The Greek Tycoon's Tarnished Bride (Men of the Zodiac) Read online

  Sign: Capricorn

  He loves power, material success…and sex.

  Erica Silver has never done things the “usual” way. A single mom working towards a degree in psychology, she’s paying her way as an exotic dancer. No one can tell Erica how to live her life…especially not some handsome, arrogant Greek stranger, who wants to take her son away from his “unfit” mother.

  Successful entrepreneur Tito Makris has no choice but to fulfill his best friend’s last wish. He must bring his friend’s son to Greece to claim a multi-billion euro legacy. Still, taking the boy from his mother—however tarnished she may be—is pretty much the last thing Tito wants. So he offers Erica a radical choice: marry him and stay with her son…or lose the boy—and him—forever.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Discover the Men of the Zodiac series… Impulse Control

  The Millionaire’s Deception

  The Millionaire’s Forever

  Ten Days in Tuscany

  The Millionaire Daddy Project

  Revenge Best Served Hot

  The Prince’s Runaway Lover

  The Colonel’s Daughter

  One Night with the Billionaire

  Kidnapped by the Greek Billionaire

  The Spanish Billionaire’s Hired Bride

  Blackmailed by the Billionaire Brewer

  Sicilian Engagement

  Discover more category romance titles from Entangled Indulgence… The Prince’s Runaway Lover

  The Spaniard’s Kiss

  The Engagement Game

  A Wife in Every Sense

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Rachel Lyndhurst. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Indulgence is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Alethea Spiridon Hopson

  Cover design by Heather Howland

  Cover art from iStock

  ISBN 978-1-63375-406-5

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition October 2015

  Chapter One

  He must be crazy.

  Tito Makris had never felt the need to visit a lap dancing joint in all of his thirty-one years, but now here he was in the early hours of a midweek morning. Blasted by strobes and colored lights, he fidgeted in the luxurious leather tub chair of the VIP area, acutely aware that he had been forbidden to turn on his cell phone in case he took illicit photographs of the customers or acts. As if he’d be tempted to do something that crass. Fulfilling this act of duty felt more like a penance, but scrolling through his emails would give him something less fleshy to look at. It was hideous in there, and he wanted to get back to Greece as soon as he possibly could. Not that he was missing the dark, rain-lashed January reality of London, England, that waited outside the Ruby Unicorn gentleman’s club. Everything he had seen and experienced in the hours he’d been in the UK was in sharp contrast to the sunshine and soft breezes of his beloved homeland, Crete, and he didn’t like it one iota.

  The oppressiveness of the establishment closed in on him like a coffin lid being screwed down, the air thick with alcohol fumes and the clash of expensive fragrances. Suggestive glances and glistening, oiled flesh were everywhere he looked. The clink of champagne glasses and unconvincing female laughter mingled with the pounding music, and his stomach churned as a raven-haired woman in an orange G-string twerked frenetically in front of a mirrored wall. This was not entertaining him. He wanted to get out into the fresh air, however vile the weather outside was.

  She would be on stage soon, the reason he was here. Twenty-two year old Erica Silver would take her turn as “Selina” on the round platform to the side of the DJ’s deck and gyrate for the fat-cat clientele that had nothing better to do during the dark hours. Judging by the performances he had already witnessed she would then sashay provocatively around the VIP tables and two bars to collect her tips. It had cost him a few hundred pounds to get the intel about when she would perform and what her stage name was; her minders could spot a lucrative opportunity easier than taking another fetid breath. But he had paid for the information on top of the basic twenty pound entrance fee because he had to see the horrible truth for himself. He needed to be one hundred percent certain about what the private investigators had uncovered about Ms. Silver and what he had been sent to England to do.

  He breathed in sharply as the DJ shouted over the music for everyone to welcome Sexy Selina who was, apparently, feeling “hot and naughty.” Everything went dark for a second as the music throbbed louder, and then a circle of bright white light illuminated a woman wearing a black miniskirt. She was clinging to the thick chrome pole with her back to the audience staring coldly into a floor to ceiling mirror, her parted lips slathered in thick red lip gloss. A black and gold Venetian-style mask covered the top half of her face but was revealing enough to show turquoise glittery eye shadow and false eyelashes that looked like tarantulas. Her hips began to slowly move, and Tito’s eyes were drawn to the suspender belt that held up her laddered black stockings as she bent slowly forward…

  He closed his eyes to block out a display that left little to the imagination and then, as the song continued, warily opened them again because he couldn’t leave until he got a good look at her face.

  She suddenly twirled around and wrapped one long, muscular thigh around the pole, her killer red platform heel sparkling. A white blouse was tied at her tiny waist, all the buttons undone to reveal a red plunge bra and a short school tie that drew his eye to her abundant cleavage.

  “Theos Mou, God’s sake,” he muttered to himself, almost amused at the fleshpot cliché, but this was no smiling matter. Erica Silver worked in this tacky industry and was clearly shameless. Her bright blue eyes locked with his for a visceral microsecond, her gaze lasering into his so intensely it felt as if she knew exactly why he was there. Even from a distance he could make out the shape of her teeth and swallowed uncomfortably as her small pink tongue darted provocatively over the top set. He lifted a designer frosted-glass bottle to his lips and took a slug of Japanese mineral water as she flicked back her neck, arched her slender body, and brushed the black shiny floor with the curtain of her long blond hair.

  Tito had seen enough. The inviting shape of her mouth, the glitter of her eyes and the supple curves of her body were burned on his retinas. He’d recognize this siren anywhere now. She stepped gracefully down from her podium and stalked purposefully toward a trio of men in suits who had semi-naked women draped over their laps and shoulders. She smiled and posed provocatively as they pushed folded bank notes beneath her bra straps but shimmi
ed mischievously away before their hands could wander.

  Tito stood to leave, but before he could get out of there, he suddenly found his way blocked by the sinuous curves of “Selina.” He felt targeted; she’d had him in her sights from the word go. Presumably she could smell money from a great distance because he’d done nothing to encourage her over.

  “Like my dance?” Her voice was low and smoky with a finish that reminded him of sweet Greek brandy.

  A base instinct kicked in that made him want to taste her lips. “Very good,” he murmured and fetched a bundle of fifty pound notes from his top jacket pocket. “You must be popular around here.”

  She smiled slowly, and her eyelashes lowered to the cash as she reached out to adjust the knot of his tie. “You want a private dance for that? A private booth?”

  His heart quickened as her gaze ensnared his once more. He felt her breath on his throat and the region below his belt stiffened. Her pupils dilated, and her scarlet lips parted as he slowly slid a folded note down into the front of her panties. Whether it was his touch or the money that was turning her on, he had no doubt she would do anything he wanted her to for another fifty pounds. “Unfortunately I have to leave,” he whispered and slid another note into the cup of her bra. Her nipples were tight beads beneath the silky fabric. “I suggest you do the same.”

  Tito stood motionless on the bank of the river Thames as day began to break, staring blindly at the Woolwich Arsenal Pier. He inhaled savagely, unable to stop his brain flashing back images of Erica Silver collecting tips in her bra from sweaty, well-heeled men as he hurriedly left the Ruby Unicorn. He shouldn’t be thinking about her endless smooth legs and the full lips that would probably do anything a wealthy man wanted them to do; he should be a better man than that. She was beautiful—there was no denying it—and good at her job. She probably made a fortune selling herself in that way. No wonder his best friend Yannis had been captivated by the little Jezebel. He’d been taken in, plenty more ways than one, that was for sure.

  “Sir.” A polite cough from behind him made him start, and he turned to see his driver a few steps away with a yellow polystyrene box. “Found a cafe for the taxi drivers round the corner, Sir. Thought you could use some breakfast.”

  “Thanks,” Tito murmured, his words almost carried away by the ferocious wind that sliced inland from the brown, churning water. He raised his voice. “I need a few minutes before we move on.”

  His driver nodded and went back to the safety of the black Mercedes as Tito lifted the lid on the hot bacon roll and stared blankly at it. He strode into the wind along the gray river path looking for somewhere he could dump the food without his driver seeing. A gap in a pressed concrete wall revealed a patch of wasteland beneath the gaze of a block of derelict apartments that looked like one big garbage tip. A filthy mattress, beer cans, a rusty freight container smothered with graffiti, and a vast assortment of fast food containers littered the ground. It was hard to believe that a place like this could exist on the other side of the river. Twelve miles away from the glitz and wealth of Bloomsbury and Fitzrovia, it was another world entirely. He made to walk on but paused for a moment at the sight of a rat disappearing under a shrub as a mangy urban fox darted after it. Everything in this place was cold, hungry, and desperate, and he couldn’t help but wonder if a human being sometimes used that mattress. He took the bacon roll out of the box and left it on a large piece of rubble before crushing the container in his fist and shoving it into his coat pocket. Something feral in this wilderness might as well have a decent morning.

  “What a godforsaken dump.”

  Tito Makris’s harsh whisper formed a gray cloud that was ripped away by the bitter wind. He tugged up his coat collar against the elements; his soul was in as much turmoil as the river and sky. The icy air bit into his lungs, but it was a welcome sensation, as if he were being cleansed from the unsavory sights he had witnessed in the almost darkness. And he was in an open space—he could breathe. His heart felt like a lump of stone in his chest, heavy with the prospect of the task that lay ahead, but the glimmer of a thin crescent moon curving around a tiny bright star gave him strength. On a world scale his troubles were minute.

  Unbearable memories came rushing back, his grief magnified by lack of sleep and a terrible sense of foreboding. Painful images from the back of his mind leaped forward and lashed at him in vivid technicolor, reinstalling a level of terror that gave him the power and courage to proceed with the unpleasant deed he had been sent to do. The horror of that day two years ago would never leave him; shreds of charred clothing fluttering in the blue Greek sky, hot rubble slicing into his fingertips as he dug with his hands, and thick ash searing his lungs. Then the silence… A bomb blast at a society wedding had torn his best friend into unidentifiable pieces, robbing him of the man who was like the little brother he never had. The mindless cruelty of it all was numbing.

  The pale winter sun was now rising even if it was in a shroud of tombstone gray. Duty called and tugged at him like a starving dog, and he needed to shake it off fast.

  Like it or not, it was time.

  Erica Silver’s stomach growled as she stood under the tepid trickle of her handheld shower. The hour long journey home to the East End of London had been miserable before dawn, and it had been ages since she’d eaten, but she wanted to wait until she could eat breakfast with Nick. Her heart ached for Nick. Somehow she always managed to get clean and presentable before sharing a decent breakfast with the love of her life. It was their special time because she so missed not being with her baby when she had to work at night.

  This morning they could have some scrambled eggs with a little of the ham that was left; she only needed it to last a few more days. Nick could have the last slice of bread in the place because she’d give him her last breath if he needed it. Thank God she could get things like toilet tissue and juice from the club, otherwise they would really hit rock bottom. This was her mess to crawl out of, and she’d do it if it killed her in the process. He would never need to know what she did to pay the bills, and by the time he found out, if he ever did, it wouldn’t matter anymore. It wouldn’t matter because she’d have a hotshot job in psychotherapy, and nobody could come and get them because she always wore a mask when she was Selina. Always.

  She breathed a sigh of relief at the silence in her bathroom, just the trickle of water mingling with sound of raindrops on the tiny bathroom window. It was like cold anesthetic cream on a savage lesion after the relentless drum and bass at the club. She hated everything about that place—the noise, the glitter balls, the claustrophobia, and the false smiles of the other girls who pretended to be your friend but were ruthless bitches behind your back. Closing the bathroom door behind her, she towel dried her hair and shivered in the cold light of early morning that peeped through patches of wear in her faded pink curtains. The high ceilings of the Victorian terrace that had been converted into flats meant they were difficult to keep warm at the best of times, but in winter it was almost unbearable. The landlord had built a box around the ancient central heating and water controls and sealed it with a padlock so the residents couldn’t adjust the timings or temperature. Fan heaters were banned due to the high cost of running them on electricity too, so Erica had a secondhand portable gas heater in the room to take the edge off the chill. But she wouldn’t put it on until she needed to warm the place up for when Nick came home. The cost of having the canister refilled was crippling to her already stretched finances.

  Nick’s pale blue bunny toy caught her eye on the back of the sofa, and she smiled. Their home wasn’t much, but they had each other, and she could keep her favorite little person warm, dry, and fed on what she earned right now. Things would get better; she just knew it. Erica picked up Bunny, closed her eyes, and inhaled the baby scent from the fabric. Her heart squeezed—she loved her little boy so much.

  The doorbell rang, and her spine stiffened. It was too early for a door-to-door hawker, and she never had callers. May
be it was the postman? But that meant there would be something to sign for, and she hadn’t ordered anything that wouldn’t fit through the letter box. Stuff that needed signing for was inevitably bad news. Her heart began to pound, and she was tempted to pretend she wasn’t in but knew that bad news never went away so she might as well face it head on. At least she could be sure it wasn’t bailiffs; debt was a problem she didn’t have. Poverty, yes, but not debt.

  Throwing the damp towel on the back of a chair, she wrenched open the curtains and then two steps brought her to the front door before the voices in her head talked her out of it. “Who is it?” she shouted through the draughty mail slot. There was no such thing as a security peephole on this property. There was no reply.

  Hmmm.

  Irritated that she couldn’t make herself heard—or her caller was deaf—she flung open the front door without even thinking to put on the security chain. Blocking the early morning light with all six foot plus of his muscular frame was the strange, sexy guy from the club. Strange in that she had never seen him in there before, and he looked far too wealthy and attractive to have a need for such entertainment. It wasn’t just her who had noticed him either; the other girls in the dressing room had been extremely keen to catch his eye even if he did look like a miserable bastard. His perfectly straight nose and high cheekbones couldn’t fail to attract attention; he was beautiful if that description could be properly applied to a man. But he hadn’t smiled once, not even when he had his fingers in her underwear.

  “Erica Silver?”

  His deep, accented voice cut like a scimitar through the center of her body, and her heart kicked like a trapped rabbit against her rib cage. Eyes the color of candied limes fringed by thick black lashes questioned her further as his words hung unanswered for what seemed like minutes.

  She swallowed hard and pulled the edges of her bathrobe tighter across her chest. “Never heard of her.”

  His olive features set like concrete. “You are Erica Silver.”