IN THE GREEK TYCOONâS BED
Theyâre dangerously handsome and
impossibly wealthyâ¦.
Theyâre used to having it allâ¦.
The secluded beaches of their private
islands make the perfect setting for red-hot seductionâ¦.
These Greek billionaires will stop at nothing
to bed their chosen mistressesâ women who find themselves powerless to resist being pleasuredâ¦.
IN THE GREEK TYCOONâS BED
At the mercy of a ruthless
Mediterranean billionaireâ¦
Some people know practically from birth that theyâre going to be writers. CATHERINE SPENCER wasnât one of them. Her first idea was to be a nun, which was clearly never going to work! A series of other choices followed. She considered becoming a veterinarian (but lacked the emotional stamina to deal with sick and injured animals), a hairdresser (until she overheated a curling iron and singed about five inches of hair off the top of her best friendâs head the day before her first date) or a nurse (but that meant emptying bedpans. Eee-yew!). As a last resort, she became a high school English teacher, and loved it.
Eventually, she married, had four children and always, always, a dog or two or three. How can a house become a home without a dog? she asks. How does an inexperienced mother cope with babies if she doesnât have a German-shepherd nanny?
In time, the children grew up and moved out on their ownâas children are wont to do, regardless of their motherâs pleading that they will remain babies who donât mind being kissed in public! She returned to teaching, but a middle-aged restlessness overtook her and she looked for a change of career.
Whatâs an English teacherâs area of expertise? Well, novels, among other things, and moody, brooding, unforgettable heroes: Heathcliff, Edward Fairfax Rochester, Romeo, Rhett Butler. Then thereâs that picky business of knowing how to punctuate and spell, what the rules of sentence structure are and how to break them for dramatic effect. They all pointed her in the same direction: breaking the rules every chance she got, and creating her own moody, brooding, unforgettable heroes. And where do they belong? In Harlequin Presents novels, of course, which is where she happily resides now.
ONLY 6:46 on Tuesday, with a fine May sunrise tinting the sky over Athens a pale, translucent peach. Yet for Dimitrios Giannakis, the day was already old and too grimly familiar. He hadnât needed to hear the medical teamâs latest bulletin when they met for their regular early-morning consultation. One look at their faces had told him all he needed to know.
Seated in his office now, Dimitrios regarded the telephone on his desk with the kind of loathing a man might show if he thought a pit viper was about to uncoil itself from the instrument and settle in his lap. This was not a call he wanted to make. Would, in fact, have done almost anything to avoid it if heâd had any choice in the matter. But the tragic fact was, heâd run out of options. Brianna Connelly was his last hopeâor, more accurately, Poppyâs last hope. And when it came to his daughter, Dimitrios allowed nothing, especially not his injured male pride, to come between her and what she so desperately needed.
Of course, the odds of Brianna agreeing to his request were slim to none. Sheâd made it clear enough, more than four years ago, where her priorities lay: in the glossy, artificial world of high fashion, which paid homage only to youth and beauty. But he had to ask. Was willing to beg, if necessary, to give his little girl a fighting chance.
The sweep second hand on his watch inched toward seven, making it almost nine the previous evening on Canadaâs west coast. As good a time as any to do what had to be done.
Jaw clenched, he lifted the handset from its cradle and punched in the number for Briannaâs penthouse apartment, which, fortunately, was where his sources told him she was currently to be found. Time was of the essence, and by tomorrow she could be on location in some inaccessible corner of the Sahara, Iceland or the Australian Outback. Hers, after all, was a face and a body greatly in demand worldwide, and she too inexhaustibly ambitious to reject any assignment which might further her career.
The phone rang three times before her answering service picked up and asked him to leave a message. Glowering, he swiveled his chair to face the window. âItâs Dimitrios Giannakis, Brianna. Itâs urgent that I speak to you as soonââ
âDimitrios?â Her voice, slightly husky and disturbingly erotic, intercepted, caressing his ear like a kiss.
Steeling himself against the sensory impact, he said curtly, âGood. You are there.â
If he hadnât known better, he might have thought her small intake of breath signaled dismay or regret, but whatever the cause she recovered quickly and replied with matching brevity, âObviously. What can I do for you?â