Sway With Me (Inspiring the Greek Billionaire) (12 page)

She looked at Ryan who was sipping his coffee and checking out the wall while he pretended he wasn’t listening, but clearly was. “Of course. I’ve missed your voice.”

“My band’s pretty stellar. Too bad it’s a temporary gig.”

A pang of sadness shot through her. Her sister never stayed in one city for long, but she’d hoped moving to Michigan would convince Viola to change her ways. “You could always stick around now that I’m living here.”

“We’ll see. Anyway, I’m gonna hit the hay bale for a few hours. I’ll see you tonight. Love you.”

She’d never figured out if her sister’s mixing of clichés was intentional or not, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings by asking. “Love you, too. Bye.” She disconnected the call and Ryan pulled his attention from the wall back to her.

“Your sister’s unique.” He crossed his legs and smiled.

“Yes. She is.” Her chest grew tight. “She’s got a male friend. I think that’s her way of saying she’s got a boyfriend.”

His brows furrowed. “Okay. Does that bother you?”

“No. I thought you should know. In case you . . .” The look on his face told her he had no idea what she was talking about. She bit into her bagel and glanced away from him.

He chuckled. “You thought I was interested in her, didn’t you?”

“No.” Crap, she would not blush.

“You did. And you didn’t like it. You’re jealous.”

She whipped her head around to look at him. “I’m not jealous.” Although she’d meant to say it firmly and convincingly, her voice came out so meek, even she didn’t believe it. Living with the man and being attracted to him was one thing, but having him know she cared enough to get jealous was dangerous to her mental health. It gave him power over her and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Yeah, you are.” He scooted his chair closer and leaned toward her, close enough his body heat and scent teased her with unspoken promises. “But you have no reason to be. I’m a one woman man, and the only woman I want is you.”

Her heart galloped wildly. She gulped. “Oh.”

“Let me take you out to dinner tonight.” His voice, low and rough, ran through her, igniting a fire in her core.

His eyes reminded her of the dream. She’d woken up before they got to the good stuff. “Dinner?” She shook her head to clear the sensual fog. “I can’t. Viola’s got a group of us going out tonight to show her boyfriend’s nephew a good time.”

“A good time, huh?” He sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah.” Given the choice, she would’ve rather gone to dinner with Ryan, but her sister never took “no” for an answer. Of course, adding one more person to their group outing shouldn’t matter. “We’re going out to dinner and dancing if you want to come. I know you don’t like to dan—”

“Love to,” he interrupted, grabbing her hand. “Sounds like fun.” He brushed his thumb across the top of her hand and it was as if those nerve endings were connected to her nipples. They puckered against her bra, and although she didn’t look down, she knew they were likely poking out of her NYU T-shirt on display for Ryan’s view.

His other hand cupped the side of her face in his palm. “Portia?” His lips hovered barely an inch from hers, his minty breath warm on her mouth.

She closed her eyes.

“Until tonight,” he whispered.

His chair scraped across the tiled floor, and when she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Damn.

Chapter 12

How all the other passions fleet to air,

As doubtful thoughts, and rash-embraced despair,

And shuddering fear, and green-eyed jealousy!

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

Ryan glanced at his watch. He’d been waiting in the foyer for nearly an hour. He’d gotten dressed first then left the bedroom to allow her to get ready, but she was taking forever. What the heck took women so long?

To call it the day from hell would’ve been a massive understatement. It started when Ryan woke up before he got the chance to make love to Portia in his dream. His eyes had opened to her sleeping next to him, her thick hair spread out on the pillow. Like a siren, she beckoned him, a magnetic pull so strong, he feared he’d crash and burn. His dick was hard and aching, but it was the hollowness inside his chest that overwhelmed him. Waking up and not being able to take her into his arms was a living hell. The completeness he’d felt in his dream disappeared because Portia didn’t belong to him in the real world.

Of course, the dream had seemed real. He recognized the small village in Crete, Greece where the two of them celebrated their marriage. When he was sixteen, his entire family traveled there to celebrate Uncle Alexander’s birthday. It was the first time Alexander had visited his homeland since leaving with his parents at eight years old. Ryan and his brothers had complained for days as their uncle dragged them around Crete. For a bunch of teenage boys, spending day in and day out with their parents and extended family was the worst punishment they could’ve imagined. Ryan had big plans laid out for that summer and it hadn’t included learning about his heritage.

Then one night, he couldn’t sleep. He’d left his snoring brothers and gone outside for some fresh air where he stumbled upon his uncle sitting in a rocking chair and smoking a cigar. Instead of sending him back to his room, Alexander had let him try a puff of his cigar and a swig of
ouzo
, the Greek liquor. A half-hour later, he divulged to his uncle about his less than stellar performance in taking Lindsey Malone’s virginity. His uncle assured him that practice makes perfect, but that for a sixteen-year-old’s first time, fifteen seconds was about average. Then he went on to casually mention the failure rate of condoms and all the responsibilities that came along with raising a child. By the time Ryan went to sleep, he’d sworn off sex and his uncle had him thinking it had been his own decision. It wasn’t until college that Ryan figured out how his uncle had manipulated him. Turned out, Alexander was the master of manipulation. Hell, he was dead and still manipulating Ryan.

Yet, Ryan couldn’t deny his uncle had his best interests at heart. Could he possibly have left the house to Portia and him otherwise? Maybe that was what the dream meant.

Thinking back to her response to his earlier flirtations—her nipples hardening, her quickened breathing, her eyes closing and lips parting in anticipation of his kiss—he’d nearly exploded on the spot. Rather than give in to temptation, he’d denied them both and left her sitting alone in the kitchen.

Hell.

They’d spent the rest of the day working on different parts of the house. He’d finally figured out where the leak was coming from, and after researching it on the Internet, he set out to replace the corroded pipe, then fixed the drywall. Hopefully they wouldn’t have to worry about mold, but he’d made a note to check on it in a month.

He spent the rest of his day on a secret project, enjoying the feel of wood under his hands again. Ever since grade school, he’d found solace in sanding down wood and whittling. By high school, he’d gotten pretty good, even catching the attention of the art teacher, but it wasn’t something he wanted people to know about him. He always carried his chip-carving knife in his backpack, and when he’d gotten older, he had one specially designed with tempered steel to fold so he could carry it in his pocket. He’d never told anyone other than the occasional teacher about his love affair with the art of whittling. He was a Sullivan and part of the Stavros family. He was expected to go to law school and join the family in running the multi-billion dollar corporation, not become an artist. But he’d never completely let go of his passion.

And Portia had inspired him to create something beautiful.

Now he found himself planning and designing while he worked on the house. At least it kept his mind occupied on something other than how good it would feel to have her naked body draped over his as they slept in that bed together.

Hopefully, she’d continue to buy his story that he’d bought a bed online. So far, she didn’t seem to mind sharing, and if he got his way, they’d end up naked in it together anyway. Why waste money they didn’t have?

His pacing increased as he continued to wait for her . . . for their night out with a group of strangers. Not exactly what he’d have planned for their first date. But he’d use the opportunity to show her how great they could be together. Once she believed he cared for her, she’d listen to him about selling the house. It was the only way, and he had to convince her of it.

He raked his fingers through his hair. Who was he kidding? He cared for Portia more than he wanted to admit. Every minute he spent with her wrapped him into a tighter knot, but he needed to keep his eye on the prize. Maybe there was a way to have the money
and
Portia.

Zeus sat on the fourth step, apparently keeping him company. He’d swear the cat had a grin on his face.

“Portia, we’re going to be late,” Ryan called up to her.

“I’m coming,” she responded from the top of the stairs. Her shoes clicked on the first few steps as she rounded the corner and came into full view.

Dressed in a red sequined tank top with spaghetti straps and a short, black leather skirt, she looked like a devilish version of the woman from his dream. Gone was the innocent people-pleaser, and in her place was a woman who’d tempt a priest to sin. She’d left her hair down and added waves to it, so that strands of it curled around her breasts as if holding them in their grasp. Who could blame them? He’d do the honors himself if it wouldn’t get him slapped across the face. No bra straps. His groin tightened at the knowledge. And, as always, her feet drew his attention. Tonight she wore some kind of high-heeled sandal with thin ribbons wrapping around her ankles . . . tied up like a Christmas present begging to be unwrapped.

She descended the stairs with her head held high in confidence, which was probably why she didn’t notice old Zeus perched on the step.

His mouth opened to sound a warning, but she moved too quickly and landed on Zeus. Crying, the cat jumped to his feet, throwing Portia off-balance. Her arms flailed and her feet slid down the next couple of stairs. Ryan raced to the bottom and caught her in his arms.

His hand came in contact with the warm skin of her back. He helped her to her feet and spun her around so he could inspect the backside of her shirt. A red strap ran under her shoulder blades, holding the shirt in place. The rest of her back was bare.

Again.
Hell.

“You can’t go out like that. Go change.” The demanding tone of his voice surprised even him.

She twisted around and glared at him. “Excuse me? Why not?”

Because it was one thing to tempt him, but in that getup, he’d have to beat the guys off of her. Somehow, he knew that answer wouldn’t fly. “You’ll get cold.”

She laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I get all hot and sweaty when I dance.” She turned around and smiled at him with her red lipstick-stained lips. “Thanks for catching me and for looking out for me. Come on. You drive.” She picked up her purse hanging off the banister and slipped it over her shoulder.

He settled his palm on the small of her back, ushering her to the car, then opened her door. She wore some kind of perfume tonight, mixing the scent of lavender with her usual vanilla. As she slid into her seat, he maintained eye contact, eliciting a little gasp from her before she lowered her lashes and broke their magnetic connection.

Three hours. That’s how long he’d have to wait to get her into bed.

Hell.

They made it to her sister’s apartment managing to be only a few minutes late. He shut off the car’s engine and ran around to the other side to open her door, but she stepped out before he reached it. Damn, she had no idea this was a date, but he promised himself she would by the end of the evening.

The apartment building smelled of curry, so overpowering he couldn’t even smell Portia. They climbed the stairs to the third floor, Portia in front of him, thanks to some quick maneuvering on his part. At the top, they walked down the hall until she stopped and knocked on a door, laughs and low murmuring coming from behind it.

“It’s open,” someone yelled, presumably Viola.

Portia flicked him a glance then opened the door. Viola sat on a couch next to an older looking guy who had his arm resting on her shoulders. Another man, who appeared to be around Ryan’s age, sat on a loveseat. Both men stood as they entered the apartment.

For such a flamboyant woman, Viola’s place was actually plain. She didn’t have any pictures on the white walls and her couches were a dark brown fabric. She had a small table, also brown, right outside of the galley kitchen. A few boxes sat in the far corner of the room next to a flat-screen TV which leaned against the wall on the floor. Portia had mentioned her sister moved around a lot, and apparently, she wasn’t planning on making this place her permanent home any time soon.

For some reason, that fact bothered him. Portia had just moved here and she didn’t know a soul other than him and Viola. He also knew Portia hoped to reestablish a bond with her sister. Family was important to her. Didn’t Viola understand?

“I can’t believe you’re late,” Viola said as she hugged Portia.

Portia’s back grew rigid. “Only five minutes.”

“Relax.” Viola released her and laughed. “I was teasing you. You know I don’t care about things like that.” Her sister glanced up at Ryan. “Thanks for dropping her off. I’ll make sure she gets a ride home.”

“I invited Ryan to come with us,” Portia said quietly.

Viola’s jaw dropped and she stepped in closer to Portia. “I wish you wouldn’t have done that. This is supposed to be a double-date.”

“You never said anything about a double-date,” Portia hissed.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I had to spell it out for you. I explained Jon was bringing his nephew and we were supposed to show him a good time. What’d you think I meant?”

Ryan’s inner caveman demanded he mark his territory to let the other men know Portia belonged to him. He threw his arm around her waist and tugged her closer. “I take it Portia was supposed to be his good time?”

Viola’s eyebrows shot up as she caught his possessiveness. “No, not exactly, but if the two of them hit it off . . .”

“Everything okay, Pumpkin?” Viola’s boyfriend sidled up behind her and mirrored Ryan’s territorial marking.

He sized the guy up and immediately found him lacking. What was Viola doing with this slimy loser? By the gray in his black hair, he figured Jon was older than the rest of them by at least twenty years. He wore a navy business suit with a crisp, white buttoned-up shirt, and he completed his conservative ensemble with a blue-and-white striped tie, dollar sign cufflinks, and loafers with tassels. For dancing at a club.
What a tool.

“Jon, I’d like you to meet my sister, Portia. Portia, this is Jon.”

Portia casually removed Ryan’s arm from her waist and offered Jon her hand. Instead of shaking it, he kissed it as if she were the Queen of England.

Tool.

“And this is Dillon,” Viola said with a wicked grin.

A less smarmy version of Jon joined their little circle and smiled at Portia. He was a couple inches taller than Ryan, dark-haired, and around their age. He wore jeans and a long-sleeved green shirt, looking casual but put-together, the deadly combination guys utilized to pick up women at the bar. You had to look good, but also look like you didn’t put too much effort in it.

Ryan hated this guy.

Portia, apparently, did not.

She smiled broadly. “Dillon. It’s nice to meet you. I heard you’re considering moving to Michigan. I recently moved here, too, so if you have any questions, I’d be happy to help.”

Dillon shook her hand then faced Ryan. “I’m Dillon.”

“Oh, sorry,” Portia said, turning pink. “This is Ryan.”

Ryan accepted Dillon’s hand and squeezed. Hard. “We live together.”

Portia gasped and went from pink to red. “We don’t live together. I mean, yes, we do live together, but we’re just roommates. We’re not . . .” She looked to Ryan for help in clarifying the situation.

He’d clarify it all right. Reassuring her with a wink and a nod, he stated the truth, “We do share a room. And of course, we’re sleeping together.”

Portia slugged him in the stomach. “We are
not
sleeping together.” She moved into her nervous default dance position and made figure eights with a pointed foot. “There’s only one bed and I couldn’t let him sleep on the floor after hearing the scurrying, because what if it was a rat? And he ordered a bed online, but it hasn’t arrived yet so we’re sharing a bed, but we’re not sleeping together. I didn’t know . . . rather . . . Viola didn’t say . . .”

“Lola,” her sister corrected, chastising her for using her proper name, but also attempting to save her from her bumbling. “Ryan, I wish you could join us, but our reservation is for four. You understand.”

Dillon waved his hand. “Oh, we can fit one more in. Why don’t you join us?”

Now, Ryan really didn’t like him. No doubt Portia thought Dillon was good looking, but he’d taken off his gloves and shown he was nice, too.