The Kiss She Claimed from the Greek

  Dear Reader,

  I was thrilled to take part in this month’s series of fairy tale–inspired romances. I have adored fairy tales ever since I was tiny and first read the classic Ladybird versions with their iconic illustrations. I was obsessed with Cinderella’s gowns! Then as I grew up, I discovered the slightly darker, edgier and original versions written by the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen, and fell in love with them all over again.

  Fairy tales serve a purpose in telling so much more than a simple story about a poor girl locked in a tower by a wicked witch, or a princess who has to prove she’s really a princess by feeling a pea through dozens of mattresses. They tell of dark things and morally ambiguous tricksters who would harm you unless you can save yourself or be saved by a handsome prince. But we all know that it’s really the princess who saves the prince in the end, don’t we?

  They’re the origin of the happy-ever-after. The assurance that no matter what, good prevails and you will find happiness.

  I hope you enjoy my retelling of “Sleeping Beauty,” one of my all-time favorites.

  Abby Green

  xx

  Irish author Abby Green ended a very glamorous career in film and TV—which really consisted of a lot of standing in the rain outside actors’ trailers—to pursue her love of romance. After she’d bombarded Harlequin with manuscripts, they kindly accepted one, and an author was born. She lives in Dublin, Ireland, and loves any excuse for distraction. Visit abby-green.com or email abbygreenauthor@gmail.com.

  Books by Abby Green

  Harlequin Presents

  The Greek’s Unknown Bride

  Bound by Her Shocking Secret

  Hot Summer Nights with a Billionaire

  The Flaw in His Red-Hot Revenge

  The Marchetti Dynasty

  The Maid’s Best Kept Secret

  The Innocent Behind the Scandal

  Bride Behind the Desert Veil

  Jet-Set Billionaires

  Their One-Night Rio Reunion

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Abby Green

  The Kiss She Claimed from the Greek

  This is for Brian O’Donnell, one of my favorite people on this planet. I hope we always live within 2 km of each other xx.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM A SCANDAL MADE AT MIDNIGHT BY KATE HEWITT

  CHAPTER ONE

  HE WAS STILL HERE. Sofie MacKenzie’s heart thumped hard as her feet took her over the threshold into the small private room before she’d even consciously decided to go in. She knew she shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t a nurse. Or a doctor. She was a cleaner and tea lady.

  And this man was in no position to have tea. He was unconscious, and he’d been unconscious since he’d been brought into the small island community hospital a few days ago. He’d been found on a rocky ledge on Ben Kincraig, Gallinvach’s famous mountain, which people came from all over the world to climb.

  He wasn’t a local, and he had no identifying documents with him or on his person. The climbers who’d found him assumed his bag had disappeared into a crevasse.

  Apart from a small bump to his head, he had not sustained any other injuries. He just wasn’t waking up.

  Sofie was standing at the bottom of the bed now. The man was bare-chested, with a tube extending from his hand to a drip nearby. The steady beep-beep of the heart monitor was surprisingly comforting. Which was ridiculous because he was a complete stranger to her.

  But he was all alone—he had no one here who loved him or knew him—and that struck at Sofie’s heart. She felt an affinity. Even though she’d been born on this island, and had lived here all her life, as the only child of parents who had both died in recent years, and with no other family to call her own, Sofie had always felt a sense of loneliness and isolation.

  It was something that not even good friends could penetrate. It went too deep. And so she’d found herself gravitating back to this man with no name, pulled by something too strong to resist.

  She’d even, over the past couple of days, when her shift was over, found herself sitting with him in silence, as if to reassure him that someone did care about him.

  But her conscience pricked and she had to acknowledge that her interest wasn’t entirely altruistic.

  He was the most beautiful man she’d ever laid eyes on, and his impressive physicality had impacted her like a punch to the gut, in a way no other man’s had ever affected her.

  It was as if she’d been encased in ice all her life and suddenly was feeling things—sensations, aches and needs—that she’d never experienced before. Her sexuality was finally stirring. At the age of twenty-three.

  She knew people on the island jokingly and affectionately referred to her as ‘Sister Sofie’, because she’d led such a sheltered existence. Living with parents who had suffered various health issues all their lives had curtailed her movements. They had always favoured staying close to home, due to their ill health, but also because of a mutual fear of air travel that Sofie had never shared.

  So she’d never really travelled further afield than places she could go via train or boat. They’d all taken a trip to Northern France one summer, when she’d been a teenager. That was about as exotic as it had got.

  When Sofie’s friends had been taking their ubiquitous trips to a holiday island in the sun after graduating from secondary school her father had been dying, so she hadn’t been able to go. She hadn’t resented it, though. She’d been all her parents had had, and she’d felt that responsibility keenly.

  Most people her age left the island as soon as it was possible, or else settled down and started a family. She hadn’t done either. She’d been consumed with caring for her dying mother until recently, and had only just started to re-emerge from that cocoon of pain.

  Maybe, Sofie told herself, that was why she was so transfixed by the figure on the bed. She wasn’t distracted or full of grief for the first time in a long time. But she knew, if she was being honest, that it was more than that.

  Even lying down, it was clear that he must stand well over six feet and that he had the body of an athlete. There was not an ounce of excess flesh over hard and well-developed muscles.

  He had thick dark hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut lately. Dark eyebrows over deep-set eyes. Closed. She wondered what colour they were. Dark, like the rest of him, she imagined, feeling a tiny thrill at the thought of them opening right now, seeking her out... Ridiculous.

  He had a strong, noble nose. Aquiline.

  A growth of heavy stubble covered the lower half of his face, but it couldn’t hide the very masculine jawline. Or his lips.

  Sofie’s heart thumped again.

  His lips were full and sensual. Almost too pretty to belong to a man. But on a man such as this they were pure provocation. Sinful. Tempting.

  Sofie’s gaze skittered away from his mouth, snagging on the tattoo high on his left arm. She didn’t dare look too closely, but she thought it resembled some kind of howling animal—a wolf?—within a circle shape.

  Unable to help herself, she let her gaze continue down over his broad chest, covered with a light smattering of dark hair. And down further, ove
r the ridged muscles of his abdomen.

  The sheet was pulled up neatly over his hips, stopping Sofie’s far too curious gaze from seeing any more.

  She turned away in sudden agitation, aghast at her own uncharacteristic behaviour. She went over to the locker and rearranged some items: a glass of water, a box of tissues. As if to justify her reason for being here.

  But the fact was that since this man had appeared in the hospital all sense and reason seemed to have left her, turning her into some kind of a hormonal mess. It wasn’t just her. She knew many of the female staff and some of the men were as fascinated by this dark fallen angel as she was.

  Except, dangerously, she felt as if she had some sort of ownership over him. As if only she could understand how lonely he must be. Which was crazy because, being unconscious, he was obviously unaware of his state of loneliness. And when he woke up he would immediately call those nearest and dearest to him, making a total mockery of Sofie’s fantastical imaginings.

  His dark skin looked even darker against the pristine white sheets. Perhaps it was also the fact that he so obviously wasn’t from here that connected with her. As if he’d appeared from some parallel dimension to lure her away...

  Sofie rolled her eyes at herself. The man was unconscious. He was in no position to lure anyone anywhere. She was in danger of losing the plot altogether.

  She knew she should leave, but she hesitated for a moment by the bed. He looked peaceful, but she had an impression of a sleeping panther, full of coiled energy. Just waiting to be unleashed. Her skin prickled with awareness and her gaze fell on his mouth again. The most perfect mouth. She wondered how it would feel to the touch. Warm? Firm?

  Never in a million years would a woman like her—the epitome of average—get close to a man like this.

  A dangerous sense of recklessness pulsed through her, from the core of her body outwards. She’d never felt anything like it. She was overcome with an urgent desire to know what his mouth felt like under hers. Too strong to ignore.

  Before reason and sanity could stop her, she bent down and hovered with her head a couple of inches away from the man’s mouth, looking into his face. And then she closed her eyes and pressed her mouth to his.

  It was exactly as she’d imagined, but more. Firm. But soft. And warm. Lifeblood was in this man, just under the surface. Waiting to be woken.

  Sofie stayed for a long moment, eyes shut tight, mouth pressed against his, almost willing him to wake so that she could feel him moving under her. Taking the kiss from her and turning it into something that she’d never experienced before...

  But of course he wasn’t moving, and she suddenly realised she had overstepped about a million boundaries—professional and personal.

  Sofie sprang back, face flaming. As if coming out of a trance she looked around. The room was still empty. She let out a shuddery breath. She needed to leave now and put this enigmatic stranger out of her addled mind. Good thing that she had two days off coming up—she needed to clear her head.

  She was turning away from the bed when suddenly her wrist was grabbed, stopping her. She let out a squeal and looked back at the man on the bed. She might have fallen to the floor in a dead faint if he hadn’t been holding on to her with such a strong grip, keeping her standing there. Captive.

  Her first thought was: His eyes aren’t dark brown, they’re green. And then his mouth opened. The mouth that she’d just been willing to open under hers. It was too much to take in. Sofie’s head buzzed. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating?

  He was frowning. When he spoke it was with a deep rough voice, saying something in a guttural language she’d never heard.

  She wasn’t hallucinating. She forced herself to suck in air. To focus. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  The man frowned more deeply. Awake, he was even more spectacular. His eyes narrowed on her face, focused, and then he said, very clearly in English, ‘Where the hell am I?’

  * * *

  Sofie absently touched her wrist where the man had gripped her two days ago. She could still feel those long fingers...her skin had tingled for a long time afterwards. Long after she’d rung the bell and nurses and doctors had come running.

  She’d gladly stepped back and let them take over, slipping out of the room before anyone could think to question why she’d been there.

  Had she done that? Had her illicit kiss woken him up?

  Sofie shook her head. Crazy. This wasn’t a fairy tale. She finished buttoning up her uniform, sighing when she caught the reflection of herself in a mirror in the changing room.

  She was too pale, and her dark hair didn’t help. Even though it was the height of summer in Scotland, there was little chance of getting a tan. Sofie had never been anywhere in her life that had the kind of heat she’d read about in books or seen in movies. She couldn’t imagine it.

  The shirt of her uniform strained over her chest. She sighed again, and tried to adjust it so that it sat better. She’d often thought that if she could stretch herself a few more inches above her five foot four her curves might actually make sense and fit her body better. But unfortunately she’d inherited her beloved Granny Morag’s diminutive and well-endowed figure. Not to mention her hips. And there was nothing she could do about it.

  She closed the door of her locker and tried not to let her mind go to him. Even though as soon as she’d walked into the hospital just a short time before the whole place had been buzzing with whispers about the mystery man, who had apparently lost his memory. He had no idea who he was. And neither did anyone else. He hadn’t been reported missing, and it didn’t appear as if he’d been travelling with anyone else.

  But apart from the memory loss and a superficial bump on the head he was in perfect health. Sofie blushed when she thought of how healthy he’d looked. And felt. Under her mouth.

  The door to the changing room opened abruptly and Sofie looked around, feeling inordinately guilty. It was a friend of hers—a nurse called Claire. ‘They need you in the private room, Sofe. Someone knocked over a vase of flowers and it needs cleaning.’

  Sofie gulped. ‘The room where that patient is...?’

  Claire rolled her eyes. ‘That’ll be the one. Our one and only private room.’

  ‘He’s still here, then?’

  Her friend frowned at her. ‘Yes, he’s still here. What’s up with you?’

  Sofie clamped down on the panic she felt at the thought of seeing him again. ‘Nothing—nothing at all. I’ll go right away.’

  Sofie gathered a few things and made her way to the room. When she got to the door she heard voices and hesitated, but then the door opened fully and a harried-looking matron saw her and said, ‘Oh, good, Sofie. Come in and clean up this mess before someone slips and breaks an ankle.’

  Sofie wanted to run in the opposite direction but she couldn’t. So she stepped over the threshold. She didn’t immediately see the man, as there was a doctor in the room, along with the hospital director, and they stood between her and the bed.

  They were talking in low voices, but then someone moved and suddenly the man was revealed. He was sitting up in bed, no longer bare-chested. Wearing a hospital gown. Alert and awake. His impact on Sofie was like a punch to the gut, driving the air out of her lungs.

  He was looking right at her with those incredible green eyes. His skin looked darker. His hair longer and more unruly, as if he’d been running a hand through it. The unshaved growth of beard made him look even more masculine. And that mouth...it was in a grim line now. Not soft. She remembered how firm it had felt under the cushiony softness of her lips.

  ‘Sofie?’

  Sofie blinked and saw that the hospital director and the doctor were looking at her. The matron said impatiently, ‘The broken vase is on the other side of the bed.’

  Face flaming, she ducked her head and hurried around to where water, flowers and broken
glass lay strewn on the floor.

  * * *

  The dark-haired woman who had just appeared in the room was familiar, and because nothing else was familiar the man’s attention was piqued. She pierced through the fog blurring his consciousness like a shaft of light. The stubborn haze in his head suddenly didn’t seem so frustratingly pervasive.

  He watched as she hurried around to the side of the bed with a mop, brushes and a bucket.

  He wanted to look at her more than he wanted to keep listening to the interminable conversation he was being subjected to. He wanted to tell her to come closer so he could inspect her. But she was picking up bits of glass, putting them carefully into a bag. Her uniform shirt gaped when she bent over, and he caught a glimpse of an abundance of pale flesh encased in lace.

  When she straightened again he could fully appreciate the fact that she had the figure of a lush pint-sized goddess. Generous breasts and womanly hips. A tiny waist. Silky jet-black hair, tied back, and pale skin. She’d looked at him with wide eyes a few moments ago as if she’d never seen a man before. Huge dark blue eyes—they were the colour of dark violets. Unusual.

  But how could he know that when she wasn’t close enough for him to see them? Had he seen her before? Why was she familiar? His head throbbed with the mental effort he was exerting.

  He willed her to look at him—but her gaze stayed resolutely down, fixed on her task. A sense of irritation caught him unawares, as if he wasn’t used to any woman avoiding his eye. He had a sense that it was usually the other way around. Her cheeks were pink. And suddenly he felt a surge of awareness in his lower body. A thrum of blood. Excitement. Sexual.

  The doctor cleared his throat pointedly and he had to reluctantly take his gaze off the intriguing woman and move it back to the trio of people who were making his head hurt with their endless questions.

  The doctor said, ‘We have no reason to keep you here in the hospital, but obviously you can’t just leave when you have nowhere to go and don’t even know your own name...’