Her Greek Inheritance
(A Billionaire Second Chance Romance)
Paris, France
Two years earlier…
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. As the uniformed doorman bowed to the elegantly attired woman in front of her, she was not surprised to hear the words ‘Your Majesty.’ Of course she’s a princess! This place looks like a palace—not an auction house.
The doorman turned to her. Gemma took a deep breath and approached. I wonder what the French is for ‘gate-crasher.’ To her immense relief, the man bowed, giving her the same courteous welcome as the other guests. “Welcome, Mademoiselle.”
“Good evening.”
“Enjoy looking at the artwork.” He ushered her in the direction of the exhibition.
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 celebrities and wealthy patrons. She glanced around at the ornate furnishings, marble tiles, and crystal chandeliers. God, I feel like a street urchin amongst royalty. And yet, the doorman didn’t seem to know I’m merely a pauper.
Just as she was about to run back into the street, she caught sight of herself in a 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 white skin. Working in a museum had its advantages, but getting a healthy tan wasn’t one of them. No one gave her a second glance. In fact, a waiter approached her and offered a glass of champagne.
Gemma sipped the drink, feeling her confidence return. “Merci.” She wandered through the massive exhibition hall.
No! 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? Gemma blinked her eyes, hoping a second glance would reveal something different, but that was not in the cards for this painting. Incompetence. Plain and simple.
She sighed and then turned away. It was her last night in Paris. Time to put her worries aside and enjoy it. Who knew if she’d ever get an opportunity to visit such an amazing place again?
A uniformed attendant approached, inviting her to follow him. “Miss, if you would please? The gallery owner thought you might wish to see the paintings you spent the last few days reviewing auctioned off?”
Gemma nodded. “Yes, I would.” She followed him to a large room. The bidders were seated neatly in rows of chairs. A small watercolor was currently being displayed and she listened as the auctioneer read off her appraisal of the damage and potential cost of the restoration work.
“The bidding will start at two hundred thousand dollars,” the auctioneer declared.
A sea of white cards lifted into the air. Gemma barely managed to contain her gasp of surprise. Two hundred thousand dollars for a damaged painting?
While she was trying to imagine having that much money, the bids continued to climb. The auction ended at one million two hundred thousand dollars.
“Sold to bidder 4675.” The auctioneer nodded to an attendant. The small painting was quickly replaced by the next offering up for bid.
Dazed, Gemma slipped out the side door. These people either really like their art or have more money than Croesus! God, if I had that kind of money I certainly wouldn’t spend it on a damaged painting...
Her mind went back to Tyler’s phone call earlier that day. Her twenty-year-old brother was finishing his third year at university. He’d called with the news that he’d lost his academic scholarship for the upcoming year, leaving a huge shortfall in his tuition.
If he could only be more responsible and think about the consequences of his actions! Gemma shook her head. Five thousand dollars in less than three months’ time... How in the world am I going to come up with that? And what happens if I can’t come up with it? Could I still take out a student loan on his behalf?
She heard the auctioneer’s voice rise as another painting was sold. If I only had a small fraction of the money these bidders do, I could pay Tyler’s tuition for the next ten years.
She wandered aimlessly back towards the viewing galleries, her mind stuck on the problem of Tyler’s tuition. Her phone rang and she paused in a small alcove to answer it. She smiled when she saw Aimee’s photo pop up on her caller I.D. “Aimee.”
“Gem, how is Paris?”
“Beautiful, what I’ve seen of it, anyway. I’ve been busy working since I arrived and I’ve only seen a few things on the car rides back and forth.”
“Aren’t you supposed to come home tomorrow?” her best friend asked.
“Yes, first thing in the morning.”
“Well, what are you doing right now?”
“Wandering around an exhibit of the various art pieces that were part of the auction and thinking of all the things I could spend the kind of money being dropped here tonight on.” Gemma glanced around, but none of the other guests was in hearing range.“I got a phone call from Tyler just before coming here this evening. He lost his academic scholarship for next semester...”
“So? Isn’t it time you let your brother stand on his own two feet?”
Gemma frowned. They’d been over this before. “If Mom and Dad had lived, they’d have made sure he got through school without incurring a huge student loan debt. Just like they did for me.” Gemma was twenty-three when both of her parents were killed, and Tyler barely sixteen. “I’m just doing what I know they would have done.”
“You’re killing yourself trying to handle everything on your own,” Aimee argued.
Gemma winced. “Tyler did say he was going to try to find a better job. That’s something, right?”
“Tyler needs to grow up!” Aimee told her.
Gemma sighed. “Well, unfortunately, I don’t see that happening in the next three months. But enough about my troubles. How is life in the capitol?”
“Same as always. Busy. Congested. Full of politically correct men who always think they know best. Oh, and let’s not forget the swarms of school-age kids that have descended upon the city for their school field trips.”
Gemma smiled. “Sounds about the same.”
“You know it. So, how bad were the paintings?” Aimee asked.
Gemma groaned. “Some of them could be repaired, with lots of work, but there is one…I think it might be beyond repair. It should be a crime. I can’t imagine what someone was thinking, leaving those paintings to rot away.”
“Maybe they didn’t realize what they had?”
“Unlikely. I’m just glad I’m finished writing my appraisals. The curator believes they’ll get a higher price if the bidders know the chances of restoring them.”
“I hope you’re going to get something for yourself out of this.”
“I’ll get a commission for any of the paintings I restore, as will the Smithsonian.”
“You’d better,” Aimee stated firmly. “You’ve done nothing but work your butt off for the last five years, taking care of everyone and everything.”
Gemma shook her head. Aimee was an ever loyal friend. “It hasn’t been all bad.”
“When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it?”
“Um—” Gemma’s brain stalled.
Aimee snorted. “See? That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I have fun.” Gemma’s mind went to the various things in Paris she’d been hoping to see, but hadn’t had time for. And now it was too late. Well, I saw them from a distance.
“This is your last night in Paris. You need to have some fun. Any cute guys hanging out at this event?”
Gemma glanced around the small hallway. “I don’t know. I’m standing in the hallway talking to you.”
“Then I’m hanging up right now! God, find a cute French guy and flirt. This is your last night abroad and you need to make the most of it. Have a little fun. A little romance.”
“I don’t know…”
“Girl, I expect to hear all about the wonderful memories you made tonight.”
“Living vicariously through me?” Gemma laughed. Her spirits lightened. Aimee’s suggestion was starting to sound like sense...
“You know it!” Aimee’s glee was infectious. “Now, hang up the phone, put on your sexiest smile, drink some champagne and have some fun!”
Gemma smiled as she pocketed her phone. Maybe Aimee’s right. Maybe I should forget about the rules for tonight?
She looked around, spotting a waiter rounding the corner at the end of the hallway. Perfect! Best way to liven the evening up is with a glass of champagne.
She snagged a second glass, 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.
The curator of the art collection strode towards her, a Middle Eastern gentleman by his side. “Miss Larsen! Please, allow me to introduce you to Sheikh Amar el Sharid. He was the successful bidder on one of the watercolors you examined and is interested in procuring your services for the restoration work.”
Gemma nodded to the man, dressed in the white robes and headdress of his country. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Miss Larsen is an expert in the restoration of watercolors. You won’t find a better person to work her magic on your latest acquisition.”
In Oxford-accented English, the Sheikh inquired about her coming to his country to deal with the painting.
She smiled at him and shook her head, “I’m afraid I must return to the States tomorrow. However, I would be happy to work on your piece if you could have it sent to the Smithsonian.”
“Your employers won’t mind?” he asked with a raised brow.
“No, I have their permission to do so. I’m an art restoration expert with the Smithsonian Museum in Washington D.C. specializing in watercolors of the French Impressionistic period.” She retrieved a business card from her small purse. “This is my information. There’s a phone number on the back you can contact to arrange for shipment and receipt of your painting. Additional paperwork will be mailed to you outlining the restoration process and the approximate time to complete the work.
“In exchange for my services, there will be a contract included that gives the Smithsonian first right to display the painting once it is restored. If you have any questions or concerns, you can call for more details.”
The Sheikh took the card and then bowed to her and the curator before walking off with a thoughtful look on his face.
Gemma turned to the curator. “It sounds like the auction went well.”
He smiled broadly. “Yes, all but the large Monet have sold. Several individuals have expressed an interest in acquiring the piece, but due to the extensive damage we decided to pull it from the auction at the last minute. We’ll get the word out and choose the highest bidder in a silent auction later.”
Gemma nodded slowly. “That piece definitely was in the worst shape. It’s a shame. It would have been a true masterpiece in its original glory.”
The curator tugged his beard. “Yes, but I still have hope for it. Have you met any of the other bidders?”
“Only the sheikh and one man from the Netherlands.”
“With the auction’s end, that may change. You should wander around and make yourself available.” The curator caught sight of a guest beckoning him. “Excuse me.”
Gemma wasn’t sorry to see him go. She hadn’t had time to grab dinner, and two glasses of champagne had her feeling light headed. I need some fresh air. A pair of French doors stood open at the end of the hallway. Perfect. Walking carefully, one foot in front of the other, she walked toward the door. The last thing she wanted was to stumble and embarrass herself in front of the auction house’s elite clientele. Christie’s was known for attracting the wealthiest and most famous collectors in the world, and this particular auction had even drawn some world leaders and royalty out to bid. Forgotten watercolors by some of the world’s most renowned painters? Everyone wanted a chance to own one of them.
Gemma breathed in the evening air happily. Absently, she sipped from her champagne flute. Find some French guy and let him ravish you. That had been Aimee’s final suggestion. One Gemma wasn’t opposed to. How does one go about finding such a man? And why am I even considering following Aimee’s advice? I’m here to work. Work!
She turned to look over the city, letting her concerns about work and Tyler’s tuition slip away into the night. Her gaze was drawn to the Eiffel Tower. She’d driven past it on her first day in Paris in the daylight, but hadn’t found time to visit it while it was all lit up. It was one of her regrets, but since she wasn’t being required to pay for this trip, she couldn’t really complain. She currently couldn’t afford a trip out of Washington D.C., let alone across the ocean.
One day. One day, Tyler will be finished with school and get a good job and then you can start saving up for something you want to do. Maybe a small house with its own laundry facilities and a yard? That would be nice. Maybe a tall, dark and handsome guy to go with the house…that would be really nice. In fact, I could use some male companionship right now. Gemma wrinkled her nose. Was Aimee right? Where are the cute French guys when you need them?
She tipped her glass up, frowning as she discovered it was empty. She looked down and blinked. A full glass magically appeared before her. A masculine hand removed her empty glass and slid the full one between her fingers with a murmured “Allow me.”
She looked up into the most sensuous eyes she’d ever encountered, a mere six inches from her own. She gasped and took a step back. Her eyes roved over the man before her. His dark hair, just a tad longer than was fashionable, hung over his brow. Her fingers curled with the sudden need to smooth it back.
A smile curved his lips as he did his own perusal of her person. She felt a blush stain her cheeks. Wow! If I’d known all I had to do was wish, I would have done this a long time ago. Though on a second glance, the man didn’t look French. Definitely foreign. Italian, maybe?
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 out here all by herself?” His voice was deep and gravelly, with what she thought was a Mediterranean accent. His skin was tan with just a hint of olive tone. He might be six feet three or four in height. Gemma herself was five feet seven, but she had to tip her head back to meet this man’s eyes, even with her three-inch heels on.
Gemma murmured the first thing that came into her mind. “Fresh air.” She wondered what the language he’d spoken in was, but then she looked at his eyes. Instantly she forgot her question.
“Ypérocho!” He continued to stare at her. “And your companion?”
Gemma shook her head, feeling a few curls of auburn hair escape. She’d confined her unruly locks for the evening’s auction. Her naturally curly hair was shoulder height, but for this evening’s event she’d wound her curls tight into a neat chignon at the base of her neck. Her wavy locks had been trying to escape and, with the gentle breeze blowing across the terrace, were now succeeding. She answered his question softly. “No companion. I’m here alone.”
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.”
Gemma felt a shiver of excitement rush down her spine and settle in her lower stomach at his words. His voice had all of her nerve endings standing at attention and his delicious accent fixed all her attention on him. She caught a hint of his aftershave as he moved, and her body reacted on a purely visceral level. I don’t want him to go anywhere. She looked him up and down, drinking in his powerful physique. Her breathing quickened. She licked her lips, letting her eyes move back up his chest. His white shirt and black bow tie subtly hinted at the muscles beneath. His tuxedo was most definitely not off the retail rack. It fit him just like it had been made for his, and only his, body. She didn’t let the obvious signs of his wealth intimidate her, lifting her head to meet his eyes.
He watched her carefully and seemed fully aware of the effect he had on her. When he raised a hand, and brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, it felt like an electric current ran through her body.
She bit her lip and watched him, trying to think of something witty to say. She’d never felt such an instant attraction to someone before. Her libido urged her to not let this man out of her sight. “Are you here for the paintings?” She caught sight of his I.D. tag but could only make out the first name before he shifted and it disappeared from her view. Alex? Or was it Alexi? No, it was Alex. Her brain was a muddled mess swimming in too many glasses of champagne.
The man answered her question with a non-committal nod, as his eyes continued to scan her. His gaze came to rest on the goosebumps on her arms. “You’re cold?”
Gemma shook her head, but that didn’t stop him from removing his tuxedo jacket and slipping it around her shoulders. He pulled the neck together over her collarbones and kept it closed with his hand. “You should allow me to escort you back inside.”
“I should?” His scent and his nearness befuddled her brain in a way she couldn’t explain or escape. He was much too close for someone she just met, but she didn’t want him to step away. In fact, she had to restrain herself from bending towards him.
“You should. In fact, if you’re quite through looking at the paintings, we could go in search of some dinner.”
Gemma nodded slightly, “I haven’t had dinner.” Her words were only slightly slurred and she forced herself to stand up a bit taller. She reached up to remove his hand, but he held firm.
“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.”
The man, who was yet to identify himself grinned, “I was right in calling you a gatáki—a kitten. You need a keeper. How much is too much?”
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. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”
*****
Leo Moustakas looked down at the beautiful young woman half lying against him as the elevator bore them up towards the penthouse. I must have her. She was ripe for the picking and he was a willing farmer ready to bring in the harvest.
“Not at all. So, my almost-drunk gatáki, do you have a name?” Leo watched as she contemplated her answer. When she hesitated, he decided it really didn’t matter to him. He was only in Paris because of his brother’s promise to their father.
His mother’s birthday was coming up and his father had decided to add one of the recently discovered art pieces to his mother’s collection. As their father rarely travelled anymore, Alexi was tasked with selecting the painting, but he’d been summoned to the Middle East to close a lucrative shipping deal on behalf of the family company, Moustakas Shipping. Alexi was all about the company and increasing the family empire, while Leo was content to leave all of that to his father and his brother. He was having too much fun and saw no reason to change that dynamic.
Alexi had already secured the proper I.D. badge and approval to bid at the auction. Knowing Leo was in Monte Carlo at a car race, he’d asked his brother to fly to Paris to buy one of the paintings. Leo was bored and decided to attend the auction, use his brother’s I.D. and assume his brother’s identity for a day or two. Finding a lovely female in need of his companionship was a definite bonus.
Leo had watched her from a distance. When she’d stepped out onto the veranda alone, he’d known he couldn’t leave her that way. He had to have her in his bed, tonight—and possibly tomorrow night as well. Leo liked women and was never without a bedmate. He was incredibly spoiled, never once being denied female companionship. He attributed that to his good looks, charm and extreme wealth.
He brushed another stray piece of hair back behind the young woman’s ear and smiled down into her bright green eyes. “You’re very beautiful. Polý ómorfi.”
She smiled up at him. “So are you.” When she realized she’d spoken aloud, she blushed.
Leo was even more taken with her. He found her shyness strangely intoxicating. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his lips to her own and tasted her for the first time. She didn’t pull away. Leo deepened the kiss as she wrapped her arms around his torso.
She sighed into the kiss, melting in his arms. He had a moment’s doubt in regard to her sobriety, but the sexual chemistry between them caused him to relax. It was obvious from her responses that she wanted him just as much as he wanted her. Not one to deny himself carnal pleasure so freely offered, he took full advantage of their situation. As the elevator doors opened to the penthouse, he swept her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom beyond. He still didn’t know her name, but in the heat of the moment, that didn’t matter.
They quickly divested themselves of their clothing, falling upon the bed in a tangle of arms and legs and sighs of passion. Their joining was intense and repeated throughout the night. Leo finally fell into a heavy sleep around four o’clock in the morning, his arms wrapped around the young woman whose name remained a mystery.
As the light of morning peaked through the window coverings, he roused himself. He rolled over, intending to once again sate his body in the beautiful young woman from the night before. But his arms encountered the coolness of sheets that had been vacated some time earlier. He pushed himself to a sitting position and scrubbed a hand over his face, listening for sounds from the bathroom. Nothing.
He slipped from the bed and pushed the bathroom door open. Empty. He pulled on a robe, heading out of the bedroom in search of the young woman.
He checked the other rooms of the penthouse. Her clothes and purse were gone, just as she was. Finally he realised she’d left him without a trace. Skipped out in the wee hours of the morning without leaving him any way to contact her.
Leo slammed his fist against the wall. For several minutes, he struggled against his anger. Drawing a breath, he repeated his well-rehearsed mantra. No commitments. There are plenty of other women out there to spend your time with. No need to send down for an expensive trinket or piece of jewelry. This one’s already gone her own way.
He left the auction house later that morning with the business card of an art restoration expert in his hand, a receipt for the badly damaged Monet, and the memory of an auburn-haired, green-eyed woman who’d rocked his world. I’ve never had such an intense sexual encounter before. It still stung that they’d missed the chance to indulge in one more round again this morning.
Leo shook himself. Her disappearance was fortuitous. They’d both gotten what they wanted from the brief affair and life went on. Their night of passion was only a memory now—a memory he planned to quickly replace with his next sexual encounter. He glanced back at the hotel. How long it will take to forget her eyes glazed over in passion?
*****
END OF SAMPLE
(Complete Story available on AMAZON as Her Greek Inheritance)