answer the frantic messages from his client. That would come later, when he had a definitive answer as to what had gone wrong.

Instead, he sent a short, sharp message to his executive assistant, the woman who was taking up far too much real estate in his mind.

Alexis Sutton’s response was equally brief. And as expected, she turned up at his penthouse door five minutes later.

‘A shot of espresso or two fingers of Macallan?’ She held up the choice of offerings when he opened to her knock.

Christos pulled his fisted hands from his pockets, strolling forward until he was a couple of feet from Alexis. ‘If I want a drink, I’ll make it myself. Did you bring the list I wanted?’ he demanded. The growl in his voice was unmistakable, but the woman before him barely blinked.

Christos knew he wasn’t an easy man to work for. Alexis’s ability to remain unflustered was why she’d lasted this long as his assistant. It was why he’d made that proposition to her a year ago when his grandfather’s subtle hints had grown into real threats.

‘I won’t be around forever, Christos.’

‘Show me you’re the right heir to Drakonisos or I’ll make other arrangements.’

Costas Drakakis had forced his hand, and Christos had implemented a plan that’d proceeded smoothly for ten whole months.

Until an uncharacteristically pleasant dinner with clients and a nightcap with his assistant had lowered his inhibitions, blurring the stark professional lines he’d sworn never to cross.

‘I did,’ Alexis replied in that nuanced voice he’d spent far too long analysing over the past few weeks. Sometimes crisp, sometimes sharp. Always intelligent. And always with that huskiness that lately triggered a need to hear it wrapped in lust, moaning his name. Again. ‘But I still think you should have a drink. You haven’t had your shot of caffeine since this morning, and the whisky will mellow you out. After that, I’ll give you exactly five minutes to lose your cool. Then we’ll get back to business.’

Christos took another half step, his teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw hurt. As much as he appreciated her no-nonsense approach, she was verging on insubordination. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’

She lifted her head, met his gaze with unflinching chocolate-brown eyes shot through with threads of gold that always made him think they were gathering momentum to flash pure fire at him. She didn’t answer immediately, giving him an unwanted few moments to notice the silken mass of her chestnut hair, the glistening gloss of her lip balm, the pulse beating at her throat, the thin leather belt cinching her narrow waist and the floral undertones of her favourite scent.

He’d held that trim waist in his hands, knew he could span it, easily...as he had when he’d pulled her close that night...

‘I’m talking to the great Christos Drakakis, lawyer extraordinaire, the man who leaves opponents and judges alike quaking in their shoes.’

‘Then you’ll know that I’m in no mood to be messed around right now.’

‘Yes, I know you want someone to pay for what’s happened, hence the request for the list. And you’re in the mood for another one of your let’s-test-Alexis games today. Well, I’m not playing. So...now that we’ve exhausted all areas of concern, which is it to be?’ She raised the coffee cup and the tumbler of whisky higher until the smell of roasted beans and aged single malt trailed into his nostrils. ‘One is getting cold and the ice is melting in the other.’

Her little speech triggered equal parts vexation and calming reassurance inside him. Not everything had gone to hell. ‘I want neither. The list, if you please.’

Her arms lowered. She regarded him for a resigned moment. ‘I sent it to your phone before I came up. I also have several files to put together for you downstairs. Just let me know which ones you want to work on next and I’ll have them ready.’ She swivelled on expensive heels and started walking away, her navy pencil skirt twitching in the prim little way he’d have once laid hefty bets on fully complimenting her character.

Until he’d had a taste of the gorge-deep passion that lurked beneath the deceptively cool exterior. Christos hadn’t quite made up his mind whether he resented her for that unconscious subterfuge yet.

She’d mastered the art of walking away from him before he was done with her. Increasingly in the last several weeks. Today, it was especially aggravating.

‘Alexis.’ The warning in his voice was enough to make her falter.

Christos was almost sure her shoulders stiffened momentarily before she relaxed them. An instant later she was walking away again, her curvy hips swaying as she headed for the coffee table in the middle of his living room. He waited until she reached it and started to bend down to place the whisky and coffee on it.

‘Stop.’

She straightened, still holding the drinks. Their gazes locked. Held. After a moment he saw the merest flicker of apprehension, which absurdly pleased him. He enjoyed not being the only one unsettled before noon on what should’ve been a routine Monday morning.

He took his time approaching her, each step a small battle to rein in his fraying control. The unnerving sensation he’d experienced in the pit of his stomach after his phone call with his grandfather last night.

‘Your cousin is now in the running...’

‘I’m going to give it to you straight,’ Alexis said, her voice a crisp scythe through his moody thoughts. ‘If you were any other man, I’d have thought that you’d come up here to wallow in your defeat. But you’re not any other man. You’re Christos Drakakis.’

‘Yes, I am. And you also know how much I hate sycophants.’ He reached her in time to see her lips pinch for a second before, like him, she shook off her annoyance.

Christos skirted her once, then faced her. He relieved her of the tiny, expensive bone-china cup and downed the hot beverage in one swallow. Then he repeated the process with the amber liquid swirling in the crystal-cut glass.

The kick of caffeine before the calm of alcohol threw a veil of equilibrium over his senses. He released the single button to his bespoke suit and loosened his tie.

Jerking it free, he flung it on the sofa. With his gaze still on her, Christos tugged open the top three buttons of his shirt. He wasn’t in the least bit ashamed of enjoying the reaction that flitted across her face.

Despite the brick wall she’d thrown up after that night in his penthouse, she wasn’t immune to him. Selfishly, since his day had gone to hell so very unexpectedly, he revelled in the quickening of her breath, the flair of gold in her brown eyes, the smallest step she took away from him under the guise of straightening the coffee-table book on medieval architecture. They were the same tics she’d exhibited soon after accepting the position as his executive assistant, that he’d dreaded her acting upon, only to discover that she had no intention of doing so after three years in her role.

At first, Christos had resigned himself to waiting for the inevitable moment when Alexis, like his three prior seemingly superefficient and professional assistants, would drop the not-so-subtle hint that she would love their boss/assistant relationship to become something more.

That moment had never arrived, but he’d remained sceptical, then increasingly on edge because Alexis was his most proficient assistant, anticipating his needs and executing them sometimes even before he recognised they existed. But Christos wasn’t a man who took things at face value—the harrowing events of his childhood had eroded his trust. So like the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, each interaction with her had become a watchful exercise, until it had grown into a peculiar kind of anticipation.

It had been well into the first year before he’d spotted a single sign that she was aware of him. But even that had been ruthlessly snuffed out, his assistant seemingly as capable of clamping down her responses as he was.

Until that night.