Captivated by the Greek

‘Well,’ she heard him say, one eyebrow quirked expectantly, ‘what’s the verdict? Do we have a deal?’

Her eyelids dipped briefly over her eyes and she felt a smile start to form at her mouth.

‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘Yes, we have a deal.’

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a7fd4c28-859c-5c17-b2de-94dcadfde1d9)

MEL TWISTED AS best she could, but it was no good. She couldn’t possibly see her full length reflection in the tiny mirror she’d got propped up on top of the filing cabinet where Sarrie kept the accounts.

Well, it didn’t matter. She knew the dress suited her because she’d loved it from the moment she’d first seen it in the charity shop. It was the prize piece in the collection she’d been scouring charity shops for over the last year, putting together a cut-price but stylish wardrobe for her foreign travels.

The dress was silk, but in very fine plissé folds, which made it ideal for travelling as she could just twist it into a roll for packing. The colour suited her perfectly, she knew, because the pale blue was shot with a deeper hyacinth-blue, with a touch of lilac to it that set off her eyes. And its simple folds suited her preference for unfussy, ‘no bling’ styles.

With the reassurance of its designer label she knew she could go anywhere in it—even the Viscari St James. She’d looked up the hotel on Sarrie’s PC and had whistled. It had a cachet that was way, way beyond any place she’d ever set foot in. But that was hardly surprising—for the internet had also revealed to her that Nikos Parakis was the scion of the Parakis banking dynasty—a Greek-based outfit that seemed to be rolling in it to the tune of zillions.

And he came slumming along into a humble sandwich bar! she thought with mordant humour. No wonder he’d been so outraged at her lack of awed deference.

But, to his credit, he had at least apologised, and she’d draw a line under it. Now, she realised, she was simply looking forward to seeing him again. Would they still spar with each other?

She found a smile quirking her lips at the prospect... And, of course, at the prospect of feasting her eyes on the paean to male gorgeousness that was the very, very gorgeous Nikos Parakis.

Eyes glinting in anticipation of the treat that she knew this evening would be, she picked up the little satin clutch bag that went with her dress. Time to get going. Nikos had told her a car would collect her, and it was nearly the specified pickup time now.

She stepped outside on to the pavement, carefully locking up as she went and dropping the keys into her clutch, aware of a sleek, chauffeured car humming quietly and expensively at the kerb. She headed purposefully towards it, getting used to the unaccustomed feel of high heels and long skirts and her hair being loosened from its usual workaday tied-back plait.

As she approached the car the driver got out, tipping his cap to her in salutation, and from the very male expression in his eyes she knew she looked good enough for the evening ahead.

And for the man who was making it possible.

A little flutter of happy anticipation went through her as she got gracefully into the car when the door was held open for her. It had been so, so long since she’d gone out at all for the evening—and never like this, in such luxury and elegance.

The flutter came again, and she settled back happily to enjoy the chauffeured car, with its soft leather seats, its wide footwell lined with dove-grey carpet, and its fittings all in polished marquetry, as she was driven to her glamorous destination—and to the breathtakingly devastating man who awaited her there.

Her wonderful new life of freedom was just beginning, and this gorgeous, gorgeous man was just the person to start it off for her.

* * *

Nikos strolled up to the bar and placed his order. He did not sit down—merely propped one forearm on the gleaming mahogany surface, rested his foot on the brass rail and glanced around. The resplendent Edwardian-style bar just off the equally resplendent lobby at the Viscari St James was a popular watering hole for the well heeled. Many, like him, were in tuxedos, gathering for the evening’s main function—the charity gala.

His mood, as he glanced around, was mixed. Happy anticipation filled him—his driver had phoned a while ago to inform him that he was en route, and soon—very soon—he was going to see just how even more fantastically beautiful his date for the evening looked in evening dress.

But he also felt a momentary doubt assail him. Would she possess the kind of attire that was appropriate for the Viscari? Perhaps he should have offered to help in that department? Then he quashed the thought—he was pretty sure that any such offer, however well intentioned, would have got shot down as ‘patronising’. No, if having nothing to wear had been a problem she’d have said so.

He barely had time to take a first mellowing sip of his dry martini, directing another sweeping glance around the room, before he stilled.

She was walking into the bar area.

His eyes went to her immediately—it was impossible for them not to. Dimly, he was aware that he was far from being the only male whose eyes had gone straight to her. Thee mou, but she could turn heads!

And as for any concerns that she might not possess the kind of dress that was suited to a venue like the Viscari St James...they evaporated like a drop of water on a hot stove.

She looked stunning—beyond stunning.

Finally he could see just what nature had bestowed upon her, now untrammelled and unconcealed by her workaday appearance as it had been so far.

She was tall and slender, but with curves that went in and out in all the right places that were perfectly enhanced by the elegant fall of the ankle-length gown she was wearing. Its style and colour were perfect for her—a blending of delicate shades of blue and lilac. Her shoulders were swathed in soft folds of the multi-hued material, and the décolletage was draped but not low-cut. A creamy white corsage nestled in the drapery, and Nikos’s mouth gave a quirk of amusement. He was pretty sure the corsage originated from the bouquet of lilies he’d had sent to her.

As for her hair—finally he could see what he’d wanted to see of it, freed from that obnoxious baseball cap. It was everything he could have wanted, loosened and swept back from her face, caught to one side with a mother of pearl comb before curving around one shoulder in a long, lush golden fall.

And her face— Ah... Nikos thought, satisfaction running through him with an even greater intensity. He had thought her stunningly beautiful when she’d had not a scrap of make-up on, but now, with her luminous eyes deepened, their lashes lengthened, her cheekbones delineated and her mouth, like a ripe damson...

He stepped forward, his smile deepening.

She saw him immediately—he could tell. Could tell, too, that the impact he was making on her was everything he’d wanted. His sense of satisfaction intensified again.

Her eyes widened with telltale revelation as she made her way towards him. And as she came up to him for the first time Nikos could detect a dent in her air of self-assured composure. Two spots of colour burned briefly but revealingly in her sculpted cheeks.

His eyes were warm upon her. ‘You look fantastic,’ he breathed.

His compliment drew a new expression from her face.

‘I rather thought that was the idea,’ Mel said.

Her voice was dry. But she needed it to be. She needed it to be because as her eyes had alighted upon Nikos Parakis she had felt a kick go through her that she had not intended to feel. If he’d looked drop-dead gorgeous before, in his handmade suit, now, in a handmade tux, he looked ten times more deadly.

And as for the sensation going through her now, as his dark gold-flecked eyes worked over her... She could feel awareness shooting through her, sky-high. Urgently she sought to quell it, to stay composed and unruffled.

Nikos’s smile deepened. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ he asked.

‘Sparkling mineral water is fine, thank you,’ she managed to get out, without sounding too breathless.

He glanced at her. ‘Do you not drink alcohol?’

‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, more easily now, glad to find her voice sounding a little more normal. ‘But I assume there will be wine with dinner, so I don’t want to make a start on it yet.’

‘Very wise,’ Nikos murmured, and relayed her order to the barman.

Then he turned his attention back to his date for the evening. A date, he suddenly realised with a sense of confusion, whose name he had absolutely no idea of!

Up to now, in his head, she’d simply been the stunning blonde in the sandwich shop. He blinked for a moment. Then, to his relief, he realised that of course he knew her name. It had been emblazoned on that unlovely T-shirt she’d been wearing in the sandwich bar.

The barman placed a glass of iced sparking water on the counter. Nikos picked it up and handed it to her. ‘There you go, Sarrie,’ he said, with a smile.

She took it, but stared at him. ‘Sarrie...?’ she echoed.

Nikos frowned slightly. ‘You prefer not to be called that?’ he checked.

She gave him a look. ‘Well, no, actually—because it’s not my name. Sarrie,’ she elucidated, giving him another look—one that reminded him of their first sparking encounter, ‘is the name of the guy who owns the sandwich bar—hence “Sarrie’s Sarnies.” My name,’ she informed him, ‘is Mel.’