Captivated by the Greek. Julia James
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