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The Greek's Pregnant Cinderella
Michelle Smart
“You will go to the ball. ” And be seduced by a billionaire… Hotel maid Tabitha is stunned to be gifted a ticket to an elite ball hosted by Greek tycoon Giannis Basinas. It’s meant to be a night of pure luxury. But this untouched Cinderella ends up in Giannis’s bed—utterly pleasured! Making a hasty morning exit out the window, Tabitha expects to return to her ordinary life. Until she discovers her midnight mischief had nine-month consequences!


“You will go to the ball.”
And be seduced by a billionaire...
Hotel maid Tabitha is stunned to be gifted a ticket to an elite ball hosted by Greek tycoon Giannis Basinas. It’s meant to be a night of pure luxury. But this untouched Cinderella ends up in Giannis’s bed—utterly pleasured! Making a hasty morning exit out the window, Tabitha expects to return to her ordinary life. Until she discovers her midnight mischief had nine-month consequences!
Lose yourself in this enchanting Cinderella story...
MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby and would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading them—and writing them—ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire, England, with her husband and two young Smarties.
Also by Michelle Smart (#u86501cce-c9f4-544f-9378-12b095faa0fe)
Married for the Greek’s Convenience
Once a Moretti Wife
A Bride at His Bidding
The Sicilian’s Bought Cinderella
Bound to a Billionaire miniseries
Protecting His Defiant Innocent
Claiming His One-Night Baby
Buying His Bride of Convenience
Cinderella Seductions miniseries
A Cinderella to Secure His Heir
Rings of Vengeance miniseries
Billionaire’s Bride for Revenge
Marriage Made in Blackmail
Billionaire’s Baby of Redemption
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Greek’s Pregnant Cinderella
Michelle Smart


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08792-6
THE GREEK’S PREGNANT CINDERELLA
© 2019 Michelle Smart
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

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Contents
Cover (#u0bdc1f4b-207c-57a3-8624-5561a97798d5)
Back Cover Text (#u11223d20-127f-5481-9258-ee4eb802d75b)
About the Author (#u58d42419-89af-5725-9df1-4379e747d3e8)
Booklist (#u390c7d51-1f2f-5cc0-b231-85260276649c)
Title Page (#u7f156423-dae4-5077-a20c-4188b9987c7f)
Copyright (#u2ae3e922-834e-5645-8eee-f7e39386d020)
Note to Readers
CHAPTER ONE (#u6666785f-18a0-5140-9258-0e43595cd30a)
CHAPTER TWO (#u1012d462-07ba-516c-b4ed-c2b0ab08c796)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4d3fd1b5-e9e7-5cbf-979d-9fc9ec2c20a5)
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)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE (#u86501cce-c9f4-544f-9378-12b095faa0fe)
TABITHA BRIGSTOCK WHEELED her trolley to the laundry room and heaved the sack of dirty linen and towels from the suites she’d spent the morning cleaning into the white dirty washing tub, then left the laundry to wheel the trolley further up the corridor to the storage room, where she locked it away with the other trollies. Her hands were red and sore but there was no time to go to her room to rub the hand lotion on them that sometimes stopped them cracking too badly. The staff quarters were right at the other end of the hotel, a good fifteen-minute walk away.
Instead she climbed the stairs and headed to the far end of the first floor. She knocked on the door out of habit then used her master key to unlock it.
‘Hi, Mrs Coulter,’ she said cheerfully as she walked into the opulent suite. ‘How are you feeling? Sorry I couldn’t pop in earlier but they needed me to help out on the second floor.’
At eighty-three, Mrs Coulter was the oldest guest at Vienna’s Basinas Palace Hotel and had been in residence for three months. The poor woman had been floored by a virus that had left her bed-bound for two weeks. Tabitha had been very concerned and had taken to dropping in on her regularly to make sure she was okay. Thankfully, Mrs Coulter had been much improved the last couple of days, and today she was up and dressed and eating her lunch at the table by the window that overlooked the palace’s vast grounds.
Mrs Coulter smiled, the twinkle in her eye that had been missing all week very much back. ‘I’m feeling much better, thank you. And thank you for getting Melanie to check on me earlier.’
‘Not a problem. I’ve got the vitamins you asked for.’ She pulled the small plastic pot out of her handbag and put it on the table.
Gnarled arthritic hands covered hers. ‘You are an angel. Will you sit and have a cup of tea with me?’
As Tabitha still had twenty minutes of her lunch break left, she took the offered seat and poured them both a cup from the bone-china pot.
It felt wonderful to sit after six straight hours of physical exertion. The hotel was in a state of great excitement. The Greek owner, Giannis Basinas, was hosting a masquerade ball there that evening for the world’s elite.
Tabitha had caught a glimpse of him earlier. She’d just finished cleaning a room and was wheeling her trolley down the corridor when he’d strolled past. Her heart had soared to see him but, as normal, he didn’t spare her so much as a glance.
In the five months since she’d started working there, she had seen the billionaire widower, who was rumoured to be descended from Greek royalty, only a handful of times. The Basinas Palace Hotel was but a small part of his vast empire. When he did bother to show his face in Vienna, the excitement and fear amongst the staff was palpable. The hotel had once been a royal palace and was now regarded as Europe’s most prestigious hotel with a price tag to match. Working there was a coup in itself but, should standards be deemed to have dropped, the risk of being fired was all too real.
Tabitha could not afford to lose her job and had no idea what it was about Giannis that meant every rare glimpse of him played on her mind so much or made her stomach come alive with butterflies. As a live-in member of staff, to be fired would be to be made homeless. The salary here was much better than her old job in a small English hotel, and the tips were often amazing, but even with all the overtime she grabbed she still hadn’t saved anywhere near enough for a deposit on her own home.
That was all she wanted. A place of her own. A home where she could be safe. A home that no one could ever take away from her.
‘I was hoping you would come see me this lunchtime,’ Mrs Coulter said.
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you ready for a game of cards?’ The two women had taken to playing rummy most days when Tabitha’s day shift was over.
‘My head’s still too fuzzy for that, my dear. No, I wanted to discuss tonight’s ball.’
‘The masquerade ball?’
‘Is there another one I should know about?’
Tabitha laughed. ‘I hope not. I’m grateful for the extra shifts it’s giving me but I’d need a holiday to recoup if we had another one too soon.’ And she could not afford a holiday.
The twinkle reappeared in Mrs Coulter’s eye. ‘I have a ticket for it.’
‘No way!’ Tickets for the ball were forty-thousand euros. To have the privilege of forking out that astronomical amount of money, you had to be invited. To be invited, you had to be rich and part of the global elite. It was an open secret that all the single women who’d been invited were under the age of thirty, the rumour—not denied—being that Giannis Basinas was using the ball as a means of finding himself a new wife. Mrs Coulter was rich and recently widowed but she was not part of the global elite and she absolutely was not under the age of thirty. ‘How did you get that?’
Mrs Coulter winked and tapped her nose. ‘A lady has her secrets, dear.’
Tabitha felt a surge of excitement for her. To go to the ball... She’d seen all the preparations for it, heard all the whispered talk, and it was obvious it was going to be the ball of century. ‘Do you want me to do your hair and nails for it? My shift finishes at four, so I’ll have time...’
‘No, dear. The ticket is for you.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I bought the ticket for you.’
Tabitha was momentarily struck dumb. She stared at the wizened old woman with the white wispy hair and twinkling eyes and wondered when she’d gained such an evil sense of humour. It had to be a joke. Who would spend forty-thousand euros on a ticket to a ball for a chambermaid?
The gnarled hand covered hers again. ‘Tabitha,’ she said earnestly. ‘You have been a godsend to me. You have looked after me since I first arrived in Vienna and often in your own personal time. You’ve cared for me this week when my own selfish children could hardly be bothered to call to see if I was okay. You work your fingers to the bone for little money and you never complain. You’re a ray of sunshine in a dark world and I wanted to show my love and appreciation for all that you do.’
Tabitha swallowed. A ray of sunshine? Her?
The only people who had ever said such nice things to her had been her father and paternal grandmother. Her lovely grandmother had died when she’d been seven but her memories of her were strong. Mrs Coulter had the same mischievous twinkle her grandmother had had and the same easy affection. Tabitha supposed that was what had drawn her to the elderly lady to begin with and partly why she felt such deep affection for her.
‘The ticket is in my name. Tonight, you will be Amelia Coulter, and you will dance with handsome men and drink champagne and spend an evening being who you were born to be.’
Tabitha blinked, partly to push back the tears threatening to spill down her face and partly in shock.
Being who you were born to be...?
She had spent the past four years trying her hardest to forget her birth right. The memories were too painful. All she could do was tackle each day as it came and look to the future.
Her heart thumped. Did Mrs Coulter know...?
The twinkling eyes were steady on hers. If Mrs Coulter knew Tabitha’s true identity, she was keeping her cards close to her chest.
But Tabitha had never hidden her true self. Her name was the only thing her stepmother had been unable to take from her. She’d taken everything else, though. Her home, her education, her money, her future...
‘Take a look in my wardrobe. Go on, dear.’
On legs that felt strangely drugged, Tabitha stepped through to the bedroom.
‘Right-hand door,’ Mrs Coulter called.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘You’ll see.’
And she did see.
When she opened the right-hand door of the wardrobe, all that hung on the rail was a floor-length ball gown that could have leapt off the pages of a fairy tale.
She stretched out a hand and ran her fingers over the delicate material, her eyes soaking up the pastel-pale pinks and greens overlaid with embellished gold-threaded patterns and encrusted with jewels and the palest of pink roses. An eighteenth-century princess would have been thrilled to wear something so beautiful.
On the shelf above it lay a pair of white-gold high-heeled shoes, a white eye-mask with gold detailing and gold braiding around its edges and a plume of wispy pale pink feathers shaped into a flower on the left cheek.
Hands now shaking, she took hold of a shoe and examined it in awe.
It was her size.
Dazed, she went back to the living area of the suite. ‘How...?’
Mrs Coulter smiled. ‘A lady has her ways.’
‘I can’t. I wish...’ She took a deep breath and hugged the shoe to her chest. ‘I wish I could go but I can’t. If I get caught, I’ll be fired. We’ve all been warned.’ And warned unambiguously. Any member of staff caught trying to enter the ball would have their contract of employment terminated.
But Mrs Coulter was not to be deterred. ‘We will make you unrecognisable. No one will know it’s you—no one will be expecting you to be there. In my experience, people see what they want and expect to see. They will not see a chambermaid. Come back here at five. I’ve arranged for a beautician to join us. She will turn you into a princess. And then tomorrow you can join me for lunch and tell me all about it.’ She gave a tinkle of laughter. ‘I admit, I’m not being entirely altruistic. I’m too old and my knees too shot to go to the ball myself but I can live it vicariously through you.’
Hot tears prickled the back of Tabitha’s eyes. No one had ever done such a thing for her before.
‘Do not be afraid, my dear. Tonight you will be a princess and you will go to the ball, and I will not hear another word of argument about it.’
* * *
Giannis Basinas left the apartment he used as a base when in Vienna and strolled up the rose-hedged path that led to his hotel. He could have earmarked one of the suites for his own use but he preferred to give himself at least an illusion of privacy. Privacy was a concept frequently ignored by his large, exuberant family.
It was partly down to his family that he was making this walk now dressed in an all-black, leather swallowtail suit and hosting this masquerade ball. His sisters had been dropping hints since he’d turned thirty-five that he needed to find a new wife. He’d come to the reluctant conclusion that they were right.
When his oldest friend Alessio Palvetti had pulled in a favour owed from their school days and asked him to host a masquerade ball, using a specific event team to manage it, Giannis had figured the ball could work in his favour. He could repay his debt and let his sisters believe he was serious about finding a wife. Everyone would be happy.
He didn’t hold much hope that his ideal woman would emerge tonight but this was as good an opportunity to find her as any. He’d even let Niki, his youngest sister and the biggest socialite in his family, select fifty of the four hundred guests to invite. These fifty guests were unmarried women, their wealth determined by their ability to pay the forty-thousand-euro price tag he’d set the tickets at.
If Giannis was going to marry again, he had three criteria. Firstly, and most importantly, his potential wife had to be independently rich. He would not make the same mistake as he’d made in his first marriage. Secondly, she must be of childbearing age, a criterion that was self-explanatory. Thirdly, and least importantly, she must be pleasant to look at. She didn’t have to be a model, or even be particularly beautiful, but if he was going to spend the rest of his life with one woman he would prefer it to be with someone he found attractive.
Slipping through a rear door into the hotel he’d bought less than two years ago, he made his way to the ballroom.
Giannis’s business interests were varied but mostly concentrated in shipping and property across the globe. This former palace he’d spent millions on renovating into a world-class hotel was his first venture into the tourism industry outside his Greek home. As a status symbol, there was none better.
About to open a side door into the ballroom, he spotted a female guest on the cantilevered stairs. Her fingers trailed the railing as she made her descent. Her other hand clutched the gold invitation all ball guests were required to show on their arrival.
There was something hesitant about her graceful walk that made him look twice.
He looked at her. Then looked again.
Although much of her face was hidden behind a white-gold eye-mask with a plume of dusky-pink feathers on the left cheek, there was something about her that set his pulses racing.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away.
Her beautiful dress, all delicate pale greens, dusky pinks, golds and jewels that sparkled when the light caught them, was strapless and form-fitting to the waist then puffed out to fall in layers to her hidden feet.
She looked like a princess.
She could be a princess.
He imagined the dazzling circle the skirt of the dress would make on the dance floor...
Leaving the door he’d been about to enter, he approached her as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
She was shorter than he’d thought and, up close, even more ravishing. Honey-blonde hair had been coiled into an elegant knot at the base of a graceful neck adorned with a gold choker necklace covered in jewels, and roses that matched her dress and the drop earrings hanging from the lobes of her pretty ears.
She was the most exquisite creature he had ever set eyes on.
‘You look lost,’ he said in English.
A pair of cornflower-blue eyes met his from behind the mask.
Full, heart-shaped lips curved into a hesitant smile.
‘Do you need directions to the room the guests are meeting in? Or are you waiting for someone?’ She wore a glimmering diamond on her right hand but there was no ring on her left.
She shook her head in obvious shyness.
‘You don’t need directions or you’re not waiting for someone?’ Or did she not understand him? It was a rare event to meet someone in his world who did not speak English.
When she finally spoke, her cut-glass English accent contained a huskiness to it. ‘I’m not waiting for anyone.’
Better and better.
He held an arm out to her. ‘Then allow me to escort you, Miss...’
‘Tabitha.’ Colour stained what he could see of her cheeks. ‘My name is Tabitha.’
‘A pleasure to meet you, Tabitha. I’m Giannis Basinas and it would be my pleasure if you would allow me to escort you to the ball.’
Tabitha could have screamed at her stupidity.
Why had she given him her real name?
She hadn’t even reached the ballroom yet and already she’d blown her cover. And with Giannis Basinas of all people!
She was supposed to be Amelia Coulter, the name on the invitation in her hand.
She should have turned Mrs Coulter’s incredibly generous offer down but she’d been caught up in the moment, her head turned by the beautiful dress, her heart aching for one night, just one night, of freedom from the unrelenting drudgery of a life spent scrubbing bathrooms and cleaning rooms.
This was the sort of ball at which, if her father had lived, she could have been a real guest. She would have been here by right, not deception.
If Giannis suspected for a moment that she was a lowly hotel employee she would be fired on the spot.
But there was no hint of recognition.
But then, he’d never looked at her before. And why would he? He employed hundreds of people at this hotel alone. Chambermaids came bottom of the pecking order, a faceless army who flitted unobtrusively through the corridors and cleaned the rich guests’ rooms.
The thought calmed her a little but it was with a heart that raced that she slipped her hand through his offered arm, then found it racing even harder.
Tall, with dark brown hair cut short at the sides and long at the top, Giannis had a nose that was too long and his chin was a little too pointed for him to be considered traditionally handsome. But there was something about him, whether it was the high cheekbones, the clear blue eyes or the full bottom lip, that drew attention.
It had drawn her attention from her first glance.
His was a face that had lived and had the lines etched in his forehead and around the eyes to prove it.
He might not be traditionally handsome but in the black leather swallowtail suit and black leather eye-mask he wore as his masquerade costume, which gave him an almost piratical air, he was devastating.
‘Which part of England are you from?’ he asked as they strolled down a wide corridor.
‘Oxfordshire,’ she answered cautiously.
‘A beautiful county.’
It was, she thought wistfully. She’d avoided the entire county since she’d been thrown out of her home. It hurt too much to think of everything she’d lost and everything she missed.
However, she smiled, nodded her agreement and prayed for a change to the conversation.
What would be even better would be an increase to the pace Giannis had set. They were walking so slowly a tortoise could have overtaken them.
Her mind raced as to how she could slip away from him before she had to hand over the invitation written in the name of a woman who was not Tabitha.
If she had left Mrs Coulter’s room a minute earlier or later she wouldn’t have bumped into the one person she’d really needed to avoid.
‘I went to university in Oxford,’ he said. ‘Boarding school at Quilton House in Wiltshire. Do you know it?’
That explained his flawless English.
‘I know of it.’ Quilton House was one of the oldest schools in the world and certainly the most expensive. Only the filthy rich could afford to send their children there. A few of her school friends’ brothers had attended it.
‘What school did you go to?’ he asked.
‘Beddingdales.’
He laughed, a deep, rumbly sound that played melodically in her ears. ‘My first girlfriend went to Beddingdales. I would ask if you knew her, but I suspect you’re a lot younger than me.’
‘Probably.’
He laughed even louder. ‘You don’t waste words, do you?’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’
He stopped walking and fixed clear blue eyes on hers. ‘Don’t apologise. Honesty is a rare, refreshing trait in this world we live in.’
They reached the door that led into the area where the guests were to wait before the ball was declared open. In a moment she would have to hand over the invitation for her name to be confirmed on the guest list.
Her heart pounded.
She needed to slip away.
Before she could think of an excuse to flee, Giannis took hold of the hand tucked into his arm and brought it to his lips. His eyes sparkled as he razed the lightest of kisses against the knuckles. ‘I have a couple of things I need to check on before the ball starts. I will find you.’
Then he bowed his head and turned on his heel, leaving nothing but the scent of his spicy cologne in his wake.
Tabitha slowly released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes.
Her heart still pounded, although whether that was an effect of the kiss on her hand or the close call she’d just had she couldn’t determine.
‘Are you coming in, miss?’
The uniformed guard had opened the door for her.
She swallowed.
It wasn’t too late. She didn’t have to do this.
But then she caught sight of a waiter holding a tray of champagne and the longing in her heart overshadowed the fear.
She could stay for one glass of champagne, she reasoned. That couldn’t do any harm. One glass of champagne and then, when the ball was declared open, slip away and return to her room and the safe anonymity of her servile life.
But she would have one glass of champagne first.
She stepped into a small holding room. Another uniformed guard stood on the other side of the door, a large tablet in his hand. Her heart almost stopped.
She recognised him. She’d spoken to him numerous times in the staff room.
There was not a flicker of recognition in his returning stare.
He greeted her with a polite smile. ‘May I see your invitation please, miss?’
Hoping he didn’t notice the tremor in her hand, she passed it to him.
He peered at it closely then turned his attention to his tablet until he found her name on the list. He pressed his finger to it then smiled again at her and nodded at the double doors at the other side of the room. ‘Guests are assembling through that door. Enjoy your evening, Miss Coulter.’
Air rushed out of her lungs.
Mrs Coulter had been right. The dress and the mask acted as the perfect disguise.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
Straightening her back, Tabitha held her head high. Yet another doorman opened the double doors for her to step through.
The noise she was greeted with from the reception room made her blink. The guests already congregated were in high spirits. Laughter and the buzz of excited chatter filled the air, melding with the music coming from the corner, where a pianist was playing a familiar tune.
She soaked up all of this in the time it took to step over the threshold.
A waitress holding a tray of champagne approached her.
Tabitha took a flute with a smile and restrained herself from tipping the contents down her throat in one swallow.
Whatever the circumstances of her life now, she’d been raised to be a lady. Ladies did not tip drinks down their necks.
She brought the flute to her mouth and took a small sip.
The explosion of bubbles in her mouth was enough to make her want to cry.
Only twice in her life had she tasted champagne. The first time had been at her father’s wedding when she’d been ten. The second had been when she’d been fourteen. Her stepmother had thrown an eighteenth birthday party for Fiona, the oldest of Tabitha’s stepsisters. The party had been an elaborate affair with no expense spared.
The celebrations for Tabitha’s own eighteenth birthday had been markedly different. Her stepmother had celebrated by throwing Tabitha out of the family home.
The big wide world she’d looked forward to embracing had shrunk overnight.
Any alcohol she’d consumed since then had been whatever was cheapest. No Freshers’ Week at university for her. While her school friends had scattered to various higher education institutions around the country—the majority intent on having a fantastic three years getting drunk and attending the odd lecture when they could fit it in their busy social schedules—Tabitha had already been gaining callouses on her hands from working as a cleaner in the small family-owned hotel. The pay had been terrible but the job had come with accommodation.
The call for silence broke through her sad reminiscences.
The master of ceremonies greeted the four hundred guests and then, with a flourish, declared the masquerade ball open.

CHAPTER TWO (#u86501cce-c9f4-544f-9378-12b095faa0fe)
CAUGHT IN THE tide of bodies, Tabitha entered the enormous ballroom.
Her hand flew to her throat as she took in the lavish transformation the already opulent room had undergone.
From the grand high ceiling hung balloons of gold, silver and white, the walls lined with heavy drapes following the colour theme. In the far corner sat the champagne fountain the staff had been talking about for days.
Everything glittered. Everything shone, especially the colourful, fabulously dressed guests.
It was like entering a magical wonderland and Tabitha’s heart ached at the beauty of it.
She finished her champagne, placed the empty flute on the tray of a passing waiter and took her place amongst the ladies forming a long line to the left of the springy wooden dance floor.
The gentlemen lined up on the right and then the orchestra struck the first note of the first tune. Four ballet dancers appeared and performed a short but exquisite dance for them. No sooner had they danced out of the ballroom to rapturous applause than two-dozen professional ballroom dancers, notable for the ladies’ all-white gowns and the gentlemen’s traditional black tail suits, took to the floor and performed the first waltz.
It had been a long time since Tabitha’s ballroom dancing lessons at school. It was the one lesson every pupil had looked forward to and she’d been no exception. She’d never imagined then that she would have to wait so long to put the moves she’d learned into practice.
These dancers were incredible and the whispers around her indicated there were world champions amongst them.
Yet she found her gaze darting over the line of gentlemen on the other side of the room.
She shouldn’t be looking for him, she scolded herself. Hoping that his words about finding her were true was nothing but a fool’s wish, and a dangerous one at that. If Giannis discovered she was an employee, she would lose everything.
And, even if he had meant it, there were one-hundred and ninety-nine other women here, most of them far more attractive than she was.
He’d probably forgotten her already.
The professional dancers finished their waltz and then came the words Tabitha had once longed to hear in a setting just like this, and not from a school mistress: ‘Alles Walzer!’
Everyone dance!
The gentlemen set off towards the ladies.
Excitement surged inside her.
For so many years she had dreamed of this moment, yet for so many she’d stopped believing it could happen.
She didn’t even care that the gentleman making a beeline towards her was old enough to be her father and short enough to fit in her handbag.
When he was only a couple of feet from her, his path was suddenly blocked by another, much taller and broader figure who seemed to appear from nowhere.
Her heart stopped then, after a breathless pause, kick-started back to life with fury.
Giannis stood before her, his head tilted, a gleam in his eyes as bright as the chandeliers hanging amidst the balloons above them.
‘Darf ich bitten?’
The traditional way of asking a lady to dance at a Viennese Ball.
The very words Tabitha had once dreamed of hearing.
She stared into the clear blue eyes, the strangest of feelings forming in her veins.
Her knees sank into a curtsey without any input from her brain.
Strong nostrils flared. He put a hand to his stomach and inclined his head in a bow.
Then he took hold of her right hand with his left and slipped his other hand around her waist to rest just above the small of her back.
Sensation shot through the fingers being held in his, seeping straight into her bloodstream.
Muscle memory took control of Tabitha’s left hand and she placed it on his right bicep, splaying the thumb away from her fingers to cup it.
The orchestra struck the first note and then she was being spun across the great ballroom in his arms.
In Giannis Basinas’s arms.
Her first ever dance with a man.
This man.
This man who controlled their moves effortlessly and steered them around the other couples without his clear blue eyes ever leaving hers.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from the face that had captured her attention from that very first glance either.
And nor could she stop herself breathing in his spicy scent.
But, even with the feeling that she had entered the most magical of dreams strong inside her, there was a voice in her head whispering that this one dance was all she could have with him.
Never mind the danger that being with him put her in, he would want to dance with other women. If the rumours were true and this ball was a ruse for him to find a new wife then he would want to spread himself out and talk and dance with as many women as he could.
It felt as if no time had passed at all when the dance finished. The couples around them parted like the Red Sea.
Tabitha let out a breath that contained both relief and disappointment and moved her hand from his arm. But there was no relinquishing her hand by his. His grip on it tightened.
He brought his mouth to her ear. ‘You don’t think I’m letting you go, do you?’
Brand new sensation skittered down her skin at the warmth of his breath on her ear and cheek.
She tried to think of an excuse to pull away but her brain refused to co-operate.
Her body refused to co-operate too. Her hand reached back up to cup his bicep.
Around them, new couples formed.
The orchestra played the first note of the next dance and then she was being spun around the floor again.
All the reasons she needed to escape seeped away as the music made its way through her body and down into her dancing feet. Masked faces floated around her, dresses twirled, beautifully played music...
And the heavenly arms of Giannis Basinas.
When that dance finished and the master of ceremonies took to the floor to announce that it was time to dance the polonaise, she met Giannis’s eyes. There was a question in them.
She nodded. She remembered this dance.
He smiled and, holding her left hand, led her to the forming line of couples.
In and out they wove, separating then coming back together, curtseying, separating... She curtsied and danced with other men but her attention was always on Giannis.
She simply could not tear her gaze from him.
Not until they’d danced another waltz, and then a foxtrot, did he steer her away from the dance floor to one of the round tables on the raised dais running the lengths of the ballroom walls with a murmured, ‘Time for a drink.’
Unwilling to leave her side for a moment, Giannis signalled for champagne to be brought to them.
He had a feeling this ravishing creature would disappear if he turned his back on her.
She hadn’t exchanged one word with him during their time on the dance floor.
Their champagne was brought to them. He held his flute to hers then drank from it. ‘Are you hungry?’
She shook her head.
‘You don’t speak much, do you?’ he observed. In his experience, women always had to fill any silence with chatter, however inane. His sisters were the worst for it. Their mother always said Niki had been born with a never-ending battery in her tongue. He’d caught a glimpse of Niki in the arms of a bemused man trying to cut above her incessant chatter to waltz her around the dance floor.
Slim shoulders raised in a tiny shrug. ‘I do if I have something to say.’
He laughed. ‘And do you have anything to say, Tabitha?’
She shook her head again.
‘I thought Beddingdales taught its girls how to make small talk in social situations.’
There was the faintest spark of amusement in the cornflower eyes. ‘I failed that class.’
He laughed. ‘But obviously not the ballroom-dancing lessons.’
‘I liked those.’
‘Do you go to many balls?’
Another shake of the head.
‘I’m going to have to stop asking you closed questions, aren’t I?’
Now there was the slightest of curves in the full heart-shaped lips to accompany her shaking head.
He laughed. ‘Tell me about yourself.’
The faint amusement he’d detected vanished. She looked away from him, her lips pulling in together. ‘What do you want to know?’
Everything.
‘Let us start with how old you are.’
‘Twenty-two.’
That surprised him. The features he could see beneath the mask covering her face indicated youth but the way she carried herself suggested someone older.
‘Have you graduated from university yet or did you take a gap year?’
‘I didn’t go to university.’
That surprised him too. University was a rite of passage in his circle whether the person was academic or not. ‘What do you do?’
He waited for the stock answer of ‘charity work’.
There was a momentary hesitation and her face flushed with colour. ‘I’m in hospitality.’
He could have laughed. After charity work, hospitality was a great favourite for the idle rich wanting to make a point of their usefulness.
No wonder she blushed at the admission.
It surprised him, though. Tabitha struck him as being from a different mould to the usual socialites who filled his world.
What a waste of a good brain and a life, being content to spend days shopping and holidaying. It was a mindset he’d never understood. Giannis had been fortunate to be raised within one of Europe’s wealthiest families and, like his sisters, had inherited thirty million euros on his twenty-first birthday, but it was not in the Basinas nature to be idle. Undoubtedly wealth was something to be enjoyed but it was also a tool to create more wealth, not just for him but for others.
Giannis’s inheritance had been used to build a diverse portfolio of businesses which collectively employed over five thousand people. He had exacting standards, and demanded the best from every person he employed, no matter their position, but he rewarded them well for it both in pay and perks. The staff here in his palace hotel, for example, were considered the best paid hotel staff in the whole of Europe.
He did not understand how people could sleep if their wealth was generated by the unrewarded sweat of others.
He did not understand how people could actively seek to be freeloaders.
His wife had been a freeloader. She’d been many things. A liar. A gold-digger. A cheat. Even now, five years after the fact, five years since she and her unborn child had died, the anger and bitterness still lived, muted but still there.
He’d buried his wife and her child, and while the other mourners had mourned he’d had to bite his tongue to stop himself from ripping into their grief.
He would never allow himself to lose his anger entirely. If he forgot what it felt like he would lay himself open to making the same mistake again and Giannis never made the same mistake twice.
He’d been blinded by his wife’s beautiful façade to the lies beneath it.
What lay beneath this woman’s façade?
His fingers itched to pull the mask off Tabitha’s face and see if it was as beautiful as he suspected.
Her own fingers lifted her champagne flute to her lips.
A tiny drop of gold liquid spilled out of the corner of her mouth. A pink tongue darted out to capture it.
Veins heating at the less than chaste images that tiny action produced, Giannis drank some more of his champagne and swallowed it slowly.
Theos, he could not remember when he’d last been so physically aware of a woman.
He could not remember ever being so captivated by one.
Whatever lay beneath her façade, he could enjoy their time together and enjoy the heady feelings that erupted through him to hold her in his arms.
He rose to his feet and held out a hand to her. ‘Ready for another dance?’
Cornflower-blue eyes met his. A shy smile formed on her lips.
When her fingers wrapped around his he felt a shock of electricity dart through his skin.
* * *
Time slipped away from her.
Tabitha knew she was a fool for saying yes to another dance. She was a fool for not having made her excuses and left.
She could make all the excuses she wanted but the simple truth was she wanted to stay. She wanted this feeling to last as long as it could because she would never feel it again.
She would never have this night again.
Once the ball was over she would never dance with Giannis again.
Come the morning she would revert back to being a chambermaid and this night would be nothing but a memory.
She was in the midst of the most wonderful of dreams and she didn’t want to wake up.
They danced. They drank more champagne. They danced again.
The hands that held as they danced clasped tightly, their forearms pressing together.
The hand that had rested just above the small of her back moved up so it palmed her bare skin. She had never imagined the thrills that could race through her veins at a mere touch of flesh upon flesh.
Their eyes stayed locked. The guests surrounding them were nothing but blocks of colour in the periphery of her vision.
When the next group dance started there were no words to communicate their unspoken agreement to leave the dance floor.
More champagne was consumed.
Time slipped even faster. She tried her hardest to hold on to it but the great clock on the wall ticked on.
As midnight approached the dances slowed in tempo but Tabitha felt giddy. The champagne she’d drunk, the setting, the arms holding her so closely, the undiminished attention from the clear blue eyes holding hers...
She felt as if she were coming to life. Never before had she been so aware of the blood pumping through her body, of the beats of her heart, of the sensitivity of her skin.
And never before had she been so aware of another. Giannis. The olive skin, the strong throat, the strong jaw, the rise and fall of his chest...the sensuous mouth.
She no longer cared that he had the power to make her homeless with nothing but a single word. Maybe it was the champagne doing her thinking for her but these were feelings she had never known before. Tomorrow was tomorrow. Right now it didn’t exist.
‘The fireworks start soon,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Watch them with me.’
She shivered at the sensation of his breath against her skin. Her fingers reflexively tightened on his. They were pressed so tightly together her breasts were crushed through the fabric of her dress and his suit against his chest.
She smiled her answer.
His lips curved.
The orchestra was reaching the end of its piece.
Giannis put his nose to her ear and breathed in the soft, floral scent.
He ached to take this ravishing creature somewhere private and feel those heart-shaped lips against his own.
When he had imagined this night he had seen himself dancing with a parade of women, making bored small talk in the vain hope one might capture his attention.
He’d never imagined he would find someone before the dancing had even started and be greedy to keep her in his arms. Ballroom dancing was a chore he’d endured at his boarding school but there was nothing chore-like about dancing with this enigmatic woman with whom small talk had proven itself unnecessary. He could dance with her all night. He would dance with her all night.
But the dancing was about to finish for a short period while the orchestra took a break and the firework display took place.
He knew the best spot to watch it with her.
Drifting his hand further up her back, marvelling at the soft texture of her skin, he found the spot where her spine formed at the base of her neck and circled a finger around it. Then he pressed his cheek against hers, a last contact of their bodies before he pulled away and guided her out of the ballroom.
Hands clasped tightly together, they walked past the champagne fountain. He picked a glass up and handed it to her then took one for himself.
The corridor they stepped into was deserted but the rooms they passed were full of revellers wanting a break from the dancing for food or to rest their feet.
Outside in the gardens, the scent of roses in bloom filled the warm air.
Giannis loved the palace hotel gardens at night. Beautiful though it was by day, the night brought a new dimension to it, imagery from childhood books coming to life amongst the carved statues, water fountains and, further back, in the thick hedges that formed the famed maze.
The spot he took Tabitha to was in a white gazebo in a secluded part of the garden. She stared at the vast structure perfectly suited to such lavish grounds and imagined aristocracy from centuries ago treading this same path.
Flutes of champagne in hand, they stood at the balustrade, arms pressed together, and watched the guests spill out onto the vast lawn, but they were blurs in Tabitha’s eyes, her senses too attuned to the man beside her for anything else to sink in with any substance.
‘How long are you in Vienna for?’ he asked casually, a question to make her stomach turn.
Before she could think of an answer, the moonlight caught one of the figures on the lawn, mask removed. Tabitha’s blood turned cold in an instant as recognition flashed at her.
It was her stepsister, Fiona.
She hadn’t had any communication with her in well over four years, not since Tabitha had been forced to leave the family home.
So many emotions rushed through her to see Fiona there, dressed in a beautiful gown that no doubt had been paid for by money intended to be Tabitha’s inheritance, but the primary emotion that shot through her like an echo was fear.
Fiona had made her life a living hell.
Tabitha’s fingers tightened around the now empty champagne flute, but she must have exerted too much subconscious pressure for the glass shattered in her hand.
She jumped back as shards of glass fell to the ground, too shocked at seeing her stepsister—how had she not noticed her before?—to realise her hand was bleeding until she caught Giannis’s concerned stare.
He snatched at her hand and peered closely at it. ‘Are you okay?’
She inhaled deeply through the shock and stinging pain and managed to nod.
‘We should get a doctor to look at this. I’ll make a call and see if we have one here.’ Still holding her hand, he used his free hand to tug off the black cravat around his neck.
‘I don’t need a doctor.’ A drop of blood rolled off the palm of her hand. She took another deep breath. ‘It’s superficial. Just a cut.’
She would have argued against a doctor even if she’d severed half her hand. The last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself. The mask and the dress gave her anonymity amongst her colleagues but if anyone who knew her were to look too closely the game would be over. Now she knew Fiona was here—and maybe Saffron too—she dared not risk it. It wasn’t just that her identity would be blown. The thought of seeing either of them without any preparation was an ordeal she was in no way ready to put herself through.
She remembered the day she’d first met them and how excited she’d been at the thought of having two big sisters, along with a new mother, and her heart clenched at the trusting innocence of her ten-year-old self.
The cravat freed, Giannis gave it a sharp flick then wrapped it gently around her bleeding hand. ‘That’s a lot of blood for a superficial cut.’
‘That’s the body doing what it’s designed to do. I’ll find a bathroom and clean it out.’
He kept his hand on the cravat wrapped around her cut. ‘My apartment is right behind us. We can clean it there and assess for damage.’
She was quite sure the flow of blood seeping from her wound increased at the casual way he said ‘we’.
When her gaze drifted back up to meet his eyes there was a lurch in both her heart and stomach.
If the choice was to dart across the garden and risk facing her stepsister, or to go to the apartment of this man who, despite his being a virtual stranger, she felt a strange sense of safety being with...

CHAPTER THREE (#u86501cce-c9f4-544f-9378-12b095faa0fe)
TABITHA DIDN’T THINK of the foolhardiness of going to Giannis’s one-storey apartment until he closed the front door behind them and even then it was more of a dim chiding in the back of her head. And it wasn’t about the foolishness of being alone with a man she hardly knew while fireworks exploded in the sky around them.
It was the foolishness of her own feelings.
Her every action that night had been foolhardy from the moment she had accepted Mrs Coulter’s wonderful generosity.
She held Giannis’s cravat tightly against her stinging wounded hand and tried to take in her surroundings.
Tabitha knew he’d converted the old staff quarters into a base for himself for the few days a month he was there—she currently lived in the new staff quarters—but none of the staff had been invited in before.
But as she followed Giannis down a wide hallway the huge living room they passed barely registered, her attention completely taken with the man before her.
He pushed open a door to the right and stepped over the threshold.
She did the same and came to an immediate stop.
This was Giannis’s bedroom.
He stopped walking and turned to face her. His features taut, his voice serious, he said, ‘The light in my bathroom is the best to see with but if you don’t feel comfortable coming in here we can clean the cut in the kitchen.’
How many foolish actions could a woman make in one evening?
She walked into the bedroom.
Her legs feeling as if they were walking on a cloud, she followed him past the largest bed she had ever seen in her life, vaguely noting the impersonal nature of the space and its lack of pictures or photos, her heart hammering, breaths shortening.
Tabitha had never been in a man’s bedroom before.
Trying desperately to affect nonchalance, but knowing she was failing, she followed him through another door into a bathroom that was as luxurious as the bedroom was sparse.
Heart in her throat, she went straight to the double sink. From the corner of her eye she saw Giannis open a tall cupboard door and pull out what looked like a black leather washbag.
Carefully unwinding the cravat from her hand, she placed it in the right-hand sink then turned the left sink’s tap on.
The bleeding had definitely lessened in flow.
‘Your cravat is ruined,’ she said in what she wanted to be a conversational tone but which sounded shaky even to her own ears. The cravat might be black but it was made of silk.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ He placed the washbag beside the sink just as she put her hand under the running tap.
She clenched her teeth as the cold water hit.
‘It hurts?’ he asked.
‘Only a bit,’ she lied, feeling foolish to admit that a cut so minor smarted so much. There was soap in a dispenser above the sink and she squirted some onto the cut and rubbed it in, then held it back under the tap to let it clean out properly, all the while intensely aware that Giannis stood close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him.
They had danced together for hours, their bodies almost flush, but her awareness of him had not been as heightened as it was now.
Every cell in her body had come to life and strained towards him.
‘May I have a towel, please?’ she asked when done.
‘Let me,’ he murmured, taking her injured hand back into his own.
Tabitha held her breath, suddenly aware of her heart hammering so hard its beats were thudding in her throat.
He’d removed his mask. The features she found so captivating were right there before her, the closest they had ever been, unadorned.
Head bowed in concentration, a lock of his dark brown hair fell over his eye. He dislodged it with a quick flick of his head. ‘You can move your hand without problem?’
She cleared her throat and whispered, ‘Yes.’
His movements unhurried, he wrapped a small grey hand-towel around her hand and gently pressed it to her palm.
Palm dry, he removed the towel. Fresh droplets of blood seeped from the cut, although noticeably less heavy than before. ‘I should have a bandage for that.’ He placed the towel back on the palm, took Tabitha’s other hand and pressed it on it. ‘Keep the pressure on.’
He unzipped what she’d assumed to be a washbag but was in fact stuffed with bandages and other first-aid equipment.
‘Are you a secret doctor?’ she asked, again striving for lightness of tone and failing dismally. His spicy scent was filling her senses again and she struggled to even open her vocal cords.
Clear blue eyes briefly met hers, creasing at the corners, before he pulled out a large padded plaster in a protective packet. ‘A habit from my university days. My mother insisted I take a medical kit with me.’
Using his teeth, he ripped the packaging, the tendons on his olive throat straining.
The blood running through her heated a little more and she had to fight the fog in her brain to think of something to say. ‘Was your mother over-protective?’
He gave a grunt-like laugh. ‘She was sensible. I was rather wild and reckless in my younger years. Hold your hand flat but curve your fingers a little for me.’
She complied then held her breath again as he carefully fixed the plaster to her hand, smoothing it down at the sides.
‘There,’ he said, lifting her hand to his mouth and placing a kiss to the plaster. ‘All done.’
Her belly flipped over so hard the effect rippled through the rest of her. ‘Thank you.’ But her vocal cords had now knotted themselves so tightly the words hardly formed.
He was so close. The cells in her body were no longer merely straining towards him; they were trying to fly out of her skin to him, abetted by the violent beats of her heart.
Giannis studied the delicate palm spread out on his hand and traced his fingers over her elegant ones, surprised to find the tips hardened and calloused.
About to ask how this could be, he met her cornflower-blue gaze and his throat closed up.
He’d tended to Tabitha’s wounded hand with the best of intentions, promising himself they would clean it up and bandage it then go back outside to watch the fireworks together.
He hadn’t considered that his attraction to her would burn even brighter when they were alone in the confines of his apartment or that he would be so aware of her every movement and every breath.
He hadn’t considered that he would tend to her hand and have to stop himself from running his tongue over it.
Since Anastasia’s death he had hardly lived like a monk. He’d been with a considerable number of women, both before his marriage and after he was widowed.
Not one of them had made his loins ache and his chest tighten with one shy smile.
Not one of them had captivated him like Tabitha had, and he still hadn’t seen her face...
Suddenly he found himself needing to see it, to see the whole face of this woman who had enchanted him so much that he couldn’t determine if it was her or the champagne he’d drunk inducing it.
He released his hold on her hand and brought his fingers to her face.
Not a breath of sound could be heard between them as he slowly lifted the mask up and over the honey-blonde hair.
Heart pounding, he stared at a flawless face far more beautiful than he had suspected.
Truly, ethereally beautiful.
He rubbed the back of his fingers down high, rounded cheekbones in wonder, that wonder growing at the sudden pulse he saw in the cornflower eyes.
She gave a sharp inhalation before her own hand reached for his face and tentatively touched his jaw.
A bolt of electricity charged through him, strong enough to knock a weaker man off his feet.
The light delicacy of her floral perfume whirled into his senses.
Everything about this woman was delicate and faultless. Were it not for the warmth of her soft skin and the slight trembles he saw vibrating through her, he could have believed she was made from porcelain.
He traced his fingers across her oval jawline then dragged them down the elegant neck, lingering at the pulse throbbing at the spot before he reached her collarbone and took the one step needed to do what he had spent the entire evening hungering to do.
He brought his face down and captured her heart-shaped lips in his.
Another bolt of electricity rocketed through him, far stronger than the first, crashing hot through his veins and skin with a buzz that must have seeped through him, for Tabitha jolted too.
Pulling back slightly so their lips were barely touching, he opened his eyes and found hers fixed on him, a dazed expression shining at him. The fingers resting on his jaw had frozen.
The walls around him began to spin, heat flowing through him so fast and so thick he wondered if he had drunk more than he’d thought.
He found he didn’t care.
Champagne, desire or a combination of both, at that moment he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted anyone or anything.
Sliding an arm around her waist, he pulled her to him and moulded his mouth to hers, exploring the plump softness of her lips, then parting them to dart his tongue inside and explore the hot champagne-scented depths.
Tabitha succumbed to her very first kiss feeling like she’d fallen into a dream.
The whole night had been a dream.
But this...
It was mesmerising.
She met the strokes of his tongue tentatively at first but the heat bubbling inside her being fed by his heavenly kisses grew at a ferocious pace and smothered any inhibitions she should have had.
Grabbing at the soft leather of his swallowtail jacket to keep her suddenly boneless legs upright, she arched into the hard contours of his body and moved the hand clutched at his cheek to hook tightly around his neck.
She felt intoxicated, could feel the blood pumping in the veins of her mouth and moving relentlessly through the rest of her, heating wherever his firm hands swept over her.
She only realised he’d unpinned her hair when it spilled down over them.
He broke the kiss to turn his face into her hair and breathed it in deeply before bringing both hands to her face and smoothing the hair back.
His eyes had darkened, his hunger for her so stark that her stomach contracted.
Never had she imagined that this man would look at her with such desire in his eyes.
Before this night she hadn’t imagined Giannis would ever look at her.
When his mouth found hers again, the kiss harder and hungrier, fresh heat assailed her, threading through the very fabric of her being, and she tightened her hold around him, suddenly aching for him to rip the beautiful but constricting dress from her burning, sensitised skin.
As if his mind was aligned with her own, Giannis lifted her effortlessly into his arms, the motion making her belly swoop.
The world’s biggest rollercoaster could not have had a greater effect. Or felt a fraction as heady.
The feelings rippling through her were like nothing she had even suspected could exist. Her world—her universe—had shrunk so it contained only Giannis.
He carried her to the bedroom and set her down gently on her feet beside the bed.
During that short walk he’d turned the bedroom light off so they were illuminated only by the light pouring in from his bathroom and the fireworks lighting the sky outside.
His throat moved as his hooded eyes stared at her so hard, she felt stripped naked beneath it.
‘Eisai omorfi,’ he breathed as he tugged her to him again.
She didn’t have a clue what he’d said but pleasure soaked through her at the way he’d spoken the words.
Their arms wrapped around each other and she sank into another invasion of his hungry tongue assaulting her in the most heavenly way.
Reckless, intoxicating madness had caught Giannis in its grip. He knew this was madness: making love to a woman he knew only by first name. Tabitha could have stepped out of one of the fairy-tale books his sisters had read as children, an enchantress casting her spell over him.
If this was a spell, he did not want to find the cure to it. Not yet. He wanted to stay under her enchantment and let it take him wherever it desired.
He dragged his mouth down the column of her throat to where the pulse at the base of her neck now raged while her fingers snaked into his hair and dug into his scalp.
Too many clothes, he thought dimly, his fingers working furiously at the back of her dress, trying to find the hidden buttons. His thumb ran over the bump of a small clasp. He popped it open and immediately found the hidden zip.
In one fluid motion he pulled it down to the base of her spine.
He ran his hands flat over the length of her back and sucked in a breath when he found no bra.
He brought his mouth back to claim her in another hot, hard kiss and shrugged his jacket off, then stepped back, giving himself just enough room to undo the top three buttons of his shirt, then tugged it up and over his face. He threw it to the floor.
Breathing deeply, he gazed again at the captivating face in front of him before closing the small distance he’d just created to place his hands on her shoulders.
His fingers drifted over the soft skin to the band of her dress, which was defying gravity and staying up.
All it needed was one small tug at the waist to help it on its way.
It fell with a whoosh to her feet.
His throat closed as he drank in the body now naked bar a pair of skimpy white knickers.
Thee mou.
Upturned breasts, plumper than the dress had allowed his mind to imagine, a slim waist and rounded hips...
She was all woman.
She was exquisite.
Unthinkingly, he cupped one of the breasts and ran a thumb over the erect tip.
She swayed. Her lips parted and a small gasp escaped from her.
He gripped her tightly at the hips and lowered himself down to capture the breast his hand cupped with his mouth.
Blood pooled hot and hard in his groin, making his rock-hard arousal throb tightly against the constriction of his leather trousers.
She tasted...incredible.
She swayed again, legs visibly trembling, the fingers on his head digging in harder.
Rising, he shuffled her back until the back of her legs touched the bed.
Chest rising and falling rapidly, hands still reaching for him, she sat.
His arousal had become too painful to endure a moment longer and, not tearing his eyes from hers, he quickly undid his trousers and pushed them down his hips.
Tabitha gazed at the first erection she had ever seen in the flesh and her pelvis contracted all over again.
Her mouth full of moisture, heart thumping painfully, her gaze drifted over the rest of him.
Giannis was beautiful.
His tall frame was broader and far more muscular than she’d imagined—and she had imagined it, in many unbidden moments when the only thing she’d needed to use her brain for was changing bed sheets. Only a small line of hair covered his chest, starting from just above his abdomen, but thickened and darkened considerably at the area where his huge length jutted out proudly.
She felt too intoxicated with all the heat swirling like a furnace inside her to be scared.
Never in her life had she craved something as much as she craved Giannis in this moment. There was something about him that sang to her on a fundamental level she had no chance of understanding so she did the only thing she could do and embraced it.
When he’d divested himself of the rest of his clothing and joined her on the bed, pushing her down so she was flat on her back, she opened her arms to him.
His lips found hers in another crushing kiss and then he was exploring her, using his hands and mouth to cover her body, setting fire to her skin, melting her bones.
He lavished attention on breasts she had never suspected could be so sensitive and yet so receptive. He kissed her belly button, he kissed her sides...and then he tugged her knickers down and kissed her right in the core of her womanhood.
At the first touch of his tongue on her swollen nub she jerked wildly, sensation shooting through her.
Dear God...
One hand grasped his head, the other reaching up to grab a pillow.
Pleasure pooled thick and heavy deep within her and she instinctively lifted her bottom; instinctive, as the action came not from her brain.
Her brain had ceased to function on anything but a primitive level.
Her body had ceased to function on anything but a primitive level.
The only coherent thought in her head was Giannis’s name playing like a distant echo.
Only when he’d snaked his way back up her body, sheathed himself deftly and his mouth hovered over hers for another kiss, his hips lodged between her parted legs, his arousal hard at the top of her thigh, did she get the coherence to gasp, ‘Please be gentle.’
The lips that had been about to claim hers reared back, a question forming in the crease of his brow.
Suddenly afraid that the truth would put an abrupt end to this most magical of moments, she hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him down to mould her mouth to his.
He kissed her back hungrily and shifted his hips so his erection was right where it needed to be.
And then he slid inside her damp heat. Slowly, deliberately slowly, stretching her, giving her the time to adjust and accommodate...
Her eyes flew open as a sharp pain seared through her, fleeting then dissolving...
And then she dissolved.
Her bones softened, her hips arched, she scraped her fingers into his head and parted her lips as he drove into her, the pleasure so intense that all she could do was cling to him and let him move inside her with long strokes, every thrust increasing the sensation, every groan from his lips against her ear feeding it.
He filled her completely. Perfectly.
A large hand skimmed roughly down her side and reached under her bottom, lifting her so their groins ground together, heightening the pleasure to a level that turned her into a mass of nerve endings.
Faster and harder he thrust into her, and faster and harder her hips bucked back, and all the while the sensation that had started life deep inside her spread until, without any warning, pleasure ripped through her, so intense that colour brighter and more explosive than any firework filled her.
It must have been enough to tip Giannis over the edge too for the fingers still holding her bottom clamped tightly on her flesh and his huge body tensed then shuddered.
Long moments later, he collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily in her ear.
It took a long while for Tabitha’s world to right itself and for her heart to regain something that resembled a normal rhythm.
A delicious lethargy came over her. Her eyes closed and the world drifted away.
* * *
The sound of a door closing woke Tabitha with a start.
She sat bolt upright, horrified to find dusky light pouring through the bedroom window.
She looked at her watch and saw the time was six a.m.
No, no, no.
She was due to start work in an hour.
She strained her ears and heard the sound of a coffee machine working.
Giannis must be in the kitchen.
How long did she have to escape?
She cursed herself and tried her hardest to breathe but panic had set in.
Clutching her fuzzy head, she darted her gaze around the room, looking for her dress.
It was draped on the arm chair in the corner. Giannis must have put it there.
She swallowed back a surge of nausea and cursed herself again.
Stupid, idiotic, fool!
Bad enough she’d got so carried away with the romance of the evening and the undeniable yet fatal attraction that had sparked to life between her and Giannis to sleep with him in the first place, but to stay the whole night?
What complete and utter stupidity.
Her cheeks burned as she recalled them making love a second time...
She staggered off the bed and instinctively covered her nakedness.
She had never slept naked in her life!
Snatching the dress, she found his own masquerade costume beneath it, his black shirt at the top.
She debated for a nanosecond before pulling the shirt he hadn’t fully unbuttoned over her head and hurriedly pulled her knickers on, all the while thinking of the best way to escape, wishing she had paid more attention to the layout of the apartment when she’d had the chance.
But of course, she hadn’t paid attention. She’d been too drunk on the strange alchemy of Giannis and champagne to pay attention to anything.
Quickly she scanned her surroundings from the window. The grounds were empty of life but they wouldn’t be for long. Any minute an army of workers would be out there to clear up any mess revellers had made during the event.
She opened the window, threw her dress and shoes out of it, then squeezed herself out behind them.
Bare feet on the cold ground, she scooped her belongings into her arms and fled.
* * *
Giannis whistled as he poured the freshly brewed coffee into glass cups, placed them on a tray with milk and sugar and continued whistling as he made his way back to his bedroom where he’d left his enchantress sleeping.
He could not remember the last time he’d awoken in such a good mood. Years.
Could Tabitha be the one his sisters had been nagging him to find? He knew next to nothing about her but if she could afford a ticket to his ball, and that dress which must have cost more than the ticket, she obviously had wealth. She’d been educated at one of the UK’s finest boarding schools. And they had a chemistry that was off the scale.
He’d never known a night like it.
Whether Tabitha was the future Mrs Basinas or not, right then his intention was to bring her coffee and climb back into bed with her. He hoped she hadn’t made any plans. He’d already messaged his PA to inform her he wouldn’t be returning to Santorini that day and to rearrange his appointments.
Still whistling, he carried the tray to his bedroom and opened the door...
The bed was empty.
‘Tabitha?’ he called. She must be in the bathroom...
The bathroom door was open.
He placed the tray on his dresser and, as he did so, he noticed something else that had gone. Her ball gown.
Two minutes later, every room in the apartment searched, he returned to his bedroom perplexed and angry.
She had run out on him.
From the corner of his eye, something sparkly caught his eye.
He strode to the bed where the sparkly item was and found, on the pillow on which her exquisite head had rested, one of her earrings.

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