by Julia James
‘What kind of sandwich would you like?’ she asked brightly of her customer, and got on with her job.
* * *
‘Pull over just there,’ Nikos instructed his driver, who duly slid the sleek top-of-the-range BMW to the side of the road to let his employer get out.
Emerging, Nikos glanced along the pavement, observing for a moment or two the comings and goings at the sandwich bar and wondering whether he was being a complete idiot for doing what he was about to do.
He’d reflected on the decision on the way here from the Parakis offices, changing his mind several times. The idea that had struck him the day before when faced with the 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. Stupef
action 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 hapless minions!’ she finally shot at him, her head going back and her eyes sparking.
He was unfazed. ‘Indeed,’ he replied shamelessly. ‘So, if you would be kind enough to take pity on my predicament and help me in my hour of need, my gratitude would know no bounds...’
A very unladylike snort escaped her. ‘Yeah, right,’ she managed to say derisively.
‘It’s quite true,’ he answered limpidly. ‘I would be extremely grateful.’
‘And I’d be a complete mug to believe you,’ she shot back.
Nikos’s expression changed again. ‘Why? What is the problem here for you?’ His eyes rested on her, conveying a message older than time. ‘Do you not know how extraordinarily beautiful you are? How any man would be privileged to have you at his side—?’
He saw the colour run out over her sculpted cheekbones. Saw her swallow.
‘Will you not let me invite you?’ he said again. There was the slightest husk in his voice. It was there without his volition.
Mixed emotions crossed her face. ‘No,’ she said finally—emphatically.
His eyebrows rose. ‘Why not?’ he asked outright.
Hers snapped together. ‘Because I don’t like you—that’s why!’
He gave a half-laugh, discovering he was enjoying her bluntness. ‘We got off to a bad start—I admit that freely. I was hungry and short-tempered, and you gave me a hard time and I resented it.’
‘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 at
tractive 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?