by Julia James
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
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.’
She paused minutely.
‘Do you require a surname? Or is that a complete irrelevance because after all,’ she said lightly, ‘our acquaintance is going to be terminated after tonight?’
Nikos found himself frowning. Was their acquaintance gong to be terminated after tonight? Was that what he intended?
Do I want this to be the only time I spend with her?
Did he really want this incredible, fantastic-looking, stunningly gorgeous blonde who was making his senses reel to be with him only for one single evening?
As his eyes flickered over her he knew what his body wanted him to answer—oh, yes, indeed! No doubt about that in the slightest. But it wasn’t just his body responding to the overwhelming physical attraction he felt for this fantastically beautiful woman.
What was she like as a person? As an individual? Oh, he knew she could stand up to him—stand her ground and spark verbal fire with him—but how much more was there to her than that?
Time to find out...
He smiled a warm, encompassing smile. ‘Mel,’ he asked her, ‘don’t you realise yet that I want to know a lot more about you than just your surname?’
To his distinct satisfaction he saw once again that telltale colour run fleetingly over her sculpted cheekbones. He let his gaze have the effect he wanted, and then deliberately let it soften as he relaxed against the burnished mahogany surface of the bar.
Her colour was still heightened when she answered him. ‘Well, it’s Cooper—just in case you should need to know. Like when you introduce me to this woman you want me to keep at bay for you.’
There was an acerbic tinge to her voice, but Nikos ignored it.
I would want her here tonight even if Fiona Pellingham were a hundred miles away.
The knowledge was sure in his head—the certainty of it absolute. Mel Cooper—so fiery and so fantastically beautiful—was a woman he wanted to know more about. Much more.
‘So, tell me, Mel Cooper,’ he said, ‘first of all how do you come to be working in an establishment rejoicing in the name of “Sarrie’s Sarnies”?’
Deliberately he kept his tone light, with mild humour in it. He could see her recovering her composure. The slight stain of colour ebbed. She took a sip of water from her glass. Her voice, when she spoke, had lost its acerbic tone and he was glad.
‘Sarrie Silva is the uncle of a friend of mine, and he offered me the job,’ she explained. ‘The pay isn’t bad, and I actually enjoy the work.’ No need to tell him that in comparison with looking after her grandfather day in and day out for years any kind of alternative work was bliss. ‘And best of all he lets me use the back room as a bedroom, so I effectively live there.’
Nikos’s eyebrows rose. ‘You live in the back room of a sandwich bar?’
‘Yes, it’s rent-free—and in London that counts for a hell of a lot,’ Mel answered feelingly.
‘How long have you been living like that?’ Nikos asked.
‘Nearly a year now. Ever since I had to move out of my childhood home.’
Nikos frowned. ‘Why did you have to do that?’
‘It was after my grandfather died. I’d...looked after him...’ She could hear her voice twist, feel her throat tighten, feel the familiar grief at his loss ache within her, and hurried on. ‘When I lost him...’ the twist in her voice was more pronounced, though she tried to cover it ‘...I decided I’d rather rent out the house, because that would give me some steady income.’
‘But you became homeless?’ Nikos objected.
She gave a quick shake of her head, smiling now. ‘That didn’t matter, because it was only ever going to be temporary. I’ll be off abroad soon,’ she explained.
She said it deliberately. It had occurred to her as she spoke that it would be prudent to make it clear to Nikos Parakis that she was going to be out of London very soon. His words to her after she’d made that jibe at him just now echoed in her head.
‘Don’t you realise yet that I want to know a lot more about you than just your surname?’
Echoed dangerously...
Dangerously because all she wanted to do was enjoy this evening, enjoy the lavish luxury of her surroundings and keep as tight a lid as possible on the totally predictable effect Nikos Parakis was having on her female sensibilities.
Definitely time to make it clear that she was not hanging about in London for long. This evening was nothing more than an unexpected and most important a one-off treat—one she would enjoy, make the most of, and then consign to memory. And Nikos Parakis with it.
His dark eyebrows had come together when she’d mentioned going abroad.
‘Where are you thinking of travelling to?’ he asked.
‘No idea,’ she replied insouciantly, taking a sip of her water. ‘Spain, probably—wherever I can get a cheap flight to.’
He looked slightly startled. ‘You have no destination in mind?’
‘Not really. I just want to travel—that’s all. So any place is as good as another.’ Her voice changed. ‘Wherever I go it will be an adventure.’
Nikos took another sip of his martini. ‘Where have you travelled so far in your life?’ he asked.
‘Nowhere. That’s the whole point,’ Mel replied.
There was emotion in her voice—Nikos could hear it. He could also see the enthusiasm in her face...the excitement. Could see, too, how it made her eyes sparkle, lighting up her face. Enhancing her stunning beauty.
It was a beauty, he knew, from all his long-honed masculine experience, that would cause total havoc amongst the entire male population of the world once she was out in it. Probably too much havoc...
‘Are you going with friends?’ he asked.
Behind his innocuous question he knew another one lurked. Are you going with a boyfriend...?
But of course she wasn’t. If she were, she wouldn’t have accepted his invitation tonight, would she?
The knowledge that she was unattached gave him satisfaction. More satisfaction than her answer to his question.
Mel shook her head. ‘No, just solo. I’m sure I’ll make friends as I go.’
‘Well, be careful,’ he found himself warning her. ‘There are parts of the world where solo travellers—let alone female ones—are not advised to go.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘I can look after myself.’
Nikos’s expression was wry. ‘Yes,
I know,’ he said, his voice dry. ‘You can go twelve rounds verbally—no problem. But...’ He held up a hand. ‘All the same, stick to tourist areas—that’s my advice.’
For a moment it looked as if she was going to argue the point, for he could see the warlike sparkle in her eyes. Then it subsided.
‘OK, OK...’ Mel temporised. ‘I’ll hire a bodyguard and lug him around with me—I get the picture,’ she said, in a deliberately resigned voice.
‘An excellent idea,’ Nikos murmured, humour in his eyes. ‘I can recommend a first-class firm offering the kind of close personal protection which I have, on occasion, engaged myself.’
Mel’s expression changed. ‘Good grief—are you serious?’
Nikos nodded. ‘There are some...let us say restless places in the world, where it is advisable to have someone riding shotgun beside you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Why do you go to such places?’
‘I do business there,’ he answered drily. Then, at the questioning and indeed wary look in her eyes, he went on swiftly. ‘And, no, before your fervid imagination carries you away, I am not an arms dealer. I am a very boring and tediously respectable banker,’ he informed her.
‘Yes, I know,’ she admitted. ‘I looked you up. Just in case,’ she said dulcetly. ‘Though of course,’ she went on, allowing herself a provocative glance at him, ‘I didn’t think bankers were very respectable these days...’ She paused, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. ‘Or should that be respected?’
‘Ouch!’ said Nikos. He took another mouthful of his martini. ‘Given the sorry economic state of the world, and the role that reckless lending by the banks has played in that, I can appreciate your scepticism. However,’ he stressed, ‘what banks should be doing—what I strive to do myself—is aid business recovery. Primarily for the Parakis Bank in Greece, which has been so badly hit by recession, but also in other parts of the world, as well.’
She was looking at him with an interested expression—no dumb blonde, it seemed—and the knowledge gladdened him.
He went on with his explication. ‘The Parakis Bank is an investment bank, and we have always strived for genuine partnership with our clients—which means we take a financial hit if they lose money. It also means we have to choose clients very carefully—reckless, over-ambitious companies run by greedy, lazy people who want only to enrich themselves are not on our books. I look for clients who have a passion for the sector they are in, who understand the global trends in their markets and know where opportunities lie—who have worked hard to build their businesses so far, and who simply need a loan to get them to the next level, which is what we provide, to our mutual benefit.’