Captivated by the Greek

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...