Greek Tycoon, Waitress Wife

The man said something in a language she did not recognise. He looked foreign, she registered belatedly. That dark tanned skin and the darker eyes.

‘You were fired?’ he demanded. Again, it sounded like an accusation.

Carrie could only nod, and clutch her bag more tightly.

‘I’m really sorry about the dress. Mr Bartlett said he’d use my wages to dry clean it, so I hope it will be all right.’

The man made an impatient gesture with his hand.

‘The dress is taken care of,’ he said. ‘But tell me—do you want your job back? If you do I shall arrange it. What happened was clearly an accident.’

Carrie felt her cheeks heat with acute embarrassment.

‘No—please,’ she said. ‘I mean—thank you—thank you for offering. And I’m really very sorry about the dress. I really am,’ she finished quickly. Then she made to start walking again.

Her elbow was taken.

‘Allow me,’ said the man, ‘to offer you a lift to wherever you are going.’ His voice had changed somehow. She didn’t know how. It seemed smooth—not abrasive, the way it had been before. Then the import of what he’d said registered. Carrie could only stare at him—feel his hand on her elbow like a burning brand.

‘A lift?’ she echoed stupidly. ‘No—no, thank you. I’m fine walking.’

Something flickered in the man’s eyes. If she hadn’t known better she would have said it was surprise.

‘Nevertheless,’ he said. The smoothness was still there, but underpinned now by something else. ‘Please—allow me. I insist. After all, it is the least I can do to make amends for you losing your job.’

Carrie’s eyes widened even more. ‘But it wasn’t anything to do with you!’

‘Had I been quicker off the mark I could have steadied your tray,’ said the man, in the same smooth voice. ‘Now, where would you like to be driven?’

The hold on her elbow had tightened imperceptibly, and Carrie felt herself being inexorably guided towards the open door of the car.

‘No—please, it’s not at all necessary.’ Nor, she knew with strong female instinct, would his girlfriend welcome the presence of the waitress who’d ruined her dress.

‘Please do not delay me further. The car is causing an obstruction.’ The voice was still smooth, but now in its place was something like impatience.

Carrie looked, and realised that cars were backing up, unable to get by easily. Without realising how, she found herself being handed into the car, looking apprehensively for the brunette. But she wasn’t there.

‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ She’d gone back to blurting.

The man lowered himself lithely into the seat next to her, and reached for his seat belt with a fluid movement. He cast a frowning look at Carrie.

‘Girlfriend?’

‘The one I spilt the juice over—’

His eyes cleared. ‘She is not my girlfriend.’ He said the word as if it were deeply alien to him.

Something lifted in Carrie. Something she knew was quite pointless, but it did all the same. That chic brunette hadn’t been his girlfriend.

And it wouldn’t matter if she was, anyway! Good grief, what do you think this is? Some kind of pick-up? For some reason the man feels a sense of obligation that you’ve lost your job, and is giving you a lift! That’s all!

She swallowed again. ‘The end of Bond Street will be fine. Thank you very much.’

The man didn’t say anything, just instructed the driver to go, and the car moved forward. Carrie sank back into the leather seat. It was deep and luxurious, as was the rest of the car. Carrie had never been inside a car so upmarket, and she couldn’t help looking around. The man was leaning forward, depressing a button, and a recessed shelf slid forward into the spacious leg-well between them. Carrie’s eyes widened. There was a bottle of champagne and several flutes. Before she could say or do anything, she was watching with disbelieving fascination as the man lifted the champagne bottle, eased it expertly open, and with equal expertise took up a flute, tilted it, and filled it with foaming liquid. Then he handed it to her.

‘Um—’ said Carrie. But she found she had taken the flute anyway.

The smallest semblance of a smile seemed to flicker momentarily at the man’s mouth, before he filled his own glass and replaced the bottle in its holder. He eased back in his seat again and turned towards Carrie, who was just sitting there, disbelievingly.

‘It’s very good champagne, I do assure you,’ the man said. Again, that smile flickered briefly on his mouth, as if he found her reaction amusing. He took a considering mouthful of the gently effervescing liquid. ‘Yes, perfectly drinkable,’ he said. ‘Try it.’

Carrie lifted the glass to her mouth, and sipped. The chilled pale gold champagne slipped into her mouth, tasting delicious. Her eyes widened. She knew almost nothing about champagne, but she could tell that this was, indeed, a superior potation.

‘What do you think of it?’ the man asked. The smoothness was in his voice again, and it seemed to glide over Carrie, doing strange things to her. Like getting her to drink a glass of champagne with a man who was a complete stranger.

But we’re in the middle of Bond Street! It might be bizarre, but it’s not dangerous or anything!

And it was also—irresistible. The word was the right one, she knew, because it summed up what seemed to be going on in her—an inability to resist.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said. She didn’t know what else to say, and it was the truth. Gingerly, she took another sip.

I’m drinking champagne with a tall, dark, handsome stranger. It’s something that will never happen to me twice in my life, so I might as well make the most of the experience!

‘I’m glad you like it,’ said the man, as he took another mouthful himself. He eased his long legs forward. His eyes were resting on her, and Carrie felt intensely self-conscious.

Oh, God, he really is gorgeous, she thought helplessly. Beneath his disturbing regard, she felt her nerve-ends jitter. Instinctively, she took another mouthful of the champagne. It fizzed down her throat, its native effervescence seeming to infect her blood.

‘So, where would you like to eat tonight?’ said the man. The voice was again as smooth as ever.

Carrie stared. ‘Eat?’

The man gestured loosely with his half-empty flute. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world to say to her. The most obvious.

An edge of caution cut into Carrie’s mind. Carrie looked at him. Really looked at him.

He met her eyes.

‘But…I don’t know who you are,’ she said, in a low, strained voice. ‘You could be anyone.’

Alexeis had never been told he ‘could be anyone’ before. The novelty intrigued him. But then the entire novelty of what he’d just done—what he was still doing and what he fully intended to do—was intriguing him. It was an experience he’d never had, and it had charms he had not anticipated. His identity had never been in question before.

Yet he could understand her caution and be pleased for it—for it only helped to recommend her to him. Half of his mind was telling him he was behaving with a rashness he would inevitably regret. The other half was determined to continue on the path his impulsiveness had started. After all, what real risk was there? There was nothing about the girl that was off-putting. Just the reverse. His original opinion of her had not changed—she was, indeed, very, very lovely.

So why not indulge his inexplicable whim and continue the evening with her? Besides, there had been something else that had made him so impulsively order his driver to stop. It was something to do with the way she had been walking—rapidly, but hunched up, head bowed. She’d looked—dejected. Down.

Clearly she needed something to divert her. Take her mind off her woes. So the whim he was following would be good for her, too, he reasoned. He would expect nothing of her she did not wish, and he would relinquish her at any point in the proceedings. But it would be a pity to do so now, so soon. Time to set her mind at rest. She was right, after all, to be cautious. Cities such as London could be dangerous for vulnerable and beautiful young women.

He slipped a hand inside his inner breast pocket and drew out a slim silver card case, flicking it open and offering her a card from within.