Niko's Stolen Bride (18 page)

“His mother is a model,” she explained. She glanced over the dress he’d selected. “Apparently, she taught him well.”

The older woman’s eyes twinkled with appreciation. “Lucky you. I’d say he’s the keeper.”

She returned a slight smile, floating along on the swelling tide of her luck until she reached the dressing room.

“No,” she told Niko firmly. “You are not coming in with me.”

“But I’ve seen you naked.”

Kara felt her cheeks flare with color. She looked around, dropping her voice to a lower level. “Not in public.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ve been watching women change since I was a little boy.” His eyes took on a devilish twinkle that darkened to storm-washed blue. “Quite an education it was too. Models have very little modesty. They change clothes constantly, sometimes even become a living clothes horse as designs are stitched in place around them.” He leaned close to run one warm palm along her arm, twining their fingers together loosely as he clasped her hand. “They lose any inhibitions they have about their body. It’s something I’ve always admired.”

Inhibitions were her middle name, so if he was hinting, he was likely to be disappointed. “They let you backstage to watch?” She imagined a wide-eyed little boy who should have been outside playing with trucks in the sand pit, instead staring avidly as an endless parade of women stripped for him.

“On a good day,” he said with a grin that was not quite under control. “Sometimes my mother would take me with her when she went shopping. When I was young, her friends would let me play around their feet. As I got older, they’d send me out to fetch a different size or color for them.” His grin widened, taking on a wicked slant. “I learned to be indispensable.”

She just bet he had. “I am not a model.”

Niko leaned close, using his grasp on her hand to keep her at his side. His lips grazed against her earlobe when he spoke. “You’re my model.” The sensitive skin of her neck raised in gooseflesh. “Let me come into the changing room with you and I’ll show you how good I am at taking off your clothes.”

“I already know that.”

“It’s quite all right,” the sales clerk said from behind them. “Many of our European clients expect to go into the changing rooms with their wives.”

Kara stiffened. “Not this time,” she said with a touch of frost in her tone. She pointed to a bench that was padded in a bright blue batik fabric. “Sit.” As Niko tilted his head in inquiry at her sudden change of mood, she deliberately tried to soften the words and let a small smile play across her lips. “Which one first?”

“Yes, please have a seat,” the sales clerk urged. “I’ll bring you a coffee. Espresso? Black?”

“Perfect,” he said, shooting the woman a smile that would have made a less-seasoned woman buckle at the knees. As she hurried away, he turned back to Kara, his gaze assessing. She slipped into the changing room, glad to escape his stare. It was amazing how he picked up on her slightest emotion. Was this what it was like to be married for a long time, to be so close to someone that they could read every feeling in your facial expression? If so, how was Niko able to do it after so short a time? And why him? Why was he the man who could touch her like no other?

Rebound relationships were not supposed to be like this. If she were truly latching onto the first available person just to alleviate the pain of the breakup, she would surely have some hint by now that it would end badly. The only bad thing she’d discovered about this relationship was that it must end. Well, and that regrettable tendency he had of dragging her across the Caribbean against her will.

It took longer than she expected to slide out of her jeans and into the first dress. The straps were complicated and she wished for a second that Niko had come in to help her smooth the strap that seemed determined to twist just out of her reach. A knock on the changing room door startled her and she wondered for a wild second if their connection was so strong that he’d be there on the other side, waiting to help.

It was the sales clerk, her color high as she extended a shoe box. Kara stared at the woman who had suddenly changed from a staid grandmother to a nervous teenager. “Ni – Mr. Maragos thought that you might want these.”

“Thanks,” Kara murmured with a slight frown. Closing the door, she set the box on a chair and lifted the tissue to expose a pair of peep-toed pumps with three-inch heels. Black patent leather with squared toes, raised detailed stitching and an adorable bow of thin leather cording, they were just her size. Perfect.

Stepping out of the changing rooms, she stopped abruptly. Niko was sitting on the bench with a small, blonde child on his knee. The little girl stared up into his face, giggling with delight as he gently bounced her up and down, speaking to her in low tones. He stood when he saw Kara, sliding the girl down to the floor at his feet.

His lips pursed in a long, low whistle of appreciation. “Very nice.”

She propped both hands on her hips, trying to ignore his comment, though it had given her spirits a lift. She looked pointedly from him to the child.

“Her mother left her with me while she tried on some things.” He nodded toward the changing rooms from which Kara had just emerged. “She’s just in there.”

“That’s a little dangerous, isn’t it? You’re a total stranger.”

“I’m perfectly harmless,” he protested. “Besides, the sales clerk would never let me out of the store with her.” He dipped his head closer, whispering, “She’s watching me like a hawk.”

Kara had a feeling there were other reasons she was watching him, but decided not to point them out. The man was a born charmer, whether a female was three, twenty-three or sixty-three.

His attention was distracted by the child, who pulled impatiently on the leg of his jeans. “Yes,
moro mou?
”

Mutely, she held up her little hands.

“Of course, I’m sorry to ignore you.” Bending, he lifted her in his arms, holding her there effortlessly. She scooted closer, lying against his shoulder to press her cheek to his and wrap her slim arms around his neck for support.

“Children like you,” Kara said as she stepped closer to him. It was the second time she’d seen him with a small child, a stranger whose trust in him was natural and absolute.

“They like my deep voice. My nieces and nephews like it when I read them a story.”

On that point, she couldn’t argue. The man had a voice that would have rivaled Elvis’, if The King had still been alive. “But Elaina doesn’t have–”

“My half-brother Gabriel’s children. His kids are, let me see, two, five and eight years old now. Two boys and a girl.” His expression sobered for a moment. “If I decide to move back to the States, I’m going to miss seeing them so often.”

“I didn’t know,” she said slowly. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the man had a life, friends that she didn’t know about, and would never meet.

“There are many things we don’t know about each other.”

Her heart hammered painfully in her chest. “Good things or bad things?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

She nodded slowly. “Perhaps we can rectify that tonight.”

He shook his head, a small sultry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Tonight is for wining, dining, dancing and losing money in the casino. It will not be about something as mundane as the jobs we do or what we like on our pizza.” He held out his free hand to her and she stepped toward him. He grasped her hand then lifted it above her head, slowly spinning her around like a ballerina doll she’d had as child that rotated on one toe. His gaze blazed a hot trail across her skin as he surveyed every inch of her from the top of her head to her peep-toed shoes. Turning her to face him again, he gave a short nod of approval.

“I think you were right. Versace might have been nice, but I prefer Anne Klein. It is classic with just enough detail to make it unique, but not so ornate that it becomes high maintenance. It suits you.”

“That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard a man say,” the sales clerk said with a longing sigh.

Kara started, unaware the woman had approached. When she noticed Kara looking her way, the older woman suddenly found someone who needed urgent attention on the other side of the store.

“Was that a compliment?” Kara asked as she turned back to Niko. “I thought men prefer high-maintenance women who dye their hair, have their nails done regularly, get boob jobs when they start to sag and liposuction when the thighs balloon.”

Niko released her hand to slip his arm around her waist and draw her against the hard plane of his ribs. His palm was wide, sliding up her bare back to touch the ends of her hair where loose curls had formed. “Not this man.”

Kara shifted her gaze from the painful intensity of his stare to the sweet blue eyes of the small girl on his other arm. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

The child reached to touch one tiny finger to the bronze sheen of the dress. “Pretty.”

Kara’s breath caught as Niko smiled at the child. His eyes were alight with tenderness and a trace of something else. Regret, perhaps. Before she could identify it, he turned back to her.

“This is the one,” he said. “We both think so.” His nod included himself and the little girl.

“But I haven’t even tried on the others.” The protest was empty. The dress was cut from a soft, flowing fabric that felt fabulous against her skin. She liked the unusual color and the style. Even more important, if Niko liked the way the dress looked on her then she would wear it for him. Just this once. It was impossible to imagine that she’d ever be able to bring herself to wear it again. Especially not for another man.

It was Niko or no one.

“Beautiful,” Niko said, echoing the child’s sentiment several hours later when Kara was dressed for dinner.

He had changed into a black suit worn with an ice blue collared shirt, open at the neck. The cut of the jacket was flattering, emphasizing his broad shoulders as he stood on the fly deck, surveying the dark storm clouds that chased each other across the sky. He nodded a polite greeting to an older man and woman who scurried along the boardwalk, anxious to find cover from the imminent rain. The wind whipped the tails of the palm fronds back and forth and waved hibiscus blossoms like tiny yellow and red flags.

Kara was glad the sun shade was still drawn over the deck, allowing for extra protection from the gusts. Even so, the wind pulled a few stray hairs from her carefully pinned upsweep and fluttered the hem of her dress uncomfortably high on her thighs. She stepped back into the shelter provided by the sides of the ship, one hand holding her dress in place and one on her hair. Niko’s gaze tracked to the length of leg the wind had exposed and he followed her, his movements graceful as a stalking panther. He backed her further toward the bulkhead until her knees came in contact with one of the large cushioned recliners.

“Definitely the one.” His voice was smooth as creamy, sinful chocolate.

The difference between the child and Niko was that he didn’t stop with a single finger wrapped in the smooth fabric. He slipped the fingers of both hands under the straps that ran from her shoulders to the bodice of the dress, his knuckles brushing against her skin, causing a tremor of awareness across her chest. Using the strips of fabric as leverage, he tugged her closer. He bent his head, the strong line of his jaw sweeping across hers as he nuzzled her neck, inhaling deeply. “I love the way you smell.”

She recognized that deep, resonant timbre. “Niko,” she said warning in her tone. “If you don’t stop, we’ll never make our dinner reservation.”

“You could be right.”

The words were breathed against the dip at the base of her throat. By gradual degrees, his lips moved to press against the skin that tightened over her collarbone, then followed the path marked by the straps of her dress. She loved the way he took his time, bringing the rush of chill bumps to her skin then soothing them with his warm lips. When he reached the swell of her breasts, emphasized by the push-up bra he’d insisted she have, she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging gently to pull him away. He easily resisted the pressure.

“You know I’m right. Now stop.” The words held not the slightest hint of command. Already, her nipples puckered and heat gathered in her hips, readying her for his touch. When he flicked his tongue into her cleavage, her knees weakened and she leaned against him. “Stop,” she implored on a swift inhaled breath. “I’m hungry.”