suddenly began falling as she looked up, lingering in his arms.
Then Holly’s gaze fell on the lacy white snowflakes. With a joyous laugh, she dropped his hand, looking up with wonder at the gray lowering sky.
Without her warmth, Stavros again felt the winter chill beneath his tuxedo jacket. The world became a darker place, freezing him, reminding him he’d soon feel nothing at all. He stood very still, watching her. Then he lifted his face to the sky, wondering if this would be the last time he’d feel snowflakes on his skin.
If only he could have at least left a child behind. He suddenly wanted that so badly it hurt. If only he could have left some memory of his existence on earth.
But the women he knew were as ambitious and heartless as he was. He couldn’t leave an innocent child in their care. Children needed someone willing to put their needs above her own. He knew no woman like that. None at all.
Then he heard a laugh of pure delight, and Stavros looked down at Holly Marlowe’s beautiful, shining, tenderhearted eyes.
“Can you believe it?” Stretching her arms wide, laughing like a child, she whirled in a circle, holding out her tongue to taste the snowflakes. She looked like an angel. Her eyes danced as she cried, “It’s snowing at my sister’s wedding! On Christmas Eve!”
And all of the busy avenue, the tourists, the horse-drawn carriages, the taxis blaring Christmas music, faded into the background. Stavros saw only her.
THE GRAND TWO-STORY hotel ballroom was a winter wonderland, filled with white-and-silver Christmas trees twinkling like stars. Each of the twenty big round tables had centerpieces of red roses, deep scarlet against the white. It was even more beautiful than Holly had dreamed. A lump rose in her throat as she slowly looked around her.
She’d imagined a wedding reception like this long ago, as a lonely nineteen-year-old, cutting out photographs from magazines and putting them in an idea book each night while her little sister slept in the dark apartment. Holly had been alone, her friends all in college or partying in clubs.
Holly didn’t regret her choice to give up her college scholarship and come home. After their parents had died in the car accident on their anniversary, she’d known she couldn’t leave Nicole to foster care. But sometimes, she’d felt so trapped, chained by the responsibilities of love. She’d felt so lonely, without a partner, and with a teenaged sister who’d often shouted at Holly in her own grief and frustrated rage.
So to comfort herself, Holly had created the dream book. It had kept her company, until Nicole had left for college three years ago, and Holly had started working for Oliver.
In her romantic fantasy of long ago, she’d always imagined she’d be the bride in the white princess dress, dancing with an adoring groom. Now, as she watched Nicole and Oliver dance their first dance as husband and wife, surrounded by all their adoring friends, she told herself she’d never been so happy.
“They really do make a perfect couple.” Stavros’s low, husky voice spoke beside her. Somehow, his tone made the words less than complimentary.
“Yes,” Holly said, moving slightly to make sure they didn’t accidentally touch. When he’d helped her from the limo earlier, her whole body had trembled. It was totally ridiculous. She was sure Stavros Minos hadn’t felt anything. Why would he? While Holly, hours later, still felt burning hot, lit up from within, whenever the Greek billionaire drew close. Whenever he even looked at her. She had to get ahold of herself, if she was going to be his assistant!
What was wrong with her? Holly didn’t understand. How could she feel so—so aware of Stavros, when she was in love with Oliver?
She was, wasn’t she?
But she didn’t want to love Oliver anymore. It had done nothing but hurt her. And now he was her brother-in-law, it felt slimy and wrong. She wanted to reach inside her soul and turn off her feelings like a light—
“You arranged the reception, too, didn’t you?” Stavros said, looking at the Christmas fantasy around them.
She forced herself to smile. “I wanted my sister to have a dream wedding. I did my best.”
Stavros abruptly turned to look at the happy couple, dancing now in front of the largest white-flocked tree, decorated with white lights and silver stars. He took a long drink of the amber-colored liquid he’d gotten from the open bar. “You are a good person.”
Again, the words should have been a compliment, but they weren’t. Not the way he said them. She tried to read his expression, but his darkly handsome face was inscrutable. She shook her head. “You must hate all this.”
“This?”
“Being best man at a wedding.” Holly shrugged. “You’re the most famously commitment-phobic bachelor in the city.”
He took another deliberate drink. “Let’s just say love is something I’ve never had the good fortune to experience.”
More irony, she thought. Then his black eyes burned through her, reminding her he knew about her secret love for Oliver. Her cheeks burned.
Looking toward the beautiful bride and handsome groom slow-dancing in the center of the ballroom, the very picture of fairy-tale love, she mumbled, “You’re right. They do make a perfect couple.”
“Stop it,” he said sharply, as if he was personally annoyed.
“Stop what?”
“Take off the rose-colored glasses.”
Her mouth dropped. “What?”
“You’d have to be stupid to love Oliver. And whatever you are, Miss Marlowe, you’re not stupid.”
The conversation had taken a strangely personal turn. Her heart pounded. But there seemed no point in trying to lie. She’d never dared to give voice to her feelings before. She whispered, “How did you guess?”
He rolled his eyes. “You wear your heart on your face.” He paused. “I’m sure Oliver knows exactly how you feel.”
Horror went through her. “Oh, no—he couldn’t possibly—”
“Of course he knows,” Stavros said brutally. “How else could he have taken advantage of you all these years?”
“Advantage?” Astonished, she looked up at him. “Of me?”
He looked down at her seriously. “I have ten thousand employees around the world. And from what everyone tells me, you’re the hardest working one.”
“Mr. Minos—”
“Call me Stavros,” he ordered.
“Stavros.” She blushed. “I’m sure that’s not true. I go home at six every night—”
“Yes, home to do Oliver’s paperwork. Never asking for a raise, even though you were paying for your sister to go to college. Which, by the way, she could have gotten a job and paid for herself.”
Her blush deepened in confusion. “I take care of my sister because—because she’s my responsibility. I take care of Oliver because, because,” she continued, faltering, “I’m his employee. At least I was…”
“And because you’re in love with him.”
“Yes,” she whispered, her heart in her throat.
“And now he’s impulsively married your sister, and instead of being angry—” he motioned at the winter wonderland around them “—you arranged all this.”
“Except for this dress.” She looked down ruefully at the tight red dress, wishing she was dressed in that modest burgundy gown she’d selected. “Nicole picked it out. She said