One Night with a Gorgeous Greek: Doukakis's Apprentice / Not Just the Greek's Wife / After the Greek Affair. Sarah Morgan
knew that wasn’t true. She’d felt the strength of his reaction.
However easily he’d walked away, it had definitely been mutual.
He’d kissed her to prove—what? That he could walk away every time? That lust was a decision like every other? She wondered whether the intensity of the chemistry had been as much of a shock to him as it was to her.
Anger flashed through her. How dared he kiss like that and then just walk away?
No doubt he was feeling smug and superior, having successfully demonstrated the practical application of ruthless self control, whereas she—Polly breathed in and out slowly—she’d demonstrated nothing except an embarrassing degree of feminine compliance. Compelled by his breathtaking sexual expertise, she’d been ready to go the whole way. Like Icarus, she would have flown straight at that hot burning sun, the ecstasy of the flight obliterating any sense of caution.
In proving his point, he’d made a monumental fool of her.
Furious and humiliated, she turned her head and looked back towards the luxurious suite, but there was no sign of him. Presumably, having achieved his goal with such spectacular success, he’d taken himself off somewhere to focus his sought-after attentions on some aspect of his global empire before the meeting this evening. A meeting during which he was clearly expecting her to embarrass him.
Dress is elegant.
He thought she was going to mess up.
Polly’s mouth tightened.
She knew how good she was at her job. If only she were half as good in her dealings with men he wouldn’t have played that trick on her. So far he’d made nothing but false assumptions and she’d been so focused on handling the immediate crisis that she’d done nothing to challenge him on his opinions.
But tonight that was going to change.
If Damon Doukakis thought he could control everything around him then he was in for a shock.
‘I’ll lead the meeting.’ Damon sprawled in the back of the limo, grateful for a stack of e-mails that gave him a legitimate excuse to limit social contact with the woman next to him. An expanse of soft leather seat stretched between them like no man’s land as they both kept a wary distance.
Why on earth had he revealed so much about himself?
‘Why would you lead the meeting when you weren’t the one who won the pitch.’ Her tone was cool and when he risked a glance at her he saw that she was also on her BlackBerry, her slim fingers were flying over the keys with enviable dexterity as she responded to an e-mail. Not once did she look at him and Damon frowned, unaccustomed to such a lack of interest from a woman, especially a woman he’d kissed.
‘It makes sense that I’ll lead the discussion. I’ve known Gérard for fifteen years.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s the boys’ club approach. No worries. You just carry on and beat your chests and do all that masculine stuff, and when you’ve finished I’ll present my ideas.’
Damon didn’t know which infuriated him more—her words, or the fact that she didn’t bother looking up as she spoke them.
‘The way I conduct a business meeting has nothing to do with the “boys’ club”.’ He chose to ignore the anatomical reference.
‘There’s no need to be defensive. You don’t have to apologise for feeling the need to be the dominant male in every situation. I’m sure that basic flaw has proved fundamental to your success in business.’
‘Are you calling masculinity a flaw?’
‘Gosh, no. Not masculinity.’ Her fingers flew over the keys swiftly. ‘Just dominant controlling tendencies that prevent you from ever thinking another person with a different approach could be saying something worth hearing.’
Damon’s jaw ached from clenching his teeth. ‘I am always very receptive to fresh ideas.’
‘Providing they’re coming from someone dressed in a dark suit. Be honest—you took one look at me and dismissed me on the basis of my dress and my pink tights.’
‘That is not true.’
‘It is true. And once we’re in the restaurant the first thing you’ll discuss is the success of each other’s businesses, your various achievements and how many financial goals you’ve scored. He’ll acknowledge you as King of the Jungle, you’ll order an eye-wateringly expensive bottle of wine to prove your impeccable taste and his importance as a client, and once we’ve got all that alpha male posturing out of the way I can have my turn.’
Damon breathed deeply. ‘You’re being intentionally confrontational. You’re upset because I kissed you.’
That got her attention.
She glanced up. Her brows rose. ‘Why would that upset me? You’re a good kisser. No woman is going to object to being kissed by a man who knows what he’s doing. Although you might want to work on the ending—it was a bit abrupt. But better that than slobbery.’ Having delivered what she clearly considered to be useful feedback, she returned to her phone. ‘So—back to this meeting of ours. I just need to make sure I understand the ground rules. You need to have control of everything you do, and that’s fine. I don’t have a problem with that. I’ll take a back seat until you’ve finished with the whole ego-massaging thing.’
Still grappling with her matter-of-fact response to the kiss, Damon found himself unable to respond.
He wondered whether her choice of long coat had anything to do with her rejection of what had happened earlier. It covered everything from her neck to her ankles, leaving no part of her uncovered. There was nothing sexual about her appearance. Nothing provocative. Which made the fact that he wanted to haul her across that void all the more unfathomable and aggravating. His fingers burned to reach out and grab her, rip open those buttons and feast on the flavours he’d sampled earlier.
Acutely aware that he was entirely to blame for his current condition, Damon employed the last of his willpower and transferred his gaze from her face to the window. It was a mistake. Paris in darkness sparkled and glittered like a film set and lovers walked hand in hand along the banks of the Seine, creating memories that would be stored for a lifetime. Everything about the night suggested intimacy.
Exasperated by the direction of his thoughts, Damon turned his attention back to his phone, forced to admit that in an attempt to prove his self-control he’d found himself severely tested. Yes, he’d won. He always made sure he won whatever battle he fought. But it had required a strength of will he’d never before needed to apply to that type of situation.
When his driver pulled up close to the Eiffel Tower, Damon made a swift, smooth exit, relieved to be released from the claustrophobic confines of the car.
Polly emerged slowly and stood a safe distance away from him. ‘This seems an odd venue for a dinner meeting. I hope you didn’t misunderstand.’ She stared at the long queue of people waiting for the opportunity to go up to the top of the tower.
‘Gérard is trying to impress you.’ Damon noticed that this time the silky soft blonde hair had been twisted into a formal up do—severe rather than sexy. The sheen on her lips suggested a faint gloss but nothing too provocative. In fact, her entire appearance was understated. And her shoes were flat—perfect for cobbled Paris streets.
Clearly she’d paid attention to his instruction for ‘elegant’.
He waited to relax—for the strange tightness to leave his body.
It didn’t happen.
‘I’ve dined here before. The restaurant is up there.’
She