Becca Wolfe’s mobile chimed. She glanced at the screen, bracing for another text from one of her three über-interfering cousins. Would it be from George—the over-playful, Jack—the over-productive? No, this time it was James, the over-protective, offering yet more “helpful” travel tips…

James: DO eat street food. DO talk to strangers. But, don’t hate me for saying it, you should dress conservatively.

Suppressing a giggle, Becca stretched out her arm, snapped a selfie and sent it straight back to her cousin.

Sorry James, but needs must ;)

She wedged her phone down her waistband and stepped forward. Time to get the show on the road.

“Do you want to be Up. All. Night?” She stalked around the bodies spread over the beach, calling for them to come to her. “Do you want to be alert and ready for hard out action?”

Lifting her chin, she delivered the innuendo-laden lines with as much chutzpah as she could muster.

“You do? You want?” She brandished the pistols in her hands. “Then I’ve got your shot.”

Sunbathers sat up, guys stood. A crowd gathered. Good. She needed people interested, people smiling, people buying into the tagline. She needed to kick some promo butt today or she’d lose the job. Seriously, how hard was it to give something away?

Her boss at the bar she was promoting said it was all about attitude. She had the look, she had the product, all she needed was the sass and the badass grit. And that, she was just going to have to fake.

Her friends back home would never believe she was wearing this outfit. She didn’t believe she was wearing it—let alone squirting shots of some caffeine-laced, guarana-enhanced, sugar-free energy soda into the mouths of masses. And let’s not forget that secret libido-boosting ingredient…

Santorini in summer was filled with people out to have a good time—party long, party hard. It was holiday fun and flings all round.

But not for Becca.

Never. Again.

She’d enacted a Man Ban—no boyfriend, no relationship, no nothing. She was on a mission to discover herself. Do the things she wanted to do. Fight the fear and all that. As navel-gazing and self-indulgent as it sounded, this trip was all about her. Going where she wanted. Doing what she wanted. No more getting sucked into someone else’s ideas for her future.

This bar’s soda promo was merely the means to make the money to keep her moving. Because moving was key to this plan.

But now she stopped, selecting a spot that was highly visible in the middle of the striking pebbled beach. “Come get your poison, people.”

“Poison?”

Despite the blazing heat of the high summer sun, a chill swept over Becca’s skin. “Elixir, if you prefer,” she said, glancing around, trying to see past the group surrounding her.

“I like the sound of poison.”

Determined to keep up the sass despite her heart suddenly skipping to quad-speed, she called out. “You game to try it?”

There was a movement amongst the crowd, then he stepped forward into her line of sight. “Becca, I’m always game.”

OMG. No way. Levi Everton. Hometown Mr Mysterious. Heartthrob. Focal point of her teen lust. And heartache. Damn. Now she really needed to fake it. “That’s what they all say.”

“But you know I’m speaking the truth.”

“Yeah, well I’m betting every available woman nearby knows just how game you are.” The guy was a master flirt.

“Every woman? It seems I might need an energy hit.” He gave her “ammo” belt a derisory glance—it was loaded with mini vials of triple strength soda. “You’re saying this’ll keep me up all night?”

“Give you the energy to dance ‘til dawn.”

“I always did like dancing.”

She rolled her eyes. Her lame innuendo had been scripted. His just came natural—he was the ultimate in love ‘em and leave ‘em. The ultimate in arrogant.

“You going to let me have it?” He didn’t so much ask as goad, with his azure eyes glinting.

“You better get in line.”

“I don’t like to wait in line.”

No? He thought he deserved special treatment? That’s what happened to guys as hot as him—they got accustomed to all kinds of privileges. “Then you miss out.”

“Too bad, I was looking forward to licking a little acid from your lips.”

“You’re acidic enough already.”

“How would you know, you never got a real taste.”

No, she hadn’t. She’d rejected him, then she’d run. And she’d regretted it. For all his arrogance, no one had ever made her want the way Levi had.

“What do I have to do to get one of those cool shots?” Another guy stepped forward, interrupting their increasingly tart talk.

Becca plastered a smile back on her face and remembered what she was here to do—and that wasn’t Levi Everton.

She gave the guy a slow, appraising look—blatantly sexual. Vaguely she heard the cheers and catcalls of the other guys drawing near. Yeah, the crowd was mostly male. But all she was really conscious of was Levi standing close, watching with that annoyingly amused expression.

Because he knew she was faking it.

But she wanted to surprise him. Her gaze flashed to his as she drawled out her answer in a voice riding as low as the waistband of her skirt.

“You need to please me.”

Chapter Two

James: What the hell are you wearing?

Becca: Costume 4 bar I’m promoting.

Now there was a challenge. And one Levi Everton knew was damn near impossible. Becca Wolfe would never be satisfied with any of these mere mortals.

But with her feet spaced apart and her lithe, lightly tanned legs looking ridiculously long, she sure looked ready for action.

All Levi could do was stare.

Her costume was hot—a tiny leatherette skirt and an even tinier leatherette tank showing off her cleavage with a strategically placed rip. The top ended just beneath her ribs, baring a stretch of her flat, toned tummy. Slung low on her hips was the ammo belt, and on her back was a bottle from which two hoses emerged, and then fed into the “pistols” she held in each hand. She had golden arm cuffs, emblazoned with the soda company logo. She was like some ancient Greek warrior Goddess. Selling sexed-up soda.

Was this really square Becca Wolfe—the ice princess who’d never let a boy talk to her, let alone touch her? Had seven years really made such a difference?

He watched, both irritated and amused, as that guy who’d asked her for a shot theatrically fell to his knees and offered himself to be used in whatever manner she chose. Becca nodded ever so slightly—as frigidly regal as ever—and flipped him a vial from her belt. Then she glanced up and asked. “Anyone else?”

The whole damn lot of them got on their knees.

All except Levi.

No, he remained standing, watching as she bestowed her favors—either a direct shot from a pistol into a mouth, or a vial from the belt. Telling himself he couldn’t possibly want her as badly after all this time.

That he couldn’t want her even more.

She’d been a crush. It wasn’t like she’d broken his heart or anything. But she’d given him the push to succeed. The way she’d smacked him down—she’d looked horrified that a guy like him had dared ask her out. Yeah, that had stung. Not that he’d ever let her know it.

Finally she stepped away from them, calling out as she turned away with a flick of her long, luscious hair. “That’s all for a moment, minions. Don’t worry, I’ll be back.”

A few groaned and walked after her, but it seemed she’d now mastered the art of a polite rejection—a smile, a firm answer, and even more firm look. And then she walked.

But Levi walked too, striding out to circle around his prey so he ended up in front of her, blocking her path back up the beach. She tried to give him the polite smile and that death look. But he was determinedly immune. She wasn’t hurting him this time.

“So…” She stopped about three feet away and tried the up-and-down appraisal she’d leveled that other guy with. “Look at you, after all these years.”

Last time she’d seen him he’d worn nothing but the black jeans and black tee uniform of the café she’d liked to hang out at and where he’d worked insane hours. Now he was in fawn-colored chinos, a pressed white shirt and a navy jacket, looking stupidly country club for the Greek isles. In his defense, he’d had an important meeting with an investor who lived on the island. But now he was back to holiday mode. “What, you think it’s too flash for the beach?”

“Far too flash. You’re overdressed.”

He saw her glance dip to the watch on his wrist. Was it really only money that mattered to her? Status? “Compared to you.” He couldn’t help his sarcastic bite.

Her cocoa eyes narrowed. “What, you think because I’m dressed like this, I must be easy?”

He chuckled. He’d bet everything she’d had plenty of guys trying it on with her dressed like that. “Aren’t you?”

Her chin jerked up. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”

“That’s what lap dancers say.”

“You would know.”

He laughed again, anticipation tightening his gut. “You always were a tease.” He stepped forward. “Flash the eyes. And then deny what you’re offering.”

“I’m not offering what you’re thinking.”

“Why do you think you have hundreds of men hanging around you?”

“They want the free juice.”

“It’s not the juice they want and you know it.”

“No I don’t, but if that’s the case they’re going to be disappointed.”

“Then why look so easy?”

“I’m advertising. I prefer this outfit to a sandwich board.”

“But what is it you’re advertising?” He took one more step nearer—breaching intimate—and lowered his voice. “The soda, or sex?”

“Oh, you do think you’re flash,” she whispered with bite.

“That’s because I am,” he said loftily. “I guess the question is, am I now flash enough for you?”

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The Man She Couldn't Refuse

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