Secret Revenge: An Enemies-to-Lovers Billionaire Romance

Preview Her Greek Inheritance

Paris, France. Two years earlier…

The building glittered against the cloudless night sky. The entrance, currently bathed in the warm glow of soft lighting, was manned by two security guards and a doorman in a tuxedo. Red carpet laid a path towards an inner entrance through a sophisticated foyer lined with artistically cut mirror and glass. A magnificent chandelier hung from the high ceiling. Fresh flower arrangements stood at an even distance every few feet, each matching the exquisite cream-and-pastel theme of the event. What had started as one or two people gracefully strolling in was now turning into a small group of people waiting for their turn. Everyone was fashionably late.

I really don’t belong here.Gemma Larsen swallowed. She’d walked to the hotel from the closest métro station, but the other patrons were arriving in everything from Rolls Royces to Bentleys. There was a couple standing behind her speaking in French. Even their light laughter sounded sophisticated.

Gemma had to watch her step; the lady in front was wearing a pale turquoise dress that trailed a couple of feet behind her. It’s bodice was crafted with a delicate lace, while the skirt was many layers of expensive-looking fabric. She’s even wearing silk gloves, Gemma realized. The woman must have heard Gemma’s thoughts and passed a quick smile toward her. Gemma returned it nervously. The woman had a sort of ageless beauty, almost an aura of perfection. It reflected even in the way she walked or waited patiently for her turn. As the line moved up, the uniformed doorman bowed to the elegantly dressed woman. Gemma was not surprised to hear the words “Your Majesty”.

Finally, the doorman turned to her. Gemma took a deep breath and approached. To her immense relief, upon checking her name against the list, the man bowed, giving her the same courteous welcome as the other guests. “Welcome, Mademoiselle.”

“Good evening.”

“The exhibition is on the eleventh floor. Signage should lead you to the correct location. Enjoy the artwork.” He ushered her in the direction of the elevator.

As Gemma stepped into the hotel, her conviction that it was only a matter of time before she was sent packing rushed back. Everywhere she looked, she saw executive-level businessmen, celebrities, and wealthy patrons. She glanced around at the ornate furnishings, marble tiles, and crystal chandeliers. The very air was scented with a sweet and expensive perfume, one that could only be afforded if you had a few extra zeroes at the end of your bank account balance. God, I feel like a street urchin amongst royalty, she thought, stepping into the elevator and hitting the button for the eleventh floor.

But she caught sight of herself in the elevator’s gleaming mirror. She wore a simple black evening dress that ended several inches above her knees. Her arms were bare, while the plunging back revealed more than half her spine. The elegance of the dress was accentuated by her simple black leather pumps and pale skin. Working in a museum had its advantages, but getting a healthy tan wasn’t one of them. As she exited the elevator and into the exhibition hall, she picked a flute of champagne from the welcoming waiter’s tray and swallowed a large sip. You can do this, she told herself.

As Gemma entered into yet another makeshift viewing room, a painting caught her eye. The Renoir had obviously been damaged by water and sunlight at some point. Even worse was the evidence of a poor restoration job. How could anyone take such a masterful piece of art and do further damage to it?

She sighed and then turned away. It was her last night in Paris, she couldn’t keep thinking about work. It was time to put her worries aside and enjoy the city. Who knew if she’d ever get an opportunity to visit such an amazing place again?

Her mind went back to Tyler’s phone call earlier that day. Her twenty-year-old brother was finishing his third year at college. He’d called with the news that he’d lost his academic scholarship for the upcoming year, leaving a huge shortfall in his tuition.

She wandered aimlessly back towards the viewing galleries, Tyler’s troubles still on her mind as she glanced at the estimated values of each of the paintings. She had spent most of her day brooding about the situation and was starting to feel tired by it. What would Aimee say? “Tyler’s an adult, let him take care of himself.” Or “it’s your last night in Paris, go and find out what authentic French kissing feels like!”

Aimee, Gemma’s best friend, was always encouraging her to get out there more, but with working overtime to make money for herself and her brother, it was always impossible. So she had a choice. She could spend more time in Paris worrying, or she could try to enjoy herself one last time before flying home to deal with her financial hurdles.

After a quick glance around the room—which was, indeed, filled with handsome men in handsome suits—Gemma decided on the latter. She snagged a second glass of champagne, flashing the waiter a small smile and headed for the next painting on display. This time the painting was in its original glory. No damage, other than time, had been done to the piece.

Gemma sighed happily. As an art restoration expert, she often missed the beauty of a painting because her critical eye was constantly looking for damage. That was what had brought her to Paris, after all. After about fifteen minutes of sipping on her drink and examining some of the art, she heard a familiar voice call to her, “Ah, Gemma!”

Gemma turned to the curator, who had a habit of speaking to people with their first name. “It sounds like the auction went well,” she said, politely nodding.

He smiled broadly. “Yes, all but the large Monet have sold. Several individuals have expressed an interest in acquiring the piece. Speaking of, have you met Alexi?” The curator gestured to the man standing next to him. Gemma turned and had to stop her mouth from falling open. Before her stood one of the most gorgeous men at this event, possibly in all of Paris. His hair was dark and just a bit longer than what would be considered appropriate for this formal occasion. His skin was tan with just a hint of olive tone. He might be six foot three or four in height. Gemma herself was five foot seven, but she had to tilt her head to meet this man’s eyes, even with her three-inch heels on.

When she found her voice, she shook her head and smiled politely. “I have not.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he said and extended his hand. His voice was gravelly and he had a thick accent. Gemma assumed it was Mediterranean.

She shook his hand, realizing once more how pale and small her own hand was wrapped in his. The handshake lasted for a second longer than was appropriate, and maybe she was imagining it, but she thought he had winked at her. Gemma couldn’t help but flush at that, and the way that he smiled at her.

“This is Alexi Moustakas,” the curator continued, oblivious to the tension between them. “Of Moustakas Shipping, of course. He is considering bidding on the damaged Monet.”

Gemma nodded and turned her attention back to the matter at hand. “That piece definitely was in the worst shape. It’s a shame. It would have been a true masterpiece in its original glory.”

“I agree,” said Mr. Moustakas. “I have an eye for masterpieces.”

Gemma was sure she was no longer imagining it. As he spoke, his eyes lingered on every part of her, trailing down her body and back up to her face. Gemma felt her ears grow hot and couldn’t help but return his gaze. Undoubtedly, he was in great shape under his custom-made suit. He must be obscenely rich if his surname was the name of a shipping company, and if his suit was this well-tailored.

“Well, Alexi mentioned he might be in need of restoration services, so I will leave him in your worthy hands,” the curator said, already looking away towards other guests. “Please, excuse me.” He walked away.

Gemma wasn’t sorry to see him go. She smiled a little at the gorgeous man. “I’m afraid I won’t have the time for restoration once I head back to the States,” she said politely. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she remembered all the trouble that waited for her when she returned.

The man tutted and drew her attention back. “Ypérocho! Why bore ourselves with business? The night is young, and there are better things we can talk about.” Swiftly, he pulled her almost-empty glass of champagne away and replaced it with a full one from a passing waiter. He grabbed a glass for himself.

A smile curved his lips as he looked her up and down again, this time without any subtlety. She felt a blush stain her cheeks. After several long seconds, she remembered her manners. “Thank you.”

The gorgeous man smiled and inclined his head. “Efkharisto. So, tell me. What is a beautiful lady like you doing without a companion?”

Gemma shook her head, feeling a few curls of auburn hair escape. She’d confined her unruly locks for the evening’s auction into a neat chignon at the base of her neck, but her hair had a mind of its own. And what could she tell him? That she had only been here for a couple of weeks? That she knew no one in Paris, much less a date who would be suitable for a high-end art exhibition? That she could barely afford to be here herself? She couldn’t say anything without giving herself away, so she simply smiled and shrugged.

The man’s smile deepened. His voice dropped a few steps lower. “That is a crime against humanity. Allow me to apologize for all of the other men out there who were so stupid as to leave you alone. I count myself lucky to have you all to myself now.”

Gemma wondered what he would do with her, now that she was available exclusively to him. A small shiver ran up her spine as unprompted thoughts of what she would like to do to him took hold of her mind, and she gently crossed her arms across her chest, still sipping on her champagne. This dress had not allowed for a bra, and she didn’t want to display her arousal quite so easily. It didn’t deter him from continuing to gaze at her, though.

“So…” she said, and paused. “May I call you Alexi?”

He met her eyes once more and smirked. “As long as you’re talking to me, you can call me anything you’d like, agapiménos.”

“So, Alexi,” she continued, “what brings you here? To this exhibition?”

“Ah, responsibility, mostly. My brother and I want to get our mitéra something spectacular for her birthday. And I am always in search of beautiful things.” He reached up and gently brushed away a single curl from her face, not quite tucking it behind her ear. The brief touch sent sparks through her body.

“Do you know anything about art?” she asked gingerly, trying to maintain her composure. But she was on her third glass of champagne on an empty stomach and the effects were starting to reach her. She hadn’t even realized when he’d led her to a balcony.

“I know enough to know what I want to get my hands on,” he said with a smirk, sipping on his own glass of champagne.

She looked at the landscape of Paris around her. Stout buildings all lit up, lamps lining the river walk near the Seine, Eiffel Tower glittering in the distance. And an incredibly attractive foreign man flirting with her. Her last night in Paris was turning out to be quite a treat.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he commented, leaning against the parapet.

“It’s unbelievable,” she agreed.

“Paris never ceases to amaze me. The city is always megaloprepís—magnificent.”

They stood in silence for a moment as Gemma soaked it in. She did not resist when Alexi moved closer to her. In fact, she inched in his direction, so that when he put his arm around her waist, she leaned into him a little.

“I’m going to miss this when I go back,” she said wistfully.

“The solution is simple,” he murmured, slowly turning to her. “A gorgeous creature deserves a beautiful home. You should stay in Paris.”

Gemma was grateful that there wasn’t much lighting on the balcony. She would look completely undone by his compliments, and she didn’t want him to see. Instead, she simply turned away so she could hide her deep blush and asked, “I should?”

“You should. In fact, if you’re quite through looking at the paintings, we could go in search of some dinner. The city is mageftikós at night. Perhaps I could persuade you to… linger.”

Gemma nodded, her gaze definitely lingering over him as he took her hand. “I haven’t had dinner,” she confessed. Her words were only slightly slurred and she forced herself to stand up a bit taller as he led her back inside.

“We shall fix that then. Come with me, gatáki.”

Another of those sexy words… I wonder what language he’s speaking. Gemma didn’t balk at his commandeering of her person, nor did she argue with him when he escorted her from the exhibition halls and onto a private elevator. He’d released hold of his jacket and taken her elbow instead, almost as if he were afraid she would vanish if he let go.

Her feet weren’t working as well as normal. She stumbled as she stepped into the elevator, finding herself held tightly against a strong chest. “Sorry. Too much champagne,” she said lightly as he helped her steady herself.

“I was right in calling you a gatáki—a kitten. You need a keeper. How much is too much?” he asked, hitting the button to the ground floor.

Gemma closed her eyes briefly and counted in her head. Twice. Then she opened her eyes and smiled up into his eyes. The thought of removing herself from where she reclined against his chest never occurred to her. “Three?”

“On an empty stomach? You are reckless.”

Gemma shook her head. “Never. Just a day that needed forgetting… er, well, the last part of the day needed forgetting. The first part was fine…” She broke off and bit her lip. The champagne seemed to be hitting her quickly and suddenly. Or maybe she was just drunk on the way he touched her. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

“Perhaps.” He brushed another stray piece of hair back behind Gemma’s ear. “But it is forgiven. You’re very beautiful. Poly ómorfi.”

She smiled up at him. “So are you.” When she realized she’d spoken aloud, she blushed. Stop embarrassing yourself! But it didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he simply leaned in and kissed her. Before she was conscious of it, Gemma was kissing him back hungrily, the taste of the bubbly champagne strong on his tongue. As she deepened the kiss, his arms wrapped around her passionately and she found her own around his neck.

The elevator dinged and they both pulled away. Gemma raised her hand gingerly to her smiling, swollen lips and turned to find Alexi smirking at her. He extended his hand and she took it, letting him lead her out of the elevator. But something about stepping into the lobby didn’t feel quite right. Am I really doing this?

“Alexi,” she said, stopping in the lobby, her hand still holding his. The champagne had really gotten to her, she could never be this bold without it. “Maybe… maybe we can skip dinner and do something else instead? Something a little… private?”

His mouth split into the biggest grin. “Private? Fysiká. I have a room in this hotel.” He was already walking back to the elevator. Their ride up was similar to their ride down—arms wrapped around each other, lips locked in a fierce battle.

As the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, he swept her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom beyond. She moaned a soft sound of anticipation into his mouth, and the man seemed to reciprocate with equal fervor. His kiss was hungry now, impatient for more, and Gemma was vaguely aware of how fast this had all happened, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

He broke the kiss for only a moment as he set her down on his large bed. As his eyes roamed around her body, she realized how hot she felt, how appreciated. All thoughts of dinner had disappeared from her mind. Her skin, she was sure, must have been pink all over, a strange juxtaposition to his strong bronze. As he leaned over her, she rushed forward to kiss him again, but he backed off by half an inch.

“Are you certain you would like to do this?” He was breathless too, but he wasn’t panting as hard. “I am afraid I will not be able to stop once we start.” He gently undid the pin holding her hair in place. As it spilled over her shoulders, his eyes seemed drawn to her neck, her chest, and finally back up to her face. “You are too inviting,” he whispered.

She blushed harder, if that was possible, and nodded. A split second later, he was on her again, and soon they were lying flat on his bed, hands and tongues exploring every inch of each other. His touch was setting her on fire from within, and it didn’t take too long for the room to be filled with the sounds of their passion. When she came, it was quick but intense, and her powerful clenching pulled him over the edge as well. He collapsed beside her, his arms wrapped tightly around Gemma, caressing her skin.

“Theé mou, eísai parádeisos,” was the last thing she heard before she fell into a calm, blissful sleep.

When she awoke the next morning, she was happy. He was somehow sexier with his hair tousled and his jaw slack. Still, she had to get going if she was to catch her flight. As much as the fantasy of living in Paris had invigorated her, she knew it was nothing but a fantasy. Her life, she knew, belonged in the US, with her brother and her best friend. With her responsibilities.

Maybe this is what she could work towards, though. Maybe someday, she would be able to move to Paris. Or Rome. Or Florence.

Or wherever Alexi’s from,she thought, and giggled.