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Captivated by the Greek
Julia James


Swept off her feet… Mel Cooper intends to travel the world and shake off the shackles of her past. Until charismatic billionaire Nikos Parakis offers her a glimpse into his world full of opulent riches and sensual delicacies…… into a gilded cage?Salesgirl Mel might not be the rich Lothario’s usual type, but she can’t resist Nikos’s tempting offer: a no-strings romance with sun, sea and sinful seduction. However, soon Mel discovers the cost of her sultry nights with the captivating Greek – she’s pregnant! And when Nikos learns she’s carrying his heir Mel risks losing her liberty once more…Discover more at www.millsandboon.co.uk/juliajames







Mel’s hand was enclosed in his and she was standing close to him now. So close that if she pressed forward she would bind herself against the strong column of his body.

She longed to feel that sheathed muscled strength against the pliant wand of her own body, to lift her mouth to his and wind her fingers up to the base of his neck and draw that sculpted mouth down upon hers …

It shook her, the intensity of her urge to do so. Like a slow-motion film running inside her head, she felt her brain try to reason its way out of it. Out of the urge to reach for him, to kiss him …

It had been so, so long since she had kissed a man—any man at all. And longer still since she had given rein to the physical impulse of intimacy. And now here she was, gazing up at a man who was the most achingly seductive she’d ever encountered, wanting only to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her.

As if he heard her body call to him Nikos bent his head to catch her lips. His mouth was as soft as velvet. As sensuous as silk.

Dissolving her completely.


JULIA JAMES lives in England, and adores the peaceful verdant countryside and the wild shores of Cornwall. She also loves the Mediterranean—so rich in myth and history, with its sunbaked landscapes and olive groves, ancient ruins and azure seas. ‘The perfect setting for romance!’ she says. ‘Rivalled only by the lush tropical heat of the Caribbean—palms swaying by a silver sand beach lapped by turquoise waters … what more could lovers want?’


Captivated

by the Greek

Julia James




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For carers everywhere—you are all saints!


Contents

Cover (#u550fcbb1-74fe-5480-8000-c1c91273a240)

Introduction (#u113e0818-46cc-5a76-8dcf-c1f3808fdaab)

About the Author (#u6ef8917f-7bb0-55d8-b716-8c83f7aafe36)

Title Page (#u77ce86a1-695d-5ac1-97dd-3ce6036bdcb9)

Dedication (#uc83762b4-06e6-5bc8-bcaf-5a63e6b0c719)

CHAPTER ONE (#u74fcbebe-a609-5725-9308-aedf94242a9b)

CHAPTER TWO (#udd4d2beb-6d2b-5975-b618-e1a110d2f8a2)

CHAPTER THREE (#u1ececd1a-62c2-51a6-8448-ba99d3e91d2f)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

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)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_b39fdaaf-6568-57d4-9344-80650442b90a)

NIKOS PARAKIS TWISTED his wrist slightly to glance at his watch and frowned. If he wanted to make his appointment in the City he was going to have to skip lunch. No way could he fit in a midday meal now, having delayed leaving his Holland Park apartment—his base in the UK—in order to catch a lengthy teleconference with Russian clients. He’d also, on this early summer’s day, wanted to get some fresh air and brief exercise, so had dismissed his driver and intended to pick up a taxi on the far side of the park, in Kensington High Street.

As he gained the wide tree-lined pavement he felt a stab of hunger. He definitely needed refuelling.

On impulse, he plunged across the road and headed for what appeared to be some kind of takeaway food shop. He was no food snob, despite the wealth of the Parakis banking dynasty at his disposal, and a sandwich was a sandwich—wherever it came from.

The moment he stepped inside, however, he almost changed his mind. Fast food outlets specialising in pre-packed sandwiches had come a long way in thirty years, but this was one of the old-fashioned ones where sandwiches were handmade on the spot, to order, constructed out of the array of ingredients contained in plastic tubs behind the counter.

Damn, he thought, irritated, he really didn’t have time for this.

But he was here now, and it would have to do.

‘Have you anything ready-made?’ he asked, addressing the person behind the counter. He didn’t mean to sound brusque, but he was hungry and in a hurry.

The server, who had her back to him, went on buttering a slice of bread. Nikos felt irritation kick again.

‘She’s making mine first, mate,’ said a voice nearby, and he saw that there was a shabbily dressed, grizzled-looking old man seated on a chair by the chilled drinks cabinet. ‘You’ll ’ave ter wait.’

Nikos’s mouth pressed tight, and he moved his annoyed regard back to the figure behind the counter. Without turning, the server spoke.

‘Be with you in a sec,’ she said, apparently to Nikos, and started to pile ham onto the buttered slice before wrapping the sandwich in a paper serviette and turning to hand it to the man. She pushed a cup of milky tea towards him, too.

‘Ta, luv,’ the man said, moving to stand closer to Nikos than he felt entirely comfortable with.

Whenever the man had last bathed, it hadn’t been recently. Nor had he shaved. Moreover, there was a discernible smell of stale alcohol about him.

The man closed grimy fingers around the wrapped sandwich, picked up the mug in a shaky grip and looked at Nikos.

‘Any spare change, guv?’ he asked hopefully.

‘No,’ said Nikos, and turned back to the server, who was now wiping the sandwich preparation surface clean.

The old man shuffled out.

The server’s voice followed him. ‘Stay off the booze, Joe—it’s killing you.’

‘Any day now, luv, any day...’ the man assured her.

He shuffled out and was gone, lunch provided. Presumably for free, Nikos supposed, having seen no money change hands for the transaction. But his interest in the matter was zero, and with the server finally free to pay him attention, he repeated his original question about the availability of ready-made sandwiches—this time most definitely impatiently.

‘No,’ replied the server, turning around and busying herself with the tea urn.

Her tone of voice had changed. If Nikos could have been bothered to care—which he didn’t, in the slightest—he might have said she sounded annoyed.

‘Then whatever’s quickest.’

He glanced at his watch again, and frowned. This was ridiculous—he was wasting time instead of saving it!

‘What would you like?’

The server’s pointless question made his frown deepen.

‘I said whatever’s quickest,’ he repeated.

‘That,’ came the reply, ‘would be bread and butter.’

Nikos dropped his wrist and levelled his gaze right at her. There was no mistaking the antagonism in her tone. Or the open irritation in his as he answered.

‘Ham,’ he bit out.

‘On white or brown? Baguette or sliced?’

‘Whatever’s quickest.’ How many times did he have to say that?

‘That would be white sliced.’

‘White sliced, then.’

‘Just ham?’

‘Yes.’ Anything more complicated and he’d be there all day.

She turned away and busied herself at the preparation surface behind her. Nikos drummed his fingers on the counter. Realising he was thirsty, he twisted round to help himself to a bottle of mineral water from the chilled drinks cabinet against the wall.

As he put it on the counter the server turned round, sandwich prepared and wrapped in a paper serviette. She glanced at the bottle and Nikos could see she was mentally calculating the combined price.

‘Three pounds forty-five,’ she said.

He had his wallet out already, taking out a note.

‘That’s a fifty,’ she said, as if she’d never seen one before.

Perhaps she never had, thought Nikos acidly. He said nothing, just went on holding it out for her.

‘Haven’t you anything smaller?’ she demanded.

‘No.’

With a rasp of irritation she snatched it from him and opened the till. There was some audible clinking and rustling, and a moment later she was clunking his change down on the countertop. It consisted of silver to make it up to a fiver, a single twenty-pound note and twenty-five individual pound coins.

Then she raised her gaze to Nikos and glared at him.

And for the first time Nikos looked at her.

Looked at her—and saw her.

He stilled completely. Somewhere inside his head a voice was telling him to stop staring, to pick up the ludicrous heap of coins and pocket the note and get the hell out of there. Get a taxi, get to his meeting, get on with the rest of his life and forget he’d ever been hungry enough to step into some two-bit sandwich bar patronised by alcoholic down-and-outs.

But the voice went totally and entirely unheeded.

Right now only one part of his brain was functioning. The part that was firing in instant, total intensity with the most visceral masculine response he had ever experienced in his life.

Thee mou, but she was absolutely beautiful.

There was no other word for her. In an instant Nikos took in a face that was sculpted to perfection: high cheekbones, contoured jawline, straight nose not a millimetre too long or too short, wide-set eyes of startling blue, and a mouth... Ah, a mouth whose natural lushness was as inviting as a honey-drenched dessert...

How the hell didn’t I notice her straight away?

But the question searing through him was irrelevant. Everything right now was irrelevant except his desire—his need—to keep drinking her in. Taking in the incredible impact her stunning looks were having on him. His eyes narrowed in their instinctive, potent perusal of her features, and he felt his response course through him.

He was not a man who had been deprived of the company of beautiful women in his thirty-odd years. As the heir to the Parakis banking dynasty he’d become accustomed to having the hottest girls making a beeline for him. And he knew that it wasn’t just the Parakis millions that drew them in. Nature, for whatever capricious reason, had bestowed upon him a six-foot frame—which he kept in peak condition with rigorous and ruthless physical exercise—and looks that, without vanity, he knew women liked. Liked a lot.

The combination had proved highly successful, and his private life was plentifully supplied by any number of keen and eager females only too happy to be seen on his arm, or to keep him company in bed. Given that, therefore, it would have been perverse of him not to have chosen those females who were of the very highest calibre when it came to their appearance.

And this woman, who had drawn his attention so rivetingly, was most definitely of that elite calibre.

His gaze worked over her, and as it did so another realisation struck him. She wasn’t wearing a trace of make-up and her hair—blonde, from what little he could see of it—was concealed under some kind of baseball cap. As for her figure—although she appeared to be tall—she was clad in a baggy T-shirt that bore the legend ‘Sarrie’s Sarnies’ and did less than nothing for her.

Hell, if she looked this good stuck in this dump, dressed in grunge, what would she look like dressed in designer labels?

For a moment—just a moment—he felt an overriding desire to put that to the test.

Then, in the next second, he crashed and burned.

‘If you want a piece of meat, try a butcher’s shop!’

The server’s harsh voice cut right through Nikos’s riveted attention to her physical attributes.

A frown of incomprehension—and annoyance—pulled his brows together.

‘What?’ he demanded.

Her face was set. Absently Nikos noted how looking angry actually made her even more stunning. Her cerulean eyes flashed like sapphires.

‘Don’t give me that,’ she snapped. ‘Now, take your change, and your damn sandwich, and go!’

It was Nikos’s turn to experience anger. His face hardened. ‘Your rudeness to a customer,’ he said freezingly, ‘is totally unacceptable. Were you one of my employees you would be dismissed instantly for taking such an attitude to those whose custom pays your wages.’

For answer, she put the palms of her hands on the counter—Nikos found himself noting how well shaped they were—and braced herself.

‘And if I worked for you—which, thank God, I don’t—I would be suing you for sexual harassment!’ she bit back. Her eyes narrowed to slits. ‘That’s what I meant by wanting “meat”, sunshine!’

Nikos’s expression changed. The hardness was still in his eyes, but there was something else, too. A glint that, had the stunning but inexplicably bolshie female facing him been one of his acquaintances, she would have known sent a crystal-clear message.

‘Since when is it illegal to admire a woman’s beauty?’ he riposted silkily.

To prove his point he let his gaze wash over her again. Inside him, the visceral reaction she’d aroused so powerfully warred with the irritation he’d felt ever since his hunger had hit him—an irritation that her hostility and rudeness had elevated to outright anger. He wasn’t sure which emotion was predominant. What he was sure of, though, was that right now his overpowering desire was to rattle her cage...

‘If you want to go round ogling women like meat, then you should damn well wear sunglasses and spare us the ordeal,’ she shot back.

Nikos felt yet another emotion spark through him. Almost unconsciously, he found himself starting to enjoy himself.

One arched eyebrow quirked tauntingly. ‘Ordeal?’ he asked limpidly.

And then, quite deliberately, he let his gaze soften. No longer assessing. More...caressing. Letting her see clearly that women who received his approbation most definitely did not regard it as an ordeal...

And before his eyes, to his intense satisfaction, he saw a wave of colour suffuse her clear, translucent skin. Her cheeks grew stained and her gaze dropped.

‘Go away,’ she said. Her voice was tight. ‘Just...go away!’

He gave a low laugh. Game, set and match—thank you very much. He didn’t need any further confirmation to know that he’d just effortlessly breached her defences...got right past that bolshie anger barrier and hit home, sweet home.

With a sweeping gesture he scooped the pile of coins into his pocket, together with the solitary twenty-pound note, then picked up his ham sandwich and the bottle of water.

‘Have a nice day,’ he said flippantly, and strolled out of the sandwich shop.

His irritation was gone completely.

As he emerged he saw the down-and-out, Joe, leaning against a nearby lamppost, wolfing down the sandwich he had been given. On impulse, Nikos reached into his jacket pocket, jingling with all the pound coins she’d landed him with.

He scooped up a handful and proffered them. ‘You asked about spare change,’ he said to the man, who was eyeing him.

‘Ta, guv,’ said the man, and took the handful eagerly, his bloodshot eyes gleaming.

His grimy hands were shaking, and Nikos felt a pang of pity go through him.

‘She’s right, you know,’ he heard himself telling the man. ‘The booze is killing you.’

The bloodshot eyes met his. They were not gleaming now. There was desolation in them.

‘I know, mate...’

He pulled his gaze away and then he was off again, shuffling down the street, pocketing the money, shoulders hunched in defeat. For a moment Nikos’s eyes stayed on him. Then he saw a taxi cab approaching along the High Street, with its ‘For Hire’ sign illuminated. He flagged it down and flung himself into the back seat, starting to wolf down his ham sandwich.

His own words to the down-and-out echoed in his head. ‘She’s right, you know...’

His jaw tightened. Damn—she was, too. And not just about that wretched alcoholic.

Finishing his sandwich, he lifted his mobile phone from his inside pocket and pressed the speed-dial key for his London PA. She answered immediately, and Nikos gave her his instructions.

‘Janine, I need to have some flowers delivered...’

* * *

Mel stood, palms still pressed into the surface of the counter, and glared after the tall retreating figure. She was mad—totally hopping mad. She hadn’t been this angry since she couldn’t remember when.

Damn the arrogance of the man!

She could feel her jaw still clenching. She hadn’t liked him the moment he’d walked into the shop. The way he’d spoken—not even waiting for her to turn around to him, just making his demands as if she was some kind of servant. Underling. Minion. Lackey. The insulting words marched through her head.

She’d tried for her customary politeness while she was finishing Joe’s sandwich, but then she’d caught the way the damn man had looked at Joe—as if he was a bad smell. Well, yes, he was—but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Joe was in a bad way, and for heaven’s sake anyone would have felt pity for the guy, surely? Especially—and now her jaw clenched even more—especially a man whom life had so obviously not treated anything like as grimly as it had poor old Joe.

That had put her back up straight away. And from then on it had just got worse.

The whole monosyllabic exchange about what kind of sandwich he’d wanted replayed itself in her head, followed by—oh yes—his dropping a fifty-pound note down in payment. Mel’s mouth tightened in satisfaction. Well, it had given her particular pleasure to dump all those pound coins on him by way of change.

Boy, it had riled him—she had seen that immediately. Trouble was...and now her expression changed yet again, to a mix of anger and something else quite entirely...he had had that comeback on her...

Right through her body she could feel the heat flush. It was running right through her—through every vein, right out to the tips of her fingers—as though someone has tipped hot water into her. And to her own mortification she even felt glorious heat pooling in her core, felt her breasts start to tingle with traitorous reaction.

Oh, damn! Damn, damn, damn!

Yet she couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t stop the memory—instant, vivid and overpowering—of the way he’d looked at her. Looked right at her. Looked her over...

Meat, she said desperately to herself. As if you were a piece of meat—that’s how he looked at you. Just as you told him.

She fought to call back the burst of satisfaction she’d felt when she’d rapped that out at him, but it was impossible. All that was possible now was to go on feeling the wonderful flush of heat coursing through her. She fought it down as best she could, willing it to leave her—to leave her alone—just as she’d told him to go, just go away...

She shut her eyes, sighing heavily—hopelessly. OK—OK, she reasoned, so face it. However rude, arrogant and obnoxious he was, he was also—yup, she had to admit it—absolutely, totally and completely drop-dead devastating.

She’d registered it instantly—it would have been impossible not to—the minute she’d turned round with Joe’s sandwich to see just who it was who’d spoken to her in such a brusque, demanding fashion. Registered it, but had promptly busied herself in making Joe’s tea, pinning her eyes on pouring it out and ladling sugar into it the way Joe needed it.

But she’d been conscious of that first glimpse of Mr Drop-dead Devastating burning a hole in her retina—burning its way into her brain—so that all she’d wanted to do was lift her gaze and let it do what it had been trying to do with an urgency she still bewailed and berated.

Which was simply to stare and stare and stare...

At everything about him.

His height...his lean, fit body, sheathed in that hand-tailored suit that had fitted him like a glove, reaching across wide shoulders and moulding his broad chest just as the expanse of pristine white shirt had.

But it wasn’t his designer suit or even his lean physique that was dominating her senses now.

It was his eyes. Eyes that were night-dark and like tempered steel in a face that was constructed in some particular way that outdid every male she’d ever seen—on-screen or off. Chiselled jaw, strong nose, tough-looking cheekbones, winged brows and always, always, those ludicrously long-lashed, gold-flecked eyes that were lethal weapons entirely on their own.

That was what she’d wanted to gaze at, and that was what had been searing through her head all through their snarling exchange.

And then, as if a switch had been thrown, he’d suddenly changed the subject...

More heat coursed through her as the physical memory of how he’d looked at her hit her again. Turning the blatant focus of his male reaction on her like a laser beam. One that had burned right through her.

The slow wash of his gaze had poured over her like warm, molten honey—like a silken touch to her skin. It had felt as though he were caressing her, as if she could actually feel his hands shaping her body, his mouth lowering to hers to taste, to tease...to arouse.

All that in a single sensual glance...

And then, when she’d been helpless—pathetically, abjectly helpless—to do anything other than tell him—beg him—to leave, what had he done? He’d laughed! Laughed at her—knowing perfectly well how he’d got the better of her, how he’d made a cringing mockery of her defiance.

The colour in her cheeks turned to hectic spots as anger burned out that shaming blush he’d conjured in her.

Damn him!

Fuming, she went on staring blindly out through the shop door. She could no longer see him. With a final damning adjuration to herself to stop thinking of him, and everything about him, she whirled around to get on with her work.

Washing up had never been so noisy, nor slicing bread so vicious.


CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_9c2e34b1-f36d-5bc0-a8ee-df6e3b4d5d41)

‘DID YOU HAVE those flowers delivered?’

It was the first question Nikos found himself asking as he returned to his London office after his meeting that afternoon. He did not doubt that his PA had complied, for she was efficiency itself—and she was used to despatching flowers to the numerous assorted females that featured in his life when he was in the UK.

But not usually to females who worked in sandwich bars...

Mouthy, contrary females who gave him a hard time...

Possessed of looks so stunning he still could not get them out of his head...

He gave a shake of his head, clearing the memory and settling himself down at his desk. There really was no point thinking about the blonde any more. Let alone speculating, as he found himself wanting to do, on just what she might look like if she were dressed in an outfit that adorned her extraordinary beauty.

How much more beautiful could she look?

The question rippled through his mind, and in its wake came a ripple of something that was not idle speculation but desire...

With her hair loosened, a gown draping her slender yet rounded figure, her sapphire eyes luminous and long-lashed...

He cut the image. She’d been a fleeting fiery encounter and nothing more.

No, he thought decisively, switching on his PC, he’d sent flowers to atone for his rudeness—provoking though she’d been—and he would leave it at that. He had women enough to choose from—no need to add another one.

He flicked open his diary to see what was coming up in the remainder of his sojourn in London. His father, chairman of the family-run Athens-based investment bank, left that city reluctantly these days, and Nikos found himself doing nearly all the foreign travel that running the bank required.

A frown moved fleetingly across his brow. At least here in London he was spared his father’s wandering into the office to make one of his habitual complaints about Nikos’s mother. The moment Nikos got back to Athens, though, he knew there would be a litany of complaints awaiting him, while his father indulged himself and offloaded. Then—predictably—the next time he saw his mother a reciprocal litany would be pressed upon him...

With a sigh of exasperation he pushed his interminably warring parents out of his head space. There was never going to be an end to their virulent verbal attacks on each other, their incessant sniping and backbiting. It had gone on for as long as Nikos could remember, and he was more than fed up with it.

Briskly, he ran an eye down the diary page and then frowned again—for quite a different reason this time.

Damn.

His frown deepened. How had he got himself involved in that? A black-tie charity bash at the Viscari St James Hotel this coming Friday evening.

In itself, that would not have been a problem. What was a problem, though, was that he could see from the diary that the evening included Fiona Pellingham. Right now that woman was not someone he wanted to encounter.

A high-flying mergers-and-acquisitions expert at a leading business consultancy, Fiona had taken an obvious shine to Nikos during a business meeting on his last visit to London, and had made it strikingly clear to him that she’d very much like to make an acquisition of him for herself.

But for all her striking brunette looks and svelte figure she was, as Nikos had immediately realised, the possessive type, and she would want a great deal more from him than the passing affair that was all he ever indulged in when it came to women. And that meant that the last thing he wanted to do was to give her an opportunity to pursue her obvious interest in him.

He frowned again. The problem was, even if he didn’t go to this charity bash she’d somehow put into his diary, Fiona would probably find another way to pursue him. Plague him with yet more invitations and excuses to meet up with him. What he needed was to put her off completely. Convince her he was unavailable romantically.

What he needed was a handy, convenient female he could take along with him on Friday to keep Fiona at bay. But just who would fit that bill? For a moment his mind was totally, absolutely blank. Then, in the proverbial light-bulb moment, he knew exactly who he wanted to take. And the knowledge made him sit back abruptly and hear the question shaping itself inside his head.

Well, after all, why not? You did want to know just how much more beautiful she could look if she were dressed for the evening...

This would be a chance to find out—why not take it?

A slow smile started to curve his mouth.

* * *

Mel was staring at the cluttered table in the back room behind the sandwich bar. She didn’t see the clutter—all she saw was the huge bouquet that sat in its own cellophane container of water, its opulent blooms as large as her fists. A bouquet that was so over-the-top it was ridiculous. Her eyes were stormy.

Who the hell did he think he was?

Except that she knew the answer to that, because his name came at the end of the message on the card in the envelope pinned to the cellophane.

Hope these make amends and improve your mood.

It was signed ‘Nikos Parakis.’

Her brows lowered. So he was Greek. It made sense, now she thought about it, because although his English accent had been perfect, his clipped public-school vowels a perfect match with the rest of his ‘Mr Rich’ look, nevertheless his complexion had a distinctly Mediterranean hue to it, and his hair was as dark as a raven’s wing.

Even as she thought about it his image sprang into her vision again—and with it the expression in those dark, long-lashed eyes that had looked her over, assessing her, clearly liking what he saw...

As if he was finding me worthy of his attentions!

She bristled all over again, fulminating as she glared at the hapless bouquet of lilies. Their heady scent filled the small space, obliterating the smell of food that always permeated the room from the sandwich bar beyond. The scent made her feel light-headed. Its strength was almost overpowering, sending coils of fragrance into her lungs. Exotic, perfumed...sensuous.

As sensuous as his gaze had been.

That betraying heat started to flush up inside her again, and with a growl of anger at her own imbecility she wheeled about. She had no idea where she was going to put the ridiculously over-the-top bouquet, but right now she had work to do.

She was manning the sandwich bar on her own because Sarrie himself was on holiday. She didn’t mind because he was paying her extra, and every penny was bankable.

As she returned to her post behind the counter, checking what was left of the day’s ingredients and lifting out a tub of sliced tomatoes from the fridge, she deliberately busied herself running over her mental accounts. It stopped her thinking about that ridiculous bouquet—and the infuriating man who’d sent it to her.

OK, so where was she in her savings? She ran the figures through her head, feeling a familiar sense of satisfaction and reassurance as she did so. She’d worked flat-out these last twelve months, and now she was almost, almost at the point of setting off on her dream.

To travel. To leave the UK and see the world! To make a reality of all the places she’d only ever read about. Europe, the Med, even the USA—and maybe even further...South America, the Far East and Australia.

She’d never been abroad in her life.

A sigh escaped her. She shouldn’t feel deprived because she hadn’t travelled abroad. Gramps hadn’t liked ‘abroad.’ He hadn’t liked foreign travel. The south coast had been about as far as he’d been prepared to go.

‘Nothing wrong with Bognor,’ he’d used to tell her. ‘Or Brighton. Or Bournemouth.’

So that was where they’d gone for their annual summer holiday every year until she was a teenager. And for many years it had been fine—she’d loved the beach, even on her own with no brothers or sisters to play with. She’d had her grandfather, who’d raised her ever since his daughter and son-in-law had been killed in the same motorway pile-up that had killed his wife.

Looking back with adult eyes, she knew that having his five-year-old granddaughter to care for after the wholesale slaughter of the rest of his family had been her grandfather’s salvation. And he, in return, had become her rock—the centre of her world, the only person in the entire universe who loved her.

When she’d finished with school and started a Business Studies degree course at a nearby college, she’d opted to continue to live at home, in the familiar semi-detached house in the north London suburb she’d grown up in.

‘I’d be daft to move out, Gramps. Student accommodation costs a fortune, and most of the flats are complete dumps.’

Though she’d meant it, she’d also known that her grandfather had been relieved that she’d stayed at home with him.

It hadn’t cramped her social life to be living at home still, and she’d revelled in student life like any eighteen-year-old, enjoying her fair share of dating. It hadn’t been until she’d met Jak in her second year that things had become serious. He’d taken her seriously, too, seeing past her dazzling looks to the person within, and soon they’d become an item.

Had she been in love with him? She’d discovered the answer to that at the end of their studies. Not enough to dedicate her life to him the way he’d wanted her to.

‘I’ve got a job with the charity I applied for—out in Africa. I’m going to be teaching English, building schools, digging wells. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.’ He’d paused, looking at Mel straight on. ‘Will you come with me? Support me in my work? Make your life with me?’

It had been the question she’d known was coming—the question she’d only been able to answer one way. Whether or not she’d wanted to join Jak in his life’s work, it had been impossible anyway.

‘I can’t,’ she’d said. ‘I can’t leave Gramps.’

Because by then that was what it had come down to. In the three years of her being a student her grandfather had aged—had crossed that invisible but irreversible boundary from being the person who had raised her and looked after her to being someone who now looked to her to look after him. The years had brought heart problems—angina and mini-strokes—but far worse than his growing physical frailty had been the mental frailty that had come with it. Mel had known with sadness and a sinking heart that he had become more and more dependent on her.

She hadn’t been able to leave him. How could she have deserted him, the grandfather she loved so much? How could she have abandoned him when he’d needed her? She had only been able to wait, putting her own life on hold and devoting herself to the one relative she’d possessed: the grandfather who loved her.

The months had turned into years—three whole years—until finally he’d left her in the only way that a frail, ill old man could leave his granddaughter.

She’d wept—but not only from grief. There had been relief, too—she knew that. Relief for him, that at last he was freed from his failing body, his faltering mind. And relief, too, for herself.

She hadn’t been able to deny, though it had hurt to think it, that now, after his death, she was freed of all responsibility. Her grandfather had escaped the travails of life and by doing so had given Mel her own life back—given back to her what she wanted most of all to claim.

Her freedom.

Freedom to do what she had long dreamt of doing. To travel! To travel as she’d never had the opportunity to do—to travel wherever the wind blew her, wherever took her fancy. See the world.

But to do that she needed money. Money she’d been unable to earn for herself when she’d become her grandfather’s carer. Yes, she had some money, because her grandfather had left her his savings—but that would be needed, as a safe nest egg, for when she finally returned to the UK to settle down and build a career for herself. So to fund her longed-for travels she was working all the hours she could—Sarrie’s Sarnies by day, and waitressing in a nearby restaurant by night.

And soon—oh, very soon—she’d be off and away. Picking up a cheap last-minute flight and heading wherever the spirit took her until the money ran out, when she’d come back home to settle down.

If she ever did come back...

Maybe I’ll never come back. Maybe I’ll stay footloose all my life. Never be tied down again by anything or anyone! Free as a bird!

Devoted as she had been to her grandfather, after years of caring for him such freedom was a heady prospect.

So, too, was the looking forward to another element of youth that she had set aside till now.

Romance.

Since Jak had gone to Africa and she’d stayed behind to look after her grandfather romance had been impossible. In the early days she’d managed to go on a couple of dates, but as her grandfather’s health had worsened those moments had become less and less. But now... Oh, now romance could blossom again—and she’d welcome it with open arms.

She knew exactly what she wanted at this juncture of her life. Nothing intense or serious, as her relationship with Jak had been. Nothing long-term, as he had hoped things would be between them. No, for now all she craved was the heady buzz of eyes meeting across a crowded room, mutual desire acknowledged and fulfilled—frothy, carefree, self-indulgent fun. That was what she longed for now.

Her mouth curved in a cynical smile and her eyes sparked. Well, that attitude should make her popular. Men were habitually wary of women who wanted more from them—they were the ones who didn’t like clingy women, who didn’t want to be tied down. Who liked to enjoy their pick of women as and when they fancied.

The cynical smile deepened. She’d bet money that Nikos Parakis was a man like that. Looking her over the way he had...

As she started to serve a new customer who’d just walked in she shook her head clear of the memory. She had better things to do than speculate about the love life of Nikos Parakis—or speculate about anything to do with him at all.

Soon his extravagantly OTT flowers would fade, and so would her memory of the intemperate encounter between them today. And eventually so would the disturbingly vivid memory of the physical impact he’d made on her, with his dark, devastating looks. And that, she said to herself firmly, would be that.

‘What kind of sandwich would you like?’ she asked brightly of her customer, and got on with her job.

* * *

‘Pull over just there,’ Nikos instructed his driver, who duly slid the sleek top-of-the-range BMW to the side of the road to let his employer get out.

Emerging, Nikos glanced along the pavement, observing for a moment or two the comings and goings at the sandwich bar and wondering whether he was being a complete idiot for doing what he was about to do.

He’d reflected on the decision on the way here from the Parakis offices, changing his mind several times. The idea that had struck him the day before when faced with the prospect of enduring an evening of Fiona Pellingham trying to corner him had stayed with him, and he’d reviewed it from all angles several times. But he’d found that whenever he’d lined up all his objections—she was a complete stranger, she was bolshie, she might not even possess an evening gown suitable for the highly upmarket Viscari St James—they’d promptly all collapsed under the one overwhelming reason he wanted her to accompany him on Friday evening.

Which was the fact that he could not get her out of his head.

And he could think of nothing else except wanting to see her again.

The same overwhelming urge possessed him again now—to feast his eyes on her, drink her in and feel, yet again, that incredible visceral kick he’d got from her. Anticipation rose pleasurably through him.

He glanced at his watch. It was near the end of the working day so she should be shutting up shop soon—these old-fashioned sandwich bars did not stay open in the evening. He strolled towards the entrance, pushed the door open with the flat of his palm and walked in. There was only one other customer inside, and Nikos could see he was handing over his money, taking his wrapped sandwich with him.

Serving him was the blonde, bolshie, bad-attitude total stunner.

Instantly Nikos’s eyes went straight to her and stayed there, riveted.

Yes! The affirmation of all that he’d remembered about the impact she’d had on him surged through Nikos. She was as fantastic now as she had been then. Face, figure—the whole package. Burning right into his retinas, all over again.

Oh, yes, definitely—most definitely—this was the right decision to have made.

‘Here’s your change,’ he heard her say to her customer as he paused just inside the door. Her voice was cheerful, her expression smiling.

No sign, Nikos noted with caustic observation, of the bolshiness she’d targeted him with. But what he was noticing more was the way that her quick smile only enhanced the perfection of her features, lending her mouth a sinuous curve and warming her sapphire eyes. He could feel his pulse give a discernible kick at the sight of her smile, even though it wasn’t directed at him.

What will it feel like when she smiles at me? he wondered to himself. But he knew the answer already.

Good—that was what it would feel like.

And more than good. Inviting...

But just as this pleasurable thought was shaping in his brain he saw her eyes glance towards the latest person to come in—himself—and immediately her expression changed. She waited only before her customer had quit the shop before launching her attack.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded.

Nikos strolled forward, and it gave him particular satisfaction to see her take a half-step back, defensively. It meant she felt the need to raise her defences about him—and that meant, he knew with every masculine instinct, that she was vulnerable to him—vulnerable to the effect he was having on her. The effect he wanted to have on her.

He had seen it in her eyes, in the way they had suddenly been veiled—but not soon enough to conceal the betraying leap of emotion within.

It was an emotion that was as old as time, and one he’d seen before when he’d deliberately let his gaze wash over her, making his own reaction to her beauty as tangible as a caress...

And, veiled though it had been, it told him all he needed to know. That in spite of her outward bristling towards him, behind that layer of defence, she was reacting to him as strongly, as powerfully, as he was to her.

And once again he felt satisfaction spread through him at the knowledge that she was as reactive to him as he was to her—as powerfully attracted to him as he was to her—oh, yes, most definitely.

His eyes flickered over her again. He felt an overwhelming urge to drink her in, to remind himself of just what it was she had that so drew him to her. That extraordinary beauty she possessed was undimmed, even in these workaday surroundings and even clad as she was in that unprepossessing T-shirt. She had made not the slightest adornment to her natural beauty by way of make-up or styling her hair—most of which was still concealed under that unlovely baseball cap.

‘I wanted to see you again,’ he told her, coming up to the counter.

She stood her ground—he could see her doing it—but her figure had stiffened.

‘Why?’ she countered, making her expression stony.

He ignored her question. ‘Did you get my flowers?’ he asked. He kept his voice casual, kept his own eyes veiled now—for the time being.

‘Yes.’ The single-word answer was tight and...unappreciative.

An eyebrow quirked. ‘They were not to your taste?’

Her chin lifted. ‘I bet you don’t even know what they are. I bet you just told your secretary to send them.’

His mouth indented. ‘I suspect they will be lilies,’ he answered. ‘My PA likes lilies.’

‘Well, send them to her next time!’ was the immediate retort.

‘But my PA,’ he returned, entering into the spirit of their sparring, ‘was not the one I needed to apologise to. And besides...’ his dark eyes glinted ‘...she wasn’t the one whose mood needed improving.’

It was deliberate baiting—and unwise, considering he wanted her to accept his invitation for the evening, but he couldn’t resist the enjoyment of sparring with her and it got him his reward. That coruscating sapphire flash of her eyes—making her beautiful eyes even more outstanding.

‘Well, they didn’t improve my mood,’ she snapped back. ‘And you standing there doesn’t either. So if that’s all you came here to say, then consider it said.’

‘It isn’t,’ said Nikos. His expression changed as he abandoned the sparring and became suddenly more businesslike. ‘I have an invitation to put to you.’

For a moment she looked stupefied. Then, hard on the heels of that, deeply suspicious. ‘What?’

‘I would like,’ Nikos informed her, ‘to invite you to a charity gala this Friday night.’

‘What?’ The word came again, and an even more stupefied look.

‘Allow me to elaborate,’ said Nikos, and proceeded to do so.

His veiled eyes were watching for her reaction. Despite her overt hostility he could see that she was listening. Could see, too, that she was trying not to look at him. Trying to keep her eyes blank.

Trying—and failing.

She’s aware of me, responsive to me—she’s fighting it, but it’s there all the same.

It flickered like electricity between them as he went on.

‘I find,’ he told her, keeping his tone bland and neutral, so as not to set her hackles rising again, ‘that at short notice I am without a “plus one” for this Friday evening—a charity gala to which I am committed.’ He looked at her straight on. ‘Therefore I would be highly gratified if you would agree to be that “plus one” for the occasion. I’m sure you would find it enjoyable—it’s at the Viscari St James Hotel, which I hope you will agree is a memorable venue.’

He paused minutely, then allowed his mouth to indent into a swift smile.

‘Please say you’ll come.’

Her expression was a study, and he enjoyed watching it. Stupefaction mixed with deep, deep suspicion. And even deeper scepticism.

‘And of course, Mr Parakis, you have absolutely no one else you could possibly invite except a complete stranger—someone you told to her face you’d sack if she were unfortunate enough to be one of your hapless minions!’ she finally shot at him, her head going back and her eyes sparking.

He was unfazed. ‘Indeed,’ he replied shamelessly. ‘So, if you would be kind enough to take pity on my predicament and help me in my hour of need, my gratitude would know no bounds...’

A very unladylike snort escaped her. ‘Yeah, right,’ she managed to say derisively.

‘It’s quite true,’ he answered limpidly. ‘I would be extremely grateful.’

‘And I’d be a complete mug to believe you,’ she shot back.

Nikos’s expression changed again. ‘Why? What is the problem here for you?’ His eyes rested on her, conveying a message older than time. ‘Do you not know how extraordinarily beautiful you are? How any man would be privileged to have you at his side—?’

He saw the colour run out over her sculpted cheekbones. Saw her swallow.

‘Will you not let me invite you?’ he said again. There was the slightest husk in his voice. It was there without his volition.

Mixed emotions crossed her face. ‘No,’ she said finally—emphatically.

His eyebrows rose. ‘Why not?’ he asked outright.

Hers snapped together. ‘Because I don’t like you—that’s why!’

He gave a half-laugh, discovering he was enjoying her bluntness. ‘We got off to a bad start—I admit that freely. I was hungry and short-tempered, and you gave me a hard time and I resented it.’

‘You spoke to me like I was beneath you,’ she shot at him. ‘And you looked down your nose at Joe—wouldn’t give him a penny even though you’re obviously rolling in it!’ She cast a pointed look at him. ‘Your wallet was stuffed with fifties!’

‘Did you expect me to hand a fifty over to him?’ he protested. ‘And for your information I gave him a handful of all those pound coins you dumped on me.’

Mel’s expression changed. ‘What? Oh, God, he’ll have just gone off and spent it on booze.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you really give him money?’

‘Ask him next time he comes in for a free sandwich,’ said Nikos drily. ‘So...’ his voice changed ‘...are you going to take pity on me and accept my invitation?’

She was wavering—he could tell that with every male instinct. She wants to accept, but her pride is holding her back.

‘You know,’ he said temperately as her internal conflict played out in her betraying gaze, ‘I really am quite safe. And very respectable, too. As is the Viscari St James Hotel and the charity gala.’

‘You’re a complete stranger.’

‘No, I’m not. You know who I am—you addressed me by name just now,’ Nikos countered.

‘Only because you put your name on the card with those flowers—and they were an insult anyway.’

‘How so?’ Nikos’s astonishment was open.

The sapphire flash that made her beauty even more outstanding came again. ‘You can’t even see it, can you?’ she returned. ‘Sending me a ludicrously over-the-top bouquet and then having the gall to tell me to improve my mood—like you hadn’t caused my bad mood in the first place. It was just so...so patronising!’

‘Patronising? I don’t see why.’

Mel’s screwed her face up. Emotion was running like a flash flood through her. She was trying to cope with seeing him right in front of her again, just when she’d been starting to put the whole encounter of the previous day behind her, and trying urgently to suppress her reaction to seeing him again. Trying not to betray just what an impact he was having on her—how her eyes wanted to gaze at him, take in that sable hair, the incredible planes and contours of his face—and trying not to let herself fall head first into those dark eyes of his...

She was trying to use anger to keep him at bay—but he kept challenging it, eroding it. Throwing at her that ludicrous invitation which had stopped her dead in her tracks—an invitation which was as over-the-top as that vast bouquet had been.

‘Yes,’ she insisted, ‘patronising. Mr Rich and Lordly sending flowers to Poor Little Shop Girl!’

There was a moment’s silence. Then Nikos spoke. ‘I did not mean it that way.’ He took a breath. ‘I told you—I sent them with the intention of making amends once I realised I had been rude to you—in more ways than one.’

He avoided spelling out what he was referring to, but he knew she was thinking about it for he could see a streak of colour heading out across her cheekbones again.

‘But if you want me to apologise for sending the flowers as well, then—’

She cut across him. ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. She tried not to sound truculent. OK, so he hadn’t meant to come across as patronising. Fine. She could be OK with that. She could be OK with him apologising to her. And she could be fine with him giving money to Joe, even if he would just go and spend it all on alcohol.

But what she couldn’t be fine with was what he was asking her.

To go out with him. Go out with a man who set her pulse racing, who seemed to be able to slam right past every defence she put up against him—a man she wanted to gaze at as shamelessly, blatantly, as he had looked at her.

What’s he doing to me? And how? And why am I being like this? Why can’t I just tell him to go so I can shut the shop and never see him again and just get on with my life?

And why don’t I want to do that?

But she knew why—and it was in every atom of Nikos Parakis, standing there across the counter, asking her why she didn’t want to go out with him.

‘Look, Mr Parakis, I don’t know what this is about—I really don’t. You set eyes on me for the second time in your life and suddenly you’re asking me out for the evening? It’s weird—bizarre.’

‘Let me be totally upfront with you about why I’m asking you, in particular, to come with me on Friday evening,’ he answered.

His eyes were resting on her, but not with any expression in them that made her either angry, suspicious or, worst of all, vulnerable to his overwhelming sexual allure.

‘I’m in an awkward situation,’ he said bluntly. ‘Whilst in London I find myself committed to this charity gala tomorrow night, at the Viscari St James. Unfortunately, also present will be a woman whom I know through business and who is, alas, harbouring possessive intentions towards me which I cannot reciprocate.’

Was there an edge in his voice? Mel wondered. But he was continuing.

‘I do not wish to spend the evening fending her off, let alone giving her cause to think that her hopes might be fulfilled. But I don’t wish to wound or offend her either, and nor do I wish to sour any future business dealings. I need a...graceful but persuasive way to deflect her. Arriving with my own “plus one” would, I hope, achieve that. However, the lady in hot pursuit of me knows perfectly well that I am currently unattached—hence my need to discover a sufficiently convincing partner for the evening to thwart her hopes.’

His expression changed again.

‘All of which accounts for my notion that inviting a fantastically beautiful complete stranger as my “plus one” would be the ideal answer to my predicament,’ he finished, keeping his gaze steady on Mel’s face.

He paused. His eyes rested on her with an unreadable expression that Mel could not match.

‘You fit the bill perfectly,’ he said. And now, suddenly, his expression was not unreadable at all...

As she felt the unveiled impact of his gaze Mel heard her breath catch, felt emotion swing into her as if it had been blown in on the wind from an opened door. He was offering her an experience she’d never had in her life—a glittering evening out with the most breathtakingly attractive man she’d ever seen.

So why not? What are you waiting for? Why hesitate for a moment?

She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t go—he might be the most ridiculously good-looking and most ludicrously attractive man she’d ever seen, but he was also the most infuriating and arrogant and self-satisfied man she’d ever met.

But he’s apologised, and his self-satisfaction comes with a sense of humour about it, and he’s given me a cogent reason for his out-of-the-blue invitation...

But he was a complete stranger and could be anyone.

I know his name—and, anyway, he’s talking about a posh charity bash at a swanky West End hotel, not an orgy in an opium den...

But she had nothing suitable to wear for such a thing as a posh charity bash at a swanky West End hotel.

Yes, I have—I’ve got that second-hand designer evening gown I bought in a charity shop that was dead cheap because it had a stain on it. I can cover the stain with a corsage...and I can make the corsage from that over-the-top bunch of lilies he’s just sent...

But she ought to be working—she made good tips on a Friday night at the restaurant.

Well, I can work an extra shift on Sunday lunchtime instead, when Sarrie’s is closed...

One by one she could hear herself demolishing her own objections against accepting Nikos Parakis’s invitation. Heard herself urging on the one overwhelming reason for accepting it.

A little thrill went through her.

She was about to start a new life—her own life. She would be free of obligations to anyone else. Free to do what she wanted and go where she wanted. Free to indulge herself finally!

And when it came to indulgence what could be more self-indulgent than a gorgeous, irresistible man like the one standing in front of her? It was just too, too tempting to turn down.

If anything could herald her new life’s arrival with the sound of trumpets it must surely be this. So why not grab the opportunity with both hands?

Why not?

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for the man who was making it possible.

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

She was walking into the bar area.

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

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

She looked stunning—beyond stunning.

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

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

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

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

He stepped forward, his smile deepening.

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

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

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

His compliment drew a new expression from her face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She paused minutely.

‘Do you require a surname? Or is that a complete irrelevance because after all,’ she said lightly, ‘our acquaintance is going to be terminated after tonight?’

Nikos found himself frowning. Was their acquaintance gong to be terminated after tonight? Was that what he intended?

Do I want this to be the only time I spend with her?

Did he really want this incredible, fantastic-looking, stunningly gorgeous blonde who was making his senses reel to be with him only for one single evening?

As his eyes flickered over her he knew what his body wanted him to answer—oh, yes, indeed! No doubt about that in the slightest. But it wasn’t just his body responding to the overwhelming physical attraction he felt for this fantastically beautiful woman.

What was she like as a person? As an individual? Oh, he knew she could stand up to him—stand her ground and spark verbal fire with him—but how much more was there to her than that?

Time to find out...

He smiled a warm, encompassing smile. ‘Mel,’ he asked her, ‘don’t you realise yet that I want to know a lot more about you than just your surname?’

To his distinct satisfaction he saw once again that telltale colour run fleetingly over her sculpted cheekbones. He let his gaze have the effect he wanted, and then deliberately let it soften as he relaxed against the burnished mahogany surface of the bar.

Her colour was still heightened when she answered him. ‘Well, it’s Cooper—just in case you should need to know. Like when you introduce me to this woman you want me to keep at bay for you.’

There was an acerbic tinge to her voice, but Nikos ignored it.

I would want her here tonight even if Fiona Pellingham were a hundred miles away.

The knowledge was sure in his head—the certainty of it absolute. Mel Cooper—so fiery and so fantastically beautiful—was a woman he wanted to know more about. Much more.

‘So, tell me, Mel Cooper,’ he said, ‘first of all how do you come to be working in an establishment rejoicing in the name of “Sarrie’s Sarnies”?’

Deliberately he kept his tone light, with mild humour in it. He could see her recovering her composure. The slight stain of colour ebbed. She took a sip of water from her glass. Her voice, when she spoke, had lost its acerbic tone and he was glad.

‘Sarrie Silva is the uncle of a friend of mine, and he offered me the job,’ she explained. ‘The pay isn’t bad, and I actually enjoy the work.’ No need to tell him that in comparison with looking after her grandfather day in and day out for years any kind of alternative work was bliss. ‘And best of all he lets me use the back room as a bedroom, so I effectively live there.’

Nikos’s eyebrows rose. ‘You live in the back room of a sandwich bar?’

‘Yes, it’s rent-free—and in London that counts for a hell of a lot,’ Mel answered feelingly.

‘How long have you been living like that?’ Nikos asked.

‘Nearly a year now. Ever since I had to move out of my childhood home.’

Nikos frowned. ‘Why did you have to do that?’

‘It was after my grandfather died. I’d...looked after him...’ She could hear her voice twist, feel her throat tighten, feel the familiar grief at his loss ache within her, and hurried on. ‘When I lost him...’ the twist in her voice was more pronounced, though she tried to cover it ‘...I decided I’d rather rent out the house, because that would give me some steady income.’

‘But you became homeless?’ Nikos objected.

She gave a quick shake of her head, smiling now. ‘That didn’t matter, because it was only ever going to be temporary. I’ll be off abroad soon,’ she explained.

She said it deliberately. It had occurred to her as she spoke that it would be prudent to make it clear to Nikos Parakis that she was going to be out of London very soon. His words to her after she’d made that jibe at him just now echoed in her head.

‘Don’t you realise yet that I want to know a lot more about you than just your surname?’

Echoed dangerously...

Dangerously because all she wanted to do was enjoy this evening, enjoy the lavish luxury of her surroundings and keep as tight a lid as possible on the totally predictable effect Nikos Parakis was having on her female sensibilities.

Definitely time to make it clear that she was not hanging about in London for long. This evening was nothing more than an unexpected and most important a one-off treat—one she would enjoy, make the most of, and then consign to memory. And Nikos Parakis with it.

His dark eyebrows had come together when she’d mentioned going abroad.

‘Where are you thinking of travelling to?’ he asked.

‘No idea,’ she replied insouciantly, taking a sip of her water. ‘Spain, probably—wherever I can get a cheap flight to.’

He looked slightly startled. ‘You have no destination in mind?’

‘Not really. I just want to travel—that’s all. So any place is as good as another.’ Her voice changed. ‘Wherever I go it will be an adventure.’

Nikos took another sip of his martini. ‘Where have you travelled so far in your life?’ he asked.

‘Nowhere. That’s the whole point,’ Mel replied.

There was emotion in her voice—Nikos could hear it. He could also see the enthusiasm in her face...the excitement. Could see, too, how it made her eyes sparkle, lighting up her face. Enhancing her stunning beauty.

It was a beauty, he knew, from all his long-honed masculine experience, that would cause total havoc amongst the entire male population of the world once she was out in it. Probably too much havoc...

‘Are you going with friends?’ he asked.

Behind his innocuous question he knew another one lurked. Are you going with a boyfriend...?

But of course she wasn’t. If she were, she wouldn’t have accepted his invitation tonight, would she?

The knowledge that she was unattached gave him satisfaction. More satisfaction than her answer to his question.

Mel shook her head. ‘No, just solo. I’m sure I’ll make friends as I go.’

‘Well, be careful,’ he found himself warning her. ‘There are parts of the world where solo travellers—let alone female ones—are not advised to go.’

Her mouth tightened. ‘I can look after myself.’

Nikos’s expression was wry. ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, his voice dry. ‘You can go twelve rounds verbally—no problem. But...’ He held up a hand. ‘All the same, stick to tourist areas—that’s my advice.’

For a moment it looked as if she was going to argue the point, for he could see the warlike sparkle in her eyes. Then it subsided.

‘OK, OK...’ Mel temporised. ‘I’ll hire a bodyguard and lug him around with me—I get the picture,’ she said, in a deliberately resigned voice.

‘An excellent idea,’ Nikos murmured, humour in his eyes. ‘I can recommend a first-class firm offering the kind of close personal protection which I have, on occasion, engaged myself.’

Mel’s expression changed. ‘Good grief—are you serious?’

Nikos nodded. ‘There are some...let us say restless places in the world, where it is advisable to have someone riding shotgun beside you.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Why do you go to such places?’

‘I do business there,’ he answered drily. Then, at the questioning and indeed wary look in her eyes, he went on swiftly. ‘And, no, before your fervid imagination carries you away, I am not an arms dealer. I am a very boring and tediously respectable banker,’ he informed her.

‘Yes, I know,’ she admitted. ‘I looked you up. Just in case,’ she said dulcetly. ‘Though of course,’ she went on, allowing herself a provocative glance at him, ‘I didn’t think bankers were




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