Her Deal With The Greek Devil (Mills & Boon Modern) (Rich, Ruthless & Greek, Book 2) - Caitl Caitlin Crews (well read books txt) 📖

slender frame. Her long blond hair was pin straight and tucked behind her ears. She even wore trainers. She looked like what she was, a model dressing down, but if she was trying to make some kind of point about how unglamorous she was in the everyday, it was ruined by the simple fact that there was no disguising the simple perfection of her features.

A truth he had spent very little time acknowledging was that her features had always been perfect. She had been a distracting, arresting teenager, something he at twenty had noticed and then studiously ignored. Her mother’s beauty had been softer, more accessible. More common, he would have said. And had.

All of Molly’s features, taken separately, had seemed too bold or too full-on. Like that mouth of hers or her commanding height. Even back then, the way they’d all come together had always and only led to being found stunning, not pretty. For she was nothing so simple as pretty. She was nothing accessible or easy. Hers was a haunting beauty, and a shapeless black dress could do nothing at all to disguise it.

“I see you dressed up for this auspicious occasion,” he drawled, lounging in his chair as if he had spent the morning here, lazing the day away. He imagined she probably thought he had, and as ever, it amused him to let people think the worst of him.

“I thought you would appreciate the mourning attire,” she said, smiling. “It seemed appropriate.”

“You have no idea how much.” He was wearing his unofficial uniform when in the Greek islands, or forced aboard a yacht. Linen trousers that breathed in the heat and one of his favorite T-shirts, and he was aware that when he had not bothered to shave, as today, it made him look disreputable. All the better. “Have you come to mount more arguments? To see if you can somehow change my mind? You won’t, but it might be entertaining to hear you out.”

“What would I do?” she asked, widening her eyes a little, though he did not believe the innocent act for a moment. “Appeal to your better nature? Does such an animal exist?”

Constantine found himself grinning at that, which was not precisely how he had planned to conduct his great revenge. But what did it matter if they ended up in the same place? They would. He would see to it they did.

“Then dare I trust that you are here for the long haul?” he asked her, idly, as if whether or not she stayed was of little personal interest to him.

Because it should not have mattered.

“You already told me I have a martyr complex, Constantine.” She held her arms out at her side, as if she anticipated a crucifixion. “Here I am, ready and willing to be burned all nice and crispy on the pyre of your choosing.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, taking in the mulish set of her chin and the way her clavicle presented itself from the wide neck of the dress she wore, begging for his mouth.

Oh yes, this was happening.

Finally.

“I’ll be honest with you, Constantine,” she was saying, her voice bright enough that she might have been at a cocktail party instead of her own doom. “You don’t look delighted. I would say rather that you look a little...dark.”

“You have no idea, hetaira. But enough small talk.” He settled back in his chair and let his smile go lazy. “Take off all your clothes.”

And she was not so mulish suddenly. She did not precisely jolt in surprise, but he thought he saw the hint of it, quickly repressed. Her eyes, that arresting, arctic blue, deepened into something that almost matched the Aegean Sea stretched out behind her.

Almost.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” she asked, still staring back at him.

“I like to start as I aim to go on,” he replied. “And, Molly. You are stalling.”

He saw her gather herself, and he wondered if she would balk now. It wouldn’t surprise him. After all, she was clearly a proud creature, or she could never speak to him the way that she did. Constantine, too, knew something of pride, and could not imagine any scenario in which he would subject himself to another’s will in this way.

But even as that notion bloomed in him, he brushed it aside. They were nothing alike. He had no idea why he’d thought such a thing in the first place.

“And what happens if I can’t go through with this?” Molly asked quietly.

“No one is forcing you,” Constantine reminded her. He made a small show out of a shrug. “There is no gun to your head. You are not imprisoned here. The doors are open, the gate is unlocked, and you may leave whenever you wish.”

“How generous.” Her eyes glittered. “Yet if I do leave, you will ruin my mother. Possibly permanently. And who knows if you’ll stop there. You might also take my house. Then make it difficult for me to work, I’m assuming. And probably, in the end, ruin me, too. Is that right? That has to be the goal or why bother?”

Constantine sighed as if pained. “It is a pity. But in life, there are consequences.”

“This is how you sleep at night?”

He laughed. “Oh, hetaira, I have never had a night of troubled sleep in my life.”

“Why would you? That requires a conscience.”

“Now you’re boring me.” He shook his head. “Make your choice. Stay or go, as it please you. But if you stay, you heard my instruction. I would suggest you follow it.”

“What a lovely invitation,” Molly said, through her teeth. “How can I possibly refuse?”

Neither one of them pointed out that, of course, she couldn’t.

Then, with a notable surliness he almost applauded, because she made so little attempt to hide it, she toed off her trainers. One, then the next. Then, with the level of sensuality Constantine would expect to see in a doctor’s surgery, she pulled off the dress, tossing