Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (11 page)

He poured them each another glass. “Now it won’t taste as bad. It’s an old college trick.”

The wine had already gone to her head making her feel warm and tingly. Or maybe it was Ryan. She stabbed a tomato spear with her fork. “Sounds like you learned a lot in college.”

“It had its uses.” His eyes softened. “College isn’t for everyone. As you can tell, it’s a lot of partying and making bad decisions. Put it this way, you saved yourself four years of hangovers.”

“I got to drink champagne at some of the after parties, but I never got drunk. I couldn’t afford the calories.”

He frowned. “That’s ridiculous. You have a great body. I mean—”

Her pulse raced from his compliment. “I know what you meant. And thank you.” Tonight’s dinner consisting solely of vegetables wasn’t new to her. As a dancer, she had to keep her weight at no less than ten pounds under what the doctors’ charts recommended as healthy. She didn’t miss starving her body or going to bed with a rumbling tummy. And what a difference dressing made on salad. Yum.

He added more salad to his plate. “Was it difficult to give up dancing professionally?”

She took a swig of wine. “It wasn’t exactly my decision. Once you have the kind of injury I have, your body is never the same. Sure, I could continue, but to what end? I don’t want to have to rely on pain relievers and cortisone shots for the rest of my life. And to be honest, my career wasn’t going any place.”

Ryan’s lips parted to speak, but she didn’t want to hear another person tell her she gave up too soon. She held up a hand to silence him. “I’m realistic. I’m a wonderful dancer, but one of many in New York. The injury and George’s phone call were the impetus I needed to make a significant change in my life. As I’ve said, I’d like to open my own dance school at some point. It would take time to build a clientele, but I’ve waitressed before, I can waitress again.”

He shifted in his seat and appeared uncomfortable. “Two million dollars would buy one hell of a dance studio.”

With two million, she could practically start a chain of dance schools. But that wasn’t what she wanted. How could she explain to someone who grew up in a house with two loving parents what it was like to not know if you’d have a bed to sleep in that night? “It would, but money isn’t what I’ve searched for my entire life. My career is nothing if I don’t have a home.”

“You could buy another house,” he suggested, obviously trying to sound casual.

He was still trying to encourage her to sell. Would she ever convince him how important it was to her to own
this
house?

Alexander could’ve left her money, but instead, he’d chosen to give her the mansion. He’d wanted her to live here.

The home was her destiny. She felt it as strongly as she knew her own name. The vision she’d had in George’s office cemented that fact. She put down her fork and finished off her second glass of wine for some liquid courage.

“I know, but I feel connected to this house, as if it were fated to be mine. As a child, I never knew where I’d go to sleep at night. I had a duffel bag with clothes and a teddy bear. That’s it.”

“Two million would—”

She interrupted, knowing if she didn’t tell him her story now, she may never get the courage again.

“It’s not the money. This house is a link to the family I’ve never gotten the opportunity to know. If my mother hadn’t shuffled us around, I might’ve been a part of the Stavros celebrations. My aunt would’ve baked apple pies for me. It’s about having a permanent place to hang my clothes and rest a stuffed animal. You can’t know what it’s like to move one day and realize your favorite and only possession in the world was left behind.”

Pity shadowed his eyes. “Your teddy bear?”

Squeezing her eyes shut to blink back the tears, she nodded. “It wasn’t anything special. Just a brown bear with a red bow around its neck. But I loved it. My mom offered to get me a new one, but she didn’t understand. I didn’t want another bear. I wanted that one. It was the single constant in my life for twelve years. Since I lost him, I haven’t had anything else that belonged to me other than my clothes. I want to go to bed at night secure in the knowledge I won’t have to pack up my belongings the following morning.”

“I’m sorry.” He poured the remaining liquid from the bottle into her glass.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her vision, but he’d never believe her. Her stomach churned like a tumultuous sea. Already tipsy, she took another sip of wine and shuddered from its bitterness.

He chuckled. “Next time we want to drink, I’ll stop at Braden’s house. He has an extensive wine collection in his wine cellar. He owns a vineyard in Greece if you can believe it.”

“I take it he’s quite wealthy.” Her lips buzzed and her voice sounded far away.
Am I drunk?

“Put it this way. My family has billions and it doesn’t come close to his fortune.”

“There’s something I don’t understand. If your family is wealthy, why are you broke?”

His fingers tapped a beat on the table. “Two years ago, I made a . . . bad choice and money had seemed like the only way to make things right. Now it’s all gone.”

Even tipsy on wine, she noticed the guilt in his eyes, heard it in his voice. To her, he’d grown up in the all-American family. Wealthy, privileged, and unbelievably close to one another according to her mother. The family Portia had dreamed of as a child.

“Maybe if you talked to your parents and—”

He shook his head. “It’s in the past. I’m over it. When it did come time for the family to trust me, they let me down and believed the worst.” He shrugged and rocked back in his chair. “We’re still civil to each other. We have dinner at the holidays and I put on my happy face at their charity fundraisers. But I no longer count on them.”

She curled her hand into a fist, suppressing the desire to take his hand and soothe him. “Why didn’t you tell them the truth?”

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at her. “I shouldn’t have needed to explain to anyone what I did with the money. Not to them and not to you.”

His defensive behavior shocked her. She’d thought after sharing her struggles with her mother, he’d trust her enough to tell her the truth. “Without an explanation, what are we supposed to think happened to your millions?”

For a moment, her words seemed to penetrate, his gaze softening and his body relaxing. Then, as if on fire, he shot out of his chair, tipping it over. “You’re supposed to think . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “You know what? It doesn’t matter.” He picked up the chair and took a couple steps away from the table. “Thank you for dinner, but I’m going to bed.”

He stomped out of the room and his heavy footsteps pounded on the stairs. When the bedroom door slammed, she flinched as if he’d slapped her.

So much for trust and honesty.

She finished off the rest of the wine and cleared the table, bringing the dishes to the sink. Foregoing the dishwasher in lieu of hand washing in an effort to save on utilities, she scrubbed the plates much harder than necessary and wondered if she and Ryan would ever finish a conversation without one of them storming out of the room.

Chapter 11

It’s the sweet sounds at daybreak that the

dreaming bridegroom hears on his wedding morning,

calling him to the church.

William Shakespeare,
Merchant of Venice,
act 3, scene 2

Ryan flipped over again and punched his fist into the pillow. It was too early to sleep and he couldn’t get their argument out of his head. Portia hadn’t done anything wrong and she didn’t deserve his anger. He’d taken two years of resentment out on her when all she’d wanted was to help. Plagued by guilt, he sat up and flicked on the lamp. Zeus purred at the foot of the bed and stared at him, daring him to go and apologize. Damn it, the cat was right.

Sneezing, he threw on a pair of sweatpants and went downstairs to find her. Immediately after stepping off the landing into the foyer, he heard his Uncle’s Greek folk music playing again. He followed the joyful sound straight to the ballroom. The door was open and he moved to go inside, but paused when he spied Portia. He hung back in the doorframe and watched as she swayed her arms in an arc over her head and twirled. With her eyes closed, she glided across the floor as if it were air and she was weightless. The violin built to a crescendo and Portia leapt into the air, flying as though she had wings. He wanted to be the one to catch her when she landed. He wanted to lift her in the air high over his head. He wanted to tug her to him and hold her in his arms.

Something tickled his leg. Purring, Zeus circled his tail around Ryan’s calf. Why wouldn’t the cat leave him alone? Before he could suppress it, he sneezed again. The music stopped and so did Portia.

Her eyes snapped open and her hand flew to her chest. “You scared me.”

He moved inside the door. “I’m sorry. Not for scaring you.” She arched a brow. “I mean, I’m sorry for that as well, but I’m sorry for before. I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you or stormed off like a child. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Apology accepted.” She raked a finger through her hair and began to tie it up in a ponytail. “Did you hear the music again?”

Hearing music should freak him out, but for some reason, it didn’t. It was part of the house. Just like that ancient cat.

“Yeah. Weird, huh?” He met her in the center of the room and took a huge breath. “I was wondering, and you’re under no obligation to say yes, but I was wondering if you’d go with me to a fundraiser. It’s for the Children’s Hospital and it’s in December, so they do this whole winter wonderland theme. There will be dinner and dancing. My family goes every year.”

Her jaw dropped a little, and she blinked a few times. “Wouldn’t you rather bring a date?”

“I was hoping you’d be my date.” He stepped closer and inhaled her vanilla scent.

Her hand shot out and she clasped onto his shirt. “Ryan, I told you, it wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Even as she spoke the words, her body relayed a different story. Still clenching his shirt, her fingers subtly, and apparently involuntarily, rubbed his chest. He kept his own hands at his side despite the urge to thrust his fingers in her hair and pull her head down for a kiss she’d never forget.

The cat meowed and wrapped himself around Ryan and Portia’s legs as if binding them together. “I’m attracted to you and I think you’re attracted to me. Why not see where this leads?”

She stared at him for a moment, giving him hope he’d gotten through. She looked down at her hand on his chest, obviously realizing she’d clutched it like a starving woman, then quickly dropped it and blushed. She inhaled loudly. “I don’t know who my father is.”

“Okay.”

She flexed and pointed her feet in her adorable nervous gesture. “Why would Alexander leave me anything? He didn’t know me and we weren’t even close to Aunt Tina. I know my mom said my father was Irish, but what if she lied? What if Alexander was my father? That would explain why he left me the house. And that would make you and I blood-related cousins.”

Gazing at this beautiful woman who danced and turned pink whenever she got nervous, he wondered what he’d need to do to win her over. Laughing at her wouldn’t work, but that’s exactly what he did.

“What’s so funny? I’m serious.” She frowned and put her hands on her hips.

His laughter died long enough to explain. “Rest assured Alexander wasn’t your father. I overheard him talking with my father years ago about the fact that he was sterile after a case of the mumps in childhood. He bragged that it kept him from needing a vasectomy like my dad. So you don’t have to worry. We’re not blood-related.”

She sighed and visibly relaxed. “Thank goodness.”

He moved closer and she raised a hand to stop him, but didn’t touch him again to his disappointment. “That doesn’t mean it’s right. Yes, we’re attracted to one another, but if we weren’t living together, we’d go on dates and take things slow. Get to know each other. I’m afraid we’ll fall into bed together and things will turn ugly, then we’ll be stuck together for another three months.”

He considered the points she raised and decided to take the loophole she’d unknowingly provided. “Okay.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Okay?”

“We’ll take it slow.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said, trying but failing, to sound outraged.

He lowered his head to whisper in her ear. “What I know is there’s something between us and I’m not going to walk away from it. I’ll give you space, but I’m not giving up. We’ll get to know each other and take it slow, like you said.” His hand brushed across her lower back. He raised his head, not surprised to see her crimson cheeks. Pleased by her flared nostrils and shallow panting, he gave her a smile and left her alone in the ballroom to wonder what he’d do next.

From the church, they marched through the village, led by a violinist with silver hair. The setting sun’s rays reflected off the sea and the first star appeared in the sky. Arriving in the town square for the celebration of their marriage, she and Ryan joined hands and stared in awe at the bountiful feast their families had prepared.

The violinist, her Uncle Alexander, kissed her cheek and wished them well. He smiled at them, pride shining in his eyes.

He deserved that pride.

After all, he’d helped unite them.

Uncle Alexander shook her husband’s hand and joined the village guests, leaving them to their marital dance.

With the
stefana
crowns decorated with ribbons on their heads, they bowed to one another for their first dance as husband and wife.

The music began, a
ballos
, for the two of them. Her body swayed to the notes of the flute and lyre, enticing, flirting, and attracting her husband to represent their courtship.

Desire for her husband bloomed when his fingers splayed low on her back, moving lower in unspoken promises. The music stopped and they breathed heavily. He cupped her chin in his palm, slowly rubbing his thumb over her lips, and bent down to take what belonged to him.

The sun shone warmly on her face. Confused, Portia opened her eyes. Where had her husband gone? What was she doing in this bed? She rolled over and came face-to-face with a gray ball of purring fur.

It was all a dream.

Zeus’s hair tickled her nose, so she tossed to her back and threw a hand over her forehead.

It had seemed so real, almost like a memory.

She watched Zeus licking his paw. “It’s not possible that Ryan and I loved each other in another life, right?”

He stopped his cleaning and fixed his gaze on her.

“I hope you’re not waiting for him to reply,” Ryan said as he sauntered into the bedroom wearing only jeans.

Had he heard what she’d told Zeus? Her heart pounded with embarrassment.

Damn, he looked good for—she turned to read the clock—seven-thirty in the morning. He must have gotten up early and showered. And something smelled heavenly.

“Is that coffee?” She sat up and rested her head against the headboard.

“It is.” He took a blue sweatshirt from a drawer and yanked it over his head. “I made a fresh pot and picked us up warm bagels and cream cheese.” He looked down at his chest and smirked at her. “I spilled coffee on my shirt, so I threw it in the wash.”

Sure he did.
She caught one last glimpse of his washboard abs before he covered them with his shirt. “You’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been up for a few hours. You were dead to the world.” He stood at the foot of the bed and stared at her, his brows crinkled as if he was pondering something. “Why don’t you throw on some clothes and meet me downstairs for breakfast? I found a couple pictures in the basement that might look good in the kitchen. I thought I’d hang them up.”

As she stared at him, she couldn’t get the dream off her mind. Her love for him was so strong that bits of it lingered now that she was awake, and the urge to pull him down on top of her to christen their marital bed nearly overwhelmed her. Speaking of beds . . .

“When will your bed arrive?” she asked, tossing off the covers and getting out of bed.

His gaze shot to her bare legs then up to her face. “Bed? Oh, I paid extra so it should get here soon.” He put his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’m going to let you get dressed. I’ll meet you downstairs.” For a second, he didn’t move. Just stared at her as if he were waiting for . . . something. When she opened her drawer and pulled out undies and a bra, he exhaled and spun on his heels, exiting the room as if she had lit him on fire.

She chuckled to herself. Yeah, it was cruel to tease him by flaunting her underwear, but it was so fun. She shouldn’t be the only one hot and bothered this morning.

After brushing her teeth and getting dressed, she made her way down the staircase. Loud banging sounded from the kitchen. With one hand, Ryan held a picture against the wall, and with the other, he drew a line with pencil at the top of the frame. He placed the picture on the floor and took a couple steps back, narrowing his eyes. “That look like a good spot for it?”

Torn, she didn’t know whether she should tell him she despised the picture he’d chosen for the kitchen. A dark wooden frame surrounded a picture of apples, bananas, and oranges in a green and purple bowl. It didn’t go with their Italian-style kitchen. But she decided to pick her battles. “Sure. Great spot.”

He cocked a brow and shook his head before bending down to get a nail and hammer from the tool box. Nice. She grabbed an egg bagel from a paper bag and crossed the kitchen to get a mug. She couldn’t get over how domestic this scene was with her having breakfast while watching Ryan hang up pictures. It almost seemed as though they lived together for real. Not for an inheritance, but because they’d chosen to.

Needing her caffeine fix, she poured coffee into her mug, inhaling its rich aroma. She sipped and rested against the counter watching Ryan place the nail on the pencil mark. Who would have guessed a rich boy would end up being so handy? The muscles in his biceps rippled as he hammered the nail with moderately hard force.

Crack.
The hammer drove the entire nail into the wall and created a hole the size of a fist. Pieces of drywall crumbled to the floor. Ryan swore loudly.

She calmly poured coffee into another mug and carried it to him. “I take it that shouldn’t have happened?”

He dropped the hammer back into the tool box, accepted the coffee, and took a sip. “No. I’m strong, but not superhero strong. I think the wall is hollow.”

“Hmm. That’s bad?” she asked, playing dumb.

The sides of his mouth twitched. “It means we’re not hanging up any pictures. Whoever ends up with the house will want to reinforce the wall with support. But it’s not an immediate concern. Unless there’s a major earthquake, the wall shouldn’t crash down.”

She frowned, wondering if earthquakes were common in Michigan. Judging by his grin, she’d wager he was joking with her. “Good to know.” She carried her coffee and bagel to the table and sat.

He picked out his bagel and joined her. “How’d you sleep?” His gaze bore into her and she instantly grew wet and ready. Damn.

“Good for the most part.” Not that the other part was bad. On the contrary, her dream had been extraordinary. But he wouldn’t get her to talk about it with him. As it was, she had to concentrate on not blushing.

He chewed his bagel and quietly assessed her, not taking his gaze off her for a second. She squirmed in her chair and picked at her bagel. “And you?”

“Funny thing. I had this—”

Her cell rang and vibrated in her pocket. “Hold that thought,” she told him, digging in her pants to pull out her phone. It was Viola. “Hey, what are you doing up so early?”

“Early? I haven’t gone to sleep yet, dear sis.”

“All right then, what are you doing up so late?” She mouthed “
sorry
” to Ryan and listened as her sister rattled on about the guy she was seeing and his cousin.

“Meet us at my place for dinner at seven. Sound good?”

Crap, she missed whatever her sister had asked. “What? Meet who for dinner?”

“Weren’t you listening? And they say I have attention deficit. Jon, the guy I’ve been hanging out with, has a nephew visiting from Boston. He’s recently single and Jon’s trying to convince him to move to Detroit, so we’re taking him out for a night on the town. Meet at my place at seven and we’ll all go out for dinner and dancing. I promise to have you home before the clock strikes ten and you turn into a pumpkin. Oh, and wear something sexy instead of your usual. We want to entice the guy, not scare him off.”

Portia ignored her sister’s subtle insult and decided going out with a group sounded like fun. “Don’t you have to work tonight?”

Viola yawned. “It’s my night off. You and Ryan still planning on coming one night to hear me?”