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‘That’s all you had to say.’ Lucy took her hand from his and took off his jacket, handing it back to him. ‘I’m warm enough now, thanks.’
Boss/assistant. The lines of demarcation were unmistakable. Aristotle cursed himself again for having lost control earlier. In all honesty the depth of that desire still shook him up. He took the jacket and watched as she turned her head to look out of the window again. The curve of her cheekbone, the fall of her hair was an enticing temptation to turn her face back, seek out those warm lips, sink into her yielding soft body again.
He swore under his breath. He’d vowed he wouldn’t take her like some randy over-sexed teenager, but here he was mentally stripping her, moments away from trying to seduce her all over again. He sat rigid in his seat the whole way back to the hotel. Never had a woman caused him this much frustration.
When they got back to the hotel Lucy skittered away from him like a scared foal. He let her go, bidding her goodnight, then went into the bar and ordered himself a shot of whisky. It was going to be a long three weeks.
Towards the end of that first week, Lucy half heard a question from Aristotle as they sat in his office in the centre of Athens. In essence they were conducting separate lives: presenting a benign face to his Athens-based company, and conducting top secret meetings with Parnassus at the same time. The meetings with Parnassus’ side were complicated and technical, calling on all of Lucy’s skills and much of the small amount of legal training she’d done.
She’d met his stepmother Helen and half-brother Anatolios, at a general board meeting that morning. The stepmother was tall and thin and cold, effortlessly supercilious. His half-brother was nothing like Aristotle. He was blond, shorter and had a spoilt, weak-looking face. It hadn’t taken Lucy much to deduce that his brother had a serious jealousy complex as he’d frowned sulkily throughout the meeting, clearly hating having Aristotle back to remind everyone who the real boss was. After meeting them, she didn’t entirely blame Aristotle for wanting to keep his distance.
‘… to put in an appearance at the charity ball tonight.’
Lucy realised she was being spoken to and looked up. ‘I’m sorry …?’
Her voice drifted away as she was caught by the gleam in Aristotle’s eyes. They were sitting close together, side by side at a table, with papers strewn everywhere. For the whole week, ever since the night they’d arrived and that earth-shattering moment in the car, she’d been rigid with tension, happily throwing herself into work to try and escape from dealing with … this.
But it hummed around them now, this awareness. She’d been so careful not to let it catch her unawares, but she had failed in this instance. And in all honesty she knew that it was largely to do with Aristotle’s own restraint. He’d been cool and solicitous all week. Not a hint of what had happened in his behaviour. At first it had thrown her, she’d been absurdly suspicious, but now … She realised it had been there all along. She knew it and he knew it, and much to her utter shame a flutter of dark excitement erupted deep in her belly.
She tried to ignore it. ‘I’m sorry—what did you say?’
Aristotle looked at her and stifled a groan. Her eyes were huge pools of swirling grey, like a stormy ocean, with lashes so long and dark he could already imagine them fluttering against his cheek. How he’d managed not to touch her all week he couldn’t really fathom. It had taken super-human restraint, but he’d been determined to prove to himself that she didn’t exert that much control over him. Except it had been an exercise in failure, because she did. His mind had constantly been taken from business.
It didn’t help that because of the wardrobe he’d provided, which was perfectly respectable, she was unwittingly displaying more of her luscious body. He knew she was deliberately choosing the most unrevealing clothes, but conversely they were making him want to unwrap her like a delicious parcel.
At the board meeting earlier, when he’d seen his own half-brother’s eyes riveted to Lucy’s cleavage, he’d wanted to reach across the table and punch him in the face. Being driven to violence by a woman was a very novel experience, and he had to put it down to sexual frustration.
He cleared his throat and dragged his eyes back up, vowing silently to himself that he’d have her in his bed within twenty-four hours. He couldn’t take much more of this.
‘The charity ball tonight. Everyone will be there—including Parnassus. Needless to say it’ll be seen entirely as a coincidence that we’re there too. When we meet any of his people we’ll affect no knowledge of having met before.’
Lucy had seen the extent of the security detail that both Aristotle and Parnassus commanded, so there had been no chance of a leak. Again the size and importance of what they were working on stunned her.
She asked abruptly, ‘Why is it so important that nobody knows of this, exactly?’
Aristotle’s mouth thinned. ‘Because our two companies merging will put a lot of noses out of joint. We’ll effectively be blowing any competition out of the water; the only companies who will remain safe are the ones who are huge enough to withstand the pressure—people like Kouros Shipping, for instance.’
Lucy nodded, she’d heard of Alexandros Kouros. ‘But … your family?’
His eyes flashed at her persistence, but he answered tightly, ‘My stepmother and brother would oppose this absolutely. Helen would see it as a dilution of my father’s name and a threat to her security. If my brother had even an inkling of this happening he’d do his best to derail it just to get at me. That’s why we have to be vigilant. And they’ll be at the ball tonight too.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Although I wouldn’t worry about him too much—no doubt he’ll be more concerned about scoring the best drugs and the best women.’
Lucy hid her shock at this evidence of little love lost. She quashed her immediate questions. She had no desire to know about Aristotle’s family history. None at all.
CHAPTER SIX
THAT evening, after they’d eaten a sumptuous dinner, Lucy found herself separated from Aristotle. She was feeling almost relaxed, which she knew had something to do with the fact that she’d been seated apart from him, even though she’d felt the weight of his gaze from across the table, periodically.
She’d been seated next to Kallie Kouros, the wife of Alexandros Kouros, who’d proved to be down to earth and utterly charming, giving Lucy hilarious tidbits of information about Athenian society. When her gorgeous husband had come to whisk her away they’d looked so in love, and he’d been so innately protective, it had made a very secret part of Lucy ache … It surprised her, as she’d never found herself envious of happy couples before.
Lucy craned her neck to try and find Aristotle, not even sure why she felt compelled to do so when he was clearly only too happy to leave her to her own devices. Finally she saw him across the room, with his head bent towards a very blonde and very beautiful woman. She saw him smile and it impacted her deeply. He’d never smiled at her like that. Yes, he did, reminded a little voice. That night outside your apartment.
Immediately she could feel her blood cooling, the colour draining from her face. A strange falling feeling made her feel shaky all of a sudden. On a complete reflex, to deny her reaction and the fact that it might possibly be stemming from feeling jealous, she whirled around and made blindly for the ladies room.
After collecting herself she went to the sink and splashed some cold water on her face. When she stood up again she nearly jumped out of her skin to see Helen Levakis, Aristotle’s stepmother standing beside her, reapplying her blood-red lipstick.
She looked at Lucy and said, ‘Lizzie, wasn’t it?’
Lucy shook her head, fascinated by this woman’s brittle shell. ‘Lucy.’
The woman smiled insincerely. ‘My apologies. Ari seems to have a new assistant every time he comes home.’
Lucy washed her hands briskly. ‘It’s no problem.’
Helen Levakis turned and rested back against the ledge. ‘You’re sleeping with him, aren’t you? I saw that little look outside, when you saw him with another woman.’
Lucy tried and knew she was probably failing to keep the shock from her face. This woman had stuck a knife right into the tender heart of her, and to realise that was huge.
She found her voice. ‘Excuse me, but I really don’t think it’s any of your—’
‘You’re right,’ the woman dismissed cuttingly. ‘However, I thought I’d do you a favour. Ari may sleep with a woman like you, but he’ll never marry a woman like you. That’s more than likely why he’s home. He’ll be looking for a suitable bride soon. A man like him? He’ll want to have an heir to secure his inheritance. He’ll do anything to stop his brother getting what’s rightfully his.’
Lucy watched the tall thin woman disappear back out into the bustling throng with a last glacial glance. She turned to face the mirror, realised that she was holding her breath and let it out in a big whoosh. What on earth had precipitated that? And what did she mean about his brother? And was Ari really looking for a suitable bride as well as the merger? And was she really that transparent?
Lucy forced herself to stand tall and looked at herself critically. She’d chosen one of the less revealing dresses, but still she wanted to yank it up and pull it down. One-shouldered, silk, it cut across her bosom far too low for her liking, and showed a veritable acreage of pale skin, which she was very conscious of in this milieu of much skinnier, more sun-kissed people.
The dark grey seemed to make her eyes stand out too large in her face, and her hectic flush had nothing to do with makeup and everything to do with embarrassment that everyone in the room must have seen her mooning after her boss. Well, it ended here. For the next two weeks it was work only. She’d keep Aristotle at arm’s length however she could. A dart of doubt struck her. How did she know he hadn’t already transferred his affections to that blonde? Perhaps he’d finally grown weary of chasing his too tall and too buxom secretary?
Choking back a frustrated cry at her own awful weakness and feeling so vulnerable, she left the bathroom—every intention of going back to the hotel. She got out to the lobby and retrieved her coat. She’d just leave a note for—
‘Where have you been?’
A hard hand whirled her around so fast she lost her balance and ended up plastered against Aristotle’s chest, looking up, slightly winded. When she realised what she was doing she scrambled back, inarticulate anger rushing through her. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. I’m tired.’
‘Well, I’m not—and we’re not finished here.’
‘It’s a social event. Surely you don’t need me to work.’
‘I …’ Ari faltered. He’d been about to say, I do need you. But she was right. It wasn’t for work, and if it wasn’t for work then what was it? Had he got so used to her calm, insightful presence? Had he really missed her throughout dinner?
He made the only decision he could. ‘Fine, then I’ll escort you back.’
A huge neon danger sign flashed over Lucy’s head. ‘No!’ She tempered her response. ‘I mean—you stay. I don’t want to drag you away …’ From that blonde you were obviously enjoying so much.
But in his usual arrogant way he’d already taken her arm and was leading her outside, where as if by magic his car drew up in front of them.
She tried again in the car. ‘Really, you should stay.’
He quirked a small hard smile, leaning back easily, studying her. ‘Oh, really? Should I?’
Lucy’s hands twisted in her lap. She felt something intangible shift between them. The energy was palpable. ‘Yes …’ Why did her voice sound breathy all of a sudden? ‘Yes,’ she said again, stronger. ‘You should. You obviously have … people to talk to.’
Aristotle grimaced when he recalled trying to evade the clutches of Pia Kyriapoulos just now. A very beautiful and very wealthy divorcee, she’d made it quite clear what he could expect if he wanted to indulge in an affair while in Athens. Before, he might have been tempted—she was offering just what he liked, no-strings sex—but now … the only woman he wanted was sitting just a few inches away from him, and he couldn’t contemplate sex with anyone else.
‘You’re wrong, Lucy,’ he drawled in deep honeyed tones. ‘There’s no one I want to talk to, and I am only too happy to escort you back.’
Lucy stifled a retort and looked out of the window, a mixture of dread and excitement licking through her when she remembered the last time he’d insisted on taking her home.
Far too soon they were pulling up outside their hotel. Lucy scrambled inelegantly from the car before her door could be opened. But of course her attempts were futile. Aristotle caught up with her easily and took her arm again, leading them over to the gleaming lifts.
Once inside, standing apart from him, Lucy looked up resolutely. She nearly collapsed when she heard Aristotle say innocuously, ‘Do you remember the first time we met in a lift?’
Shocked and aghast, she looked at him—and realised too late that it was a mistake. ‘The first time we …?’
‘Met in a lift,’ he said easily, turning to look up at the display. ‘Funnily enough, the day you walked into my office to interview for the job I remembered it.’ He looked back down at her. ‘In vivid detail.’
Lucy was barely aware that she was still standing. She wanted to put out a hand to hold onto something, but the only solid thing was him. She prayed she wouldn’t collapse.
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she croaked … and then knew she couldn’t lie. ‘That is … yes. I remember you using the staff lift, but I don’t remember much else.’
Her heart was thumping as all she could remember right then was how hard his body had felt underneath hers. A lot like it had felt over hers the other day in the car.
The lift doors opened and Lucy almost fell out. Aristotle walked alongside her easily. Her legs were trembling. As she tried and failed to stick her keycard in her door she felt it taken out of her hand imperiously, and watched helplessly when he effortlessly opened the door.
When she stepped in he said quietly, ‘Who knew you were such a consummate liar, Lucy Proctor?’
She turned around, affronted. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ She saw that he’d neatly stepped into the room too, and when the door closed behind him her heart seemed to spasm in her chest. ‘And what do you think you’re doing in here?’
‘Proving what a liar you are, Lucy Proctor.’
And then he reached out, two big hands encompassing her waist, and pulled her inexorably towards him, towards that searing heat. Lucy, gripped by an awful feeling of inevitability, stumbled right into his chest.
‘This is much better,’ Aristotle growled as she fell against him, and he lifted his hands to cup her face and thread fingers through her hair. ‘Now I have you exactly where I want you.’
Lucy couldn’t help a groan of reluctant supplication when he bent his head and took her mouth. It felt as if he’d injected some kind of life force into her body. Every nerve came tinglingly alive, her heart-rate sped up, her skin seemed to glow … and down below, between her legs, she could already feel her traitorous body responding hotly, wetly.
His tongue swirled, sought hers, sucked it deep into his mouth. She felt fireworks explode in her head. Then he was nipping gently at her lower lip and sucking it, exploring the gap in her teeth and saying throatily, ‘Bite me …’
A feeling of exultation took her over. She felt him push her coat off her shoulders to the floor and hardly noticed. Experimentally, shyly, she bit down on his sensual lower lip, feeling its cushiony springiness, soothing with her tongue where she’d bitten.
He growled something indecipherable, and then she felt him searching for and undoing the zip at the side of her dress, pulling it aside so that one lace covered breast was bared. He lifted a hand and cupped its weight. Lucy bit her lip. She felt heavy, aching with a pooling of desire, and it was such an alien feeling it held her in its grip.
One of his big hands reached down and cupped her round buttocks, drawing her up and into him, where she could feel his arousal digging into soft flesh. She felt more liquid heat and instinctively closed her legs against it.
He was palming her breast, a thumb hovering teasingly over the puckered tip, Tension mounted until Lucy wanted to scream, and finally he lowered his head. Her own fell back when she felt that tight, aching lace-covered tip being drawn into the hot, sucking spiral of intense desire that was his mouth.
His hand gripped her buttock and she strained upwards, urging him to suck harder, her hips moving sinuously against his. She was seeking for a pinnacle that she’d never experienced before, but she knew it was there somewhere.
Something made Lucy open her eyes, and she drew in a shocked breath when she saw their reflections in the mirror across the room, highlighted by the one dim lamp in the corner. They must have moved from the door somehow, although Lucy knew that an earthquake might have happened and she wouldn’t have noticed. The image shocked her to the core. It was so explicit … and so like something she’d witnessed as a child, when she’d walked in on her mother unannounced one day.
Sanity and reality didn’t trickle back—they exploded in her face. In a second she’d pushed Aristotle away and was pulling up her dress to cover her heaving breasts. She shook violently.
‘Get out of here—now.’
She spied something from the corner of her eye and moved, grabbing the hotel robe from the end of her bed and pulling it on, wrapping it tightly around her, belting it firmly. She went and stood near the window, her brain hurting and her body throbbing with unfulfilled desire.
‘Please just get out.’
‘No, Lucy, I won’t.’ Aristotle’s voice was unbearably harsh.
She could only imagine how angry he must be with her. She knew what men called women who—
‘Look, I’m sorry. I should never have let that happen—it’s entirely my fault.’
‘You didn’t let it happen, Lucy. You weren’t helpless. You wanted it as much as I did.’
She shook her head dumbly and felt tears threaten.
Aristotle stepped forward then, and stopped a few feet away. His face looked as if it was carved from stone and Lucy quaked inwardly. She wanted to say sorry again, but didn’t. His bow-tie was askew, his hair ruffled. Had she done that?
He frowned, as if trying to understand. ‘Lucy, did someone do something to you? Did someone hurt you?’
She shook her head quickly. ‘No … nothing like that.’
He shook his head. ‘Well, if it’s not that … what is it?’
She felt like crying in earnest now. How could she get into her tangled emotional history? Into how threatened she felt by the way he made her feel?
‘I just … I don’t want this. I don’t want to feel this way.’ It was the closest she could come to an admission.
Aristotle was unsympathetic. ‘Well, tough—because you do and I do. It’s called chemistry and it’s unavoidable.’
‘What if I leave?’ Lucy asked hopefully.
He shook his head. ‘We’ve been through this. You’re not going anywhere.’
Her shoulders slumped, and she missed the flash of something that crossed Aristotle’s face.
‘Look,’ Lucy began awkwardly, ‘I’m not experienced—I’m not like the women you go for. I won’t know how to …’
‘You already do, sweetheart, without even trying.’
She looked up. It seemed important to say it. ‘I’m not a virgin … I’ve had sex before.’ Once. ‘But I didn’t feel anything. So I know that … it won’t do anything for me.’
He came close and tipped her chin up. Lucy tried to avoid his eye but it was impossible.
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me that you think you won’t enjoy having sex?’
She shrugged, feeling very silly.
