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‘Has anyone ever told you that you have an ego the size of Manhattan?’ She snorted disgustedly.
‘Not that I recall, no.’ He gave a slow and confident smile. ‘Was anything I said to you just now untrue?’
Her mouth thinned. ‘I’m not afraid of you.’
‘Then why not prove it by agreeing to redesign the interior of my apartment?’
Eva gave a disbelieving shake of her head. ‘I’m twenty-nine, Markos, not nine, and as such I’m not about to be goaded into a juvenile game of dare with you. Especially when I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to accept a commission from you.’
‘Kirsty is going to be so disappointed about that,’ he murmured regretfully.
‘Kirsty?’ she repeated warily.
‘Kirsty Foster. Her husband, Gerry, is my PA, and she was the one who recommended your work to me,’ he added pleasantly.
Ordinarily Eva would have been pleased to have her work so appreciated by one of her previous clients that they had chosen to recommend her to their friends. And she liked Kirsty Foster. The two women had remained friends even after Eva had completed the work on Kirsty’s bedroom, often meeting for coffee and a chat. Not so much recently, Eva recalled guiltily, as the other woman’s blossoming pregnancy was a painful reminder of her own aching hunger for a baby.
But Kirsty was the one who had recommended her work to Markos Lyonedes. The same Markos Lyonedes who employed Kirsty’s husband, Gerry…
Eva’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you threatening me, Markos…?’
He eyed her innocently. ‘I was merely commenting that Kirsty’s husband works for me.’
‘Which sounds suspiciously like a threat to me!’
His lips twitched with repressed humour. ‘That’s your prerogative, of course.’
Eva didn’t know whether to admire him for his audacity or lambast him for his arrogance. Either way, she couldn’t work for a man she didn’t even like…
Lying to herself wasn’t going to make this situation any easier, Eva immediately chastised herself. The problem was not that she didn’t like Markos Lyonedes, but that a single kiss had shown her that physically she liked him too much. Eva had been convinced she would never—could never—feel again. She was determined not to feel physical desire for any man when she knew it would ultimately lead to more pain and disillusionment.
‘What are you thinking about…?’ Markos had watched Eva’s expressions during the last few minutes of silence between them.
Had seen the dismay. The confusion. Followed by the doubt. And then what had looked like pained anguish. All of them emotions he would never previously have associated with the prickly and confident Eva.
She shook herself out of that mood of despondency with obvious effort. ‘I was just… Obviously if Kirsty recommended me—perhaps we could reschedule another meeting for later in the week?’ She gave a tight smile as she saw his sceptical expression. ‘I promise not to cancel this time.’
Markos regarded her through narrowed lids. ‘You never did say what the emergency was last Monday.’
Her smile turned to a look of exasperation. ‘A client was having hysterics when the curtain material I had ordered, which I duly took round for her to approve before the curtains were made up, turned out not to be exactly the same colour as her husband’s eyes after all.’
Markos’s eyes widened. ‘People really do things like that?’
She laughed softly. ‘You would be surprised. I had a client a couple of years ago who matched the colour of her carpet to her Golden Labrador.’
‘Must have made it difficult to find him when it came time to go for a walk!’ Markos murmured—only to watch in satisfaction as Eva’s laughter deepened, causing her eyes to glow a deep gold. ‘Have dinner with me tomorrow evening,’ he prompted abruptly.
‘To discuss the changes you’d like in your apartment?’
‘To discuss any damn thing you please.’
‘I was trying to tell you earlier…’ Eva frowned. ‘I make a point of never mixing my professional life with my personal one.’
‘So it’s one or the other?’
Eva instantly added stubborn determination to the list of things she was rapidly discovering about Markos Lyonedes. ‘I believe I’ve already taken you on as a client by agreeing to look at your apartment.’
‘And if I would prefer to have dinner with you tomorrow evening instead?’
Eva’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes widened. ‘Would you…?’
He frowned darkly. ‘Why don’t we compromise and make our next appointment in my apartment tomorrow evening at seven-thirty? That way I can arrange for us to have dinner together immediately afterwards, so that we can discuss any suggestions you might have.’
Manipulative determination. Eva wryly corrected that earlier addition to her ever-growing list of Markos’s character attributes. ‘I’m starting to see how you gave your Aunt Karelia grey hair!’
Markos gave a grin. ‘Does that mean you accept my invitation?’
Did it? There were so many reasons why Eva shouldn’t have dinner with Markos tomorrow evening—this man’s callous treatment of her cousin being only one of them. But—and she inwardly apologised to Donna—that certainly wasn’t the main reason Eva would prefer not to have dinner with Markos—tomorrow evening or any other time.
She straightened briskly. ‘I don’t think so, but thank you for asking.’
Markos eyed her frustratedly, knowing it wasn’t just the desire to have Eva in his bed that made him so determined. He also enjoyed her company. He appreciated the spirited way she stood up to him. The way her dry sense of humour was more than a match for his own. And he couldn’t help feeling curious as to what Eva had been thinking about earlier when she’d looked so wistful.
He raised dark brows. ‘And if I intend to keep on asking…?’
She shrugged. ‘Then I’ll just have to keep on refusing.’
‘And if I manage to wear you down…?’
‘You won’t.’ She smiled.
‘You sound very sure,’ Markos said knowingly.
‘I am.’ She nodded.
Had any woman turned him down so emphatically before? Markos wondered with a frown. Not that he could ever remember, no. And, again, that wasn’t arrogance talking—it was just a fact. Nor did he believe it was only Eva’s reluctance to see him again that made her so attractive to him.
Everything about Eva intrigued him. Even her obvious boredom on Saturday evening with the other guests at the cocktail party—including him—as if she had attended one too many parties just like it and met one too many arrogant men to be impressed by yet another one.
That behaviour had been completely nullified by her heated response to him a few minutes ago—before she had shut down that response with the finality of a steel trapdoor closing about her emotions.
And what had seemed like an expression of sadness, even anguish, only added to the mystery and contradiction that was fast becoming Evangeline Grey.
Markos sensed Eva had secrets hidden behind those beautiful golden eyes. Several of them. Secrets he was longing for Eva to share with him.
‘Okay.’ He straightened to move and check the diary on his desktop. ‘I’m busy tomorrow and Wednesday, but six o’clock on Thursday evening looks good.’ He looked up at her enquiringly, wondering if it was wishful thinking on his part or if that really was a look of disappointment on her face because he was seeming to back off.
And he was only seeming to back off. Markos had no intention of giving up where Eva was concerned.
‘Thursday at six is fine with me too,’ Eva accepted abruptly, pretty sure that if she designed a colour scheme of pink and white, and ultra-feminine, it would ensure that Markos no longer wished to employ her. It would do absolutely nothing for her professional reputation, of course, but it might be worth it just to see the look on Markos’s face when she presented the sketches to him!
‘I’m learning to be wary of that particular look of amusement…’ He eyed her suspiciously as he straightened.
Eva laughed softly. ‘Just a private joke.’
‘Design-wise, you should know that a harem theme or an explosion of pink ruffles is definitely out,’ he commented dryly.
How had he guessed what she was thinking? ‘Now you’re ruining all my fun!’
‘When I would so love to be the cause of it…’ he came back huskily.
Eva gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Do you ever give up?’
‘Where you’re concerned? No.’
Now it was Eva’s turn to look wary as she heard the finality in his tone. A warning, perhaps, that Markos’s lazy good humour was merely a front, an illusion. As if she needed any warning!
‘Why are you even continuing to bother pursuing me when there are dozens of women in New York who would be only too flattered to receive the attentions of Markos Lyonedes?’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Because it doesn’t work that way.’
She frowned. ‘What doesn’t?’
He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘I can’t speak for other men, of course, but as far as I’m concerned, desire is exclusive to one woman at a time.’
Eva moistened lips that had become suddenly dry. ‘That isn’t what I’ve heard…’
Markos scowled. ‘Just who the hell have you been listening to, Eva?’ he prompted impatiently.
Her gaze avoided meeting that piercing green one. ‘It’s public knowledge—’
‘It’s malicious gossip—accompanied by unreliable articles and photographs in newspapers,’ he corrected harshly. ‘None of which can or should be believed.’
That might be true, but Donna’s experience with this man was indisputable—set in stone. Wasn’t it?
But no doubt Jack’s version of the breakdown of their four-year marriage would differ greatly from Eva’s own. There were always two sides to an unsuccessful relationship…
No!
Eva couldn’t afford to have any doubts about Markos Lyonedes’s callous reputation with women. The physical desire she felt for him already made her feel more vulnerable than she was comfortable with. She had a plan for the rest of her life, and it was a sensible plan—one which did not include an affair for a few weeks with Markos Lyonedes!
‘Whatever,’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I really do have to leave now.’
‘But you’ll be back on Thursday at six o’clock?’
Eva sighed at his dogged persistence. ‘I said I would, yes.’
Markos nodded his satisfaction. Eva might not know it yet—might not want to know it—but that single kiss they had shared had told him that she wanted him too. And Markos had every intention of pursuing her until he had her exactly where he wanted her. In his bed.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_9477f7db-5b5d-54ef-bb3d-f2297876c5a0)
‘I totally agree.’ Markos grimaced as he saw the look of horror on Eva’s face on Thursday evening as the two of them entered the sitting room of what was now his penthouse apartment on the top floor of Lyonedes Tower. He had received a call from Security a few minutes ago, informing him of her arrival downstairs. Most if not all of the Lyonedes employees had gone home now—including Markos’s secretary.
‘I think bland must have been the middle name of the previous interior designer.’
‘I was thinking it’s just plain ugly…’
Eva couldn’t think what on earth had possessed the previous designer to choose cream and beige as the colour scheme in this beautifully appointed room. The furniture, though obviously expensive, was unattractively square and minimalist, and the only saving grace to this room was the impressive one hundred and eighty degree view of New York, visible from the huge picture windows that covered two of the walls.
Not only was the colour scheme insipid in the extreme, it didn’t suit the man who now lived here. Markos’s swarthy complexion, dark hair and piercing green eyes required that he be surrounded by the warm colours of the Mediterranean: terracotta, with touches of green and blue, maybe the palest hint of yellow…
Eva brought her thoughts up short as she realised her interior designer instincts had taken over from her common sense. It was two days since she had last seen Markos—two days and two restless nights—during which time Eva had become even more determined that she did not want to spend any more time in this man’s company than she absolutely had to. To do so would be opening herself up to all sorts of disappointment. As such, knowing how this room should look was one thing. Being the one to effect those changes was something else entirely.
Of course it didn’t help Eva to remain detached and professional to see that Markos was dressed as casually as she was this evening. The darkness of his hair was still damp from the shower, and he had obviously changed out of the formal suit he had worn to work today. He was now wearing a black shirt, the collar unbuttoned at his throat and the sleeves turned back to just below his elbows, with a pair of faded blue denims clearly outlining the leanness of his waist and his perfectly taut bottom and long legs.
She straightened briskly. ‘Are the rest of the rooms as awful?’
‘Worse.’ He grimaced.
Eva found that hard to believe. ‘How many rooms are there?’
‘Four en-suite bedrooms, kitchen, breakfast room, formal dining room, a gym—’
‘Okay—a lot.’ She grimaced, rummaging through her capacious shoulder bag for her sketchbook and pencil as she continued to look about the room with narrowed, assessing eyes. ‘It looks more like an impersonal hotel suite than a private apartment.’
‘That’s probably because that’s what it was designed to be.’ Markos shrugged. ‘Drakon has his own place in Manhattan. This apartment was used only to entertain business associates in less formal surroundings than the offices downstairs.’
‘Do I want to know in what way they were entertained…?’ Eva eyed him derisively.
‘Just drinks and the occasional dinner,’ he assured her dryly.
‘I’ll believe you—thousands wouldn’t!’
Markos eyed her ruefully. ‘Your opinion of the Lyonedes family isn’t very high, is it?’
Eva felt the warmth of colour enter her cheeks. ‘I don’t know any of you well enough to make a sound judgement.’
‘Yet.’
‘Ever,’ she stated with finality.
‘I’ll go and make us some coffee while you look round,’ Markos suggested lightly.
‘Okay.’ Eva was relieved to be able to turn her attention to her surroundings as she began to sketch in her pad.
Markos stood for several moments and admired the way Eva’s denims clung so lovingly to her curvaceous hips and thighs. The firm swell of her breasts was clearly visible beneath a fitted green blouse, her long dark hair brushed back and secured in a ponytail that made her look younger than her years.
Markos smiled wryly as he realised she had become so absorbed in her work she seemed to have forgotten he was even there. ‘Cream and sugar?’
