Page 25 of Slightly Married (Irresistible #2)

T he crystal chandeliers of Elaia scattered prisms of light across the white tablecloths as I outlined Olympus Motors’ expansion plans to our American investors.

The rich aroma of sizzling meat and fresh herbs wafted from the open kitchen, mingling with the subtle notes of expensive perfumes and aged wine.

Kayla sat beside me, her burgundy Valentino wrap dress complementing my matching tie. A detail she’d insisted upon when we chose our outfits.

“The Mediterranean climate presents unique challenges for battery efficiency,” I explained to James Freeman, the silver-haired investor from Detroit. “Which is why our hybrid power trains outperform pure electric vehicles in real-world conditions here.”

Freeman nodded, but I noted the skepticism in the furrow of his brow. After years of negotiations, I could read hesitation in the slightest micro-expressions. This meeting wasn’t progressing as efficiently as I’d anticipated.

Rebecca Clark, Freeman’s colleague, leaned forward. “Consumer perception remains our primary concern. American buyers associate European vehicles with luxury, not innovation.”

“Innovation and luxury aren’t mutually exclusive. Our design philosophy integrates both elements seamlessly.”

I continued detailing our technical specifications, market projections, and production capabilities. Clark’s posture stiffened during my explanation of production timelines. It was another indicator that they weren’t fully convinced by the data-driven approach.

“I drove the Iris last week,” Kayla interjected suddenly. “I know nothing about torque or horsepower, but I felt glamorous behind the wheel. It was like the car anticipated what I needed before I knew I needed it.”

I suppressed my initial reaction to redirect the conversation back to metrics and specifications. Instead, I observed how Freeman’s expression softened immediately at her comment.

“Consumer experience is ultimately what matters,” he acknowledged, his tone warmer than it had been during our entire technical discussion.

“Precisely why our user interface design receives as much investment as our engineering,” I added, building on Kayla’s effective contribution. “The Iris may be our city model, but its customization options and intuitive features represent our entire philosophy.”

As our entrees arrived—lamb for me, grilled sea bass for Michaila—movement near the entrance caught my attention. Aristides had just arrived with a woman I didn’t recognize. Tall, elegant, with deep brown skin and shoulder-length curls.

My brother’s hand rested lightly at the small of her back as they followed the ma?tre d’ to their table, his expression more relaxed than I’d seen in years. Interesting.

“Excuse me a moment,” I said, setting my napkin beside my plate.

Freeman nodded. “Of course.”

Kayla’s questioning glance followed me as I made my way across the restaurant. I could see the exact moment she spotted what had drawn my attention.

“Aris,” I greeted my brother, who seemed momentarily surprised by my appearance. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“Kostas.” He recovered quickly, gesturing to his companion. “This is Dede. She’s visiting Greece. Dede, my brother, Kostas.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” She was American. Her handshake was firm.

“Likewise,” I replied.

My brother had always been private about his personal life, yet the way his eyes kept returning to Dede suggested I was witnessing something entirely new in my brother’s world.

“We’re with the American investors,” I explained in Greek, gesturing toward our table where Michaila was now deep in conversation with Mrs. Freeman. “Would you care to join us for dessert later?”

Aristides glanced down at Dede before he responded. “Perhaps another time.”

As I returned to our table, I found Freeman’s wife laughing at something Michaila had said, the earlier business tension completely dissolved.

Freeman leaned toward Kayla after I took my seat. “Your husband spoke highly of your eye for design,” he said to her. “He mentioned you might consult on color selections for the American market for the Iris line.”

“He did?” Kayla replied

I hadn’t actually discussed this with her yet, but her understanding of esthetic appeal and consumer psychology made her input invaluable.

Her contribution tonight only confirmed what I’d already recognized.

Her intuitive grasp of what appealed to people complemented my technical expertise perfectly.

Throughout dinner, I found myself increasingly drawn to the way she articulated her thoughts with clarity, and how she’d won over the Freemans by simply being herself. Every gesture, every thoughtful response, only intensified my need to have her to myself.

Later that evening, as our driver navigated through Athens’ evening traffic, I pulled Kayla onto my lap, unable to resist the desire building all evening. My hands gripped her hips possessively as my arousal pressed against her.

“You were extraordinary tonight,” I said, while my lips painted her neck with kisses. “They increased their investment by thirty percent over initial projections.”

“I barely said anything.”

“You didn’t need to,” I replied, nipping at her earlobe, gratified by her deep inhale. “You connected with them as people, not just investors. Freeman’s wife has been resistant to their Greek ventures until tonight. Now she’s looking forward to spending more time here.”

My hand slid up her thigh, pushing the fabric of her dress up to caress her bare skin. The silk of her skin beneath my fingers made me harder.

“I just talked about things I understand. Shopping, design, how the car made me feel,” she said, her voice hitching as my fingers traced the edge of her lace thong.

“Exactly,” I said, appreciating once again how her spontaneous approach achieved what my planned strategies sometimes couldn’t. “You showed them why people will want our cars beyond the technical specifications.” I slipped my fingers beneath the delicate lace, finding her already wet.

Her head fell forward against my shoulder. The sound of her pleasure intensified my own arousal, the knowledge that I could affect her this way a heady power I never tired of.

“Well,” she breathed against my neck, “I enjoy surprising you, Mr. Christakis.”

A low chuckle escaped me as my fingers continued their exploration. “That you do, Mrs. Christakis. That you do.”

She lifted her head, capturing my lips in a heated kiss. I deepened it immediately, the taste of her an addiction I had no intention of breaking.

My fingers circled and stroked, eliciting low moans I swallowed with our kiss. I gripped her hip tightly with my other hand, holding her securely against me as I continued to pleasure her.

When she finally broke, trembling against me, a profound satisfaction washed over me. As the last tremors of her orgasm faded and she slumped against me, I held her close, savoring the warmth of her body against mine.

“We’re home, sir,” our driver announced through the intercom.

Kayla straightened, adjusting her dress with a languid smile that promised more to come. I helped her out of the car, keeping her close against my side as we made our way through the main entrance.

Upon reaching the grand staircase to our wing of the estate, Kayla’s eyes sparkled with mischief and her lips curved into the smile that always made my blood run hot.

“So,” she said, leaning against me as we turned down the hallway, “Santo clearly gets his taste in women from his father.”

I tightened my arm around her waist, pulling her even closer as we approached our bedroom door. “Aris’ personal life doesn’t interest me right now.”

“Come on,” she persisted, even as her breath caught when my fingers traced the low back of her dress. “You have to admit it’s fascinating. The serious, buttoned-up Aristides with a Black woman—”

“Michaila,” I murmured against her neck as I pushed open our bedroom door. “I have far more pressing matters to attend to.”

Her dress loosened under my hands as I guided her inside our room, revealing the lace bra I’d been imagining removing all evening. “Like what?” she challenged as I slid the dress from her shoulders.

“Like being inside my wife within the next minute.”

She laughed, the sound transitioning to a gasp as my hand slipped between her thighs. “Fine, but we’re discussing this tomorrow. I have theories about the Christakis men and their preferences.”

“Tomorrow,” I agreed, lifting her onto our bed. “Tonight you get on all fours.”

Kayla moved toward our bed and climbed onto it, positioning herself on her hands and knees. I took a moment to admire the curve of her back, the flare of her hips, and the long lines of her legs. She looked back at me, her eyes dark with desire and anticipation.

I approached the bed, shedding my clothes with every step. By the time my knees sank into the mattress behind her, I was nude.

My eyes never left the sight of her presented so temptingly before me as I stroked myself with one hand, while the other ran over the smooth curves of her ass.

I leaned down, pressing a kiss to the small of her back, feeling her shiver beneath my touch. I trailed more kisses down her spine, my hands sliding up her sides to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

She moaned, her back arching, pressing her ass against me. I could feel her heat, her wetness and my body ached with the need to be inside her.

I straightened, my hands returning to her hips. I guided myself to her pussy, coating myself in her wetness before slowly pushing inside.

I set a fast pace, my hips slapping against hers, our bodies moving in a hard, desperate rhythm. Her moans filled the room, her body meeting mine thrust for thrust.

Her moans turned to cries, her body seizing as she neared the edge. “K,” she gasped. “Please...”

Gripping her shoulder for leverage while my fingers reached beneath her to work her clit relentlessly, I increased my pace. She detonated around me, coming hard, her scream of release muffled by the bed.

I gripped her hips tightly, chasing my climax. I slammed into her until I came hard, filling her with my come.

Spent, I collapsed beside her on the mattress, drawing her against my chest as our heartbeats thundered and then steadily calmed. Kayla curled into me, pressing a drowsy kiss to my shoulder before we drifted into sleep.

A few nights later, while relaxing on the veranda of our bedroom, I couldn’t help but smile as Michaila recounted the day’s events I’d missed with her characteristic animation.

“Katalina and her father came by to see Aris. She claimed to be pregnant with Santo’s child,” Kayla said, leaning against my shoulder. “Her father demanded Santo marry her immediately. Poor Tia was frozen in shock.”

I raised an eyebrow, picturing the scene. “How did Santo handle that?”

“He laughed in their faces and demanded a paternity test.” Michaila intertwined her fingers with mine. “Your family was amazing. When Aris questioned Santo about whether he was certain the child wasn’t his, Domna insisted Santo was smart enough to know if he’d impregnated a woman.”

“Sounds like my mother,” I said, unable to suppress a smile.

“That wasn’t even the most dramatic event. Remember the woman we saw Aris with at the restaurant? Turns out she’s Tia’s mother.”

“What?”

“Yep. She showed up a few hours ago, and I got the feeling she had no idea who we are to Aris! She didn’t even recognize me.”

“Really?”

“Stormed in like a hurricane. Apparently, Katalina called her with some ridiculous story.” Michaila shook her head. “Tia eventually calmed her down, and they left together.”

“This family never lacks for excitement,” I observed dryly, though I found myself increasingly appreciative of the feminine dramatics that had entered the once-orderly Christakis household.

Michaila squeezed my hand. “I’m just thankful we don’t have that kind of drama in our relationship. Wait—” She paused, sitting up straighter. “Stella can’t pop up in nine months with a surprise Christakis heir, right? Because that would be just my luck.”

“No, she won’t.” My response was immediate and definitive.

I slept with the woman once, months ago. I had no desire to revisit anything related to Stella Pavlou.

“Perfect! Just doing my due diligence as your wife and future baby mama.” She patted her stomach with a satisfied grin. “We don’t want ghetto twins.”

“Ghetto twins?” The phrase was unfamiliar to me.

“It’s an African-American term,” she said with a laugh, nestling back against my chest.

As she launched into her explanation, I found myself laughing with her. Her ability to introduce levity into even the most serious matters continued to be a revelation.

The following morning at breakfast, we announced our news. My mother’s joyful tears, Dimitrios’s enthusiastic back-slapping, and the tension between Deanna and Aristides created a memorable scene.

When my aunt made some excuse before quietly excusing herself, I kissed Michaila’s cheek, feeling a complex mixture of emotions. Withholding Matthaios’ identity from Michaila weighed on me.

As we strolled through the garden afterward, I apologized for my aunt’s behavior. “There are still some things—” I began, then stopped myself.

I hated keeping this from her, and every day that passed made revealing it more difficult, yet more necessary. Our baby’s arrival and the life I wanted with her made everything more imminent.

“I’m not bothered by her behavior anymore. I understand her pain,” Michaila said, placing her hand over our growing child. “When she looks at me, she sees memories of my father and what might have been. That can’t be easy.”

I nearly confessed everything before deciding against it. She deserved the truth about her connection to this family.

But what would that revelation cost her? Cost me? I feared how it might change things between us.

The happiness we’d built still felt new, vulnerable. Would learning that we’d kept this from her shatter her trust in me? In all of us?

“Your aunt is a proud woman who’s been hurt deeply,” she continued. “But she’s also family. And being family means making room for all kinds of complicated feelings, even the difficult ones.”

Her understanding of a situation she didn’t fully comprehend only intensified my admiration for her. The truth would come out—it had to—but I needed to ensure the revelation wouldn’t destroy what we’d built. I needed to speak with my family first, to prepare them, before I told her.

“You continue to surprise me,” I said, tucking a braid behind her ear. “Your compassion, your strength. You’re remarkable, Michaila.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning into my touch.

I would tell her everything soon. She deserved the complete truth, however complicated. But for now, I would allow us both this happiness.