Greek Tycoon, Waitress Wife

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carrie stared. ‘Eat?’

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

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

He met her eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘This will reassure you, I trust,’ he said.

She took the card and looked at it.

‘Alexe-is Ni-Nicol-ai-des,’ she read, hesitating over the foreign syllables.

‘You may have heard of the Nicolaides Group of companies?’ said Alexeis, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

The girl shook her head.

The sense of novelty struck Alexeis again. He had never encountered anyone who had not heard the name of Nicolaides. But then, of course, he moved in circles where everyone knew who had money and what that money derived from. Why should he expect a simple waitress to know such things?

‘It is listed on several stock exchanges, and is capitalised at just under a billion euros. I am the chief executive, and my father the chairman. So you can see, I am sure, that I am quite respectable, and that you are, accordingly, perfectly safe.’

Carrie looked at Alexeis Nicolaides. The surname was a mouthful, but his first name seemed to quiver inside her, as if a vibration had been struck, very deep in her body. There was an uncertain expression on her face.

She ought to go. She ought to ask him to stop the car and let her out. So that she could walk briskly away. Back to her poky bedsit in the run-down house where she didn’t know anyone, to eat toasted cheese for supper as she always did.

The prospect seemed bleak, uninviting, and into her mind crept another thought.

Would it be so very wrong to have dinner with him? This Alexeis Nicolaides, or whatever his name is. Do you think drinking champagne in a luxury car with a man who’s obviously a millionaire and then having dinner with him is going to happen twice in your life? Do you?

But it wasn’t his obvious wealth, or the luxury car and the brimming flutes of champagne that tempted her.

It was the man. The man who had made her breath catch when she’d first set eyes on him. The man she’d been unable not to stare at, to register as the most amazing-looking creature she’d ever seen.

She could feel part of her brain cut out. The part that was sensible and cautious. And sane.

Another part seemed to be pushing its way forward. Telling her something. Something that was getting more insistent. More persuasive.

More tempting to listen to.

Why not? Honestly, why not? You don’t exactly have a packed social life, do you? You don’t exactly have a million people you know in London to go and see. You don’t exactly have anything else desperately urgent to do this evening, do you? So why not? Why not? What have you got to lose?

‘So,’ Alexeis said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was still smooth, and again made her feel strange and fluttery inside. ‘You will have dinner with me?’

The expression of uncertainty deepened in her eyes.

‘Um…’ she said. ‘I…I don’t know. I…I…’ She fell silent, just staring at him helplessly, as if she was waiting for him to make the decision for her.

He did. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then that is settled. All we need decide now is where you would like to eat. Would you like to choose somewhere?’

He was, he knew, offering her the choice in order to make her feel more in control of a situation that was overwhelming her.

The look of uncertainty in her eyes deepened yet more.

‘I…I don’t really know anywhere in London,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘Fortunately, I do.’

Carrie made no answer. She couldn’t. His smile had come out of nowhere, and it electrified her. Dazzled her. Then it was gone, leaving her nerves tingling. Alexeis took another mouthful of champagne, and the movement triggered her to do so as well.

‘So, you have the advantage of my name, but not I of yours,’ he said encouragingly.

‘It’s Carrie—Carrie Richards,’ she answered, almost hesitantly.

Was she reluctant to give him her name? The novelty again intrigued Alexeis, as did the faint colouring of her cheeks. Women were usually eager for him to know who they were, glad to draw his attention…

‘Carrie,’ he echoed. He lifted his glass in a toast. ‘Well, Carrie, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance,’ he said, with a smile.

She bit her lip, still in a daze about the whole adventure, not seeing the way her gesture made his eyes focus on her mouth. She took another swallow of her champagne, feeling it fizzing warmly down her throat. It seemed to have fizzed into her veins as well. Suddenly she felt buoyant, as if everything were getting light around her. The dejected anxiety and depression she’d felt about losing her job, the bleak loneliness of living in London, seemed far away now, and she was glad and grateful. Grateful to the man who had dispelled it.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, suddenly thrilled at the prospect.

‘My hotel is by the river, and it has a very good restaurant, with a three-starred Michelin chef,’ said Alexeis.

A look of sudden dismay crossed Carrie’s face.

‘Oh, I can’t! I can’t go into a restaurant—I’ve just realised! I mean—I’m still wearing this stupid uniform, and I haven’t got any proper clothes with me!’

Alexeis gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘That won’t be a problem. Trust me.’

He smiled at her again. In the dim interior light, just for a moment, she felt a stab of unease go through her. Not just uncertainty. His smile had seemed, just for a moment, to be amusement at some private source of humour. Then he was speaking to her again, and the moment passed.

‘Have you always lived in London?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve only been here a few months.’

‘It must seem very exciting to you.’ It was the sort of thing that seemed appropriate to say to a girl as beautiful as she was, at the peak of her youth.

But she gave a quick shake of her head again. ‘No, I hate it!’

He looked taken aback. ‘Why?’

‘Everyone is so rude and unfriendly, and in a rush, pushing all the time.’

‘Then why do you stay here?’

She gave an awkward half-shrug. ‘It’s where the work is.’

‘There are no waitresses in your home town?’

She looked as though she were about to say something, then stopped herself. Alexeis wished he hadn’t said what he had, lest she think it sarcastic. He hadn’t meant it to be—he was simply surprised that a girl as beautiful as her had expressed so strong a dislike of London. She must have men flocking around her, and she could take her pick from them!

Even as the image formed in his mind he felt himself react. What he was doing was on impulse, he knew, but even with that allowance he still recognised his reaction. He didn’t want her taking her pick of other men. Then his hackles retracted. While she was with him she would have eyes for no one else.

And nor would he…

There was no doubt in his mind about that, at any rate.

He let his gaze wash over her. She really did have something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was growing on him with every passing moment.

‘So where is your home town?’ he asked, returning to the conversation. She was still uncertain about what she was doing, he could tell—and, again, the novelty of that uncertainty intrigued him. He knew of no women who had ever been in the least bit uncertain about their reaction if he showed the slightest interest. They positively bit his hand off when he took them up! They didn’t bite their lip in that incredibly softly sensual way…

Another reaction took him, and he had to subdue it. It was far, far too soon for that! Now was only the time for gentling, for drawing her to him, for making her feel at ease—making her lose that last vestige of caution that would only encumber his plans for the evening.

‘Um—it’s Marchester,’ she said. ‘It’s a small town, sort of in the Midlands.’

Alexeis had barely heard of it, and was little interested, but he made some anodyne reply, and continued the conversation with bare attention. He was far more interested in watching how a strand of her blonde hair had worked loose and was caressing her cheek, how her profile was etched against the windowpane. He was also impatient to arrive at the hotel and get her opposite him at a dining table, in a good light. Indulge himself in appreciating her soft beauty.

The car seemed to crawl the rest of the way, but eventually it drew up under the portico of the hotel—one of London’s most prestigious, with breathtaking views over the Embankment.

As the driver opened his door, Alexeis crossed around the back of the car and helped her out, holding his hand to her. She took it tentatively, and it added, yet again, to her novelty value. Then his eyes were on the slender length of her black-stockinged leg, below the hem of her raincoat. She seemed to hug it more tightly around her as he escorted her into the hotel. She glanced around almost nervously.

‘Don’t worry—I won’t subject you to a crowded restaurant,’ he assured her. ‘There is a much quieter place to eat upstairs.’

He guided her towards the bank of elevators, and in a moment they were being whisked upstairs. She had gone back to biting her lip again, he noticed.

Suddenly a pang struck him. Should he really be doing this?

Then she looked across at him and gave him a tentative smile, as if seeking reassurance. Something kicked through him, and his own uncertainty vanished. Her smile was enchanting—

He found himself smiling back at her. Giving her the reassurance she was silently seeking.

‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’

The flicker was in her eyes again. ‘It’s just that…just that…’

‘It’s just that I’m a complete stranger and I picked you up off the street.’

The blunt way he said it made her cheeks colour. But he had done it deliberately, spelling out her fears, her apprehension and unease.

‘But think about this,’ he went on, and his eyes held hers. ‘The Irish have a saying—“All friends were strangers to each other once.” Is that not true? We were not formally introduced to each other by mutual acquaintances—but so what? If I’d met you at a party I’d still have wanted to invite you to dinner. What difference does it make how we got to know each other?’ His voice changed, something in his eyes changed, and something inside her shimmered and caught, like a soft flame lit deep, deep in her being. ‘Now we do know each other. And over dinner, I trust, we will get to know each other more. But nothing, absolutely nothing, will happen that you do not want to happen. You have my word on this.’

His eyes held hers, and then, out of the solemnity, a smile slanted suddenly across his face. Carrie felt that dazzle glitter inside her, as it had done when she’d first seen that incredible smile in the car.

Slowly, she nodded, swallowing. She wasn’t being stupid—she wasn’t! She was simply being—

Carried away. Swept away. But why not? Why not? What was the harm in it? It was true, if she’d met him at a party she would not have been so nervous, so uneasy. And how could she walk away now? She didn’t have the strength of mind to do so. And she didn’t have the will. Why should she? He wasn’t some seedy, creepy bloke—he was…gorgeous. Fantastic. Devastating. Irresistible.

And someone like that would never appear twice in her life.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out.

Champagne still seemed to be fizzing in her veins.

CHAPTER THREE

THE ‘somewhere quieter’ that Alexeis had promised was quieter indeed. It was the dining room of his suite, overlooking the gardens of the Embankment below, and the dark, flowing Thames beyond. Her eyes had widened when she’d seen the view, but she had not objected or said anything, simply stared out over the river and the shore beyond.

‘The Festival Hall, the National Theatre, the Hayward Gallery—all the South Bank,’ said Alexeis, coming up behind her. His hand rested lightly and very casually on her shoulder as he pointed them out with his other hand. She felt warm beneath his touch, through the thin material of her blouse. She was like a gazelle, easily startled—easily affrighted—and so he kept his contact brief.

He stepped away, feeling a wry smile tugging at his mouth as his eyes flickered over her rear view. She had called her uniform ‘stupid’. He had another word for it. But it was not one he would use in front of her. Instead, he would merely—enjoy it.

As, indeed, he proceeded to enjoy her company over dinner. He set himself out to dissolve her self-consciousness, her doubt about what she was doing here with him. He ventured several conventional opening gambits, such as London’s cultural life, but she said, looking rather awkward, that she did not go to the theatre and didn’t know much about art. Immediately the memory of Marissa and her spouting self-importantly about the art world impinged in his mind, and he realised it was refreshing not to have to discuss such subjects. Whatever it was they did talk about—nothing too demanding or intellectual—he was very conscious of not being bored in any way. He was also conscious that he wanted her to feel comfortable and at ease.

And above all responsive to him.

But he was not overt. For her that would have been crass. This was not a female to come on strong to. This was one to…woo. A flicker came in his brain. Had that been the word he’d intended? Yes—and it was the right one, too. Nothing will happen that she doesn’t want, he reminded himself.

Beneath the undemanding topics of conversation he was selecting for her benefit—tourist attractions in London was the current one—he considered her objectively. She must be in her mid-twenties, at least, and though she was reserved, it was a quality he liked about her. She would not have had appeal for him had she been otherwise. Nor, at that age, was it likely she was a virgin. Again, had she been, he would not have been in the slightest bit comfortable about what he was doing. But as it was—

She’s here of her own volition, and I’ve all but spelt out to her that she only has to say the word and I will send her home untouched! I intend no harm to her—none whatsoever! Only a night we will both enjoy…

With final resolution, he closed his mind down on the matter. He was here to enjoy the evening—and, even more, the night ahead, he hoped. He wanted to ensure, as he was certain he was more than capable of doing, that she, too, took as much enjoyment as he did.

Satisfied with his conscience, he poured them both more champagne.

The meal was leisurely, superbly cooked and presented, and highly enjoyable. When, finally, it was over, Alexeis dismissed the waiting staff and guided her to the sofa for coffee, making sure he sat at the far end from her. He did not want her getting nerves at this stage.

His eyes rested on her.

He wanted her. It was very simple. Very uncomplicated. She was a beautiful female of a type he had never before encountered—a complete antidote to the kind of self-assured, self-regarding, sharply sophisticated women that were his usual fare. And he was intrigued by the prospect of what it would be like to experience her.

He was already diverted by the difference in his approach to her from his usual style. He had to be careful, he knew, not to appear to patronise her. She obviously had no experience of the kind of lifestyle he took for granted, and he wanted her to find enjoyment in the occasion. It was as if he wanted to—to indulge her.

It was an odd thought. He did not usually indulge the women he selected for his bed—if he had, they would have taken ruthless advantage of it. But this girl? No. Instinctively he knew that she would not do so.

Yet again, the novelty that she presented intrigued him.

He watched, his long lashes swept down over his dark eyes, as she nibbled from a rich chocolate truffle served on a silver filigree dish.

‘I shouldn’t, I know,’ she said, a half-smile tugging at her mouth. She was not quite looking at him, as she had not quite looked at him all evening. ‘But I can’t resist.’

Alexeis smiled, stretching his arm out along the back of the sofa, but making sure it did not impinge into her body space. His eyes washed over her—the clinging blouse, the white apron, the tight skirt and the black stockings. The effect was erotic, yet very subtly so. He felt desire rise in him, and anticipation.

‘Then don’t,’ he answered. ‘Don’t resist.’

Her eyes fluttered—and satisfaction eased in him. Oh, she might be unaware of how alluring she looked, but she was not unaware of her own response to him. Or of what it was that was happening between them.

And that was exactly what he wanted.

She finished the truffle—supremely conscious, he could see, of his regard—and then reached for her coffee. He did likewise, his eyes going to the hemline of her skirt, riding up over her knees. He felt his arousal quicken. But he must hasten slowly, he knew—draw her to him with extreme care—or he would frighten her off. Again the novelty of having to do so intrigued him.

As she sipped her coffee, he could see that she was becoming nervous, uneasy. There was an abstracted, unfocussed air about her. Then, as she finished the cup, she set it down on the coffee table and got to her feet. Alexeis’s eyes followed the movement.

She stood, looking down at him.

‘I ought to go,’ she said. There was constriction in her voice. Agitation in the way she stood. ‘I ought to go,’ she said again.

Alexeis simply looked up at her, his pose still as relaxed as ever.

‘Do you want to?’ he asked.

She looked down at him, the soft fronds of her hair framing her face, the blackness of her stockings and the tightness of her skirt emphasising the slender length of her leg. He could see the swell of her breasts through the tight whiteness of her blouse.

He had not the least intention of letting her leave.

Of letting her want to leave.

She didn’t speak, only looked at him. With indecision in her eyes, colour in her cheeks. He set down his coffee cup, but otherwise did not move.

‘I would like you very much to stay,’ he said.

She bit her lip. Alexeis got to his feet and came up to her. She did not move.

His eyes rested on her.

‘I promised you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘that I would at any time call the car to drive you home. That is as true now as it was then. And if you wish it I shall do so. But…’ His eyes rested on her with an intent he wanted her to feel. ‘I would like, before I do so, to do one thing. This—’