Rakanti's Indecent Proposition

  RAKANTI’S INDECENT PROPOSITION

  Clare Connelly

  All the characters in this book are fictitious and have no existence outside the author’s imagination. They have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names and are pure invention.

  All rights reserved. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reprinted by any means without permission of the Author.

  The illustration on the cover of this book features model/s and bears no relation to the characters described within.

  First published 2016

  (c) Clare Connelly

  Photo Credit: dollarphotoclub.com

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  http://www.clareconnelly.co.uk

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  Email: Clareconnelly@outlook.com

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  PROLOGUE

  Apparently, she was the only person in the hip and happening club not having a good time. The crowd around her buzzed with excitement and happiness. Everyone but Elle Bradley was dancing the night away with enormous smiles on their made-up faces. The revellers swarming around her in the hottest nightspot in central Athens were laughing, dancing and drinking as though they had not a care in the world.

  What must such freedom have felt like?

  Elle’s eyes – so grey she had been nicknamed Stormy by her school friends – scanned the room with one man alone in mind.

  She knew from Hannah’s thorough Google searching that he had come to kómma every Thursday night since opening two months ago. Elle supposed, with a wry smile on her pink lips, that it was one of the perks of having financed the hotspot. Then again, even without a claim of ownership Christos Rakanti would have been fèted and welcomed at such an establishment with open arms.

  He was a golden personality; a man Greece and the world seemed to adore, despite his documented womanising, ruthless business practices and a heart that was rumoured to have been chipped from ice.

  Just as his father’s had been.

  Elle’s own heart flipped over painfully in her chest as she pushed all thoughts of Filip Rakanti and their years-ago, very unpleasant encounter from her mind. Though he had been buried a week ago, having met the tyrannical Billionaire, Elle had no doubt that he would be perfectly capable of clawing himself back from the grave if he got wind of what she was planning.

  He had been the quintessential patriarch, obsessed with protecting his family and heritage. So much so that he’d berated and intimidated her as a grieving seventeen year old, until she’d acquiesced to every single one of his demands.

  Well, he was dead, and with him his power to control her and her family had also ceased. Their fate rested on her shoulders and it was not a responsibility she took lightly.

  She sucked in a deep breath and angled her body to squeeze through a group of young men intent on catcalling any woman who took their fancy.

  But Elle paid no attention to their provocative attempts to lure her to join them. Her eyes moved fiercely, scanning the booths at the back.

  And she froze, her lips parted, her eyes enormous in her pixie-like face, as she stared at the man who was so joltingly, hurtfully related to her younger half-brother. The likeness almost took her breath away. The same swarthy skin, jet black hair, dark brown eyes and thick brows were framed by a man who was, admittedly, a much larger and more intimidating version of the still-teenaged Filip Jr.

  As she took another step, she saw some additional differences. This man – Christos – had a dimple in his cheek, and a cleft in his chin that looked as though a sculptor had pressed a thumb into it at the moment of birth. He was broad shouldered and muscular, and masculine in a way that screamed virility and control. Where Filip had a kind, smiling face and a desire to please everyone he met, this man looked as hard as nails. His reputation for ruthlessness had not, she instinctively knew, been exaggerated.

  With a throbbing pulse-rate, she fished her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans and texted Hannah. I’ve found him; he’s here. But there’s no way I can go through with this.

  She smiled with kind dismissal at a guy who was waving her over and then bit down on her lip. What had she been thinking? Girls like Elle didn’t do … this.

  Not for the first time, she cursed Hannah for making the plan sound so simple! To seduce a man like Christos Rakanti and somehow blackmail him into helping her … it was ‘pie in the sky’ stuff. An absurd notion now seeming even more idiotic as she soaked in his strong, arrogant bearing. She was light years out of her league.

  Her phone vibrated and she stared at the screen.

  Ellie, if you ask him for money he’ll say no. Just like the father. You can’t risk it. This is your *only* choice.

  Elle made a sound of misery and jammed the phone back in her pocket. Hannah reiterated the only point that could truly get through to Elle. Though Elle’s first instinct had been to approach Christos through the official channels, it had been Hannah who’d made her see sense. “Darling, how do you know he doesn’t know all about Filip? How do you know he’s not drawing up papers as we speak to make sure their wealth is protected? You know what his father was like: that cold, heartless bastard never wanted Fil to have a dime. Apples and trees! The son will be just the same. Don’t give him a chance to say no. You have to catch him by surprise. Get what you need from him using other methods.”

  And though deception did not come naturally to Elle, she would move heaven and earth for her brother. After all, she was his guardian, and it was her duty. But more than that, he’d already been dealt more than enough bad hands to last a lifetime. Filip deserved to live with some level of security and safety. To know that the one thing he really loved in life, his place at school, was assured.

  And Elle was going to make that happen for him.

  For Filip, she would do anything. Even sleep with a guy as dangerous and desirable as Christos Rakanti.

  CHAPTER ONE

  And though Elle had spent her entire life highlighting how different she was to her mother, when she needed to call on the seductive powers of Bella Bradley, they came surprisingly easy. The looks that had won Bella several beauty contests and small-time modelling contracts had been inherited by Elle. The same ash blonde hair, pretty face, pouting lips and caramel skin; a body that was generous yet athletic at the same time - though Elle spent most of the time covering her ample curves in over-size shirts and black pants.

  But not tonight.

  To catch the eye of Christos Rakanti, she’d allowed Hannah to turn her into the epitome of what he found desirable. And God knew there was enough evidence of that floating around the internet. Photo after photo of him with gorgeous women littered searches of his name, making it relatively easy for the artistic Hannah to transform Elle into a woman who would naturally catch his interest.

  The jeans she wore were Hannah’s. They were tight and low, so low they sat right on her hip bone. Teamed with a pair of sky high heels they gave Elle the illusion of height, something she was generally lacking. But the real clue to drawing the focus of a seasoned seducer like Christos Rakanti was her cleavage. The Wonderbra was every bit as amazing as the name suggested. Her full, round breasts were pushed up high, and the tight white top showed the red of the underwear and at least an inch of her slim, tanned midriff. The final touch was the hair and makeup. Under Hannah’s tutelage she’d learned to rim her eyes in black eyeliner and dark eye shadow. Her lips were painted red. Her hair was fluffed out and fell in long, silky waves down her back to the gap of skin exposed by
the outfit.

  She felt like an idiot. She felt self-conscious, and she felt like the embodiment of everything she had come to despise about her mother. But the second their eyes connected she knew that it had been the right play.

  Those eyes, so dark and naturally emphasised by thick, black lashes, made no effort to hide their interest. He stopped what he was saying mid-sentence and dropped his gaze to her breasts. He allowed it to linger there for several long hot seconds, setting a simmer to Elle’s blood before grating them lower, lower still, lingering on her womanhood as though he could see everything beneath the scrap of denim.

  His look smouldered; her heart pounded. The room was silent; the music ceased. They were alone. All she could hear was the rushing of her blood. Her knees felt weak; her body heavy.

  When he forced his attention back to her eyes, Elle’s very breath was burning in her throat. Show time, she whispered to herself, walking with the appearance of confidence through the crowds. Before she could reach his table, he stood and prowled towards her.

  That was Christos, through and through. He wasn’t a man to wait for a woman. He was King. He was Alpha. If they were to meet, it was because of him. Not her. He left nothing to chance, least of all in hunting a woman he wanted.

  He made no attempt to hide his interest. He put a hand straight on her hip and a sharp bolt of attraction arrowed through her, landing firmly near her heart. All thoughts of her brother became muddied by something much, much stronger.

  “Do I know you?” She asked, her voice sultry in yet another tilt of the cap to her mother. Only she wasn’t trying to imitate Bella anymore. She was doing it as naturally as she might breathe or smile. The fevered words came from deep in the pit of her stomach. They were coated with lust.

  “You’re about to.” His own words were rich with the kind of promise that had her whole body swirling with a frantic kaleidoscope of butterflies.

  “Oh?” She blinked up at him, her eyes enormous in her face.

  “Champagne?”

  She nodded. Though she rarely drank, she felt it was a night when a little Dutch courage would be essential. “Please.”

  “This way.” He put a hand in the small of her back and led her through the bar. She was too distracted by the zipping of desire caused by his touch to notice that the crowd was thinning with every step they took. They approached a room that was roped off from the rest of the bar. As they neared it, a bouncer dressed in a black suit that did little to disguise bulging muscles slipped the red rope off its chain, lifting it for them to pass.

  “Thank you,” Elle murmured. Her companion said nothing. There were two or three other people in the room, and a waitress behind a small bar. A cursory glance showed it was stocked with only top-level alcohol. He lifted a hand and the waitress moved quickly towards them.

  “Grey Goose Martini,” he said without so much as a look in the woman’s direction. “And a champagne for …?”

  “Elle,” she said smoothly.

  “Elle.” It was a guttural growl that drove shivers down her spine. How the hell did she ever think she’d be able to get close enough to this man to find something she could use to pressure him into helping? His accent was spicy seduction. It was tinged with the sounds of his native Greek, but rounded out by America courtesy of the years she knew he’d spent studying there.

  “And you are?” She asked, easing herself into one of the leather sofas he’d nodded towards. It was incredibly comfortable and she thought affectionately of her own lounge set, and the spring that prodded up determinedly from the middle cushion.

  His smile was rich in disbelief, and with good reason. Everyone knew who he was. Everyone. “Christos Rakanti.”

  “I’ve heard that name before,” she murmured, crossing her legs and leaning forward a little, aware that he was in a perfect vantage point to admire her generous curves.

  Arrogance radiated from him but Elle didn’t care. It suited him; his arrogance was clearly an inherent part of him.

  “Have you?” He ignored the armchairs that were on either side of the sofa. Instead, he sat beside her. Not down the opposing end of the sofa either, but so close that their thighs were brushing and she could feel heat sparking between them. He lifted his arm and ran it along the back of the lounge, dangling his fingers perilously close to her shoulder.

  You’re playing a part, Elle reminded herself, when her naturally reserved manner would have seen her pull sharply backwards. She blinked her eyes up at him and leaned a little closer, knowingly forcing his arm to drop downwards and his hand to drape over her shoulder. “I’m almost sure I have.”

  His fingers began to stroke her flesh lightly, drawing imaginary patterns against her smooth skin. Would sleeping with him be enough? Would the worry of exposing the truth to his mother and the world be enough to urge him to help her? She thought of Hannah, perched expectantly across the street, and her courage grew.

  The waitress appeared with their drinks and placed them down on the shining table. He kept his eyes on hers as he reached forward and lifted the champagne to her lips. She opened her mouth wider, her breath fighting to escape her body, and he dribbled some of the liquid in. She tasted it gratefully, and then watched mesmerised as he sipped from the same glass.

  “You’re from America.”

  She nodded jerkily before recalling she was supposed to be sophisticated and confident. “Very good, Christos.” She batted her lashes and leaned forward. Her fingers curled around the stem of his martini glass and she mimicked his actions of a moment earlier, carrying it carefully to his lips. Only when he sipped from it, she leaned forward and pressed her finger to the side of his mouth, duelling with an imaginary drop.

  He angled his head and took her finger between his lips, pressing his teeth to the ball of flesh with a soft growl. Flames of desire licked at her soul. Long-forgotten instincts flared to life. And she knew then that sleeping with him as a means to blackmail would not be a chore at all.

  “I’m not into public displays of affection,” she said, leaning forward so that the whispered words breathed hot invitation across his ear.

  “How about private displays of attraction then?”

  She arched a perfectly shaped brow, having no idea how sinfully beautiful she looked. “Is there somewhere that would make that possible?”

  His laugh was a husky growl. “You really don’t believe in taking things slowly, do you?”

  “I don’t have time to take things slowly,” she said truthfully. The bill for Filip’s exclusive private school was burned into her memory, not least because of the accusatory red paper they’d printed it on. Not to mention the calls she’d been dodging from the school office. Typically, that old bastard Rakanti had died without settling the term’s fees, leaving Elle with a God awful mess to manage.

  “Then let’s go.” He stood, and held a hand out. She laced her fingers through his with a complete awareness that it might as well have been a blood pact.

  They weaved effortlessly through the crowd, despite the fact it seemed to have doubled in volume since Elle had found her way to him earlier. The music was loud; the kind of pop songs people her age listened to and that Elle had little patience for. There was no melody or genius in their computerised artifice. Then again, perhaps she was just a music snob.

  It was a perfect mid-summer night and the air was balmy as they emerged from the club. After the oppressive blanket of noise, the silence of the laneway was a welcome relief. “That’s better,” Elle said, forgetting for a moment that she was trying to seem like someone who went to nightclubs and hooked up with strangers all the time.

  “Not your scene?”

  “Oh, sure it is. I just hate that song,” she lied unconvincingly. “Where are we going?”

  He nodded across the street and she followed his gaze. A shining black Maserati, low and sleek, was parked directly opposite them.

  Problem solved. If he would sell this ridiculously expensive sports car then the rest of her brother�
��s education would all be paid for… and then some. The injustice couldn’t help but tear a small hole in her equilibrium.

  “Understated,” she drawled sarcastically, earning a responding grin from Christos.

  “The same could be said for your shirt.”

  Her cheeks flushed a becoming pink that was completely at odds with her air of sophistication. Christos noticed and it only served to stir a greater curiosity in his gut. She was the kind of woman he ate for breakfast; literally. But she was different, too. There was a freshness to her that didn’t quite make sense.

  He moved across the street and held the door open for her. Though he was too wrapped up in the view as she moved to stand in the triangular opening he’d created, Elle knew where Hannah was waiting. She angled herself a little so that both of their faces would be visible. After all, sleeping with him was one thing but what good would it do if she couldn’t prove it? Hating herself for thinking with such calculated deception at a moment such as that, only the thought of her sweet brother stopped her from experiencing a sharp throb of shame.

  “You’re not the least bit worried about getting into the car of a stranger?”

  His eyes were studying her with a perceptiveness she hadn’t expected; for a moment she felt the mask drop and she worried that he might see more than she wanted him to.

  She stood onto the tips of her toes – even in the stilettos there was still a decent gap in height – and brought her lips tantalisingly close to his. “Kiss me and we’ll no longer be strangers.”

  He made a noise of frustration as he lifted his fingers into her hair and pushed her head the final distance. He took her lips angrily, passion and heat made him impatient to taste all of her. He pressed her back against the car, the weight of his body a hard plane to her delightful curves. His hands were rough in her hair and it made her ache to rip his clothes off in the same punishingly desperate manner, and to touch his naked body.