“You don’t have to feel sorry for me,” she said stiffly.
“I don’t.”
“Or if you think it’s a requirement, because you’re best man and I’m maid of honor—”
“Do I strike you as a man who gives a damn about other people’s rules?” he asked, cutting her off. “I just want you to see the truth.”
“What’s that?” Half-mesmerized, she let him pull her into his powerful arms. Electricity crackled up her arm as she felt the heat of his palm against hers. She looked up at his face. His jawline was dark with five-o’clock shadow below razor-sharp cheekbones. There was a strange darkness in his black eyes, a vibrating tension from his muscular body beneath the well-cut tuxedo.
“You don’t love my cousin. You never did.”
She tried to pull away. “You have some nerve to—”
Holding her hand implacably in his own, he led her out onto the dance floor, where guests swayed to the slow romantic Christmas music of the orchestra.
She felt everyone looking at her. The women, with a mix of envy and bewilderment, the men, with interest, their eyes lingering on her uncomfortably low neckline.
Even Nicole and Oliver paused to gape at the sight of Stavros leading her out on the dance floor. Holly felt equally bewildered. Stavros could dance with anyone. Why would he choose her? Had he lost some kind of bet?
Surely this couldn’t just be to convince Holly she had no real feelings for Oliver.
But if he could, how wonderful would that be?
Suddenly, Holly wanted it more than anything in the world.
Stavros led her confidently to the center of the dance floor, forcing others to move aside to make way for them. Pulling her against his chest, he looked down at her. She felt his dark gaze burn through her body, all the way to her toes. He looked at her almost as if he—
Desired her?
No. Holly’s cheeks went hot. That was a step too far. No man had ever desired her. Not Oliver. Not even Albert from Accounting, who’d asked her on a date a few months ago, then stood her up for some playoff game.
But there was heat in Stavros’s gaze as he moved her in his arms.
“You don’t love my cousin,” he whispered, tightening his hold on her. “Admit it. He was just a dream you had to keep you warm at night.”
Could it be true? How she wanted to be convinced! “How can you say that?”
His sensual lips curved. “Because as little as I know about love, it seems to involve really knowing someone, flaws and all. And you don’t even know him.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve worked for him for three years. Of course I know Oliver. I know everything about him.”
“Are you sure?” Stavros said, glancing at the dancing couple.
Following his gaze, Holly saw Oliver give a flirtatious smile to a pretty girl over his wife’s shoulder. She saw Nicole notice, scowl, then deliberately step on her new husband’s foot with her wicked stiletto heel.
“So he’s a little flirty,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
Now Stavros was the one to roll his eyes. “He sleeps with every woman he possibly can.”
“He never tried to sleep with me,” she protested.
“Because you’re special.”
Holly sucked in her breath. “I am?”
“Get that dying-cow look off your face,” he said irritably. “Yes, special. His secretary before you filed a sexual harassment suit against him. I told Oliver if that ever happened again, I’d fire him, cousin or not. And he’s a Minos man to the core. Like he said, selfish to the bone. Why would he want to risk losing an amazing secretary slaving away for him night and day, just for some cheap sex he can—and does—get everywhere else?”
“Cheap!” Holly had never even been naked with a man before. How dare Stavros imply she offered cheap sex to all comers? She glared at him. “What right do you have to criticize him? You’re just as bad. You sleep with a new actress or model every week!”
Stavros’s jaw tightened. “That’s not true…” Then something made the anger drain out of his handsome face, replaced by stark, raw emotion. “But you’re right. I have no right to criticize him. And I wouldn’t, except he’s trying to take your life. Don’t let him do it,” he said fiercely. He pulled her closer, looking down at her as they swayed to the slow music. “Oliver is using you. Look past your dream. See him for the man he really is.”
Looking back at Oliver, now arguing with his new bride as they left the dance floor, Holly suddenly thought of all the times that he’d stopped her as she left the office on Friday nights, putting stacks of files into her arms. “You don’t mind taking care of this over the weekend, do you, Holly?” he’d say, flashing her his most charming, boyish, slightly sheepish grin. “Thanks, you’re the best!”
She thought of all the times he’d mysteriously disappear when an unpleasant conversation was required, leaving Holly to do his dirty work for him. And not just work like firing someone. Frequently she’d be left alone to sort out weeping, heartbroken women who appeared at the office, begging to see him, railing about broken promises.
At the time, Holly had convinced herself it was proof of his faith in her that he’d relied on her to handle such important matters.
But now…
She looked at Oliver and Nicole, who’d gone back to sit at the head table. There was still a smudge of white frosting on her sister’s cheek. Earlier, when they’d cut the wedding cake, Nicole had delicately fed her new husband his slice, holding the pose beautifully for pictures. Immediately afterward, Oliver had smashed the piece into his bride’s face to make the crowd laugh.
Now, sitting on the dais, they were arguing fiercely over champagne. She was trying to pull the bottle away from him. Yanking it back, Oliver tilted back his head and vengefully drank it straight from the bottle.
And this was supposed to be the happiest day of their lives.
Holly’s body flashed hot, then cold, from her scalp to her toes. With an intake of breath, she looked up at Stavros as they danced. “My sister—”
“She’s made her bed. Now she’ll have to lie in it.” His hands tightened as he said, “But you don’t have to.”
Holly desperately tried to remember the feelings she’d once had for Oliver, all the lonely nights she’d spent in her tiny apartment, with only her romantic fantasies about her boss to keep her warm. But those memories had disappeared like mist against the cold reality of this wedding, and the hot feel of Stavros’s hand over hers. The dream was gone.
“Why are you forcing me to see the truth?” she said helplessly. “Why do you care?”
Stavros abruptly stopped dancing. He looked down at her, his black eyes searing through her soul.
“Because I want you, Holly,” he said huskily. “On my arm. In my bed.” His hand trailed through her hair and down her back as he whispered, “I want you for my own.”
He was going to hell for this.
Or at the very least, his conscience warned, he shouldn’t hire her as his secretary. Because as hard as he’d tried to ignore her beauty—he couldn’t.
Stavros looked down at her. Her emerald eyes widened. Her curly red hair looked like fire tumbling over her shoulders. Her petite body felt so soft and sensual in his arms.