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‘You spoke to me like I was beneath you,’ she shot at him. ‘And you looked down your nose at Joe—wouldn’t give him a penny even though you’re obviously rolling in it!’ She cast a pointed look at him. ‘Your wallet was stuffed with fifties!’
‘Did you expect me to hand a fifty over to him?’ he protested. ‘And for your information I gave him a handful of all those pound coins you dumped on me.’
Mel’s expression changed. ‘What? Oh, God, he’ll have just gone off and spent it on booze.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you really give him money?’
‘Ask him next time he comes in for a free sandwich,’ said Nikos drily. ‘So...’ his voice changed ‘...are you going to take pity on me and accept my invitation?’
She was wavering—he could tell that with every male instinct. She wants to accept, but her pride is holding her back.
‘You know,’ he said temperately as her internal conflict played out in her betraying gaze, ‘I really am quite safe. And very respectable, too. As is the Viscari St James Hotel and the charity gala.’
‘You’re a complete stranger.’
‘No, I’m not. You know who I am—you addressed me by name just now,’ Nikos countered.
‘Only because you put your name on the card with those flowers—and they were an insult anyway.’
‘How so?’ Nikos’s astonishment was open.
The sapphire flash that made her beauty even more outstanding came again. ‘You can’t even see it, can you?’ she returned. ‘Sending me a ludicrously over-the-top bouquet and then having the gall to tell me to improve my mood—like you hadn’t caused my bad mood in the first place. It was just so...so patronising!’
‘Patronising? I don’t see why.’
Mel’s screwed her face up. Emotion was running like a flash flood through her. She was trying to cope with seeing him right in front of her again, just when she’d been starting to put the whole encounter of the previous day behind her, and trying urgently to suppress her reaction to seeing him again. Trying not to betray just what an impact he was having on her—how her eyes wanted to gaze at him, take in that sable hair, the incredible planes and contours of his face—and trying not to let herself fall head first into those dark eyes of his...
She was trying to use anger to keep him at bay—but he kept challenging it, eroding it. Throwing at her that ludicrous invitation which had stopped her dead in her tracks—an invitation which was as over-the-top as that vast bouquet had been.
‘Yes,’ she insisted, ‘patronising. Mr Rich and Lordly sending flowers to Poor Little Shop Girl!’
There was a moment’s silence. Then Nikos spoke. ‘I did not mean it that way.’ He took a breath. ‘I told you—I sent them with the intention of making amends once I realised I had been rude to you—in more ways than one.’
He avoided spelling out what he was referring to, but he knew she was thinking about it for he could see a streak of colour heading out across her cheekbones again.
‘But if you want me to apologise for sending the flowers as well, then—’
She cut across him. ‘No, it’s all right,’ she said. She tried not to sound truculent. OK, so he hadn’t meant to come across as patronising. Fine. She could be OK with that. She could be OK with him apologising to her. And she could be fine with him giving money to Joe, even if he would just go and spend it all on alcohol.
But what she couldn’t be fine with was what he was asking her.
To go out with him. Go out with a man who set her pulse racing, who seemed to be able to slam right past every defence she put up against him—a man she wanted to gaze at as shamelessly, blatantly, as he had looked at her.
What’s he doing to me? And how? And why am I being like this? Why can’t I just tell him to go so I can shut the shop and never see him again and just get on with my life?
And why don’t I want to do that?
But she knew why—and it was in every atom of Nikos Parakis, standing there across the counter, asking her why she didn’t want to go out with him.
‘Look, Mr Parakis, I don’t know what this is about—I really don’t. You set eyes on me for the second time in your life and suddenly you’re asking me out for the evening? It’s weird—bizarre.’
‘Let me be totally upfront with you about why I’m asking you, in particular, to come with me on Friday evening,’ he answered.
His eyes were resting on her, but not with any expression in them that made her either angry, suspicious or, worst of all, vulnerable to his overwhelming sexual allure.
‘I’m in an awkward situation,’ he said bluntly. ‘Whilst in London I find myself committed to this charity gala tomorrow night, at the Viscari St James. Unfortunately, also present will be a woman whom I know through business and who is, alas, harbouring possessive intentions towards me which I cannot reciprocate.’
Was there an edge in his voice? Mel wondered. But he was continuing.
‘I do not wish to spend the evening fending her off, let alone giving her cause to think that her hopes might be fulfilled. But I don’t wish to wound or offend her either, and nor do I wish to sour any future business dealings. I need a...graceful but persuasive way to deflect her. Arriving with my own “plus one” would, I hope, achieve that. However, the lady in hot pursuit of me knows perfectly well that I am currently unattached—hence my need to discover a sufficiently convincing partner for the evening to thwart her hopes.’
His expression changed again.
‘All of which accounts for my notion that inviting a fantastically beautiful complete stranger as my “plus one” would be the ideal answer to my predicament,’ he finished, keeping his gaze steady on Mel’s face.
He paused. His eyes rested on her with an unreadable expression that Mel could not match.
‘You fit the bill perfectly,’ he said. And now, suddenly, his expression was not unreadable at all...
As she felt the unveiled impact of his gaze Mel heard her breath catch, felt emotion swing into her as if it had been blown in on the wind from an opened door. He was offering her an experience she’d never had in her life—a glittering evening out with the most breathtakingly attractive man she’d ever seen.
So why not? What are you waiting for? Why hesitate for a moment?
She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t go—he might be the most ridiculously good-looking and most ludicrously attractive man she’d ever seen, but he was also the most infuriating and arrogant and self-satisfied man she’d ever met.
But he’s apologised, and his self-satisfaction comes with a sense of humour about it, and he’s given me a cogent reason for his out-of-the-blue invitation...
But he was a complete stranger and could be anyone.
I know his name—and, anyway, he’s talking about a posh charity bash at a swanky West End hotel, not an orgy in an opium den...
But she had nothing suitable to wear for such a thing as a posh charity bash at a swanky West End hotel.
Yes, I have—I’ve got that second-hand designer evening gown I bought in a charity shop that was dead cheap because it had a stain on it. I can cover the stain with a corsage...and I can make the corsage from that over-the-top bunch of lilies he’s just sent...
But she ought to be working—she made good tips on a Friday night at the restaurant.
Well, I can work an extra shift on Sunday lunchtime instead, when Sarrie’s is closed...
One by one she could hear herself demolishing her own objections against accepting Nikos Parakis’s invitation. Heard herself urging on the one overwhelming reason for accepting it.
A little thrill went through her.
She was about to start a new life—her own life. She would be free of obligations to anyone else. Free to do what she wanted and go where she wanted. Free to indulge herself finally!
And when it came to indulgence what could be more self-indulgent than a gorgeous, irresistible man like the one standing in front of her? It was just too, too tempting to turn down.
If anything could herald her new life’s arrival with the sound of trumpets it must surely be this. So why not grab the opportunity with both hands?
Why not?
‘Well,’ she heard him say, one eyebrow quirked expectantly, ‘what’s the verdict? Do we have a deal?’
Her eyelids dipped briefly over her eyes and she felt a smile start to form at her mouth.
‘OK, then,’ she said. ‘Yes, we have a deal.’
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a7fd4c28-859c-5c17-b2de-94dcadfde1d9)
MEL TWISTED AS best she could, but it was no good. She couldn’t possibly see her full length reflection in the tiny mirror she’d got propped up on top of the filing cabinet where Sarrie kept the accounts.
Well, it didn’t matter. She knew the dress suited her because she’d loved it from the moment she’d first seen it in the charity shop. It was the prize piece in the collection she’d been scouring charity shops for over the last year, putting together a cut-price but stylish wardrobe for her foreign travels.
The dress was silk, but in very fine plissé folds, which made it ideal for travelling as she could just twist it into a roll for packing. The colour suited her perfectly, she knew, because the pale blue was shot with a deeper hyacinth-blue, with a touch of lilac to it that set off her eyes. And its simple folds suited her preference for unfussy, ‘no bling’ styles.
With the reassurance of its designer label she knew she could go anywhere in it—even the Viscari St James. She’d looked up the hotel on Sarrie’s PC and had whistled. It had a cachet that was way, way beyond any place she’d ever set foot in. But that was hardly surprising—for the internet had also revealed to her that Nikos Parakis was the scion of the Parakis banking dynasty—a Greek-based outfit that seemed to be rolling in it to the tune of zillions.
And he came slumming along into a humble sandwich bar! she thought with mordant humour. No wonder he’d been so outraged at her lack of awed deference.
But, to his credit, he had at least apologised, and she’d draw a line under it. Now, she realised, she was simply looking forward to seeing him again. Would they still spar with each other?
She found a smile quirking her lips at the prospect... And, of course, at the prospect of feasting her eyes on the paean to male gorgeousness that was the very, very gorgeous Nikos Parakis.
Eyes glinting in anticipation of the treat that she knew this evening would be, she picked up the little satin clutch bag that went with her dress. Time to get going. Nikos had told her a car would collect her, and it was nearly the specified pickup time now.
She stepped outside on to the pavement, carefully locking up as she went and dropping the keys into her clutch, aware of a sleek, chauffeured car humming quietly and expensively at the kerb. She headed purposefully towards it, getting used to the unaccustomed feel of high heels and long skirts and her hair being loosened from its usual workaday tied-back plait.
As she approached the car the driver got out, tipping his cap to her in salutation, and from the very male expression in his eyes she knew she looked good enough for the evening ahead.
And for the man who was making it possible.
A little flutter of happy anticipation went through her as she got gracefully into the car when the door was held open for her. It had been so, so long since she’d gone out at all for the evening—and never like this, in such luxury and elegance.
The flutter came again, and she settled back happily to enjoy the chauffeured car, with its soft leather seats, its wide footwell lined with dove-grey carpet, and its fittings all in polished marquetry, as she was driven to her glamorous destination—and to the breathtakingly devastating man who awaited her there.
Her wonderful new life of freedom was just beginning, and this gorgeous, gorgeous man was just the person to start it off for her.
* * *
Nikos strolled up to the bar and placed his order. He did not sit down—merely propped one forearm on the gleaming mahogany surface, rested his foot on the brass rail and glanced around. The resplendent Edwardian-style bar just off the equally resplendent lobby at the Viscari St James was a popular watering hole for the well heeled. Many, like him, were in tuxedos, gathering for the evening’s main function—the charity gala.
His mood, as he glanced around, was mixed. Happy anticipation filled him—his driver had phoned a while ago to inform him that he was en route, and soon—very soon—he was going to see just how even more fantastically beautiful his date for the evening looked in evening dress.
But he also felt a momentary doubt assail him. Would she possess the kind of attire that was appropriate for the Viscari? Perhaps he should have offered to help in that department? Then he quashed the thought—he was pretty sure that any such offer, however well intentioned, would have got shot down as ‘patronising’. No, if having nothing to wear had been a problem she’d have said so.
He barely had time to take a first mellowing sip of his dry martini, directing another sweeping glance around the room, before he stilled.
She was walking into the bar area.
His eyes went to her immediately—it was impossible for them not to. Dimly, he was aware that he was far from being the only male whose eyes had gone straight to her. Thee mou, but she could turn heads!
And as for any concerns that she might not possess the kind of dress that was suited to a venue like the Viscari St James...they evaporated like a drop of water on a hot stove.
She looked stunning—beyond stunning.
Finally he could see just what nature had bestowed upon her, now untrammelled and unconcealed by her workaday appearance as it had been so far.
She was tall and slender, but with curves that went in and out in all the right places that were perfectly enhanced by the elegant fall of the ankle-length gown she was wearing. Its style and colour were perfect for her—a blending of delicate shades of blue and lilac. Her shoulders were swathed in soft folds of the multi-hued material, and the décolletage was draped but not low-cut. A creamy white corsage nestled in the drapery, and Nikos’s mouth gave a quirk of amusement. He was pretty sure the corsage originated from the bouquet of lilies he’d had sent to her.
As for her hair—finally he could see what he’d wanted to see of it, freed from that obnoxious baseball cap. It was everything he could have wanted, loosened and swept back from her face, caught to one side with a mother of pearl comb before curving around one shoulder in a long, lush golden fall.
And her face— Ah... Nikos thought, satisfaction running through him with an even greater intensity. He had thought her stunningly beautiful when she’d had not a scrap of make-up on, but now, with her luminous eyes deepened, their lashes lengthened, her cheekbones delineated and her mouth, like a ripe damson...
He stepped forward, his smile deepening.
She saw him immediately—he could tell. Could tell, too, that the impact he was making on her was everything he’d wanted. His sense of satisfaction intensified again.
Her eyes widened with telltale revelation as she made her way towards him. And as she came up to him for the first time Nikos could detect a dent in her air of self-assured composure. Two spots of colour burned briefly but revealingly in her sculpted cheeks.
His eyes were warm upon her. ‘You look fantastic,’ he breathed.
His compliment drew a new expression from her face.
‘I rather thought that was the idea,’ Mel said.
Her voice was dry. But she needed it to be. She needed it to be because as her eyes had alighted upon Nikos Parakis she had felt a kick go through her that she had not intended to feel. If he’d looked drop-dead gorgeous before, in his handmade suit, now, in a handmade tux, he looked ten times more deadly.
And as for the sensation going through her now, as his dark gold-flecked eyes worked over her... She could feel awareness shooting through her, sky-high. Urgently she sought to quell it, to stay composed and unruffled.
Nikos’s smile deepened. ‘What can I get you to drink?’ he asked.
‘Sparkling mineral water is fine, thank you,’ she managed to get out, without sounding too breathless.
He glanced at her. ‘Do you not drink alcohol?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she replied, more easily now, glad to find her voice sounding a little more normal. ‘But I assume there will be wine with dinner, so I don’t want to make a start on it yet.’
‘Very wise,’ Nikos murmured, and relayed her order to the barman.
Then he turned his attention back to his date for the evening. A date, he suddenly realised with a sense of confusion, whose name he had absolutely no idea of!
Up to now, in his head, she’d simply been the stunning blonde in the sandwich shop. He blinked for a moment. Then, to his relief, he realised that of course he knew her name. It had been emblazoned on that unlovely T-shirt she’d been wearing in the sandwich bar.
The barman placed a glass of iced sparking water on the counter. Nikos picked it up and handed it to her. ‘There you go, Sarrie,’ he said, with a smile.
She took it, but stared at him. ‘Sarrie...?’ she echoed.
Nikos frowned slightly. ‘You prefer not to be called that?’ he checked.
She gave him a look. ‘Well, no, actually—because it’s not my name. Sarrie,’ she elucidated, giving him another look—one that reminded him of their first sparking encounter, ‘is the name of the guy who owns the sandwich bar—hence “Sarrie’s Sarnies.” My name,’ she informed him, ‘is Mel.’
