“Yes.”
“Now?”
His brows lowered into a straight line. “No.”
“OK.” She smiled again. “Then I guess in the interests of keeping your sister from wanting to gut me, we’d better go forward with the gig. Besides, the problem isn’t really the singing. We’ve made a few adjustments to the lineup, so I’ll be singing stuff I know. It’s the dancing that’s the really big problem at the moment.”
“If I had said no, would you still sing for my sister?” he asked, taking her by surprise for a change.
She knew exactly what he was talking about. “Of course I would.”
He gave her another of his unreadable looks, then said, “If you don’t wish to dance, then don’t.”
“It’s not quite that simple. See, their big song, the one that’s the huge viral hit, and the one that your sister specially requested, has this part where Cyndi does a little dance with Terry, kind of a cross between a Gypsy dance and a belly dance. And at the end of it, Cyndi launches herself into the air, and Terry catches her and spins her around. It’s the signature move of the song, and although I would dearly love to just skip it, leaving it out is going to be hugely jarring.”
“It’s just a dance,” he said, frowning at her look of distress.
“You and I may think that, but everyone else assures me it’s vital to the song. Here, I can show you.”
Harry pulled out her cell phone and played a video of a song. “Evidently Elena told Tim she particularly wanted them to do this because it’s her favorite of all their songs, and she’s seen the video about a hundred times, and is looking forward to seeing it done in person.”
“You don’t know the dance steps?” Iakovos asked her.
“No, I don’t. But I could probably fake most of them. It’s the lift that’s the problem. I’m built like a tank, and I flattened poor Terry when we tried it just a few minutes ago.”
Iakovos frowned, looking from her to Terry, who was trying to stand up straight. “It’s simply a matter of leverage. You’re not so large he shouldn’t be able to lift you. Let me see you do it.”
“All right, but only if we drag out a mattress first. I don’t want to completely squash Terry since he has to play tonight.”
Iakovos rolled his eyes, but he actually helped the two boys haul out the mattress from Harry’s room. She explained that with the layout of the stage that had been set up for the evening concert, Terry would be on ground level, and she would throw herself off the steps in order to avoid the lifting part of the move.
“Show me,” he commanded, and Harry, climbing onto a bench, threw herself at the grim-faced Terry where he stood braced in front of the mattress.
“Told you that mattress was a good idea,” Harry said a moment later, accepting the hand Iakovos held out for her as he pulled her to her feet. “You OK, Terry?”
“Yeah, but I’ve changed my mind. Let’s just go home,” he said, groaning as he pried himself off the mattress.
“You’re not doing it right. Try again,” Iakovos said, moving to stand in front of the mattress, his legs braced apart. “I’ll catch you this time.”
“I’ll squash you, too,” Harry said, feeling like an elephant.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Do it again.”
She looked at the set expression on his face, thought about arguing with him but decided that he must be one of those people who had to see something to believe it. “Incoming!” she warned as she launched herself at him.
His hands were warm and solid on her waist as he held her over his head. She gave a little shout of triumph, grinning down at him as he slowly lowered her. She twined her body around his in a serpentine motion until her feet were once again on the ground.
“There, you see? It’s all a matter of physics. You just need to catch Harry at the right point,” he told Terry. “Try it again. I will guide you.”
They spent an hour practicing, and to Harry’s surprise, and no little relief, by the end of that time Terry was able to catch her. He couldn’t hold her overhead the way Iakovos could, but if she started her downward spiral around his body the second he caught her, the move worked. It wasn’t graceful, and it was a far cry from Cyndi’s version, but it would suffice in a pinch.
“Thanks for your help. You weren’t by any chance a ballet dancer in the past?” Harry asked Iakovos as she strolled with him toward the stage, where the band was going to have the sound check with the Greek technicians who had arrived earlier in the morning.
“Can you honestly picture me in a pair of tights?” he asked in return.
She stopped to give him a very thorough visual examination. He was dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans and a navy blue striped shirt that rippled against his skin with the breeze from the beach. “Well, I couldn’t until you let me feel your butt, but after that? I can picture you in anything.”
“I didn’t let you feel me. You just did,” he pointed out, a tiny little twitch at the corner of his mouth telling her a lot.
“Yeah, but you liked it.”
One eyebrow rose. “How do you know that?”
“If you hadn’t, you would have given me one of those ‘I am the lord of this castle and you are nothing but an annoyance’ looks that you gave me in Theo’s room. Speaking of the Romeo of the Aegean, did you have a talk with him about last night?”
His brows pulled together. “It’s been taken care of.”
She put a hand on his arm. “I know it’s none of my business, and I really don’t want to cause problems between you and him, but I think he’s got a very real drinking problem. Honestly, I don’t think he would have given me a thought last night except he was . . . well, drunk.”
“It’s been taken care of,” Iakovos repeated, not looking at her, his jaw tense as he watched the engineers and sound crew while they tested the equipment.
“Is he an alcoholic? Or is that none of my business?” she asked, wanting to hold him but suddenly feeling shy. “I know lots of recovering alcoholics. Maybe if you got him into a treatment program—”
“I had ample time watching my father go in and out of clinics after my stepmother died to know that such treatment is useless if the person doesn’t wish to be cured.”
“Yes, but if you talked to Theo, maybe found out why he drinks so much, perhaps you could stop him from going down this path.”
He turned back to her, his dark eyes burning with passion. “You’re going to make my life hell, aren’t you? You’re going to stir everything up until you’ve got it all mixed up and turned around, and completely out of control. Isn’t that right?”
“That’s not my intention, no,” she said, stung by the unexpected accusation.
He must have seen the hurt in her eyes, for despite the fact that they were clearly visible to any of the guests who strolled down to the far lawn where the stage was set up, he took her in his arms, his breath hot on her mouth. “Sometimes, sweetheart, a storm is just what we need.”
“I really don’t understand you at times,” she answered, her body tight with anticipation. “But if you’re not going to kiss me until I’m senseless, I’m going to have to molest you right here in front of everybody, and that would shock everyone so that they’d warn you about having anything to do with me, and then you wouldn’t ask me to marry you, and I’d go home and live by myself until I was a very old lady, grabbing unsuspecting passersby to tell them about the time I slept with the number seven most eligible bachelor in the world.”
“Five. I’m number five, not seven.”
Harry stared at him for a moment, then turned on her heel and walked away. He wondered if she’d misunderstood what he had been trying to say about needing a storm in his life, but as he watched her walk toward the stage, she lifted her hand in a rude gesture.
He laughed out loud at it, his heart and groin warming at the sight of her. He hadn’t known quite how to take her proposal of marriage, and surprised even himself when he told her he intended to marry her, bu
t he’d be lying if he pretended he had any intention of letting her out of his life.
She was his tempest, and that was all there was to the matter.
CHAPTER 9
Despite the lead singer’s absence, the usual issues that come when strangers set up sound equipment, and Harry’s general sense of giddiness whenever she thought of Iakovos, the pinnacle of Elena’s party was set to go off with (Harry fervently prayed) no hitches.
“We’re having a formal dinner for Elena before the concert,” Iakovos had told her a few hours before the event itself. “I’d like you to be there.”
“Dear god, food? Before a concert? Are you insane?” she asked him, recoiling at the thought of anything so repugnant.
He gave her a silent appraisal. “Stage nerves?”
“Big enough to stop a herd of elephants.” She put her hand on his chest, right over his heart. “Thank you for asking me, though. Any other time, and I would love to, but not tonight. Not when I have . . . oh dear god, I didn’t tell you about the outfit your cousin picked up for me.”
“Dmitri got you clothing for me?”
“No, not you, me.”
He frowned. “I thought he said. . . . Never mind.”
“I should warn you. . . . Oh god. No, it’s no good.” She closed her eyes and shuddered. “There’s just no way to brace you for it. Just . . . just remember that this was the only thing that Dmitri could find, and he did his best, and it’s all so your sister can have what she wants for her birthday.”
He looked puzzled, but she didn’t have the courage to tell him about the outfit. “Promise me you won’t hold it against me.”
“I promise,” he said immediately.
Her gaze held his. “You don’t have the slightest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
“Not in the least, but I promise that I won’t be angry with you if Elena isn’t delighted with your performance.”
“Oh god,” she said, half whimpering, and gave him a quick kiss before hurrying off to the backstage area.
Two hours later she stood in front of a mirror in Amy and Derek’s room, and swore. “If anything pops out—”
“Nothing’s going to pop out,” Amy reassured her.
“Or falls off. The skirt looks flimsy. Maybe I should wear jeans underneath it.”
Amy giggled. “I think it’s a very nice outfit, Harry. You look great! It’s very sexy. I bet Mr. Papaioannou will like it.”
Harry stared at the reflection in the mirror. She was neither a vain woman nor overly modest. Her body was the way it was. She wouldn’t have minded being shorter, slighter, with hair that wasn’t so impossible to do anything with, but she’d long since learned to be comfortable with herself. But this . . . She stared at the breasts that were lifted and separated within an inch of their lives. The bodice was made up of a cobalt blue bra with thankfully full-coverage cups that were intricately beaded with silver and mother-of-pearl. Between the cups, a short silver fringe fell a few inches, giving her little shivers as it slithered across her flesh. The belt of the skirt rose high on her hips, dropping to a V in the center, also beaded, from which fell a longer layer of silver fringe over a long, extremely full skirt of chiffon.
It was hideously expensive, a true work of art, and although she almost fainted when Dmitri told her how much it cost to have it flown in, it was worth every cent.
The only problem was Iakovos. She had absolutely no doubt that he would, in the privacy of his bedroom, be ecstatic with it since it highlighted her good points and hid the bad, but it did its job just a little too well. She knew enough about Iakovos now to realize that he was more than a little possessive, and she had a strong presentiment that he would not care for her being onstage in such an outfit.
“He’s going to have a fit,” she said aloud as she bent over, making sure her breasts were going to stay put. The maker of the outfit had known what he or she was doing—nothing popped out.
“You think so? It’s not that revealing, Harry.”
She smoothed her hands down the chiffon drapery that hung from her hips, and gave a twirl. The material flew out, revealing everything from her toes to her underwear.
“Oh,” Amy said, her hand over her mouth. “I see what you mean.”
“Uh-huh. Now toss in the fact that Iakovos is very Greek, and I think you see the problem.”
“Well . . . you have the scarf,” Amy said, picking up the matching cobalt blue body-sized scarf fringed with mother-of-pearl.
“Let’s just hope that it won’t be as bad as I think it will be,” Harry said, wrapping the oversized scarf around her torso several times.
“Are you really going to marry him?”
Harry sighed at her reflection and turned away. “I plan on it, but evidently I breached some sort of Greek man etiquette by asking him first, so we’ll have to wait and see what he does.”
Amy giggled. “And if he doesn’t ask you?”
“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something. Maybe tattoo my name on his butt when he’s sleeping, or handcuff myself to him, or superglue myself to his bed. My main concern right now is just getting through the evening without killing Terry or embarrassing myself. Do you think I should use some of that?” She gestured toward Amy’s stage makeup.
“You’re welcome to use what you want, but I don’t think you need it.”
“False courage, my dear.” She picked up a kohl stick and applied it to both eyes, then tipped her head to the side. “What do you think?”
Amy gave a little chirrup of laughter.
Harry sighed. “I look like a raccoon in a dress, don’t I?”
Amy chirruped again.
She reached for a tissue and cold cream, removing the kohl. “Oh well, those Beautiful People out there are just going to have to take me as I am. Besides, it’s better Iakovos sees me as I am, so he knows right from the start what he’s getting.”
If he was getting her, Harry mused as she followed Amy out to the stage. She tried various ways to make the scarf cover more of her flesh, but it kept slipping off her, so in the end she just let it drape over the back of her arms like a stole. Iakovos, she was pretty sure, was falling for her just as she had already fallen in love with him. She wasn’t stupid, after all. She knew he wanted her physically, but even though he said nothing about his emotions, his delight was clearly evident in his eyes when he looked at her. It made her feel all warm and soft inside, and she just hoped that he wasn’t the sort of man who had to be hit over the head with his own emotions before he acknowledged them.
Given that, she wondered again about his prediction that she would make his life a hell, but she decided that was something she’d have to ask about later, once the evening was over.
As she walked to the back of the stage, her hands sweaty with nerves, she was aware of the laughter and excited chatter from the other side of the temporary wooden structure that had been built for the concert. The audience was there, and obviously excited. More than anything she wanted—she looked up and all coherent thought stopped. Rounding the back of the stage, two men strode toward her, one a tall, imposing figure clad in an impossibly beautiful black tuxedo. At his side, a slighter man hurried after him, a phone in one hand, his head nodding quickly as Iakovos spoke.
She froze like a deer caught in a spotlight, her heart pounding as Iakovos approached. He was so gorgeous, so incredibly handsome, he literally stripped the breath right out of her lungs. But it was something more than just the beauty of his face, and the warm, silky strength of his body that had so captured her heart. It was Iakovos himself, the odd little way he had of quirking up one corner of his mouth when she said something outrageous. It was the way he thought of her as a storm, a tempestuous element that he had to tame. It was the fact that he was sexy, and successful, and much sought after, and yet he took the time to make sure everyone else was happy.
At that moment, he looked up and saw her, then came to a stop about twelve feet away, his expression stunned. She blinked a
t him. He stared at her for the count of ten, then turned his head toward Dmitri without taking his eyes off her. “You’re getting a raise.”
Dmitri winked at her and grinned.
Harry didn’t have time to acknowledge it. She was too busy trying to breathe. “You look—” She had to swallow. She was going to drool if she didn’t.
“So do you.” His gaze was filled with sudden, intense heat as it locked onto her chest, then drifted down to her belly, and finally spent a long time on her hips, hidden though they were beneath the chiffon skirt.
“Although I miss seeing that little spot on your neck.”
“I want to rip that dress off you and make love to you right now,” he told her.
She glanced at Dmitri.
He looked off into the night, whistling a little tune to himself.
“If you did that, I couldn’t go onstage.”
“So?” he asked, moving toward her much like a panther stalks its prey.
“Your sister would be disappointed.”
“What sister?”
“Elena.”
“Oh. Her.” He stopped just out of her reach, a grimace twisting his face. “I suppose you’re right.”
“You’re not . . . er . . . mad about the outfit, are you? Dmitri had a hell of a time finding something that would fit me, and although this shows a whole lot more skin than I’m happy about, it’s really all he could get me.”
His gaze scorched her skin. “Why would I be angry? It’s lovely. You’re . . . indescribable.”
“I—I don’t know why,” she said, relieved that it was going to be so easy after all. “And thank you. I’m sorry I misjudged you.”
“Misjudged me how?” he asked, but Terry appeared from behind the cases used to hold the amps and beckoned her forward.
“Showtime, beautiful,” he said with an impudent grin.
“Oh god,” she said, her stomach clenching in horror, her eyes huge as she silently pleaded with Iakovos to stop her from going onstage. “I don’t suppose you’d like to go sailing or something right now, Yacky?”