Mistress By Arrangement
Mistress By Arrangement
HELEN BIANCHIN
A convenient affair? Nikos Alessandros needed a social hostess, and he'd decided that beautiful, sophisticated Michelle would be the perfect companion - temporarily. For Michelle, their pretend affair would certainly help her escape the suitable marriage she was being pressured into… .But Nikos was formidably sexy and Michelle found it hard to control her powerful attraction to this arrogant stranger. If she agreed to be his mistress by arrangement, could she stop pretense turning into reality?
“I guess we should set down some ground rules.” (#u7d06bc44-569a-5e7d-8759-5175b85f8bb2)Passion (#u5124df4c-4519-5355-bd55-35799a96b87c)Title Page (#u130245c8-4a5a-5f12-afc6-80af0f4fd24c)Dedication (#udfa53a3d-cf94-567a-9679-6ecae6a9c7a8)CHAPTER ONE (#u6ea91dc4-6767-5d26-97b3-8f4fb0a8ccec)CHAPTER TWO (#u998b4c0d-04a1-508e-b254-bd9617ca1d1d)CHAPTER THREE (#u4e8072b0-70c9-5cc4-ae5e-b75462c7b947)CHAPTER FOUR (#u41834267-4462-5868-a4fa-a90e9be521bf)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I guess we should set down some ground rules.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Michelle looked at Nikos carefully, and was unable to see beyond the sophisticated mask he presented. “No unnecessary—” She was going to say intimacy, but that sounded too personal. “Touching,” she amended, and missed the faint gleam in those dark eyes.
“I’ll try to restrain myself, if you will.”
He was amused, damn him! “Do you want to put a time limit on our supposed relationship?”
One eyebrow slanted. “How about...as long as it takes?”
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Mistress By Arrangement
Helen Bianchin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Alex and Angie Kidas
with gratitude and affection
CHAPTER ONE
MICHELLE sipped superb Chardonnay from a crystal wineglass and cast an idle glance at the room’s occupants.
The men were resplendent in black dinner suits, white dress shirts and black bow ties, while the women vied with each other in designer gowns.
This evening’s occasion was a simple dinner party for ten guests held in the beautiful home of their hosts, Antonia and Emerson Bateson-Burrows, whose reputation for providing fine wine, excellent food, and scintillating company was almost unequalled in Queensland’s Gold Coast society.
‘Another drink, darling?’
She felt the proprietorial clasp of Jeremy’s arm along the back of her waist.
Mine, the action seemed to shriek. The fond glance of his parents, hers, merely served to endorse their approval.
Did they think she was unaware of the subtle manipulative matchmaking attempts of late? It was too much of a coincidence that Jeremy had been a fellow guest at several social events she’d attended in the past four weeks.
Marriage wasn’t on her agenda, nor was she willing to drift into a meaningless relationship. Thanks to an annuity from her maternal grandmother, her life was good. At twenty-five, she owned her own apartment, ran a successful art gallery in partnership with a friend, and she had no inclination to change the status quo.
She felt the faint pressure of Jeremy’s hand at her waist and she summoned a polite smile. ‘Thanks, but I’ll wait until dinner.’
Which would be when? Were all the guests not accounted for? Speculation rose as she glimpsed Jeremy’s mother spare her wristwatch a surreptitious glance.
Who would dare to be late for a Bateson-Burrows soiree?
‘Mother is becoming a tad anxious,’ Jeremy revealed, sotto voce. ‘Nikos warned he might be unavoidably late.’
Curiosity sparked Michelle’s interest. ‘Nikos?’
Jeremy cast her an amused look. ‘Alessandros. Greek origin, relatively new money, respectably earned,’ he added. ‘Electronics. Bases in Athens, Rome, Paris, London, Vancouver, Sydney.’
‘If his Australian base is in Sydney, what’s he doing on the Gold Coast?’
‘He has a penthouse in Main Beach,’ Jeremy enlightened. ‘The man is a consummate strategist. Word has it he’s about to close an enviable deal.’ His mouth formed a cynical twist. ‘Instead of flying directly to Sydney, he’s chosen to negotiate from the Gold Coast.’
‘Impressive,’ she acknowledged, summoning a mental image of a short, paunchy, balding middle-aged Greek with a stylish much younger wife.
‘Very,’ Jeremy declared succinctly. ‘Father covets his patronage and his business account.’
‘And his friendship?’
‘It’s at an adequate level.’
Adequate presumably wasn’t good enough, and Emerson Bateson-Burrows’ extended invitation to dine was merely part of a larger plan.
Politics, business and social, involved an intricate strategy of a kind that occasionally sickened her altruistic mind.
‘Two hours to dine and socialise over coffee,’ Jeremy inclined. ‘Then we can escape and go on to a nightclub.’
It irked her that he took her acquiescence for granted. She was on the point of telling him so, when some sixth sense alerted her attention.
Curious, she lifted her head and felt the breath catch in her throat.
‘Nikos,’ Jeremy informed her, although she barely registered the verbal identification as her interest was captured by the tall male figure who had just entered the room.
He possessed broad-boned features, a strong jaw, and his mouth was chiselled perfection.
A man, Michelle perceived with instinctive insight, who wore the fine clothes of a gentleman, possessed the requisite good manners...and had the heart of a predatory warrior.
It was evident in his stance, the cool assessing quality in those dark slate-grey eyes as they roamed the room and its occupants.
They flicked towards her, paused, then settled in a slow appraisal of her dark honey-blond hair, green eyes, and the slender feminine curves encased in a black designer dress.
There was no power on earth that could suppress the faint shivery sensation feathering its way down her spine at the intensity of that look. She felt as if it stripped away the conventional bamer of clothes, lingerie, and stroked her skin.
It took considerable effort to match his appraisal, but she was damned if she’d concede him any sort of victory by glancing away.
Dark hair, well-groomed. Broad shoulders beneath expensive tailoring, and his shoes were hand-tooled leather. In his mid-thirties, he was the antithesis of the middle-aged paunchy balding man Michelle had envisaged.
She watched as he worked the room during an introductory circuit, noting the undoubted charm, the easy smile, an easy grace of movement that implied a high level of physical fitness.
‘Michelle Gerard,’ Antonia announced by way of introduction, reaching their side. ‘Jeremy’s girlfriend.’
Nikos Alessandros reached forward, took hold of her hand, and raised it to his lips.
Michelle’s eyes flew wide with shock as he placed a brief open-mouthed kiss to her palm, then he curled her fingers as if to seal in the flagrant action. Heat flooded her veins, coursing through her body as each nerve-end sprang into vibrant life.
‘Michelle.’ His voice held a faint inflection, an accent that was more international than indicative of his own nationality.
Primitive alchemy, potent and incredibly lethal, was a compelling force, and her skin burned where his lips had touched.
‘We meet again.’
Again? She’d never met him in this lifetime. If she had, she’d remember. No woman alive could possibly forget someone of Nikos Alessandros’ calibre!
Michelle was at once conscious of Antonia’s surprised gaze coupled with Jeremy’s sharp attention.
‘You’ve already met?’
‘While Michelle was studying at the Sorbonne in Paris,’ Nikos declared with knowledgeable ease.
A calculated guess? Somehow she doubted it. Which immediately drew the question as to how he came by the information.
‘Really?’ Antonia queried lightly after a few seconds silence.
Michelle watched in fascination as he directed her a blatantly sensual smile. ‘How could I forget?’
She should refute they’d ever set eyes on each other, and accuse him of being a sexist opportunist.
‘Your capacity to remember surprises me.’ That much was true, yet as soon as the words left her lips she wondered at the wisdom of playing his game.
Midsummer madness? An attempt to alleviate the matchmaking techniques employed by two sets of parents? Or just plain devilry.
Nikos’ eyes never left her own, and she experienced the uncanny sensation he could read her mind. Worse, that he could dissect the conventional barriers she’d learnt to erect and divine the path to her soul.
It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. But then, she doubted there was anything comfortable about this man.
Dangerous, occasionally merciless, powerful. And rarely predictable. A tiny imp added, incredibly sexual. An earthy, uninhibited lover who would seek every liberty, and encourage a similar response. Demand, she amended with instinctive knowledge.
Just the thought of what he could do to a woman, and how he would do it was enough to raise all her fine body hairs in a gesture of...what? Self-preservation? Anticipation?
Her eyes dilated at a highly erotic image, one that was so evocative she was unable to subdue the flare of heat from her innermost core.
‘Indeed?’ That deep drawl held a wealth of meaning she didn’t even want to explore.
Antonia sensed it, and immediately launched into an attempt at damage control. ‘Nikos, you must allow Emerson to get you a drink.’ She placed a hand on his sleeve, and for a moment Michelle held her breath at the possibility he might detach Antonia’s hand and opt to stay where he was.
Something moved in his expression, then he smiled, inclining his head in mocking acquiescence as he allowed his hostess to steer him away.
The electric force-field evident didn’t diminish, and it took considerable effort to lift the glass to her lips and take a sip of wine.
‘You know him.’
Michelle’s lips parted to deny it, only to pause fractionally too long.
‘And to think I’ve been playing the gentleman,’ Jeremy drawled silkily, raising his glass in a silent mocking salute as he conducted a slow encompassing survey from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and back again.
Indignation heightened the dark golden sparks in her green eyes, and anyone who knew her well would have heeded the silent warning.
‘One has only to look at Nikos to know his friendship with women is inevitably of an intimate nature.’
‘Really?’ Michelle tempered the query with a deceptive smile. She wanted to hit him. ‘You’d dare to accuse me on the strength of another man’s reputation? ’
Antonia Bateson-Burrows’ announcement that dinner was ready proved opportune.
‘Can you blame me for being jealous?’ Jeremy offered as they crossed to the dining room.
Nikos Alessandros had a lot to answer for, she determined wryly.
Unbidden, her gaze shifted to the tall male Greek a few feet distant, and she watched in fascinated surprise as he turned briefly towards her.
Those dark slate-grey eyes held an expression she couldn’t fathom, and for one infinitesimal second everything faded to the periphery of her vision. There was only him. The subdued chatter, the other guests, were no longer apparent.
A slight smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained steady, almost as if he withheld a knowledge of something she couldn’t even begin to presume.
The breath caught in her throat, and she deliberately broke the silent spell by transferring her attention to the proposed seating arrangements.
With any luck, Nikos Alessandros would be at the opposite end of the table, precluding the necessity to indulge in polite conversation.
An accomplished hostess, Antonia skilfully manoeuvred her guests into chairs, shuffling them so there were six on one side with five on the other, while she and Emerson took their position at the head of the table.
Oh hell. Thirteen at the dinner table on Friday the thirteenth. Could it get any worse?
Don’t tempt Fate by even thinking about it, a tiny voice taunted, only to discover she faced Nikos across a decorative floral centrepiece.
Emerson poured the wine while Antonia organised the serving of the first course.
‘Salute.’ Nikos’ accent was flawless as he lifted his glass, and although his smile encompassed everyone seated at the table, his eyes remained fixed on Michelle.
The soup was delicious vichyssoise, although after the first spoonful Michelle’s tastebuds seemed to go on strike.
Succulent prawns in a piquant sauce were served on a bed of mesclan lettuce, and she sipped the excellent white wine, then opted for chilled water in the need for a clear head.
The conversation encompassed a broad spectrum as it touched briefly on the state of the country’s financial budget, the possibility of tax reform and its effect on the economy.
‘What is your view, Michelle?’
The sound of that faintly accented drawl stirred her senses. Her hand paused midway in its passage from the table to her lips, and her fingers tightened fractionally on the goblet’s slim stem.
‘Inconsequential, I imagine. Given that whatever my opinion, it will have little effect in the scheme of things.’
Jeremy’s silent offer to refill Nikos’ glass was met with an equally silent refusal.
The fact that Nikos declined didn’t halt Jeremy’s inclination to fill his own glass.
‘Nevertheless, I would be interested to hear it.’
Having set the cat among the pigeons, it’s a source of amusement for you to watch the outcome, she surmised silently. But what if one of the pigeons was unafraid of the cat? Two could play this game.
‘As I recall, you were never particularly interested in my mind.’
His eyes held hers, mesmeric in their intensity. She watched as his lips parted to reveal even white teeth, and noticed the movement deepened the vertical slash on each cheek.
‘Could anyone blame me, pedhi mou?’
His drawled endearment curled round her nerve-ends and sent them spiralling out of control.
‘I’ll serve the main course.’
Michelle heard Antonia’s words, and watched absently as the hired help cleared plates and cutlery and replaced them.
‘Some more wine, Nikos?’
Emerson, ever the genial host, merely warranted the briefest glance. ‘Thank you, no.’ He returned his attention to Michelle. ‘I haven’t the need for further stimulation.’
This was getting out of hand. It was also gaining the interest of everyone seated at the table.
Chicken in a lemon sauce accompanied by a selection of braised vegetables did little to tempt Michelle’s flagging appetite, and she sampled a few mouthfuls of chicken, took a delicate bite of each vegetable, then set down her cutlery.
Water, not wine, was something she sipped at infrequent intervals as she wished fervently for the evening to end.
Yet there was dessert and the cheeseboard to complete the meal, followed by coffee. It would be at least another hour before she could make some excuse to leave.
Jeremy leaned towards her and placed an arm along the back of her chair.
‘Tell me, darling.’ His voice was a conspiratorial murmur. ‘Is he incredibly physical in bed?’
She didn’t deign to answer, and deliberately avoided glancing in Nikos’ direction as she conversed with the guest seated next to her. Afterwards she had little recollection of the topic or her contribution.
Dessert was an exotic creation of baklava, together with fresh fruit and brandied cream.
Michelle passed on both, and selected a few grapes to freshen her palate.
‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?’ Antonia queried when it appeared everyone had had their fill.
They were the sweetest words Michelle had heard in hours, and she subdued her enthusiasm as she stood to her feet and joined her parents.
Chantelle Gerard cast her daughter a thoughtful glance. ‘I had no idea you knew Nikos Alessandros.’
Money was important. Breeding, equally so. The Bateson-Burrows possessed both. But the Alessandros’ fortune couldn’t be ignored.
Michelle could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s brain. ‘I intend leaving very soon.’
‘You’re going on somewhere with Jeremy, darling? ’
‘No.’
‘I see,’ Chantelle voiced sagely. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
‘Believe me, Maman, there is absolutely nothing to tell,’ Michelle assured with an edge of mockery, watching as her mother lifted one eyebrow in silent chastisement. ‘Nothing,’ she added quietly.
Twenty questions at dawn wasn’t her favoured way to begin the day. However, Chantelle was well-practised in the art of subtle manipulation, and Michelle was able to interpret every nuance in her mother’s voice.
‘We can easily give you a lift home if you’re prepared to wait awhile.’
She should have brought her own car. Except Jeremy had insisted he collect her. Not a wise move, she decided wryly in retrospect.
The mild headache she’d thought to invent was no longer a figment of her imagination. And Jeremy was fast becoming a nuisance. Her apartment was less than a kilometre away, a distance she’d entertain no qualms in walking during the day. However, the night hours provided a totally different context for a woman alone.
‘I’ll call a taxi.’
Antonia offered a superb blend of coffee, together with liqueur, cream, milk, exotic bite-sized continental biscuits and a variety of Belgian chocolates.
Michelle added milk and sugar, and sipped it as quickly as etiquette allowed. Placing her cup and saucer down onto a nearby side-table, she turned towards her hosts, and her stomach executed a slow somersault as she discovered Antonia and Emerson deep in conversation with Nikos Alessandros.
Just pin a smile on your face, thank them for a pleasant evening, and then exit the room. Two or three minutes, five at the most.
Almost as if he sensed her hesitation, Nikos lifted his head and watched her approach.
Jeremy appeared at her side and draped an arm over her shoulder. His hand lingered a hair’s-breadth from her breast, and she stepped sideways in an effort to avoid the familiarity, only to have Jeremy’s hand close firmly over her arm.
‘Finished doing the duty thing with your parents?’
She took exception to his tone, and his manner. ‘I don’t regard talking to my parents as a duty.’
‘You obviously don’t suffer parental suffocation as a result of being the only child,’ he alluded cynically.
‘No,’ she responded evenly.
‘Ready to leave?’ Nikos queried smoothly as she joined Jeremy’s parents. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ Nikos announced imperturbably to his hosts. ‘Michelle and I have some catching up to do.’ He caught hold of her hand and drew her forward, inclined his head towards a startled Jeremy, then led her from the lounge.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed as soon as they reached the foyer.
‘Providing you with a lift to your apartment.’
‘Michelle.’ Jeremy drew level with them. ‘I’ll take you home.’
She felt like hitting each of them. One for being overly possessive and childishly jealous. The Greek for his arrogance.
‘There’s no need to leave your parents’ guests,’ Nikos intoned pleasantly. ‘Michelle’s apartment building is almost opposite my own.’
How did he know that?
‘She’s my girlfriend,’ Jeremy reiterated fiercely as he turned towards her.
This was getting worse by the second.
‘Michelle?’ Nikos’ voice was silk-encased steel.
Jeremy’s hand closed over her shoulder, as if staking a claim. ‘Damn you, tell him.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she assured quietly, and winced as Jeremy’s hold tightened.
‘I don’t think so, my friend,’ Nikos drawled with dangerous softness, and Jeremy turned towards him with emboldened belligerence.
‘This is none of your business!’
‘I disagree.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because Michelle is with me.’
‘Damned if she is!’ Jeremy’s face contorted with fury.
‘You want proof?’ Nikos demanded silkily.
Michelle didn’t get the chance to say a word in protest as Nikos drew her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own.
Possessive and frankly sensual, he took advantage of her surprise to taste and plunder at will, then before she could protest he gathered her close and turned the kiss into something incredibly erotic.
Her heart jumped, then raced to a quickened beat as one hand slid to hold fast her nape while the other cupped her bottom and brought her into startling contact with hard male arousal.
Each and every one of her senses intensified as he sought her response.
Passion...electric, magnetic, shameless, it tore through all the conventional barriers to a primitive base that was wholly sexual.
It was as if an instinctive knowledge existed between them, she registered dimly. Something that sanctioned the way his mouth wreaked havoc with her own.
She was supremely aware of him, everything about him. The faint layers of texture and smell heightened her senses...the subtle tang of his cologne, the texture of his skin, the fine fabric of his clothing.
There was a part of her that wanted to travel with him wherever this sensual path might lead, while the sensible sane part registered alarm.
With a groan of disgust she dragged her mouth away. Her breathing was ragged, and for the space of a few seconds she had no knowledge of where she was. There was only the man, and a mesmeric helpless hunger.
‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’
Jeremy’s voice seemed to come from a distance, and she struggled to focus on the immediate present.
‘Right now, taking Michelle home,’ Nikos declared with deceptive mildness. Without missing a beat he lifted one eyebrow in silent query. ‘Michelle?’
Dammit, his breathing was even, steady, while hers seemed as wild and ragged as her heartbeat.
‘Walk away from me,’ Jeremy warned. ‘And I won’t have you back.’
She registered Jeremy’s rage and felt vaguely sickened. ‘You never had me in the first place.’
The sound of voices and the appearance in the foyer of two other guests had a diffusing effect, and Jeremy’s expression underwent an abrupt change from anger to affability.
‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ Nikos instructed quietly, taking hold of her arm.
He led her down the few steps to the driveway, and she made a futile effort to wrench her arm free from his grasp as they drew abreast of a large BMW.
‘Don’t,’ he warned silkily. ‘You’ll only hurt yourself.’
It was difficult to determine his expression in the dim half-light as he withdrew a set of keys, unlocked the door, then handed them to her. ‘Drive, if it will make you feel safer to be with me.’
The soft crunch of gravel as footsteps approached intruded, and she stood stiffly as they drew close.
‘Goodnight, Michelle. Nikos.’
Nikos returned the acknowledgement as the couple slid into the car immediately behind them, and in an unbidden gesture Michelle thrust the keys at him, then she unlatched the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Nikos took his position behind the wheel, fired the engine, then eased the car onto the road. Minutes later the powerful car entered the main northbound highway, traversed it for less than a kilometre, and took the next turnoff that led into suburban Main Beach.
She was supremely conscious of him, the slight flash of gold on his wrist as he handled the wheel.
‘We’ll stop at a café for coffee,’ Nikos informed as they paused at a set of traffic lights. ‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’
‘The subtle “your apartment or mine?” spiel?’ Michelle mocked with light sarcasm. ‘Forget it. One-night stands aren’t my thing.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
The lights changed, and within minutes the powerful engine purred down a notch as he decelerated and touched the brakes, then he eased the vehicle to a halt.
Michelle reached for the door-clasp, a word of thanks ready to emerge from her lips.
Then she froze.
The underground car park was similar to a multitude of beneath street-level concrete caverns. Except it wasn’t her apartment car park.
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHERE the hell are we?’
‘My apartment building,’ Nikos drawled. ‘It happens to be in a block a short distance from your own.’ He opened his door and slid out from behind the wheel.
Michelle copied his actions, and stood glaring at him across the roof of the BMW, then she turned and walked to the sweeping upgrade leading to the main entrance.
‘The security gate is activated by a personally coded remote.’ He paused a beat, then added with killing softness, ‘Likewise, the lift is security coded.’
She swung back to face him, anger etched on every line of her body. ‘Kidnapping is a criminal offense. If you don’t want me to lay charges, I suggest you allow me free passage out of here. Now,’ she added with deadly intent. If she’d been standing close enough, she’d have lashed out and hit him.
Nikos regarded her steadily, assessing her slim frame, the darkness of her eyes. There was no fear apparent, and the thought momentarily intrigued him. Self-defence skills? His own had been acquired and honed to a lethal degree.
‘All I want is fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of your time.’
Her heartbeat thudded painfully against her ribs. The car park was well-lit, there were a number of cars lining marked bays, but it was eerily quiet. There was no one to whom she could appeal for help.
Michelle extracted her mobile phone and prepared to punch in the requisite digit that would connect her with Emergency Services and alert the police.
‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
His voice was even, and controlled. Too controlled. He emanated an indefinable leashed quality, a watchfulness that only a fool would disregard. And she didn’t consider herself a fool.
‘I don’t find this—’ she swept an arm in silent indication of her surroundings ‘—in the least amusing.’
‘You were averse to joining me in more comfortable surroundings,’ he posed silkily.
Anger meshed with indignation, colouring her features and lending her eyes a fiery sparkle. ‘Forgive me.’ Her voice dripped icy sarcasm. ‘For declining your invitation.’
Her passion intrigued him. Dammit, she intrigued him. Most women of his acquaintance, aware of his social and financial status, would have willingly followed wherever he chose to lead.
Yet for all that Michelle Gerard felt like an angel in his arms and responded with uninhibited fervour, instinct relayed that it wasn’t part of an act.
‘By your own admission,’ Michelle vented with restrained anger. ‘You brought me here to talk.’
She needed to shift the balance of control. Fear wasn’t an option. Although the word in itself was a misnomer. Nikos Alessandros didn’t mean her any harm. at least not in the physical sense. Yet when it came to her emotions... Now that was an entirely different ball game, something which irked her unbearably, for how could she be emotionally spellbound by a man who, in a short few hours, had broken every conventional social nicety?
‘I suggest you do so, now,’ she continued forcefully. ‘And condense whatever you have to say into two minutes.’ She indicated the mobile phone. ‘One wrong move and I’ll summon the police.’
He leaned one hip against the smooth bonnet of his car, and regarded her thoughtfully.
‘I want you to be my social companion for a few weeks,’ he stated without preamble.
Michelle drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this. He had only to beckon and women would beat a path to his side. ‘Surely you jest?’
His attention didn’t falter. ‘I’m quite serious.’
‘Why?’
‘For much the same reason it would suit you.’
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Body language,’ Nikos drawled.
Her eyes flashed golden fire. ‘I can handle Jeremy.’
‘I don’t doubt you can.’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘The question is, do you want to?’
‘I don’t need anyone to fight my battles,’ she said dryly. ‘Any more than you do. So why don’t you cut to the chase?’
‘I thought I already had.’
Her head tilted to one side. ‘You expect me to believe there’s a female you can’t handle?’ The prospect was almost laughable.
‘The widow of a very close friend of mine,’ Nikos enlightened her slowly. ‘Her husband was killed several months ago in a skiing accident.’
‘She is emotionally fragile, and genuinely misinterprets the friendship?’ Michelle posed. ‘Or has she become a calculating vixen intent on snaring another rich husband?’
His expression imperceptibly hardened, a subtle shifting of muscle over bone that reassembled his features into a compelling mask.
‘You presume too much.’
So she’d struck a tender nerve. Interesting that he didn’t answer her question.
‘You feel honour-bound to spare—’ She paused deliberately.
‘Saska.’
‘Saska,’ she continued. ‘Any embarrassment during what is a transitional grieving period?’
‘Yes,’ he declared succinctly.
‘I see.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And on the basis of one meeting, an appraisal of body language , you virtually kidnap me and suggest I have nothing better to do with my time than act out a part for your benefit.’
‘There would be a few advantages.’
Topaz flecks shone in the depths of her green eyes, a silent evidence of her anger. ‘Name one.’
‘All of the pleasure and none of the strings.’
‘And a bonus, I imagine, if I’m sufficiently convincing?’ The flippant query slipped from her lips, and she glimpsed the faint edge of humour tilt the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m sure we can come to an amicable arrangement.’
The entire evening had been a complete farce, including Jeremy’s behaviour. As for Nikos Alessandros... Impossible didn’t come close!
‘Just who the hell do you think you are?’ she demanded fiercely.
His expression hardened slightly, and his eyes took on the quality of steel. ‘A man who recognises an opportunity, and isn’t afraid to seize it.’
She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers, his taste...and the way her senses had flipped into a tailspin.
His indolent stance was deceptive. She had the instinctive feeling that if she turned away from him, he would simply reach out and haul her back.
‘Go find some other female,’ Michelle directed. ‘I’m not willing to participate.’
She caught the dark glitter in his eyes, glimpsed a muscle tense at the edge of his jaw, and experienced momentary satisfaction at besting him.
‘There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’
Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘No, not a thing.’
He examined her features with contemplative scrutiny. ‘In that case, we’ll take the lift to the ground floor and I’ll escort you to your apartment.’
She wanted to argue with him, and almost did.
‘Wise,’ Nikos drawled.
Michelle felt her stomach twist as they stepped into the small electronic cubicle. She was incredibly aware of the emotional pull, the intangible meshing of the senses.
Seconds later she preceded him into the main lobby, passed reception, then emerged into the fresh evening air.
Less than a hundred metres distant lay several trendy restaurants and cafés, each with outdoor chairs and tables lending the area a cosmopolitan air.
Michelle’s apartment building was situated fifty metres distant on the opposite side of the road, and when they reached its entrance she paused, a polite smile widening her lips as she turned towards him.
There was nothing to thank him for, and she didn’t make a pretense of doing so. The polite smile was merely a concession.
‘You forgot something.’
She caught the purposeful gleam in those dark eyes an instant before hands captured her face.
His head descended and his mouth covered hers in a kiss that plundered deep, savouring the inner sweetness without mercy, his tongue swift and incredibly clever as he took his fill.
This was skilled mastery, she registered dimly, and a silent gasp of outrage remained locked in her throat as he cupped her bottom and brought her close up against him so that she was in no doubt of his arousal.
Potent, shimmering heat sang through her veins and pooled at the centre of her feminine core. She could feel the thrust of her breasts as they swelled in anticipation of his touch, their tender peaks hardening into sensitive buds craving the tantalising succour of his mouth.
This was insane. A divine madness that had no place, no basis in anything.
Almost as if he sensed her withdrawal, he gradually lightened the kiss to a gentle brush of his lips against her own. Then he lifted his head, and released her.
‘Pleasant dreams, pedhi mou,’ he bade gently.
His eyes were warm, and deep enough to drown in. The flip response she sought never found voice, and she turned away from him, activated the security code on the external door, then hurried into the lobby without a backward glance.
Damn him. He was the most arrogant infuriating devastating man she’d ever met. Infinitely dangerous, she added as she jabbed the call button to summon one of two lifts.
As soon as the doors slid open she entered the cubicle, stabbed the appropriate panel button, and barely suppressed a shiver as the lift sped swiftly upward.
If she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Which was a total contradiction in terms, she grimaced as the lift came to a halt at her floor.
Seconds later she let herself into her apartment, hit the light switch, checked the locking mechanism was in place, then she moved through to the kitchen.
Caffeine would keep her awake, so she opted for a glass of chilled water, sipped the contents, then crossed to her bedroom.
It was several minutes this side of midnight, and she divested her clothes, took a leisurely warm shower, then slid between cool percale sheets in an effort to cull sleep.
Without success. There were too many images crowding her mind. A tall dark-haired Greek whose eyes seemed to haunt her. His voice, with its slightly accented timbre that curled like silk round every sensitive nerve-end, invading without license as a vivid reminder of his touch. The feel of his hands on her body, their caressing warmth, and the taste of his mouth on hers as it devoured, savoured, and sought to imprint his brand.
It was almost as if she could still sense the exclusive tones of his cologne, the clean smell of fine tailoring and fresh laundered cotton. And a subtle masculine scent that was his...
Dammit. She didn’t want to be this disturbed by a man. To have her senses invaded by a pervasive sexual alchemy.
She’d met scores of men, been charmed by several, discovered an affection for a few, and loved none. At least, not the swept off my feet, melting bones kind of emotion portrayed on the cinema screen and extolled between the pages of many a romance novel.
When it came to attraction, she was still waiting for the earth to move. Warm and fuzzy somehow didn’t come close to hungry shattering sensual sexuality.
Yet tonight she’d experienced it in the arms of a stranger.
For the space of...how long? Two, three minutes? She’d lost all sense of time and place. There was only the man, the moment, and raw unbridled passion.
Her body had curved into his, and clung, moulding in a perfect fit as his mouth had taken possession of her own.
And it had been possession. Demanding, compelling, and frankly sensual, his kiss was a promise. Primitive, raw, libidinous.
It should have frightened her. Instead, for the - space of those few minutes she’d felt exhilarated, alive, and aware. Dear God, so aware of every pulse beat, the heat that flared from every erogenous zone as her whole body coalesced into a throbbing entity, almost totally beyond her control.
If he could initiate such an effect with just a kiss, what sort of lover would he be?
Intensely vital, passionate, and incredibly sensual. Hungry, wild...shameless, she added with certainty.
What was she thinking?
Nikos Alessandros was the last man on earth she would want to have anything to do with.
She lifted her head and thumped her pillow. Damn the hateful images invading her mind. They clouded her perspective, dulled commonsense, and played havoc with her nervous system.
All she had to do was fall asleep, and in the morning a fresh new day would dispense with the night’s emotional turmoil.
CHAPTER THREE
THE insistent ring of the telephone penetrated Michelle’s subconscious, and she reached out a hand, searched blindly for the handset, and succeeded in knocking the receiver onto the floor.
Oh hell. What a way to start the day.
She caught hold of the spiral cord and tugged until her fingers connected with the receiver.
‘Michelle.’
Inches away from her ear she recognised the feminine voice, and she stifled an unladylike oath.
‘Maman,’ she acknowledged with resignation. Just what she needed.
‘Are you still in bed, cherie?’ There was a slight pause. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
Seven, maybe eight, she hazarded, sparing a quick glance at the bedside clock before drawing a sharp breath. Nine.
‘You are alone?’
Michelle closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No, Maman. Two lovers have pleasured me all through the night.’
‘There is no need to be facetious, darling,’ Chantelle reproved, and Michelle sighed.
‘I’m sorry. Blame it on lack of sleep.’
‘I thought we might do lunch.’ Chantelle named a trendy restaurant at Main Beach. ‘Shall we say twelve?’ And hung up before Michelle had a chance to confirm or refuse.
‘Grrr.’ The sound was a low-pitched growl that held a mixture of irritation and compliance. She could ring back and decline, except she knew almost word for word what Chantelle would say as a persuasive ploy.
Emotional blackmail of the nicest kind, she added mentally as she replaced the receiver and rolled onto her stomach.
Lunch for her mother inevitably meant a minuscule Caesar salad, followed by fresh fruit, a small glass of white wine and two glasses of water. Afterwards they would browse the trendy boutiques, drive the short distance to Marina Mirage, relax over a leisurely latte, then wander at will through the upmarket emporiums.
It was a mother-daughter thing they indulged in together on occasion. Michelle was under no illusion that today’s invitation was a thinly-veiled guise to conduct an in-depth discussion about her association with Nikos Alessandros.
In which case she’d best rise, shine and meet the day. Routine chores and the weekly visit to the supermarket would occupy an hour and a half, and she’d need the remaining time to shower and change if she was to meet her mother at noon.
Chantelle ordered her favourite Caesar salad, and mineral water, while Michelle settled for something more substantial.
‘Antonia and Emerson have insisted we join them on their boat for lunch tomorrow.’
Sunglasses shielded her mother’s eyes, successfully hiding her expression. Although Michelle wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
Chantelle had conversation down to a fine art. First there would be the pleasantries, some light humour in the form of an anecdote or two, followed by the main purpose of the meeting.
‘That will be nice,’ Michelle commented evenly.
‘We will, of course, be back in time to attend the Gallery exhibition.’
This month’s exhibition featured an up and coming local artist whose work had impressed both Gallery partners. Arrangements for each exhibition were made many months in advance, and it said much for the Gallery’s reputation that they had bookings well into next year for future showings.
Emilio possessed an instinctive flair for what would succeed, and their combined talents and expertise had seen a fledging Gallery expand to become one of the most respected establishments on the coastal strip.
Invitations had been sent out to fifty patrons and their partners, the catering instructions had been given. All that remained were the final touches, and placement of the exhibits.
Something which both she and Emilio would attend to this afternoon and complete early tomorrow morning. ‘Do you have any plans for tonight, darling?’
Michelle wound a portion of superb fettuccine marinara onto her fork and held it poised halfway above her plate. ‘An early night, Maman.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Did she? ‘You know how much effort Emilio and I put into each exhibition,’ Michelle said lightly. ‘There are so many things to check, and Emilio is particular with every detail.’
‘I know, darling.’
Chantelle considered education as something important for Michelle to acquire. The private school, university, time abroad to study at the Sorbonne. Except she really wasn’t expected to do anything as a result of such qualification and experience.
The Gallery had been viewed as a frivolous venture. Michelle’s partnership with Emilio Bonanno was expected to be in name only, something she quickly dispelled as she steadfastly refused to join her mother on the social circuit, confining herself to the occasional charity dinner or gala, much to Chantelle’s expressed disappointment.
You could say, Michelle mused, that for the past three years her mother had graciously accepted that her own social proclivities were not shared by her daughter. However, it didn’t stop Chantelle from issuing frequent invitations, or, for the past year, indulging in subtle matchmaking attempts.
‘I think you’ve succeeded in making Jeremy jealous.’ Chantelle took a sip of mineral water, then set down the glass. ‘He wasn’t quite himself after you left last night. Has he telephoned you this morning?’
‘No,’ Michelle responded evenly. ‘I don’t particularly want to hear from him.’
‘Because of Nikos Alessandros?’
‘Nikos Alessandros has nothing whatsoever to do with it.’
‘He’s quite a catch, darling.’
She chose to be deliberately obtuse. ‘Jeremy?’
‘Nikos,’ Chantelle corrected with a tolerant sigh.
‘As I have no intention of indulging in a fishing expedition, whether or not he’s a catch is totally irrelevant.’
‘Do you have time to do a little window shopping?’ Chantelle queried. ‘I really think I could add something to my wardrobe.’
To give her mother credit, she knew when to withdraw. ‘I promised Emilio I’d be at the Gallery at two-thirty.’
Chantelle savoured the last mouthful of cos lettuce, then replaced her fork. ‘In that case, darling, do finish your pasta. We’ll share a coffee later, shall we?’
Clothes, shoes, lingerie, perfume. Any one, or all four, could prove a guaranteed distraction, and Michelle accompanied her mother into one boutique after another in her quest to purchase.
An hour and a half later Chantelle held no less than three brightly emblazoned carry bags, and there was no time left to share coffee.
‘See you tomorrow, darling. Don’t work too hard.’
Michelle placed a light kiss on her mother’s cheek, then watched as Chantelle stowed her purchases in the boot before crossing to slide in behind the wheel of her Mercedes.
It was almost two-thirty when Michelle entered the Gallery. A converted house comprising three levels, it had been completely renovated. Polished wooden floors gleamed with a deep honey stain, and the walls were individually painted in several different pale colours providing a diverse background for carefully placed exhibits. Skylights threw angled shafts of sunlight, accenting subtle shadows as the sun moved from east to west throughout the day.
She experienced a degree of pride at the decor, and what she’d been able to achieve in the past three years.
‘Emilio?’
She returned her keys to her bag and carefully closed the door behind her.
‘Up here, cara,’ an accented voice called from the mezzanine level. ‘Brett is with me.’
A short flight of stairs led to the next level. Above that were Emilio’s private rooms.
Michelle moved swiftly towards the upstairs studio where Brett’s exhibition was to be held. ‘Hi,’ she greeted warmly as she joined them. Both men glanced up, gave her a penetrating look, then switched their attention to the stack of paintings propped carefully against one wall.
‘Cara, stand over there, and tell us what you think,’ Emilio commanded.
For the next four hours they worked side by side, then when the artist left they ordered in pizza, effected a few minor changes, satisfied themselves that every exhibit was strategically placed according to their original plan.
‘He’s nervous,’ Michelle noted as she bit into a slice of piping hot pizza. Melted cheese, pepperoni, capsicum... delicious.
‘It’s his first exhibition,’ Emilio granted, following her action.
The light glinted in reflection from the ear-stud he wore. Designer stubble was at odds with his peroxided crew cut. A lean sinewy frame clothed in designer jeans and T-shirt, he bore the visual persona of an avant garde. His sexual preferences were the subject for conjecture, and he did nothing to dispel a certain image. However, it was part of the tease, the glamour associated with a role he chose to play, and the knowledge very few close friends knew he was straight and not at all what he appeared to be, only amused him.
Behind the image lay a very shrewd business brain, an almost infallible instinct for genuine talent, and an indefinable nous for what appealed to the buying public.
It was something Michelle also shared, and their friendship was platonic, based on mutual knowledge, affection and respect.
‘You are pensive. Why?’
Forthright, even confrontational, Emilio possessed the ability to divine whenever anything bothered her. She delayed answering him by pulling the tab on a can of soft drink and taking a long swallow of the ice-cold liquid.
‘A man, huh?’ Emilio pronounced. ‘Do I know him?’
She replaced the can onto the table, and took another bite of pizza. ‘What makes you so sure it’s a man?’
‘You have soft shadows beneath those beautiful green eyes.’ His smile was gentle, but far too discerning. ‘Lack of sleep, sweetheart. And as you rarely party ‘til dawn, I doubt a late night among the social elite was the cause.’
‘I could merely be concerned about tomorrow’s exhibition.’
‘No,’ he declared with certainty. ‘If you don’t want to talk about him, that’s fine.’
Michelle cast him a level look. ‘He was a guest at a dinner I attended.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.’
‘Trouble,’ Emilio accorded softly. ‘Definitely.’
‘No,’ she corrected. ‘Because I won’t allow him to be.’
‘Cara, I don’t think you’ll have a choice.’ His quiet laughter brought forth a vexed grimace.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you’re a beautiful young woman whose fierce protection of self lends you to eat lesser men for breakfast,’ he mocked. ‘The fact you haven’t been able to succeed with this particular one is intriguing. I shall look forward to meeting him.’
‘It won’t happen,’ Michelle vowed with certainty.
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I know so,’ she responded vehemently.
‘OK.’ Emilio lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture, although his smile held humour. ‘Eat your pizza.’
‘I intend to.’ She bit into the crisp crust, then reached forward, caught up a paper napkin and wiped her fingers. ‘I’ll help you clean up, then I’m going home.’
‘An empty pizza carton, a few glasses, soft drink cans. What’s to clean?’
‘In that case,’ she inclined, standing to her feet in one fluid movement. ‘I’m out of here.’ She leaned forward and brushed her cheek to his. ‘Ciao.’
The Gallery opened at four, and an hour later the full complement of guests had gathered, mingling in small clutches, glass in hand. Taped baroque music flowed softly through strategically placed speakers, a soothing background to the muted buzz of conversation.
Michelle had selected a classic fitted dress in black with a lace overlay. Stiletto heels, sheer black hose, her hair swept high, and understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes completed a picture that portrayed elegance and style.
Hired staff proffered trays containing a selection of hors d’oeuvres, and already a number of Brett’s paintings displayed a discreet sold sticker.
Success, Michelle reflected with a small sigh of relief. Everything was going splendidly. The finger food couldn’t be faulted, the champagne was superb, and the ambience was perfecto, as Emilio would say.
She glanced across the room, caught his eye, and smiled.
‘Another triumph, darling.’
Her stomach tightened fractionally as she recognised Jeremy’s cynical voice, and she summoned a polite smile as she turned to face him. ‘I didn’t expect you to honour the invitation.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
He leaned forward and she moved slightly so that his lips brushed her cheek. An action which resulted in a faint intake of breath, the momentary hardening of his eyes.
‘The eminently eligible Nikos has yet to put in an appearance, I see.’ He moved back a pace, and ran light fingers down her arm.
Michelle tilted her head a little and met his dark gaze. ‘A little difficult, when he wasn’t issued an invitation.’
‘Dear sweet Michelle,’ Jeremy chided with sarcastic gentleness. ‘Nikos was an invited guest on the parents’ cruiser today. The enchanting Chantelle issued the invitation to your Gallery soiree.’ He paused for effect before delivering the punch line. ‘As I recall, Nikos indicated he would grace us with his presence.’
Her heart tripped and raced to a quicker beat. ‘Really? ’
One eyebrow slanted in mockery. ‘Am I mistaken, or is that not pleasurable anticipation I sense?’ He primed a barb and aimed for the kill. ‘Didn’t he come up to scratch last night, darling?’ His smile held thinly veiled humour. ‘Jet lag can have that effect.’
Calm, just keep calm, she bade silently as she moved back a pace. He didn’t release her arm, and she gave him a deliberately pointed look. ‘This conversation is going nowhere, Jeremy.’ She flexed her arm, felt his grip tighten for an instant before he released her. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I really must mingle.’ Her voice assumed an icy formality. ‘I hope you enjoy the exhibition. Emilio and I are confident of Brett’s talent and potential.’
‘Ah, the inimical Emilio,’ Jeremy drawled. ‘You do know he’s bisexual?’
As well as being untrue, it was unkind. She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Slander isn’t a pretty word. Watch you don’t find yourself in court on a legal charge.’
‘A mite too protective, darling.’
‘And you,’ she declared with quiet emphasis. ‘Are a first-class—’
‘Michelle.’
Her body quivered at the sound of that faintly accented voice, and her pulse went into overdrive. How much of her argument with Jeremy had Nikos Alessandros heard?
Everything came into sharp focus as she slowly turned to face him.
‘Nikos,’ she acknowledged, and imperceptibly stiffened as he placed a hand at the back of her waist.
His expression gave nothing away, but there was a hint of steel beneath the polite facade as he inclined his head.
‘Jeremy.’
Michelle’s nerves flared into sensitised life at his close proximity.
‘Is there a problem?’ Nikos asked smoothly, and she felt like screaming.
Yes. Jeremy for behaving badly, and you just for being here!
A determined sparkle darkened her eyes. ‘If you’ll excuse me? I really should mingle.’
She turned away, only to find that Nikos had joined her.
‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she queried with quiet vehemence the instant they were out of Jeremy’s earshot. She made a concerted effort to shift out of his grasp without success.
‘Rescuing you.’
‘I didn’t need rescuing!’
His smile held a hint of cynical humour. ‘Especially not by me.’
‘Look—’
‘Save the indignation for a more suitable occasion.’
‘Why?’ Michelle vented with quiet fury. ‘When I have no intention of seeing you again.’
‘Considering your parents and the Bateson-Burrows have issued me with a few interesting invitations, that’s most unlikely,’ Nikos assured silkily.
She wanted to hit him. It was enough she had to deal with Jeremy, whose recalcitrance in the past twenty-four hours could be directly attributed to the man at her side.
Had Nikos not been a guest at the Bateson-Burrows’ dinner table, she could have conducted a diplomatic discussion last night with Jeremy, and he wouldn’t now be behaving quite inappropriately.
Or would he? Jeremy had displayed a side to his personality she’d never suspected might exist.
‘Suppose we embark on a conducted tour of your protegé’s work.’
‘Why?’ she demanded baldly, and found herself looking into a pair of amused dark grey eyes.
‘I could be a potential buyer, and you do, Chantelle assures me, have an excellent eye for new talent.’
Did she realise just how beautiful she looked when she was angry?
‘Mother has excelled herself in lauding my supposed talents,’ she stated dryly.
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’
In any other circumstance, she would have laughed. However, tonight she wasn’t in the mood to see the humorous side of Chantelle’s machinations.
They drew close to one exhibit, and she went into a professional spiel about light and colour and style, Brett’s unusual technique, and indicated the painting’s possible worth on the market in another five years.
, Nikos dropped his arm from her waist, and she wondered why she suddenly felt cold, even vaguely bereft.
Crazy, she dismissed. Every instinct she possessed warned that Nikos Alessandros was a man she should have nothing to do with if she wanted to retain her emotional sanity.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHICH of the collection is your personal favourite?’ Nikos queried as they moved from one exhibit to another.
There were interruptions as she was greeted by a few guests, and on each occasion good manners demanded she introduce the man at her side.
She could sense their masked speculation, sense their curiosity, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or resigned.
Michelle’s lips parted to make a flippant response, only to change her mind at the last second. ‘The little boy standing on a sandhill looking out over the ocean.’
He lifted a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. He watched her eyes dilate, and felt the slight shiver his touch evoked. ‘Why that particular painting?’
‘Because it seems as if the ocean represents his world, and he’s curious to know where it ends and what’s beyond the horizon. If you look at his features, there’s wonderment, excitement.’ Her voice softened. ‘He’s trying not to be afraid, but he is. You can see it in the faint thrust of his lower lip, the way his chin tucks in a little.’ She raised her hand, then let it fall again to her side.
It was more than just a painting, it represented life. The promise of what might be. Even though the logical mind relegated the image to the skilled use of paint on canvas and artistic flair.
‘Consider it sold.’
Michelle glanced up and examined the chiselled perfection of his features. ‘You haven’t asked the grice.’
‘It’s listed on the programme.’ His smile was wholly sensual. ‘What discount are you prepared to offer me?’
She badly wanted to say none, except ‘business’ was a separate category to ‘personal,’ and anyone with sufficient nous ensured the two were kept apart. ‘It depends on your method of payment.’
‘I’ll present you with a bank cheque at midday tomorrow, and organise delivery.’
Michelle didn’t hesitate. ‘Five per cent.’
It shouldn’t concern her where he intended to hang it, in fact she told herself she didn’t care.
‘Something is bothering you?’
His light tone didn’t fool her in the slightest. He was too intuitive, and she loathed his ability to tune into her thoughts. It made her feel vulnerable, and too acutely sensitive.
‘Why should anything bother me? I’ve just sold the most expensive painting featured in this exhibition.’
‘By your own admission, it’s the one you admire most,’ Nikos pursued softly. ‘I imagine you can offer a suggestion how it should be displayed to its best advantage?’
She could tell him to do what he liked with it, but professional etiquette got the better of her.
‘It should occupy centre stage on a wide wall,’ she opined slowly. ‘Preferably painted a very pale shade of blue, so the colours mesh and there’s a sense of continuity.’
Interesting, he perceived, that her love of art overcame her instinctive wariness of him.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ Michelle said purposefully. ‘There’s something I need to check with my business partner.’ She offered him a polite smile, then turned and went in search of Emilio.
‘So he’s the one,’ Emilio said in a quiet aside several minutes later.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘I’d prefer not to discuss it.’
‘As you wish.’
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HELEN BIANCHIN
A convenient affair? Nikos Alessandros needed a social hostess, and he'd decided that beautiful, sophisticated Michelle would be the perfect companion - temporarily. For Michelle, their pretend affair would certainly help her escape the suitable marriage she was being pressured into… .But Nikos was formidably sexy and Michelle found it hard to control her powerful attraction to this arrogant stranger. If she agreed to be his mistress by arrangement, could she stop pretense turning into reality?
“I guess we should set down some ground rules.” (#u7d06bc44-569a-5e7d-8759-5175b85f8bb2)Passion (#u5124df4c-4519-5355-bd55-35799a96b87c)Title Page (#u130245c8-4a5a-5f12-afc6-80af0f4fd24c)Dedication (#udfa53a3d-cf94-567a-9679-6ecae6a9c7a8)CHAPTER ONE (#u6ea91dc4-6767-5d26-97b3-8f4fb0a8ccec)CHAPTER TWO (#u998b4c0d-04a1-508e-b254-bd9617ca1d1d)CHAPTER THREE (#u4e8072b0-70c9-5cc4-ae5e-b75462c7b947)CHAPTER FOUR (#u41834267-4462-5868-a4fa-a90e9be521bf)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“I guess we should set down some ground rules.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Michelle looked at Nikos carefully, and was unable to see beyond the sophisticated mask he presented. “No unnecessary—” She was going to say intimacy, but that sounded too personal. “Touching,” she amended, and missed the faint gleam in those dark eyes.
“I’ll try to restrain myself, if you will.”
He was amused, damn him! “Do you want to put a time limit on our supposed relationship?”
One eyebrow slanted. “How about...as long as it takes?”
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Mistress By Arrangement
Helen Bianchin
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Alex and Angie Kidas
with gratitude and affection
CHAPTER ONE
MICHELLE sipped superb Chardonnay from a crystal wineglass and cast an idle glance at the room’s occupants.
The men were resplendent in black dinner suits, white dress shirts and black bow ties, while the women vied with each other in designer gowns.
This evening’s occasion was a simple dinner party for ten guests held in the beautiful home of their hosts, Antonia and Emerson Bateson-Burrows, whose reputation for providing fine wine, excellent food, and scintillating company was almost unequalled in Queensland’s Gold Coast society.
‘Another drink, darling?’
She felt the proprietorial clasp of Jeremy’s arm along the back of her waist.
Mine, the action seemed to shriek. The fond glance of his parents, hers, merely served to endorse their approval.
Did they think she was unaware of the subtle manipulative matchmaking attempts of late? It was too much of a coincidence that Jeremy had been a fellow guest at several social events she’d attended in the past four weeks.
Marriage wasn’t on her agenda, nor was she willing to drift into a meaningless relationship. Thanks to an annuity from her maternal grandmother, her life was good. At twenty-five, she owned her own apartment, ran a successful art gallery in partnership with a friend, and she had no inclination to change the status quo.
She felt the faint pressure of Jeremy’s hand at her waist and she summoned a polite smile. ‘Thanks, but I’ll wait until dinner.’
Which would be when? Were all the guests not accounted for? Speculation rose as she glimpsed Jeremy’s mother spare her wristwatch a surreptitious glance.
Who would dare to be late for a Bateson-Burrows soiree?
‘Mother is becoming a tad anxious,’ Jeremy revealed, sotto voce. ‘Nikos warned he might be unavoidably late.’
Curiosity sparked Michelle’s interest. ‘Nikos?’
Jeremy cast her an amused look. ‘Alessandros. Greek origin, relatively new money, respectably earned,’ he added. ‘Electronics. Bases in Athens, Rome, Paris, London, Vancouver, Sydney.’
‘If his Australian base is in Sydney, what’s he doing on the Gold Coast?’
‘He has a penthouse in Main Beach,’ Jeremy enlightened. ‘The man is a consummate strategist. Word has it he’s about to close an enviable deal.’ His mouth formed a cynical twist. ‘Instead of flying directly to Sydney, he’s chosen to negotiate from the Gold Coast.’
‘Impressive,’ she acknowledged, summoning a mental image of a short, paunchy, balding middle-aged Greek with a stylish much younger wife.
‘Very,’ Jeremy declared succinctly. ‘Father covets his patronage and his business account.’
‘And his friendship?’
‘It’s at an adequate level.’
Adequate presumably wasn’t good enough, and Emerson Bateson-Burrows’ extended invitation to dine was merely part of a larger plan.
Politics, business and social, involved an intricate strategy of a kind that occasionally sickened her altruistic mind.
‘Two hours to dine and socialise over coffee,’ Jeremy inclined. ‘Then we can escape and go on to a nightclub.’
It irked her that he took her acquiescence for granted. She was on the point of telling him so, when some sixth sense alerted her attention.
Curious, she lifted her head and felt the breath catch in her throat.
‘Nikos,’ Jeremy informed her, although she barely registered the verbal identification as her interest was captured by the tall male figure who had just entered the room.
He possessed broad-boned features, a strong jaw, and his mouth was chiselled perfection.
A man, Michelle perceived with instinctive insight, who wore the fine clothes of a gentleman, possessed the requisite good manners...and had the heart of a predatory warrior.
It was evident in his stance, the cool assessing quality in those dark slate-grey eyes as they roamed the room and its occupants.
They flicked towards her, paused, then settled in a slow appraisal of her dark honey-blond hair, green eyes, and the slender feminine curves encased in a black designer dress.
There was no power on earth that could suppress the faint shivery sensation feathering its way down her spine at the intensity of that look. She felt as if it stripped away the conventional bamer of clothes, lingerie, and stroked her skin.
It took considerable effort to match his appraisal, but she was damned if she’d concede him any sort of victory by glancing away.
Dark hair, well-groomed. Broad shoulders beneath expensive tailoring, and his shoes were hand-tooled leather. In his mid-thirties, he was the antithesis of the middle-aged paunchy balding man Michelle had envisaged.
She watched as he worked the room during an introductory circuit, noting the undoubted charm, the easy smile, an easy grace of movement that implied a high level of physical fitness.
‘Michelle Gerard,’ Antonia announced by way of introduction, reaching their side. ‘Jeremy’s girlfriend.’
Nikos Alessandros reached forward, took hold of her hand, and raised it to his lips.
Michelle’s eyes flew wide with shock as he placed a brief open-mouthed kiss to her palm, then he curled her fingers as if to seal in the flagrant action. Heat flooded her veins, coursing through her body as each nerve-end sprang into vibrant life.
‘Michelle.’ His voice held a faint inflection, an accent that was more international than indicative of his own nationality.
Primitive alchemy, potent and incredibly lethal, was a compelling force, and her skin burned where his lips had touched.
‘We meet again.’
Again? She’d never met him in this lifetime. If she had, she’d remember. No woman alive could possibly forget someone of Nikos Alessandros’ calibre!
Michelle was at once conscious of Antonia’s surprised gaze coupled with Jeremy’s sharp attention.
‘You’ve already met?’
‘While Michelle was studying at the Sorbonne in Paris,’ Nikos declared with knowledgeable ease.
A calculated guess? Somehow she doubted it. Which immediately drew the question as to how he came by the information.
‘Really?’ Antonia queried lightly after a few seconds silence.
Michelle watched in fascination as he directed her a blatantly sensual smile. ‘How could I forget?’
She should refute they’d ever set eyes on each other, and accuse him of being a sexist opportunist.
‘Your capacity to remember surprises me.’ That much was true, yet as soon as the words left her lips she wondered at the wisdom of playing his game.
Midsummer madness? An attempt to alleviate the matchmaking techniques employed by two sets of parents? Or just plain devilry.
Nikos’ eyes never left her own, and she experienced the uncanny sensation he could read her mind. Worse, that he could dissect the conventional barriers she’d learnt to erect and divine the path to her soul.
It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. But then, she doubted there was anything comfortable about this man.
Dangerous, occasionally merciless, powerful. And rarely predictable. A tiny imp added, incredibly sexual. An earthy, uninhibited lover who would seek every liberty, and encourage a similar response. Demand, she amended with instinctive knowledge.
Just the thought of what he could do to a woman, and how he would do it was enough to raise all her fine body hairs in a gesture of...what? Self-preservation? Anticipation?
Her eyes dilated at a highly erotic image, one that was so evocative she was unable to subdue the flare of heat from her innermost core.
‘Indeed?’ That deep drawl held a wealth of meaning she didn’t even want to explore.
Antonia sensed it, and immediately launched into an attempt at damage control. ‘Nikos, you must allow Emerson to get you a drink.’ She placed a hand on his sleeve, and for a moment Michelle held her breath at the possibility he might detach Antonia’s hand and opt to stay where he was.
Something moved in his expression, then he smiled, inclining his head in mocking acquiescence as he allowed his hostess to steer him away.
The electric force-field evident didn’t diminish, and it took considerable effort to lift the glass to her lips and take a sip of wine.
‘You know him.’
Michelle’s lips parted to deny it, only to pause fractionally too long.
‘And to think I’ve been playing the gentleman,’ Jeremy drawled silkily, raising his glass in a silent mocking salute as he conducted a slow encompassing survey from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and back again.
Indignation heightened the dark golden sparks in her green eyes, and anyone who knew her well would have heeded the silent warning.
‘One has only to look at Nikos to know his friendship with women is inevitably of an intimate nature.’
‘Really?’ Michelle tempered the query with a deceptive smile. She wanted to hit him. ‘You’d dare to accuse me on the strength of another man’s reputation? ’
Antonia Bateson-Burrows’ announcement that dinner was ready proved opportune.
‘Can you blame me for being jealous?’ Jeremy offered as they crossed to the dining room.
Nikos Alessandros had a lot to answer for, she determined wryly.
Unbidden, her gaze shifted to the tall male Greek a few feet distant, and she watched in fascinated surprise as he turned briefly towards her.
Those dark slate-grey eyes held an expression she couldn’t fathom, and for one infinitesimal second everything faded to the periphery of her vision. There was only him. The subdued chatter, the other guests, were no longer apparent.
A slight smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained steady, almost as if he withheld a knowledge of something she couldn’t even begin to presume.
The breath caught in her throat, and she deliberately broke the silent spell by transferring her attention to the proposed seating arrangements.
With any luck, Nikos Alessandros would be at the opposite end of the table, precluding the necessity to indulge in polite conversation.
An accomplished hostess, Antonia skilfully manoeuvred her guests into chairs, shuffling them so there were six on one side with five on the other, while she and Emerson took their position at the head of the table.
Oh hell. Thirteen at the dinner table on Friday the thirteenth. Could it get any worse?
Don’t tempt Fate by even thinking about it, a tiny voice taunted, only to discover she faced Nikos across a decorative floral centrepiece.
Emerson poured the wine while Antonia organised the serving of the first course.
‘Salute.’ Nikos’ accent was flawless as he lifted his glass, and although his smile encompassed everyone seated at the table, his eyes remained fixed on Michelle.
The soup was delicious vichyssoise, although after the first spoonful Michelle’s tastebuds seemed to go on strike.
Succulent prawns in a piquant sauce were served on a bed of mesclan lettuce, and she sipped the excellent white wine, then opted for chilled water in the need for a clear head.
The conversation encompassed a broad spectrum as it touched briefly on the state of the country’s financial budget, the possibility of tax reform and its effect on the economy.
‘What is your view, Michelle?’
The sound of that faintly accented drawl stirred her senses. Her hand paused midway in its passage from the table to her lips, and her fingers tightened fractionally on the goblet’s slim stem.
‘Inconsequential, I imagine. Given that whatever my opinion, it will have little effect in the scheme of things.’
Jeremy’s silent offer to refill Nikos’ glass was met with an equally silent refusal.
The fact that Nikos declined didn’t halt Jeremy’s inclination to fill his own glass.
‘Nevertheless, I would be interested to hear it.’
Having set the cat among the pigeons, it’s a source of amusement for you to watch the outcome, she surmised silently. But what if one of the pigeons was unafraid of the cat? Two could play this game.
‘As I recall, you were never particularly interested in my mind.’
His eyes held hers, mesmeric in their intensity. She watched as his lips parted to reveal even white teeth, and noticed the movement deepened the vertical slash on each cheek.
‘Could anyone blame me, pedhi mou?’
His drawled endearment curled round her nerve-ends and sent them spiralling out of control.
‘I’ll serve the main course.’
Michelle heard Antonia’s words, and watched absently as the hired help cleared plates and cutlery and replaced them.
‘Some more wine, Nikos?’
Emerson, ever the genial host, merely warranted the briefest glance. ‘Thank you, no.’ He returned his attention to Michelle. ‘I haven’t the need for further stimulation.’
This was getting out of hand. It was also gaining the interest of everyone seated at the table.
Chicken in a lemon sauce accompanied by a selection of braised vegetables did little to tempt Michelle’s flagging appetite, and she sampled a few mouthfuls of chicken, took a delicate bite of each vegetable, then set down her cutlery.
Water, not wine, was something she sipped at infrequent intervals as she wished fervently for the evening to end.
Yet there was dessert and the cheeseboard to complete the meal, followed by coffee. It would be at least another hour before she could make some excuse to leave.
Jeremy leaned towards her and placed an arm along the back of her chair.
‘Tell me, darling.’ His voice was a conspiratorial murmur. ‘Is he incredibly physical in bed?’
She didn’t deign to answer, and deliberately avoided glancing in Nikos’ direction as she conversed with the guest seated next to her. Afterwards she had little recollection of the topic or her contribution.
Dessert was an exotic creation of baklava, together with fresh fruit and brandied cream.
Michelle passed on both, and selected a few grapes to freshen her palate.
‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?’ Antonia queried when it appeared everyone had had their fill.
They were the sweetest words Michelle had heard in hours, and she subdued her enthusiasm as she stood to her feet and joined her parents.
Chantelle Gerard cast her daughter a thoughtful glance. ‘I had no idea you knew Nikos Alessandros.’
Money was important. Breeding, equally so. The Bateson-Burrows possessed both. But the Alessandros’ fortune couldn’t be ignored.
Michelle could almost see the wheels turning in her mother’s brain. ‘I intend leaving very soon.’
‘You’re going on somewhere with Jeremy, darling? ’
‘No.’
‘I see,’ Chantelle voiced sagely. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
‘Believe me, Maman, there is absolutely nothing to tell,’ Michelle assured with an edge of mockery, watching as her mother lifted one eyebrow in silent chastisement. ‘Nothing,’ she added quietly.
Twenty questions at dawn wasn’t her favoured way to begin the day. However, Chantelle was well-practised in the art of subtle manipulation, and Michelle was able to interpret every nuance in her mother’s voice.
‘We can easily give you a lift home if you’re prepared to wait awhile.’
She should have brought her own car. Except Jeremy had insisted he collect her. Not a wise move, she decided wryly in retrospect.
The mild headache she’d thought to invent was no longer a figment of her imagination. And Jeremy was fast becoming a nuisance. Her apartment was less than a kilometre away, a distance she’d entertain no qualms in walking during the day. However, the night hours provided a totally different context for a woman alone.
‘I’ll call a taxi.’
Antonia offered a superb blend of coffee, together with liqueur, cream, milk, exotic bite-sized continental biscuits and a variety of Belgian chocolates.
Michelle added milk and sugar, and sipped it as quickly as etiquette allowed. Placing her cup and saucer down onto a nearby side-table, she turned towards her hosts, and her stomach executed a slow somersault as she discovered Antonia and Emerson deep in conversation with Nikos Alessandros.
Just pin a smile on your face, thank them for a pleasant evening, and then exit the room. Two or three minutes, five at the most.
Almost as if he sensed her hesitation, Nikos lifted his head and watched her approach.
Jeremy appeared at her side and draped an arm over her shoulder. His hand lingered a hair’s-breadth from her breast, and she stepped sideways in an effort to avoid the familiarity, only to have Jeremy’s hand close firmly over her arm.
‘Finished doing the duty thing with your parents?’
She took exception to his tone, and his manner. ‘I don’t regard talking to my parents as a duty.’
‘You obviously don’t suffer parental suffocation as a result of being the only child,’ he alluded cynically.
‘No,’ she responded evenly.
‘Ready to leave?’ Nikos queried smoothly as she joined Jeremy’s parents. ‘If you’ll excuse us,’ Nikos announced imperturbably to his hosts. ‘Michelle and I have some catching up to do.’ He caught hold of her hand and drew her forward, inclined his head towards a startled Jeremy, then led her from the lounge.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed as soon as they reached the foyer.
‘Providing you with a lift to your apartment.’
‘Michelle.’ Jeremy drew level with them. ‘I’ll take you home.’
She felt like hitting each of them. One for being overly possessive and childishly jealous. The Greek for his arrogance.
‘There’s no need to leave your parents’ guests,’ Nikos intoned pleasantly. ‘Michelle’s apartment building is almost opposite my own.’
How did he know that?
‘She’s my girlfriend,’ Jeremy reiterated fiercely as he turned towards her.
This was getting worse by the second.
‘Michelle?’ Nikos’ voice was silk-encased steel.
Jeremy’s hand closed over her shoulder, as if staking a claim. ‘Damn you, tell him.’
‘There’s nothing to tell,’ she assured quietly, and winced as Jeremy’s hold tightened.
‘I don’t think so, my friend,’ Nikos drawled with dangerous softness, and Jeremy turned towards him with emboldened belligerence.
‘This is none of your business!’
‘I disagree.’
‘Why would you do that?’
‘Because Michelle is with me.’
‘Damned if she is!’ Jeremy’s face contorted with fury.
‘You want proof?’ Nikos demanded silkily.
Michelle didn’t get the chance to say a word in protest as Nikos drew her into his arms and covered her mouth with his own.
Possessive and frankly sensual, he took advantage of her surprise to taste and plunder at will, then before she could protest he gathered her close and turned the kiss into something incredibly erotic.
Her heart jumped, then raced to a quickened beat as one hand slid to hold fast her nape while the other cupped her bottom and brought her into startling contact with hard male arousal.
Each and every one of her senses intensified as he sought her response.
Passion...electric, magnetic, shameless, it tore through all the conventional barriers to a primitive base that was wholly sexual.
It was as if an instinctive knowledge existed between them, she registered dimly. Something that sanctioned the way his mouth wreaked havoc with her own.
She was supremely aware of him, everything about him. The faint layers of texture and smell heightened her senses...the subtle tang of his cologne, the texture of his skin, the fine fabric of his clothing.
There was a part of her that wanted to travel with him wherever this sensual path might lead, while the sensible sane part registered alarm.
With a groan of disgust she dragged her mouth away. Her breathing was ragged, and for the space of a few seconds she had no knowledge of where she was. There was only the man, and a mesmeric helpless hunger.
‘What in hell do you think you’re doing?’
Jeremy’s voice seemed to come from a distance, and she struggled to focus on the immediate present.
‘Right now, taking Michelle home,’ Nikos declared with deceptive mildness. Without missing a beat he lifted one eyebrow in silent query. ‘Michelle?’
Dammit, his breathing was even, steady, while hers seemed as wild and ragged as her heartbeat.
‘Walk away from me,’ Jeremy warned. ‘And I won’t have you back.’
She registered Jeremy’s rage and felt vaguely sickened. ‘You never had me in the first place.’
The sound of voices and the appearance in the foyer of two other guests had a diffusing effect, and Jeremy’s expression underwent an abrupt change from anger to affability.
‘Let’s get the hell out of here,’ Nikos instructed quietly, taking hold of her arm.
He led her down the few steps to the driveway, and she made a futile effort to wrench her arm free from his grasp as they drew abreast of a large BMW.
‘Don’t,’ he warned silkily. ‘You’ll only hurt yourself.’
It was difficult to determine his expression in the dim half-light as he withdrew a set of keys, unlocked the door, then handed them to her. ‘Drive, if it will make you feel safer to be with me.’
The soft crunch of gravel as footsteps approached intruded, and she stood stiffly as they drew close.
‘Goodnight, Michelle. Nikos.’
Nikos returned the acknowledgement as the couple slid into the car immediately behind them, and in an unbidden gesture Michelle thrust the keys at him, then she unlatched the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Nikos took his position behind the wheel, fired the engine, then eased the car onto the road. Minutes later the powerful car entered the main northbound highway, traversed it for less than a kilometre, and took the next turnoff that led into suburban Main Beach.
She was supremely conscious of him, the slight flash of gold on his wrist as he handled the wheel.
‘We’ll stop at a café for coffee,’ Nikos informed as they paused at a set of traffic lights. ‘There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.’
‘The subtle “your apartment or mine?” spiel?’ Michelle mocked with light sarcasm. ‘Forget it. One-night stands aren’t my thing.’
‘I’m relieved to hear it.’
The lights changed, and within minutes the powerful engine purred down a notch as he decelerated and touched the brakes, then he eased the vehicle to a halt.
Michelle reached for the door-clasp, a word of thanks ready to emerge from her lips.
Then she froze.
The underground car park was similar to a multitude of beneath street-level concrete caverns. Except it wasn’t her apartment car park.
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHERE the hell are we?’
‘My apartment building,’ Nikos drawled. ‘It happens to be in a block a short distance from your own.’ He opened his door and slid out from behind the wheel.
Michelle copied his actions, and stood glaring at him across the roof of the BMW, then she turned and walked to the sweeping upgrade leading to the main entrance.
‘The security gate is activated by a personally coded remote.’ He paused a beat, then added with killing softness, ‘Likewise, the lift is security coded.’
She swung back to face him, anger etched on every line of her body. ‘Kidnapping is a criminal offense. If you don’t want me to lay charges, I suggest you allow me free passage out of here. Now,’ she added with deadly intent. If she’d been standing close enough, she’d have lashed out and hit him.
Nikos regarded her steadily, assessing her slim frame, the darkness of her eyes. There was no fear apparent, and the thought momentarily intrigued him. Self-defence skills? His own had been acquired and honed to a lethal degree.
‘All I want is fifteen, maybe twenty minutes of your time.’
Her heartbeat thudded painfully against her ribs. The car park was well-lit, there were a number of cars lining marked bays, but it was eerily quiet. There was no one to whom she could appeal for help.
Michelle extracted her mobile phone and prepared to punch in the requisite digit that would connect her with Emergency Services and alert the police.
‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
His voice was even, and controlled. Too controlled. He emanated an indefinable leashed quality, a watchfulness that only a fool would disregard. And she didn’t consider herself a fool.
‘I don’t find this—’ she swept an arm in silent indication of her surroundings ‘—in the least amusing.’
‘You were averse to joining me in more comfortable surroundings,’ he posed silkily.
Anger meshed with indignation, colouring her features and lending her eyes a fiery sparkle. ‘Forgive me.’ Her voice dripped icy sarcasm. ‘For declining your invitation.’
Her passion intrigued him. Dammit, she intrigued him. Most women of his acquaintance, aware of his social and financial status, would have willingly followed wherever he chose to lead.
Yet for all that Michelle Gerard felt like an angel in his arms and responded with uninhibited fervour, instinct relayed that it wasn’t part of an act.
‘By your own admission,’ Michelle vented with restrained anger. ‘You brought me here to talk.’
She needed to shift the balance of control. Fear wasn’t an option. Although the word in itself was a misnomer. Nikos Alessandros didn’t mean her any harm. at least not in the physical sense. Yet when it came to her emotions... Now that was an entirely different ball game, something which irked her unbearably, for how could she be emotionally spellbound by a man who, in a short few hours, had broken every conventional social nicety?
‘I suggest you do so, now,’ she continued forcefully. ‘And condense whatever you have to say into two minutes.’ She indicated the mobile phone. ‘One wrong move and I’ll summon the police.’
He leaned one hip against the smooth bonnet of his car, and regarded her thoughtfully.
‘I want you to be my social companion for a few weeks,’ he stated without preamble.
Michelle drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. Whatever she’d expected, it hadn’t been this. He had only to beckon and women would beat a path to his side. ‘Surely you jest?’
His attention didn’t falter. ‘I’m quite serious.’
‘Why?’
‘For much the same reason it would suit you.’
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Body language,’ Nikos drawled.
Her eyes flashed golden fire. ‘I can handle Jeremy.’
‘I don’t doubt you can.’ One eyebrow lifted. ‘The question is, do you want to?’
‘I don’t need anyone to fight my battles,’ she said dryly. ‘Any more than you do. So why don’t you cut to the chase?’
‘I thought I already had.’
Her head tilted to one side. ‘You expect me to believe there’s a female you can’t handle?’ The prospect was almost laughable.
‘The widow of a very close friend of mine,’ Nikos enlightened her slowly. ‘Her husband was killed several months ago in a skiing accident.’
‘She is emotionally fragile, and genuinely misinterprets the friendship?’ Michelle posed. ‘Or has she become a calculating vixen intent on snaring another rich husband?’
His expression imperceptibly hardened, a subtle shifting of muscle over bone that reassembled his features into a compelling mask.
‘You presume too much.’
So she’d struck a tender nerve. Interesting that he didn’t answer her question.
‘You feel honour-bound to spare—’ She paused deliberately.
‘Saska.’
‘Saska,’ she continued. ‘Any embarrassment during what is a transitional grieving period?’
‘Yes,’ he declared succinctly.
‘I see.’ She regarded him thoughtfully. ‘And on the basis of one meeting, an appraisal of body language , you virtually kidnap me and suggest I have nothing better to do with my time than act out a part for your benefit.’
‘There would be a few advantages.’
Topaz flecks shone in the depths of her green eyes, a silent evidence of her anger. ‘Name one.’
‘All of the pleasure and none of the strings.’
‘And a bonus, I imagine, if I’m sufficiently convincing?’ The flippant query slipped from her lips, and she glimpsed the faint edge of humour tilt the corner of his mouth.
‘I’m sure we can come to an amicable arrangement.’
The entire evening had been a complete farce, including Jeremy’s behaviour. As for Nikos Alessandros... Impossible didn’t come close!
‘Just who the hell do you think you are?’ she demanded fiercely.
His expression hardened slightly, and his eyes took on the quality of steel. ‘A man who recognises an opportunity, and isn’t afraid to seize it.’
She could still feel the touch of his mouth on hers, his taste...and the way her senses had flipped into a tailspin.
His indolent stance was deceptive. She had the instinctive feeling that if she turned away from him, he would simply reach out and haul her back.
‘Go find some other female,’ Michelle directed. ‘I’m not willing to participate.’
She caught the dark glitter in his eyes, glimpsed a muscle tense at the edge of his jaw, and experienced momentary satisfaction at besting him.
‘There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?’
Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘No, not a thing.’
He examined her features with contemplative scrutiny. ‘In that case, we’ll take the lift to the ground floor and I’ll escort you to your apartment.’
She wanted to argue with him, and almost did.
‘Wise,’ Nikos drawled.
Michelle felt her stomach twist as they stepped into the small electronic cubicle. She was incredibly aware of the emotional pull, the intangible meshing of the senses.
Seconds later she preceded him into the main lobby, passed reception, then emerged into the fresh evening air.
Less than a hundred metres distant lay several trendy restaurants and cafés, each with outdoor chairs and tables lending the area a cosmopolitan air.
Michelle’s apartment building was situated fifty metres distant on the opposite side of the road, and when they reached its entrance she paused, a polite smile widening her lips as she turned towards him.
There was nothing to thank him for, and she didn’t make a pretense of doing so. The polite smile was merely a concession.
‘You forgot something.’
She caught the purposeful gleam in those dark eyes an instant before hands captured her face.
His head descended and his mouth covered hers in a kiss that plundered deep, savouring the inner sweetness without mercy, his tongue swift and incredibly clever as he took his fill.
This was skilled mastery, she registered dimly, and a silent gasp of outrage remained locked in her throat as he cupped her bottom and brought her close up against him so that she was in no doubt of his arousal.
Potent, shimmering heat sang through her veins and pooled at the centre of her feminine core. She could feel the thrust of her breasts as they swelled in anticipation of his touch, their tender peaks hardening into sensitive buds craving the tantalising succour of his mouth.
This was insane. A divine madness that had no place, no basis in anything.
Almost as if he sensed her withdrawal, he gradually lightened the kiss to a gentle brush of his lips against her own. Then he lifted his head, and released her.
‘Pleasant dreams, pedhi mou,’ he bade gently.
His eyes were warm, and deep enough to drown in. The flip response she sought never found voice, and she turned away from him, activated the security code on the external door, then hurried into the lobby without a backward glance.
Damn him. He was the most arrogant infuriating devastating man she’d ever met. Infinitely dangerous, she added as she jabbed the call button to summon one of two lifts.
As soon as the doors slid open she entered the cubicle, stabbed the appropriate panel button, and barely suppressed a shiver as the lift sped swiftly upward.
If she never saw him again, it would be too soon. Which was a total contradiction in terms, she grimaced as the lift came to a halt at her floor.
Seconds later she let herself into her apartment, hit the light switch, checked the locking mechanism was in place, then she moved through to the kitchen.
Caffeine would keep her awake, so she opted for a glass of chilled water, sipped the contents, then crossed to her bedroom.
It was several minutes this side of midnight, and she divested her clothes, took a leisurely warm shower, then slid between cool percale sheets in an effort to cull sleep.
Without success. There were too many images crowding her mind. A tall dark-haired Greek whose eyes seemed to haunt her. His voice, with its slightly accented timbre that curled like silk round every sensitive nerve-end, invading without license as a vivid reminder of his touch. The feel of his hands on her body, their caressing warmth, and the taste of his mouth on hers as it devoured, savoured, and sought to imprint his brand.
It was almost as if she could still sense the exclusive tones of his cologne, the clean smell of fine tailoring and fresh laundered cotton. And a subtle masculine scent that was his...
Dammit. She didn’t want to be this disturbed by a man. To have her senses invaded by a pervasive sexual alchemy.
She’d met scores of men, been charmed by several, discovered an affection for a few, and loved none. At least, not the swept off my feet, melting bones kind of emotion portrayed on the cinema screen and extolled between the pages of many a romance novel.
When it came to attraction, she was still waiting for the earth to move. Warm and fuzzy somehow didn’t come close to hungry shattering sensual sexuality.
Yet tonight she’d experienced it in the arms of a stranger.
For the space of...how long? Two, three minutes? She’d lost all sense of time and place. There was only the man, the moment, and raw unbridled passion.
Her body had curved into his, and clung, moulding in a perfect fit as his mouth had taken possession of her own.
And it had been possession. Demanding, compelling, and frankly sensual, his kiss was a promise. Primitive, raw, libidinous.
It should have frightened her. Instead, for the - space of those few minutes she’d felt exhilarated, alive, and aware. Dear God, so aware of every pulse beat, the heat that flared from every erogenous zone as her whole body coalesced into a throbbing entity, almost totally beyond her control.
If he could initiate such an effect with just a kiss, what sort of lover would he be?
Intensely vital, passionate, and incredibly sensual. Hungry, wild...shameless, she added with certainty.
What was she thinking?
Nikos Alessandros was the last man on earth she would want to have anything to do with.
She lifted her head and thumped her pillow. Damn the hateful images invading her mind. They clouded her perspective, dulled commonsense, and played havoc with her nervous system.
All she had to do was fall asleep, and in the morning a fresh new day would dispense with the night’s emotional turmoil.
CHAPTER THREE
THE insistent ring of the telephone penetrated Michelle’s subconscious, and she reached out a hand, searched blindly for the handset, and succeeded in knocking the receiver onto the floor.
Oh hell. What a way to start the day.
She caught hold of the spiral cord and tugged until her fingers connected with the receiver.
‘Michelle.’
Inches away from her ear she recognised the feminine voice, and she stifled an unladylike oath.
‘Maman,’ she acknowledged with resignation. Just what she needed.
‘Are you still in bed, cherie?’ There was a slight pause. ‘Do you know what time it is?’
Seven, maybe eight, she hazarded, sparing a quick glance at the bedside clock before drawing a sharp breath. Nine.
‘You are alone?’
Michelle closed her eyes, then opened them again. ‘No, Maman. Two lovers have pleasured me all through the night.’
‘There is no need to be facetious, darling,’ Chantelle reproved, and Michelle sighed.
‘I’m sorry. Blame it on lack of sleep.’
‘I thought we might do lunch.’ Chantelle named a trendy restaurant at Main Beach. ‘Shall we say twelve?’ And hung up before Michelle had a chance to confirm or refuse.
‘Grrr.’ The sound was a low-pitched growl that held a mixture of irritation and compliance. She could ring back and decline, except she knew almost word for word what Chantelle would say as a persuasive ploy.
Emotional blackmail of the nicest kind, she added mentally as she replaced the receiver and rolled onto her stomach.
Lunch for her mother inevitably meant a minuscule Caesar salad, followed by fresh fruit, a small glass of white wine and two glasses of water. Afterwards they would browse the trendy boutiques, drive the short distance to Marina Mirage, relax over a leisurely latte, then wander at will through the upmarket emporiums.
It was a mother-daughter thing they indulged in together on occasion. Michelle was under no illusion that today’s invitation was a thinly-veiled guise to conduct an in-depth discussion about her association with Nikos Alessandros.
In which case she’d best rise, shine and meet the day. Routine chores and the weekly visit to the supermarket would occupy an hour and a half, and she’d need the remaining time to shower and change if she was to meet her mother at noon.
Chantelle ordered her favourite Caesar salad, and mineral water, while Michelle settled for something more substantial.
‘Antonia and Emerson have insisted we join them on their boat for lunch tomorrow.’
Sunglasses shielded her mother’s eyes, successfully hiding her expression. Although Michelle wasn’t fooled in the slightest.
Chantelle had conversation down to a fine art. First there would be the pleasantries, some light humour in the form of an anecdote or two, followed by the main purpose of the meeting.
‘That will be nice,’ Michelle commented evenly.
‘We will, of course, be back in time to attend the Gallery exhibition.’
This month’s exhibition featured an up and coming local artist whose work had impressed both Gallery partners. Arrangements for each exhibition were made many months in advance, and it said much for the Gallery’s reputation that they had bookings well into next year for future showings.
Emilio possessed an instinctive flair for what would succeed, and their combined talents and expertise had seen a fledging Gallery expand to become one of the most respected establishments on the coastal strip.
Invitations had been sent out to fifty patrons and their partners, the catering instructions had been given. All that remained were the final touches, and placement of the exhibits.
Something which both she and Emilio would attend to this afternoon and complete early tomorrow morning. ‘Do you have any plans for tonight, darling?’
Michelle wound a portion of superb fettuccine marinara onto her fork and held it poised halfway above her plate. ‘An early night, Maman.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Did she? ‘You know how much effort Emilio and I put into each exhibition,’ Michelle said lightly. ‘There are so many things to check, and Emilio is particular with every detail.’
‘I know, darling.’
Chantelle considered education as something important for Michelle to acquire. The private school, university, time abroad to study at the Sorbonne. Except she really wasn’t expected to do anything as a result of such qualification and experience.
The Gallery had been viewed as a frivolous venture. Michelle’s partnership with Emilio Bonanno was expected to be in name only, something she quickly dispelled as she steadfastly refused to join her mother on the social circuit, confining herself to the occasional charity dinner or gala, much to Chantelle’s expressed disappointment.
You could say, Michelle mused, that for the past three years her mother had graciously accepted that her own social proclivities were not shared by her daughter. However, it didn’t stop Chantelle from issuing frequent invitations, or, for the past year, indulging in subtle matchmaking attempts.
‘I think you’ve succeeded in making Jeremy jealous.’ Chantelle took a sip of mineral water, then set down the glass. ‘He wasn’t quite himself after you left last night. Has he telephoned you this morning?’
‘No,’ Michelle responded evenly. ‘I don’t particularly want to hear from him.’
‘Because of Nikos Alessandros?’
‘Nikos Alessandros has nothing whatsoever to do with it.’
‘He’s quite a catch, darling.’
She chose to be deliberately obtuse. ‘Jeremy?’
‘Nikos,’ Chantelle corrected with a tolerant sigh.
‘As I have no intention of indulging in a fishing expedition, whether or not he’s a catch is totally irrelevant.’
‘Do you have time to do a little window shopping?’ Chantelle queried. ‘I really think I could add something to my wardrobe.’
To give her mother credit, she knew when to withdraw. ‘I promised Emilio I’d be at the Gallery at two-thirty.’
Chantelle savoured the last mouthful of cos lettuce, then replaced her fork. ‘In that case, darling, do finish your pasta. We’ll share a coffee later, shall we?’
Clothes, shoes, lingerie, perfume. Any one, or all four, could prove a guaranteed distraction, and Michelle accompanied her mother into one boutique after another in her quest to purchase.
An hour and a half later Chantelle held no less than three brightly emblazoned carry bags, and there was no time left to share coffee.
‘See you tomorrow, darling. Don’t work too hard.’
Michelle placed a light kiss on her mother’s cheek, then watched as Chantelle stowed her purchases in the boot before crossing to slide in behind the wheel of her Mercedes.
It was almost two-thirty when Michelle entered the Gallery. A converted house comprising three levels, it had been completely renovated. Polished wooden floors gleamed with a deep honey stain, and the walls were individually painted in several different pale colours providing a diverse background for carefully placed exhibits. Skylights threw angled shafts of sunlight, accenting subtle shadows as the sun moved from east to west throughout the day.
She experienced a degree of pride at the decor, and what she’d been able to achieve in the past three years.
‘Emilio?’
She returned her keys to her bag and carefully closed the door behind her.
‘Up here, cara,’ an accented voice called from the mezzanine level. ‘Brett is with me.’
A short flight of stairs led to the next level. Above that were Emilio’s private rooms.
Michelle moved swiftly towards the upstairs studio where Brett’s exhibition was to be held. ‘Hi,’ she greeted warmly as she joined them. Both men glanced up, gave her a penetrating look, then switched their attention to the stack of paintings propped carefully against one wall.
‘Cara, stand over there, and tell us what you think,’ Emilio commanded.
For the next four hours they worked side by side, then when the artist left they ordered in pizza, effected a few minor changes, satisfied themselves that every exhibit was strategically placed according to their original plan.
‘He’s nervous,’ Michelle noted as she bit into a slice of piping hot pizza. Melted cheese, pepperoni, capsicum... delicious.
‘It’s his first exhibition,’ Emilio granted, following her action.
The light glinted in reflection from the ear-stud he wore. Designer stubble was at odds with his peroxided crew cut. A lean sinewy frame clothed in designer jeans and T-shirt, he bore the visual persona of an avant garde. His sexual preferences were the subject for conjecture, and he did nothing to dispel a certain image. However, it was part of the tease, the glamour associated with a role he chose to play, and the knowledge very few close friends knew he was straight and not at all what he appeared to be, only amused him.
Behind the image lay a very shrewd business brain, an almost infallible instinct for genuine talent, and an indefinable nous for what appealed to the buying public.
It was something Michelle also shared, and their friendship was platonic, based on mutual knowledge, affection and respect.
‘You are pensive. Why?’
Forthright, even confrontational, Emilio possessed the ability to divine whenever anything bothered her. She delayed answering him by pulling the tab on a can of soft drink and taking a long swallow of the ice-cold liquid.
‘A man, huh?’ Emilio pronounced. ‘Do I know him?’
She replaced the can onto the table, and took another bite of pizza. ‘What makes you so sure it’s a man?’
‘You have soft shadows beneath those beautiful green eyes.’ His smile was gentle, but far too discerning. ‘Lack of sleep, sweetheart. And as you rarely party ‘til dawn, I doubt a late night among the social elite was the cause.’
‘I could merely be concerned about tomorrow’s exhibition.’
‘No,’ he declared with certainty. ‘If you don’t want to talk about him, that’s fine.’
Michelle cast him a level look. ‘He was a guest at a dinner I attended.’ She paused fractionally. ‘And if I never see him again, it’ll be too soon.’
‘Trouble,’ Emilio accorded softly. ‘Definitely.’
‘No,’ she corrected. ‘Because I won’t allow him to be.’
‘Cara, I don’t think you’ll have a choice.’ His quiet laughter brought forth a vexed grimace.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because you’re a beautiful young woman whose fierce protection of self lends you to eat lesser men for breakfast,’ he mocked. ‘The fact you haven’t been able to succeed with this particular one is intriguing. I shall look forward to meeting him.’
‘It won’t happen,’ Michelle vowed with certainty.
‘You don’t think so?’
‘I know so,’ she responded vehemently.
‘OK.’ Emilio lifted both hands in a conciliatory gesture, although his smile held humour. ‘Eat your pizza.’
‘I intend to.’ She bit into the crisp crust, then reached forward, caught up a paper napkin and wiped her fingers. ‘I’ll help you clean up, then I’m going home.’
‘An empty pizza carton, a few glasses, soft drink cans. What’s to clean?’
‘In that case,’ she inclined, standing to her feet in one fluid movement. ‘I’m out of here.’ She leaned forward and brushed her cheek to his. ‘Ciao.’
The Gallery opened at four, and an hour later the full complement of guests had gathered, mingling in small clutches, glass in hand. Taped baroque music flowed softly through strategically placed speakers, a soothing background to the muted buzz of conversation.
Michelle had selected a classic fitted dress in black with a lace overlay. Stiletto heels, sheer black hose, her hair swept high, and understated make-up with emphasis on her eyes completed a picture that portrayed elegance and style.
Hired staff proffered trays containing a selection of hors d’oeuvres, and already a number of Brett’s paintings displayed a discreet sold sticker.
Success, Michelle reflected with a small sigh of relief. Everything was going splendidly. The finger food couldn’t be faulted, the champagne was superb, and the ambience was perfecto, as Emilio would say.
She glanced across the room, caught his eye, and smiled.
‘Another triumph, darling.’
Her stomach tightened fractionally as she recognised Jeremy’s cynical voice, and she summoned a polite smile as she turned to face him. ‘I didn’t expect you to honour the invitation.’
‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.’
He leaned forward and she moved slightly so that his lips brushed her cheek. An action which resulted in a faint intake of breath, the momentary hardening of his eyes.
‘The eminently eligible Nikos has yet to put in an appearance, I see.’ He moved back a pace, and ran light fingers down her arm.
Michelle tilted her head a little and met his dark gaze. ‘A little difficult, when he wasn’t issued an invitation.’
‘Dear sweet Michelle,’ Jeremy chided with sarcastic gentleness. ‘Nikos was an invited guest on the parents’ cruiser today. The enchanting Chantelle issued the invitation to your Gallery soiree.’ He paused for effect before delivering the punch line. ‘As I recall, Nikos indicated he would grace us with his presence.’
Her heart tripped and raced to a quicker beat. ‘Really? ’
One eyebrow slanted in mockery. ‘Am I mistaken, or is that not pleasurable anticipation I sense?’ He primed a barb and aimed for the kill. ‘Didn’t he come up to scratch last night, darling?’ His smile held thinly veiled humour. ‘Jet lag can have that effect.’
Calm, just keep calm, she bade silently as she moved back a pace. He didn’t release her arm, and she gave him a deliberately pointed look. ‘This conversation is going nowhere, Jeremy.’ She flexed her arm, felt his grip tighten for an instant before he released her. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I really must mingle.’ Her voice assumed an icy formality. ‘I hope you enjoy the exhibition. Emilio and I are confident of Brett’s talent and potential.’
‘Ah, the inimical Emilio,’ Jeremy drawled. ‘You do know he’s bisexual?’
As well as being untrue, it was unkind. She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Slander isn’t a pretty word. Watch you don’t find yourself in court on a legal charge.’
‘A mite too protective, darling.’
‘And you,’ she declared with quiet emphasis. ‘Are a first-class—’
‘Michelle.’
Her body quivered at the sound of that faintly accented voice, and her pulse went into overdrive. How much of her argument with Jeremy had Nikos Alessandros heard?
Everything came into sharp focus as she slowly turned to face him.
‘Nikos,’ she acknowledged, and imperceptibly stiffened as he placed a hand at the back of her waist.
His expression gave nothing away, but there was a hint of steel beneath the polite facade as he inclined his head.
‘Jeremy.’
Michelle’s nerves flared into sensitised life at his close proximity.
‘Is there a problem?’ Nikos asked smoothly, and she felt like screaming.
Yes. Jeremy for behaving badly, and you just for being here!
A determined sparkle darkened her eyes. ‘If you’ll excuse me? I really should mingle.’
She turned away, only to find that Nikos had joined her.
‘Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she queried with quiet vehemence the instant they were out of Jeremy’s earshot. She made a concerted effort to shift out of his grasp without success.
‘Rescuing you.’
‘I didn’t need rescuing!’
His smile held a hint of cynical humour. ‘Especially not by me.’
‘Look—’
‘Save the indignation for a more suitable occasion.’
‘Why?’ Michelle vented with quiet fury. ‘When I have no intention of seeing you again.’
‘Considering your parents and the Bateson-Burrows have issued me with a few interesting invitations, that’s most unlikely,’ Nikos assured silkily.
She wanted to hit him. It was enough she had to deal with Jeremy, whose recalcitrance in the past twenty-four hours could be directly attributed to the man at her side.
Had Nikos not been a guest at the Bateson-Burrows’ dinner table, she could have conducted a diplomatic discussion last night with Jeremy, and he wouldn’t now be behaving quite inappropriately.
Or would he? Jeremy had displayed a side to his personality she’d never suspected might exist.
‘Suppose we embark on a conducted tour of your protegé’s work.’
‘Why?’ she demanded baldly, and found herself looking into a pair of amused dark grey eyes.
‘I could be a potential buyer, and you do, Chantelle assures me, have an excellent eye for new talent.’
Did she realise just how beautiful she looked when she was angry?
‘Mother has excelled herself in lauding my supposed talents,’ she stated dryly.
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’
In any other circumstance, she would have laughed. However, tonight she wasn’t in the mood to see the humorous side of Chantelle’s machinations.
They drew close to one exhibit, and she went into a professional spiel about light and colour and style, Brett’s unusual technique, and indicated the painting’s possible worth on the market in another five years.
, Nikos dropped his arm from her waist, and she wondered why she suddenly felt cold, even vaguely bereft.
Crazy, she dismissed. Every instinct she possessed warned that Nikos Alessandros was a man she should have nothing to do with if she wanted to retain her emotional sanity.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WHICH of the collection is your personal favourite?’ Nikos queried as they moved from one exhibit to another.
There were interruptions as she was greeted by a few guests, and on each occasion good manners demanded she introduce the man at her side.
She could sense their masked speculation, sense their curiosity, and she wasn’t sure whether to feel angry or resigned.
Michelle’s lips parted to make a flippant response, only to change her mind at the last second. ‘The little boy standing on a sandhill looking out over the ocean.’
He lifted a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. He watched her eyes dilate, and felt the slight shiver his touch evoked. ‘Why that particular painting?’
‘Because it seems as if the ocean represents his world, and he’s curious to know where it ends and what’s beyond the horizon. If you look at his features, there’s wonderment, excitement.’ Her voice softened. ‘He’s trying not to be afraid, but he is. You can see it in the faint thrust of his lower lip, the way his chin tucks in a little.’ She raised her hand, then let it fall again to her side.
It was more than just a painting, it represented life. The promise of what might be. Even though the logical mind relegated the image to the skilled use of paint on canvas and artistic flair.
‘Consider it sold.’
Michelle glanced up and examined the chiselled perfection of his features. ‘You haven’t asked the grice.’
‘It’s listed on the programme.’ His smile was wholly sensual. ‘What discount are you prepared to offer me?’
She badly wanted to say none, except ‘business’ was a separate category to ‘personal,’ and anyone with sufficient nous ensured the two were kept apart. ‘It depends on your method of payment.’
‘I’ll present you with a bank cheque at midday tomorrow, and organise delivery.’
Michelle didn’t hesitate. ‘Five per cent.’
It shouldn’t concern her where he intended to hang it, in fact she told herself she didn’t care.
‘Something is bothering you?’
His light tone didn’t fool her in the slightest. He was too intuitive, and she loathed his ability to tune into her thoughts. It made her feel vulnerable, and too acutely sensitive.
‘Why should anything bother me? I’ve just sold the most expensive painting featured in this exhibition.’
‘By your own admission, it’s the one you admire most,’ Nikos pursued softly. ‘I imagine you can offer a suggestion how it should be displayed to its best advantage?’
She could tell him to do what he liked with it, but professional etiquette got the better of her.
‘It should occupy centre stage on a wide wall,’ she opined slowly. ‘Preferably painted a very pale shade of blue, so the colours mesh and there’s a sense of continuity.’
Interesting, he perceived, that her love of art overcame her instinctive wariness of him.
‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ Michelle said purposefully. ‘There’s something I need to check with my business partner.’ She offered him a polite smile, then turned and went in search of Emilio.
‘So he’s the one,’ Emilio said in a quiet aside several minutes later.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘I’d prefer not to discuss it.’
‘As you wish.’
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HELEN BIANCHIN
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Зарубежные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: A convenient affair? Nikos Alessandros needed a social hostess, and he′d decided that beautiful, sophisticated Michelle would be the perfect companion – temporarily. For Michelle, their pretend affair would certainly help her escape the suitable marriage she was being pressured into… .But Nikos was formidably sexy and Michelle found it hard to control her powerful attraction to this arrogant stranger. If she agreed to be his mistress by arrangement, could she stop pretense turning into reality?