# The Shy Bride

LUCY MONROE

Untouched – and bought for $100,000!Thrust into the limelight, child star Cassandra timidly enchanted audiences night after night… But when her parents died Cass retreated into her own world – too shy to leave her home. Once a year she shares her musical passion by offering lessons in a charity auction…This year money talks… The winning bid: $100,000! Enter Neo Stamos, arrogant Greek tycoon. He wants Cass with a burning desire, though he knows that, shy and sweet, she will need a gentle awakening… But Neo’s the master of seduction!Traditional Greek Husbands Notorious Greek tycoons seek brides!

## TRADITIONAL GREEK HUSBANDS

Notorious Greek tycoons seek brides!

Childhood friends Neo and Zephyr worked themselves up from the slums of Athens and made their millions on Wall Street!

They fought hard for their freedom and their fortune. Now, like brothers, they rely only on one another.

Together they hold onto their Greek traditions…and the time has come for them to claim their brides!

This month Neo’s story: THE SHY BRIDE

Next month meet Zephyr in: THE GREEK’S PREGNANT LOVER

Lucy Monroe started reading at the age of four. After going through the children’s books at home, she was caught by her mother reading adult novels pilfered from the higher shelves on the bookcase…Alas, it was nine years before she got her hands on a Mills & Boon® Romance her older sister had brought home. She loves to create the strong alpha males and independent women that people Mills & Boon books. When she’s not immersed in a romance novel (whether reading or writing it), she enjoys travel with her family, having tea with the neighbours, gardening, and visits from her numerous nieces and nephews.

Lucy loves to hear from her readers: e-mail LucyMonroe@LucyMonroe.com, or visit www.LucyMonroe.com

### The Shy Bride

by

### Lucy Monroe


www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Robin Hart, a wonderful friend and hypnotherapist, who has helped me tremendously through a very difficult time. Thank you!

## PROLOGUE

THE port of Seattle didn’t look so different from some of the hundreds of other ports Neo Stamos had been in since joining the crew of the cargo ship Hera at the age of fourteen. And yet it was unique from all the others because this is where his life changed. This is where he would walk off the Hera and never walk back onto it.

He and his friend Zephyr Nikos had had to lie about their ages to join the Hera‘s crew six years ago, but that had been a small price to pay in order to leave behind the life they’d known in Greece. Neo and Zephyr had been Athens street thugs that found a common desire—that of making something more of their lives than rising to the top ranks in their gang.

And they were going to do it, twenty-year-old Neo vowed as the sun broke the eastern horizon.

“You ready for the next step?” Zephyr asked in English.

Neo nodded, his gaze set on the port growing closer by the minute. “No more living in the streets.”

“We haven’t lived in the streets for six years.”

“True. Though some would not consider our bunks here on the Hera much of an improvement.”

“They are.”

Neo agreed, though he didn’t say so. Zephyr knew and shared his feelings. Anything was better than scavenging to eke out an existence that still required living by someone else’s rules. “But what is to come will be even better.”

“Yes. It may have taken six years, but we have the money to take the next step in our new lives.”

Six years of a hell of a lot of hard work and sacrifice. They had saved every drachma possible of their earnings. For two men who had grown up in an orphanage and then the streets when they ran away, that had been a lot. They knew how to come by clothes, books and other necessities through interesting if not necessarily legal methods. Not unless one considered underage gambling a stumbling block to legality.

When they were not working, or gambling to augment their meager salaries, they had been reading everything they could get their hands on about business and real estate development. Each had become an expert in a different aspect of the field, combining their superior brainpower rather than duplicating effort.

They now had a detailed plan to increase their assets through initially flipping houses and, eventually, full-scale, high-end real estate developments.

“Next it will be business tycoons Zephyr Nikos and Neo Stamos,” Zephyr said with conviction.

A slow, extremely rare smile curved Neo’s lips. “Before we are thirty.”

“Before we are thirty.” Zephyr’s voice was filled with the same determination Neo felt deep in his gut.

They would succeed.

Failure was not an option.

## CHAPTER ONE

“THIS is a joke, right?” Neo Stamos stared at the fancy certificate with the logo of a local charity fund-raiser on it.

His oldest and only real friend, not to mention business partner, Zephyr Nikos had to be kidding. He had to be. No way could the certificate be meant for Neo. He had to have gotten it for someone else and was using it to pull Neo’s chain before giving it to them.

“No joke. Happy thirty-fifth birthday, filos mou.” Unlike in the early years of their friendship when they had tried to speak only English to one another to improve their grasp of the language, they now spoke in Greek so they would not forget their native tongue.

“A friend would know better than to give me such a gift.”

“On the contrary, only a friend would know how appropriate, how needed this little present is.”

“Piano lessons?” A year’s worth. No damn way. “I don’t think so.”

Zephyr leaned against the edge of Neo’s handcrafted mahogany desk that had cost more than he had earned his first year of gainful employment. “Oh, I do think so. You lost the bet.”

Neo glared, knowing anything he said in repudiation would sound like whining rather than the rational argument it would be. As they had so often reminded each other over the years, a bet was a bet. And he should have known better than to make one with his shark of a friend.

Zephyr’s gaze reflected his knowledge of Neo’s quandary. “Think of it as a prescription.”

“Prescription for what? A way to waste an hour a week? I don’t have thirty minutes to waste, much less a full hour.” Neo shook his head. There was a reason all of his designer suits were purchased and tailored by an exclusive men’s dressing service, and it wasn’t because he liked to shout his billionaire status to the world.

It was because Neo Stamos did not have time to shop for himself.

“Unless you know about something I do not…” Like the cancellation of one of their property development projects going on worldwide. “There is no place in my schedule for piano lessons.”

Bet or no bet.

“There is definitely something going on you don’t know about, Neo. It’s called life and it’s going on all around you, but you’re so busy with our company, it’s passing you by.”

“Stamos and Nikos Enterprises is my life.”

Zephyr gave Neo a look of pity, as if the other man hadn’t worked just as hard to leave their shared history behind. “The company was supposed to be our way to a new life, not the only thing you lived for. Don’t you remember, Neo? We were going to be tycoons by thirty.”

“And we made it.” They’d made their first million within three years of stepping onto American soil. They’d been multimillionaires a few years later, and held assets in excess of a billion dollars by the time Neo was thirty. Now he and Zephyr were the primary shareholders in a multibillion-dollar company. Stamos & Nikos Enterprises didn’t simply bear his name; it consumed his waking and sleeping hours.

And he was just fine with that.

“You wanted to buy a big house, start a family, remember?” Zephyr asked in chiding tone.

“Things change.” Some dreams were mere childhood fancy and needed to be left behind. “I like my penthouse.”

Zephyr rolled his eyes. “That’s not the point, Neo.”

“What is the point? You think I need piano lessons?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Even if your GP had not issued you a warning at your latest physical, I would know something has to give in your life. Considering the stress you live under, it doesn’t take a doctor to know you are a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“I work out six days a week. My meals are planned by a top nutritionist. My housekeeper prepares them to exact specifications and I eat on a schedule more regular than you keep. My body is in top physical condition.”

“You sleep less than six hours a night and you do nothing that works as a pressure valve for the stress in your life.”

“What do you consider my workouts?”

“Another outlet for your highly competitive nature. You are always pushing yourself to do more.”

Zephyr should know. He was right there competing with Neo. So, the other man had started leaving the office closer to six than eight a couple of years ago. And maybe he’d taken up a hobby unrelated to real estate development or investments, but that didn’t mean his life was better than Neo’s. It was just a little different.

“There is nothing wrong with striving to achieve.”

“That is true.” Zephyr frowned. “When you have some measure of balance to your life. You, my friend, do not have a life.”

“I have a life.”

“You have more drive than any man I have ever met, but you do not balance it with the things that give life meaning.”

As if Zephyr had any room to talk.

“You think piano lessons will give my life meaning?” Maybe Zephyr was the one who needed a break. He was losing his grip on reality.

“No. I think they will give you a place to be Neo Stamos for one hour a week, not the Greek tycoon who could buy and sell most companies many times over, not to mention people.”

“I do not buy and sell people.”

“No, we buy property, develop it and sell it. And we are damn good at making a profit at it. Your insistence on diversifying our investments early on paid off, too, but when will it be enough?”

“I am satisfied with my life.”

“But you are never satisfied with your success.”

“And you are any different?”

Zephyr shrugged, his own tailored Italian suit jacket moving over his shoulders flawlessly. “We are talking about you.” He crossed his arms and stared Neo down. “When was the last time you made love to a woman, Neo?”

“We’re past the age of scoring and sharing, Zee.”

Zephyr cracked a smile. “I don’t want to hear about your conquests. And even if I did, you couldn’t tell me about this one because you’ve never done it.”

“What the hell? I have sex as often as I want it.”

“Sex, yes. But you have never made love.”

“What difference does it make?”

“You are afraid of intimacy.”

“How the blue bloody hell did we get from piano lessons to psychobabble? And when did you start spouting that garbage at all?”

Zephyr had the nerve to look offended. “I am simply pointing out that your life is too narrow in its scope. You need to broaden your horizons.”

“Now you sound like a travel commercial.” And a damn hypocritical one at that.

“I sound like a friend who doesn’t want you to die from a stress-related illness before your fortieth birthday, Neo.”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“Your GP didn’t just warn you at your physical? Gregor took me aside last month during our golf game and warned me that you are going to work yourself into an early grave.”

“I’ll have his license.”

“No, you won’t. He’s our friend.”

“He’s your friend. He’s my doctor.”

“That’s what I’m talking about, Neo. You’ve got no balance in your life. It’s all business with you.”

“What about you? If relationships are so necessary to a well-rounded life, why aren’t you in one?”

“I date, Neo. And before you claim you do, too, let us both acknowledge that taking a woman out for the express purpose of having sex with her, and no intention of seeing her again, is not a date. That is a hookup.”

“What century are you living in?”

“Believe me, I’m living in this one. And so are you, my friend. So, stop being an ass and accept my gift.”

“Just like that?”

“Would you rather welch on our bet?” There was no answer for that question Neo wanted to give. “I don’t want to take piano lessons.”

“You used to.”

“What used to? When?”

“When we were boys together on the streets of Athens.”

“I had many dreams as a boy that I learned to let go of.” Accumulating the kind of wealth currently at his disposal required constant, intense sacrifice and he’d gladly made each and every one.

In the process, he’d made something of himself. Something completely different from the deadbeat father who had taken off before Neo was two and the mother who preferred booze to babysitting.

“Says the man who worked his way off the Athens streets and onto Wall Street.”

“I live in Seattle.”

Zephyr shrugged. “The stock market is on Wall Street and we lay claim to a significant chunk of it.”

Neo could feel himself giving in, if for no other reason than not to disappoint the only person in the world he cared enough about to compromise for. “I will try it for two weeks.”

“Six months.”

“One month.”

“Five.”

“Two and that is my final offer.”

“I bought a full year’s worth, you’ll note.”

“And if I find benefit, I will use the lot.” Though he had absolutely no doubts about that happening. “Done.”

Cassandra Baker smoothed the skirt of her Liz Claiborne A-line dress in navy blue and white oversized checks for the second time in less than a minute. Just because she lived like a hermit in a cave sometimes, that didn’t mean she had to dress like one. Or so she told herself when ordering her new spring wardrobe online from her favorite department store.

Wearing stylish clothing, even if said outfits were rarely seen anywhere but her own home, was one of the small things she did to try to make herself feel normal.

It didn’t always work. But she tried.

She was supposed to be playing the piano. It relaxed her. Or so everyone insisted, and she even sometimes believed it. Only her slim fingers were motionless on the keyboard of her Fazioli grand piano.

Neo Stamos was due for his lessons in less than five minutes.

When she had offered the year’s worth of piano lessons to the charity fund-raising auction, as she did every year, she assumed she would get another student in her craft. A rising star seeking to work with an acknowledged if reclusive master pianist and New Age composer.

Cass unclipped, smoothed and then reclipped her long brown hair at the nape of her neck. Her hands dropped naturally back to the keyboard, but her fingers did not press down and no sound emitted from the beautiful instrument. She had been sure that just like in years past, the auction winner would be someone who shared her love of music. Hadn’t doubted that her next student might not share Cass’s adoration for the piano.

She’d had no reason to even speculate that a complete musical novice—a tycoon billionaire, no less—would be her student for the next year. It was worse than unbelievable; it was a personal nightmare for a woman who found it difficult enough to open her door to strangers.

Trying to circumvent that feeling, she’d spent an inordinate amount of time reading articles about him and studying publicity photos as well as the few candid shots of him she’d discovered on the Internet. None of that had helped.

If anything, her worry at the prospect of meeting him had increased. His publicity photos showed a man who looked like he rarely, if ever, listened to any sort of music at all. Why in the world would a man like that want to take piano lessons?

Apparently, he did, though. Because when the bids were well into the tens of thousands, Zephyr Nikos swooped in with an offer of one hundred thousand dollars. It boggled her mind—one hundred thousand dollars for one hour a week of Cass’s time. Even though the lessons lasted a year, the bid had been beyond extravagant.

The organizer of the fund-raiser had been ecstatic, keeping Cass on the phone long past her usual chat time with people she barely knew. The older woman had waxed poetic about how wonderful it was Mr. Nikos had bought the lessons for his lifelong friend and business partner, Neo Stamos.

And indeed it had been Mr. Stamos’s very efficient, and rather aloof, personal assistant who had called Cass to schedule the lesson. Cass had been tolerant because her own practice schedule was flexible and she had almost no social life to speak of.

Regardless, the 10:00 a.m. Tuesday morning classes were hardly a challenge to her schedule. Though Mr. Stamos’s PA made it sound like he would be sacrificing something akin to his firstborn child to be there.

Having no idea why a fabulously wealthy, far too good-looking, clearly driven and supremely busy businessman would want the lessons, Cass was even more nervous than usual at the thought of meeting a new student for the first time. In fact, Cass hadn’t felt this level of anxiety since the last time she had performed publicly.

She’d been telling herself all morning, she was being ridiculous. It hadn’t helped.

The doorbell rang, startling her into immobility, even though she’d been expecting it. Her heart beat a rapid tattoo in her chest, her lungs panting little, short breaths. She turned on the bench, but did not stand to her rather average height of five feet six inches.

She needed to. She needed to answer the door. To meet her new student.

The bell pealed a second time, the impatient summons thankfully breaking her paralysis. She jumped to her feet and hurried to answer it even as worried questions that had been plaguing her since discovering the identity of her new student once again raced through her mind.

Would Neo Stamos himself be standing there, or his PA? Or maybe a bodyguard, or chauffeur? Did billionaires talk to their piano teachers, or keep underlings around to do that for them? Would she be expected to teach with others in the room? If he had them, where would his bodyguards and chauffeur wait during the lesson? Or his PA?

The thought of several people she did not know converging on her home made Cass feel like hyperventilating. She was proud of herself for continuing down the narrow hall to the front door of her modest house.

Maybe he was alone. If he’d driven himself, that opened another host of worries. Would he feel comfortable parking his expensive car in her all too normal neighborhood in west Seattle? Should she offer the use of her empty garage?

The bell rang a third time just as she swung the door open. Mr. Stamos, who looked even more imposing than he did in his publicity photos, did not appear in the least embarrassed to be caught impatiently ringing it again.

“Miss Cassandra Baker?” Green eyes, the rich color of summer leaves, set in a face almost overwhelmingly attractive in person, stared at her expectantly.

She tilted her head back to meet the dark-haired tycoon’s gaze. “Yes.” Then she forced herself to make the offer she would have to any other student. “You may call me Cass.”

“You look like a Cassandra, not a Cass.” His voice was deep, thrumming through her like a perfectly struck chord.

“Cass is what my protégés call me.” Although referring to this man as a protégé struck her as decidedly off.

As if he found the term as incongruous as she, his perfectly formed lips quirked at one side. Though it could not be called a true smile by any stretch. “I will call you Cassandra.”

She stared at him, uncertain how to take his arrogance. He didn’t appear to mean anything by it. His expression said he believed it was simply his prerogative to call her by the name he felt suited her, rather than the one she used with the few people she had regular, ongoing communications.

“I believe it will be easier to start the lesson if you let me inside.” His voice was tinged with impatience, but he did not frown.

Nevertheless, he made her feel gauche and lacking in manners. “Of course, I…did you want to park your car in the garage?”

He didn’t even bother to glance over his Armani-clad shoulder at the sleek Mercedes resting in her driveway before shaking his head, a single economical movement to each side. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay, then. Let’s go inside.” She turned and led the way to the piano room.

It had been the back parlor when the house was first built in the late nineteenth century. Now it served beautifully to house her Fazioli and practically nothing else. There was a single oversized Queen Anne-style armchair for the use of her rare guests, with a tiny round side table, but no other furniture cluttered the room.

She indicated the wide, smooth piano bench, the same exact finish as the Fazioli. “Have a seat.”

He did as she suggested, looking much more relaxed in front of the piano than she would have in his high-rise office.

A few inches over six feet, he was tall for the bench, and yet he did not look awkward there.

His body did not have the lithe grace or, conversely, the extra weight around the middle of most male pianists she knew, but was well-honed and very muscular. His hands were strong, with long but squared fingers bearing the wrong calluses for a pianist or a billionaire, if she were to guess it. His suit was more appropriate for a boardroom than her music room, and yet he did not look ill at ease in the least.

Perhaps the sable-haired, superrich Adonis simply did not have the awkward gene like normal people.

“Can I get you anything to drink before we begin?”

“We have already spent several minutes of the hour allotted for this lesson, perhaps you would find it more efficient to dispense with the pleasantries.”

“I do not mind going a few minutes over so you get your full lesson,” she said, feeling guilty but equally certain she had nothing to be guilty for.

“I do.”

“I see.” Strangely enough, his abrupt manner was easing some of her anxiety.

Or was that simply because he had not brought the entourage she had feared? Regardless, she was finding the new situation much less excruciating than she had anticipated. Her gratitude over that fact made her want to be accommodating.

So, no pleasantries then. “Perhaps next week, you should forego ringing the bell and simply come inside,” she offered.

His far too compelling green gaze narrowed. “You do not lock your door?” He didn’t wait for her to answer before informing her, “I flipped the dead bolt when I closed it.”

No doubt a man in his position would find it second nature to double-lock a door behind him. “I’m surprised you don’t have bodyguards that have vetted the house.”

Really, really surprised.

“I do have security but I do not live a sitcom cop show. You were thoroughly vetted before my PA called to schedule the lessons.” He gave her slight frame a cursory perusal. “And you hardly pose a personal threat to me.”

“I see.” Vague discomfort at the fact she had been investigated settled in her stomach.

“It was not personal.”

“Just necessary.” As had been her research of him on the Internet.

Although, she suspected the background check done on her had been far more invasive. No doubt, he knew her history. He was aware of what her manager termed her idiosyncrasies. And yet, he did not treat her like a freak.

“Exactly.” He looked pointedly at his watch. Not a Rolex.

She found that interesting, but didn’t comment on it. He’d made it very clear he was there for a piano lesson, not conversation. Again, his brusque approach was unexpectedly comforting.

The remainder of the hour went by surprisingly quickly.

Despite an entirely different sort of tension the tycoon elicited in Cass.

Neo did not understand the sense of anticipation he felt Tuesday morning when he woke and realized his second piano lesson would be today.

Cassandra Baker was exactly as the background check on her had implied she would be. Rather quiet, clearly uncomfortable with strangers and yet something about her charmed him. There were far more important events on his agenda, but his second meeting with the world-renowned pianist who refused to perform publicly was the first one that came to his mind.

Neo could not believe how much he had enjoyed his time with Cassandra Baker.

She was no beauty with her mousy brown hair, light freckles and slight build, and she was not the usual type of woman he found entertaining. More the average “girl next door” and he would readily admit he met few of those in his current lifestyle. And he would not have met her without Zephyr’s intervention.

Zee was also the person to introduce Neo to Cassandra’s music. His partner had given him her CDs for his birthday and Christmas. Neo started out listening to them when working out on the weight machines, then he would play them sometimes when he was working on the computer. Eventually, it got to where he had Cassandra’s music playing pretty much anytime he was home.

He didn’t concentrate on who the artist was, just played the music off his MP3 player. He hadn’t even recognized her name on the gift certificate for his lessons. Not until the preliminary background report on her came in. That was the first time he realized she composed most of the music he found so pleasing as well.

And he wasn’t the only one—Cassandra Baker was a top-selling New Age artist. He would not have expected such a popular musician to be so unassuming. Yet she made no effort to allude to her undeniable talent or fame, further cementing her girl-next-door qualities.

Although undeniably average, her amber eyes were somewhat stunning though, their open and honest expression captivated him and the color was undeniably unique in a way the colored contacts so popular among the artificial beauties he “hooked up” with—Zephyr even had Neo thinking in those terms now—could never be.

Although she wasn’t a beauty, Cassandra was intriguing and vulnerable. There was just something about the reclusive pianist he liked. Perhaps it was simply knowing that she made the music that he enjoyed so much.

Whatever the reason, he looked forward to getting to know her better. And when was the last time he had allowed himself the luxury of something so personal not related to sex?

When he arrived at her house, four hours later, he discovered her door on the latch just as she had said it would be. The evidence of her lax security bothered him, but even more worrisome was the sound of music floating down the hall. She couldn’t possibly know that he had come inside.

He was frowning when he entered the room she had led him to the week before.

She looked up from the piano, her fingers going still above the keys. “Good morning, Neo.”

“Your door was unlocked.”

“I told you it would be.”

“That is not safe.”

“I thought you would appreciate the expediency of getting right to your lesson.”

Without waiting for her to offer, he took a seat beside her on the piano bench. “You could not hear me arrive.”

“I did not need to. You knew where to come.”

“That is not the point.”

“Isn’t it?” She looked at him as if she truly did not understand his problem. “No.”

“All right. Shall we start where we left off last week?”

Neo was not accustomed to being dismissed, in any form. Yet, rather than get angry, he couldn’t help admiring the fact the shy woman had so adroitly shifted focus to the reason he was there.

Which was not to lecture her about her habit of leaving the door on the latch, he reminded himself.

He enjoyed Cassandra’s soft voice as she guided him through the day’s lesson. Her passion for her craft was apparent in every word she spoke and the very way she touched the piano they played. A man would give a great deal to be touched by a lover with such intense dedication.

And his thinking no doubt explained the inexplicable arousal he experienced during something as innocent as piano lessons.

## CHAPTER TWO

CASSANDRA covered her mouth as she yawned for the third time in ten minutes. She hadn’t slept well the night before each one of Neo’s lessons since the first one five weeks ago. In the beginning, it had been her usual anxiety from inviting someone new into her life, even if it was only for an hour a week.

But anxiety had slowly and strangely morphed into anticipation. And she didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if Neo went out of his way to be friendly. He could not be mistaken for anything but a driven businessman, but she found herself truly enjoying his company. He took his lessons seriously, though it was obvious he did not practice between times.

His manner could best be described as abrupt, often arrogant. Strangely enough, she discovered a peace in his presence she did not experience with anyone else. She tried to analyze it, but couldn’t come up with a reason for finding his company so pleasurable.

He’d become less adamant about what she had at first considered the “no pleasantries” rule. He did not complain when she went off on a tangent, discussing her favorite thing—music. He even asked intelligent questions that exhibited both a surprising interest and understanding.

So, she didn’t feel too worried bringing up something that had been nagging at her since first meeting him. “You drive a Mercedes.”

“Yes.” It was clearly an invitation to continue as he played the chords she had just shown him.

“Well, you aren’t wearing a Rolex, but you are wearing a custom-tailored designer suit.”

“You are observant,” he said with that little twitch of his lips she’d come to crave in some strange way.

“I suppose.”

“But I do not see the point.” He gave her a questioning look as his hands stilled on the keys.

“I would have expected you to drive a Ferrari, or something.”

“Ah, I see.” He smiled.

Really smiled.

And everything inside Cass flipped.

Like kapow to her midsection. This was not good. She’d never had a reaction like this to a student, or to anyone for that matter. But, seriously? His smile should come with a warning label. Something like: One glimpse is fatal!

“Few people are open enough to admit when they notice what they consider the inconsistencies of the wealthy man.”

“I don’t do subterfuge well.” She hated social situations to begin with, adding deception to the mix only complicated things to the point of horror for her.

The smile turned into a full-out grin. “That is good to know.”

“Is it?” If she’d thought she’d been in danger before, now was absolute Armageddon.

“Yes. Back to your question. It was a question, was it not?” He spoke with a slight Greek accent she found entirely too delicious.

She needed to get out more. Yeah. Right. That was so going to happen. She bit back a sigh. Not. Not going to happen and no matter how lovely she found his accent, it hardly mattered, did it?

It had surprised her at first, but then she’d decided it was to be expected. The information she had found about him online indicated he had left Greece as a young man. However, one article she read said that he spoke Greek with his business partner and had done several property developments in his country of origin over the years.

“Probably a nosy question, but yes,” she finally answered.

“I do not mind your kind of nosy. The paparazzi demanding to know the name and measurements for my latest girlfriend is another thing entirely.”

Heat suffused her neck and cheeks. “Yes, well, I can guarantee you I won’t be asking those sorts of questions.”

“No, your curiosity is much more innocent.” Which seemed to please him. Odd.

She certainly didn’t find her own innocence all that pleasing.

“To answer it, a man does not amass great wealth in a single lifetime by spending his money frivolously. My clothing is necessary to present a certain façade for our investors and buyers. My watch is rated as technically accurate and as sound as a Rolex, but only cost a few hundred rather than several thousand. My car is expensive enough to impress, but not ridiculously so for something that amounts to nothing more than a piece of equipment to get me from Point A to Point B.”

“Unlike many men, your car is not one of your toys.”

“I stopped playing with toys years before I left the orphanage I never called home.”

She’d read that he had lived in an orphanage before leaving Athens. For all that his publicity people allowed the world to know, there was a cloak of mystery around his growing-up years.

Which was something she could understand. While her official biography for publicity purposes revealed that both her parents were dead, it said nothing about her mother’s protracted illness. Nor did it mention years spent in a house shrouded in silence and steeped in fear of losing the person both she and her father had loved above all others.

Her father’s death as the result of an unexpected, massive heart attack had made the headlines at the time. Mostly because it had heralded the end of rising star Cassandra Baker’s public performances. Her withdrawal into seclusion had garnered more press than a good, if sometimes misguided, man’s death.

“Some men try to make up for losing their childhood by having a second one.”

“I am too busy.”

“Yes, you are.”

“You did not have a childhood, either.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

Like it didn’t really matter. And hadn’t she decided a long time ago, that it didn’t? The past could not be changed.

“Why piano lessons?” she asked Neo, wanting to talk about anything but her dismal formative years.

“I lost a bet.”

“To your business partner?” That made more sense than anything she had been able to come up with on her own.

His brows quirked at her description of Zephyr Nikos. “Yes.”

“If what you say is true, I wonder how he is rated as being as wealthy as you?”

“Meaning?”

“He spent one hundred thousand dollars on piano lessons you don’t want. That sounds very frivolous to me.”

“I do want the lessons.” Neo looked as if he’d shocked himself with the assertion.

“That’s surprising.”

“When I was a youth, I wanted to learn piano. There was no chance then. Now, my time is in even shorter supply than money was to my younger self.”

“And yet you make the time for these lessons.” She could not imagine her own childhood without her piano to take away some of the pain.

“Zephyr does not consider the investment frivolous. He believes I need something besides work to occupy my time.”

“For at least one hour a week.” Though sixty out of the ten thousand and eighty minutes found in a week didn’t sound like much of a relaxing distraction to Cass.

“Precisely.”

“Still, he could have gotten you lessons with someone who teaches for a living at a much reduced rate.”

“Zephyr and I believe in hiring the best people for the job. You are a master pianist.”

“So I have been told.” Many, many times since she was discovered as a child musical prodigy at the age of three.

“It is your turn to answer a question for me.”

“If you like.” And if she could. She braced herself for the question most people asked, and the one for which she did not have an answer anyone had found satisfying thus far.

“Why do you give lessons to the charity auction every year when you are a career composer and pianist, not actually a teacher?”

For a moment, she was so stunned he had not asked what everyone else did—why she had stopped performing publicly—that she was stumped for an answer. Finally, her brain caught up with his curiosity and she said, “Many up-and-coming pianists want to study with me. This is the one chance they have to do so.”

“Why present the opportunity at all?”

“Because as much as I prefer a quiet life, one without any new people in it at all can get lonely. And I don’t want to be that person. The woman who lives her life as a hermit.” Even though in many ways that was exactly what she did.

“Were you disappointed to discover your lessons had been bought by a novice?”

“No, more nervous. Terrified really.” She gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I was so dismayed, I begged my manager to get me out of it.”

“He did not approach Zephyr, or myself to cancel the lessons.”

“No.”

Neo’s eyes narrowed, but she wasn’t sure what was making him look less than pleased. “Why were you so frightened? Even with your condition, you had done this before.”

“Not for a successful billionaire.”

“I am just like any other man.”

It was her turn to frown, unhappy with his false assertion. “For a man who appreciates a lack of deception in others, that lie slid off your tongue rather easily. No way do you believe you are like every other man.”

That almost smile touched his features again. “You are more observant than even I gave you credit for being.”

“You aren’t self-delusional and you aren’t like any other man, therefore you could not believe it.”

He shrugged. “Few men have the single-minded determination to achieve what Zephyr and I have done.”

“And now Zephyr is worried you’re too single-minded?”

“I made the mistake of sharing some concerns my doctor voiced on my last physical. Gregor, who is Zephyr’s friend as well as my doctor, reiterated those concerns to him.”

“The concerns shocked you, didn’t they?” she asked, certain she knew the answer and a little surprised at herself for being willing to banter like this.

“How do you know that?”

“You strike me as a man who keeps himself in optimum physical condition as part of maintaining your position at the zenith of personal success. It would astound you that there was some element you had not accounted for.”

“I thought you were a pianist, not a psychiatrist.”

This, at least, she could explain. “It is easier to watch other people than to interact with them. It naturally follows that someone with my curiosity would try to figure out what makes them tick.”

“You are uncannily accurate.”

“Thank you for admitting it. I like honesty, too.”

“That is something important we have in common.”

She shifted beside him on the piano bench, trying to ignore the instant and growing reaction she’d had to his nearness since the first lesson.

“Yes. The other thing is that we both want you to learn piano. Let’s get back to it.”

Cass had no frame of reference for her response to Neo.

Which was probably why, at twenty-nine she had absolutely no experience in the bedroom. She’d had no time for dating when she was doing concert tours and she’d been doing them since childhood. After stopping public performance, she did not put herself in situations she might meet potential dates. All of which left her in the unenviable situation of being twenty-nine years old and never having been kissed with romantic intent.

And certainly she had never—not once before meeting Neo Stamos—felt this constriction deep in her belly. She’d read about arousal, but never experienced it. Which she knew made her a freak in the eyes of most of the world. But she wasn’t just a virgin, she was wholly innocent and unsure how or if she ever wanted to risk changing that state.

When her nipples tightened into almost painful points, she had to bite her lip to keep a gasp from slipping past her lips. And this happened each and every time she sat beside Neo on the piano bench. Sometimes, even without him being there. The memory of their one hour together a week was enough to bring forth her first taste of physical passion.

Alien excitement thrummed through her now, making her thighs quiver and her heart rate increase beyond what even anxiety at meeting a new person produced.

This would never do. She had to get hold of her reactions before she made an absolute fool of herself, but so far telling herself that truth did nothing to diminish this…this…this ardor she felt for her student.

She tried to do what she had always done when life got too uncomfortable—concentrate on her music. It didn’t always work. Nevertheless, fitting her fingers over the keys, she forced herself to show Neo the newest pattern she wanted him to learn.

“The sound of you playing on this instrument is phenomenal.” Neo’s deep, approving tones exacerbated each one of the reactions sparking through her.

Cass suppressed a telling shiver. “You should hear it really played.”

“One day, perhaps I will.”

“Perhaps.” Though an invitation to sit in the only chair in the room and listen to her play was one she offered so rarely, even her pushy manager had stopped asking her to make exceptions. “Now you try it.”

He stumbled at first, until she laid her fingers over his and led him through it. Which was disastrous for her equilibrium, but pretty efficient in terms of teaching him finger position. By the time his watch alarm went off, he was doing a passable job and she was a quivering mass of nerves hiding beneath her master pianist exterior.

Not so very different from the days when she performed live.

“There are exercises you can do to make your fingers more limber,” she told him without looking up. “I suppose suggesting you practice between lessons would be a waste of my breath.”

He shrugged. “I am enjoying myself more than I expected to.”

“I’m glad.” She smiled. “Music is a balm for your soul.”

“It can be.”

They shared a moment of silent agreement.

He got up from the bench and took a quick glance at his watch with one efficient move of his wrist. “I make no promises about how much practicing I will do, but I will have a piano delivered to my penthouse. My personal assistant will call you for a recommendation.”

Neo’s personal assistant called, but it wasn’t to ask for a purchasing recommendation. It was to cancel Neo’s next lesson. He would be out of Seattle the following week.

“Please do not mention this to anyone. Mr. Stamos’s whereabouts could cause speculation that might adversely affect his current business negotiations.” The woman’s tone made it clear that if it had been left up to her, she would have cancelled the meeting without giving an explanation.

Apparently, Neo had felt otherwise. That knowledge made Cass smile, though she promised to be circumspect in perfectly somber tones.

Unfortunately for her, the fact that Neo was out of the city had not made it to the attention of the media, but his weekly visits to her home had.

She woke up Tuesday morning to the sound of car doors slamming and people talking in strident tones outside her home. She rushed to the bedroom that overlooked the street and peeked out through the privacy curtain.

Three media vans and a couple of cars were parked in front of her home. Someone rang the doorbell even as her eyes took in the spectacle before her.

The doorbell continued to ring as she rushed back to her bedroom to dress. She would just ignore them. She didn’t have to answer. She wasn’t a public person any longer. The media had no call on her time or her person.

Nevertheless, she skipped her morning shower and pulled her clothes on with haste. Someone banged on the French doors to her bedroom and Cass screamed. Her brain told her it was nothing more than an enterprising reporter who had climbed up to the deck off her bedroom, but familiar panic threatened to immobilize her.

She grabbed the phone off her nightstand and dialed her manager. When she told Bob in short staccato bursts what was going on, he told her to calm down. That this kind of media attention was good for CD sales.

Cass didn’t bother to argue. She was trying too hard not to heave from the stress. She hung up and dialed Neo’s office, each insistent pound on the glass doors leading to her bedroom making her body flinch.

Her call went to voice mail and she couldn’t remember what she said in the message, just that she left one.

She went into the bathroom, shut the door, locked it and prayed for the media to leave.

She was still there, curled up in a ball between the old-fashioned clawfoot tub and the wall, when someone knocked on the bathroom door itself. “Cassandra! Are you in there? Open the door, pethi mou. It is Neo.”

Neo was out of the city. His personal assistant had said so. She shook her head at the door, another layer of perspiration coming over her already clammy skin.

The knob rattled. “Cassandra, open the door.”

The voice sounded like Neo, but she could not accept that he was there. She hated being like this. Didn’t want anyone else to know how bad it got, but the rational part of her mind told her to open the door.

The next knock was almost gentle and so was Neo’s tone. “Please, little one, open the door.”

She forced cramped muscles to work and stood. “I’m…I’m coming,” she croaked.

He said something forceful in Greek and then, “Good. Thank you. Open the door.”

She reached out and unlocked the door, then pulled it open.

The man standing there did not look like Neo’s usual imperturbable self. He wasn’t wearing his suit jacket and his expression was nothing less than grim.

She wiped at her face with the back of her hand. “I…they…someone leaked your Tuesday lessons to the media.”

“Yes.”

“I thought they might come inside.”

“It is a good thing they did not.”

She nodded, in total agreement.

“You look like you could use a hot shower. I will make you some tea.”

“I…yes, that’s a good idea.” She looked around herself at the bathroom, at Neo, and her gaze skimmed the mirror then went screeching back to it.

She looked like a wreck. She hadn’t brushed her hair since waking, her eyes looked haunted, her skin was pale and there were perspiration stains on her shirt. She needed more than a shower. She needed a complete transformation.

But she would have to settle for copious amounts of hot water and the promise of tea.

“Are you all right to be left alone?” Neo asked.

“Yes.” Absolutely mortified by her own behavior, she wouldn’t have asked him to stay even if it meant losing her piano.

She didn’t wonder how he’d gotten into the house until after a twenty-minute shower under very hot water. Mulling the question over, she dried her hair as best she could with a towel. She wasn’t going to get an answer until she went downstairs, so she donned fresh clothes and made her way to the kitchen.

Neo was waiting for her in the otherwise empty room. He indicated a mug of still steaming tea on the table. “Drink up.”

She sat down and took a sip, almost choking on the sweetness. “How much sugar did you use?”

“Enough.”

“For a sugaraholic maybe.”

“Sweet tea is good for shock.”

“You say that like you know.”

“I called my PA, had her look it up.”

Cass laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I bet she enjoyed that.”

Neo shrugged.

“How did you get in the house?” she asked.

“Bob let me in.”

“He has a key.”

“Apparently.”

“I remember him coming,” she admitted. She’d refused to answer when Bob knocked on the bathroom door, sure her manager would try to talk her into giving interviews.

“Only one media van remained when I arrived.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You left a message on my voice mail.”

“I thought you were out of the city.”

“I was.”

He’d come back. To help her? She had a hard time believing that, but she was glad he was there anyway. She glanced at the clock on the microwave and realized it was already early evening.

She’d spent more than eight hours in her bathroom. No wonder she’d been so cramped when she’d finally stood up. “I feel like an idiot.”

“No.”

“No?”

“You are no idiot.”

She made a sound of disagreement and took another sip of the overly sweet tea.

He sat down across from her. “You have debilitating anxiety related to performing in public.”

“Yes, but no one was asking me to perform today.”

“Weren’t they? Isn’t that what the paparazzi do every time they insert themselves into our lives? They demand we perform for them and their audience with a prurient interest in the latest gossip.”

“Do you think Bob leaked word of your lessons to the media?” Although she couldn’t imagine the furor of this morning caused by piano lessons.

Neo grabbed a tabloid from the counter behind him and placed it in front of her on the table. It had a picture taken through a telephoto lens of Neo entering her house. “They think you’re something far more interesting than my piano teacher. They believe you are my latest lover.”

She shuddered, not at the thought of being his lover, but at the prospect of being hounded by the media because of the mistaken impression.

“The fact that I kept our relationship secret has given rise to wild speculation and the discovery of your identity only intensified interest.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you cancelled your lesson for today, or you might have walked right into it all.”

He shook his head. “I apologize for what happened. My press manager has released details of the lessons, but I’m afraid at this point there has already been so much conjecture, interest may take some time to wane.”

“It’s all right. I overreacted.”

“Most people would be overwhelmed by a pack of paparazzi on their front step.”

“And my back deck.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone climbed the deck and tried to get me to open the French doors to my bedroom.”

Fury suffused Neo’s features. “That is unacceptable.”

“I agree. It was really frightening.” But the worst part was that she no longer knew what was normal fear, and what was the result of her abnormal phobia of crowds and public performance.

“That is understandable.”

“I don’t suppose you want a lesson as long as you are here.”

He smiled. “Perhaps, after you have eaten.”

Her stomach growled, right then, reminding her that she had not put anything in it since last night. “I’ll just have some toast.”

But that was unacceptable. He insisted on having one of his bodyguards deliver take-out. When the meal arrived, she surprised herself by being able to eat.

“Your manager wanted to stay and talk to you, but I insisted he leave,” Neo said as they were finishing up.

“Thank you. He probably wanted me to do an interview.”

“I got that impression.” And Neo did not appear impressed by it.

“He told me the publicity would help CD sales.”

“When?”

“I called him, before calling your office.” She took a sip of the wine that had arrived with the meal. “I’m not sure why I called your office, now that I think about it. I wasn’t exactly thinking rationally.”

“I am glad you did. Clearly I am the reason for the problem. I should effect the solution.”

“I think, Neo Stamos, that you are a good man.”

He looked absolutely stunned by her words, but quickly masked his shock. “I take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one.”

They didn’t end up having a lesson that evening, but Neo stayed until nine, when the wine and the release of adrenaline caught up with Cass and she began yawning every other minute.

“You need your rest.”

“I do.” She laughed softly. “I’m exhausted, though I shouldn’t be.”

“Of course you should. Sleep.”

“I will.”

She thought he was going to kiss her when she let him out the front door, but he only squeezed her shoulder and told her again to get some rest.

She shook her head at her own foolishness. Why would a man like Neo Stamos want to kiss her? Cass wasn’t in his league in any shape or form. And then there were her “issues.”

She wasn’t housebound. She could buy food on her own without getting overly stressed as long as she went to the local grocer she’d been going to since she was a child. Although she did most of her other shopping online, she could go to familiar department stores, if she really needed to. She had overcome most of her anxiety related to recording at the studio, so long as the technicians and music producer did not change. And her manager didn’t bring anyone in to watch her record.

Bob had stopped doing that after the last time she’d simply refused to play and gone home.

But today proved that she wasn’t approaching normal, either. Her agoraphobia was mostly limited to performing, but the prospect of having strangers in her home, her sanctuary, always engendered deep anxiety in her. The barrage of media outside her home had brought back debilitating memories.

She had no idea how long she would have remained in her en suite bathroom if Neo had not shown up. Certainly, knowing Bob was there earlier had only increased her stress levels, knowing as she did how he would want to capitalize on the situation.

She really didn’t understand why Neo’s presence had made such a difference, but she was unutterably grateful it had.

## CHAPTER THREE

THE following morning, Cass was working on a piece she planned to cut onto her next CD when the doorbell rang. She ignored it. There had been no media vans outside her home this morning and Neo had released a statement that should set most wagging tongues at rest. But that didn’t mean an enterprising reporter would not come back looking for a quote from “the recluse pianist.”

Even after learning the truth, there would be some who insisted on believing the billionaire and Cass had some sort of relationship. After all, that made better news copy than the fact he was taking piano lessons.

Besides, it wasn’t completely out of the norm for her to get the occasional door-to-door salesman, despite her No Solicitors sign right above the doorbell.

She felt no compunction about ignoring visitors who paid no attention to her clearly stated wishes. And she definitely did not want to talk to a reporter, no matter how much her manager Bob, might wish otherwise. She was feeling a lot calmer today than she might have expected, but Neo’s company the night before had helped settle her in a way even her father had been unable to do after a performance.

She’d felt safe when he was there and had trusted him to do his best to right the media mess.

The doorbell rang again, but her friends and business acquaintances knew to call first, so she continued to pay it no heed.

Then the phone rang.

She sighed with frustration, but got up. This piece was never going to gel with this kind of interruption. She grabbed the phone and answered it. “Hello?”

“Miss Baker?”

“Yes.” What was Neo’s PA doing calling her? Oh, right. “You’re calling for the piano recommendation.”

“Actually, no.”

“No?” Disappointment filled her. “Does Mr. Stamos need to cancel his lesson for next week as well?” she asked.

Had he decided to stop them all together? She wouldn’t blame him after yesterday.

“No.”

“Oh.” Maybe she should just wait until the other woman came to the point. Guessing games got annoying when they didn’t bear immediate fruit. And she didn’t like the answers her own brain was supplying so far.

So, Cass waited in silence for the PA to do just that.

The other woman cleared her throat. “Mr. Stamos asked me to schedule a locksmith to come out and fix the handle on your front door and add an additional lock to a set of French doors on your upper floor. The locksmith is there, but apparently your doorbell is not working properly.”

“It’s working just fine.”

“The locksmith rang it. Twice.”

“I do not answer my door when I am not expecting company.” Cass did not make any further explanation. She’d learned a long time ago that trying to explain her idiosyncrasies only made matters worse.

Particularly with people like the cold-fish personal assistant employed by Neo Stamos.

“If you do not answer your door, the locksmith cannot fix the door handle problem.”

“What problem is that exactly?” She hadn’t noticed any trouble with her door handle sticking, though she was willing to entertain the possibility Neo had spotted something she missed when he had been there.

“Mr. Stamos left instructions for it to be replaced by a self-locking model.”

“Mr. Stamos left instructions with you about my door?” she asked, stunned. “Without informing me?”

She knew he didn’t like her practice of leaving the door on the latch when she was expecting company. It was part of her mental preparation for visitors—reminding herself she needed to be open to other people, at least in some limited capacity.

He complained about it every week, but did he really expect her to replace the handle because of it? Surely he realized she wasn’t going to leave the door unlocked right now. Not with the paparazzi entirely too interested in her and Neo’s association.

“I really can’t speak to whether or not he informed you. I only know my instructions.”

“You expect me to allow a perfect stranger into my home to replace my door handle, on your boss’s say-so. When I did not request, much less authorize this upgrade?” She used the word for lack of something better, though Cass wasn’t convinced it was any such thing.

The personal assistant’s silence said that was exactly what she expected.

She’d thought Neo understood. At least a little. Apparently she’d been wrong. “No.”

“No? But Mr. Stamos—”

Cass felt no compunction in interrupting the officious woman. “Please call your locksmith and cancel the order. Right now.”

“I can’t possibly. Mr. Stamos—”

“Does not own this property. And, I, the owner,” she added, her anxiety creeping through, “have no intention of replacing my perfectly functioning door handle.”

“Mr. Stamos will not be happy about this,” the PA warned ominously.

“I’m sure Mr. Stamos has many other things of much more importance for him to concern himself with.”

“No doubt, but he left instructions.”

One thing that could be said for Neo, he engendered loyalty and commitment to follow through from his employees.

“He should have run those instructions by me,” Cass said with little sympathy. She wasn’t one of Neo’s employees. And if he had done so, she could have assured him she wouldn’t be leaving the door unlocked for the foreseeable future.

“Mr. Stamos is not in the habit of asking the opinions of others.”

“Really? I never would have guessed,” Cass replied just a tad sarcastically. Then she winced at her own behavior. She knew Neo was just trying to make things better. He’d simply gone about it the wrong way. Because no matter how she might wish otherwise, he did not understand. “Cancel the locksmith.”

An unmistakable huff of annoyance sounded over the line. “I will inform the locksmith his services are not required at present. Mr. Stamos will be made aware the delay is at your demand.” The frigid tones of the personal assistant should have frozen the phone lines.

“You do that. You can further inform your boss that if my practice session is interrupted by the locksmith, or any of his other employees, he will spend his next lesson listening to me prepare my own music rather than teaching him his.”

The silence that met her words actually brought half a smile to Cass’s face. It was an empty threat, but it had felt good saying it. Would Neo see the humor in it, or would he lack understanding of that, too?

“I shall pass on your message verbatim,” the other woman finally said.

“Thank you.”

Neo was furious with himself. He should have called Cassandra and warned her about the locksmith, even gotten that annoying manager of hers to be there to supervise the changing of the locks. Instead, he’d left instructions with his PA as he always did and this was the result.

He had to smile at Cassandra’s threat however. Getting a private concert from the superbly talented pianist would hardly be a hardship. Regardless, he felt badly. Which was a completely uncommon reaction for him. So was the acknowledgement that he had messed up. Both of which were the reasons he was calling Cassandra on his personal cell phone, in the middle of a corporate conference call with the project team in Hong Kong.