by Julia James
He smiled at her.
‘So, have I convinced you that not all bankers are evil incarnate?’ His voice was infused with wry humour.
Mel looked at him. ‘It sounds persuasive,’ she conceded.
‘And are you persuadable?’ he pressed.
His stance had changed subtly, and so had his tone. She heard it and broke eye contact, making herself glance away briefly, then looking back again. There was a subtext going on, she knew. One that had nothing to do with the banking industry.
She flashed a smile at him. Deliberately coruscating. Deliberately calling him on his challenge.
‘Sometimes,’ she said.
She let the ambiguity hang in the air. He wanted subtext—she could do subtext. Or so he could think if he wanted. Which it seemed he did. She saw long eyelashes dip over his dark expressive eyes.
‘How very reassuring,’ he murmured, and again Mel knew the subject was not banking or finance.
She made a face, abandoning her pose of ambiguity.
‘Well, you knew that anyway, didn’t you? I mean, you persuaded me to turn up here tonight,’ she exclaimed, in a half-exasperated tone.
‘And how incredibly glad I am that I did,’ he answered, his voice openly warm. ‘Or I would have missed out on having the most beautiful woman in London on my arm and being the envy of every male here.’
There was humour in his voice, too, and Mel gave a laughing shake of her head at the over-the-top compliment.
‘Yeah, yeah...’ she said with good humour, playing down his over-the-top compliment. Even as she spoke, though, she could feel a little thrill of gratification go through her that he had given it.
She drained the last of her mineral water and replaced the glass on the bar. ‘So...’ she changed the subject ‘...do we actually get to eat tonight? It might sound weird, considering I work in a sandwich shop, but I never get time for lunch and I’m totally starving.’
‘Excellent,’ said Nikos. ‘The food here is outstanding—even when you’re dining en masse as we shall be doing—so a hearty appetite is a distinct advantage.’ He threw an assessing glance at her slender figure. ‘I do hope you’re not the type of woman who considers two lettuce leaves a feast?’
Mel laughed again. ‘Not tonight, I promise you,’ she assured him.
‘Excellent,’ he said again. ‘In which case, shall we go through? I see people are beginning to make a move.’
He set his own empty martini glass on the bar and with the slightest flourish proffered his arm to Mel with a very small bow.
‘Sounds good,’ she said, and hooked her hand over his sleeve. ‘Lead me to the food!’
Long lashes swept over dark, dark eyes, not quite hiding the glint within. ‘I am yours to command,’ Nikos murmured, and started to escort her forward.
Mel cocked her head at him. ‘You might live to regret that rash offer,’ she riposted, a smile audible in her voice.
Deep within the dark eyes that glint came again. ‘I regret nothing about you whatsoever, Mel, I do assure you,’ was his murmured answer.
She gave a low laugh and felt in excellent humour, for tonight was turning out to be even more enjoyable than she’d hoped it would be—and it wasn’t because of the fancy venue and the chance to dress up to the nines, much as she appreciated both of those factors.
No, it was the man at her side who was giving her that buzz—as if she’d already drunk a glass of champagne and it was fizzing in her veins. The man whose strong arm was beneath her lightly resting hand, whose tall figure was at her side, and whose long-lashed, dark glinting glance was making her heart beat that enticingly bit faster...
Careful! a voice in her head was whispering, low, but urgent. You’re only with him for a single evening—remember that! So enjoy the next few hours, enjoy Nikos Parakis—his gorgeous looks, the sparky fun you’re having with him—then walk away and put it in the memory box.
She heard the voice—listened to it and knew it was telling her the truth. But as she walked out of the bar on Nikos Parakis’s arm she could still feel her heart beating just that bit faster than it had ever done before...
CHAPTER FOUR
‘OH, MY WORD!’ Mel’s exclamation was instantaneous and audible.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ murmured Nikos.
‘And then some.’
Mel was gazing around her at the ballroom of the hotel, now filling up with other guests taking their places for the evening. The room was quite a sight, its opulent fin de siècle Edwardian decor of gilding and gold satin drapery enhanced tonight by an array of damask-covered tables, each adorned with its own candelabrum and floral arrangement, as well as the glitter of crystal and silver.
Nikos led her forward. It felt good to have her on his arm. Good for multiple reasons. The main one, he reminded himself, was that having a fantastic-looking female on his arm was exactly what he’d planned for this evening to keep Fiona Pellingham at bay. But he was also increasingly aware, with every minute he was spending in Mel’s company, that even without the other woman’s presence here tonight, he would still want Mel with him.
Thee mou, what man wouldn’t want this golden-haired goddess at his side? What man wouldn’t desire her...?
‘I think that’s our table—just over there,’ he murmured, pulling his thoughts to heel, indicating their places with a slight nod.
As they approached he realised that one of the several guests already seated was the woman whose presence had inspired him to make his choice of partner for this evening. Fiona Pellingham had turned her dark brunette head towards him and was levelling her dusky gaze at him with an intensity that made him even more glad of Mel at his side.
‘That’s her, isn’t it?’ he heard Mel say out of the corner of her mouth in a low voice. ‘The pesky female who’s got the unrequited hots for you?’
‘Alas, yes,’ Nikos replied. ‘And it would seem,’ he went on, his voice low, too, ‘that she has taken exception to your presence.’
Fiona’s gaze was, indeed, gimlet-eyed, and Nikos could see that his arrival with Mel on his arm was not what the other woman had wanted to see.
‘What a pity,’ Mel returned.
There was a sweet acidity in her voice now, and Nikos glanced at her.
‘Don’t let her put you down.’ he said, with sudden warning in his voice.
A shaft of concern went through him. Fiona Pellingham was a high-flying career professional in a top job—and she hadn’t got there by being sweetness and light to others...especially to other women.
But his concern was unnecessary.
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Mel assured him sweetly, and Nikos was instantly reminded of just how unputdownable Mel could be. He should know!
As they joined their table the other men present got to their feet and Nikos greeted them. He knew one or two professionally, and Fiona introduced the others. His greeting to Fiona was urbane—and hers, he noted observantly, was unruffled: a manner that did not go with the assessing expression in her eyes when they turned to the fabulous blonde beauty on Nikos’s arm as he introduced his dinner partner.
‘Hi,’ said Mel casually, with a dazzling smile.
With not the slightest sign of apprehension she settled herself down at the table in one of the two remaining spaces. Nikos took his place beside her, opposite Fiona. He could see that the other males present were taking in Mel’s fantastic looks, despite the presence of their own partners.
A waiter glided up to the table and started the business of pouring wine and water, while another circled with bread rolls.
Mel shook out the stiff linen napkin at her place and draped it over her lap. Then she dug into the basket of warm bread rolls and helped herself.
‘I skipped lunch,’ she said cheerfully, and reached for the butte
r dish, where tiny pats of butter floated in iced water.
She busied herself tearing the bread roll in half and applying butter to it while all around her the rest of the party started to chat. The conversation was mostly about how they knew or knew of each other, and that, Mel realised, was through their work—which was, not surprisingly, all to do with finance, corporate stuff and the City in general.
She tucked into her roll and with half an ear listened to the chit-chat. With the other half she took the measure of the female whose intentions towards Nikos Parakis she was here to block.
Fiona Pellingham was very, very attractive, with her svelte, chic brunette looks enhanced by a clearly top-end designer evening dress in deep ruby-red. Mel had quickly assessed that Fiona was very much put out about her own presence.
The other two women present were not in Fiona’s league looks-wise, but they were dressed elegantly for the evening and had the appearance of being long-time partners of the men they were with.
Everyone, Mel decided, seemed perfectly amiable members of their own class and background—which was about a thousand times more privileged than her own. But so what? She wasn’t picking up hostility from anyone except Fiona, and she was being accepted for what she was: namely, Nikos Parakis’s ‘plus one’ for the evening.
While the others chatted away in their well-bred tones, talking about the City, business and the financial world in general—which Mel found out of her league, but interesting for that very reason—she settled down to make the most of what was clearly going to be a gourmet meal.
A delicious-looking salmon terrine proved as smooth and light as she could want. It was washed down very nicely, she discovered, with the crisp, cold Chablis that was served with it.
She was just setting down her glass, enjoying the delicate bouquet, when she realised she was being directly addressed.
‘So, what line are you in, Mel?’
It was the man sitting next to Fiona who had addressed her. The question had been politely asked, and Mel saw no reason not to answer in the same way. At her side, though, she could sense that Nikos had gone on the alert, ready to intervene. But she ignored him.
‘FMCG,’ she replied easily. ‘Food retail. I’ve been researching market segmentation and seasonal versus time-of-day product-matching against predicted demand.’
‘Interesting,’ her questioner responded. ‘Are you with one of the big retail analysts?’
Mel shook her head. ‘No, this is independent research—directly customer-facing.’
Beside her, she could swear she heard Nikos make a noise in his throat that sounded distinctly like a choke.
‘What will you be doing with the data?’ This from one of the others around the table.
‘Oh, it will go to my client to support his expansion strategy,’ she answered airily.
‘And is that something that the Parakis Bank will be funding?’
Fiona’s voice was superficially sweet, but Mel could hear the needles in it.
Before she could reply, though, Nikos’s voice interceded. ‘I’d have to wait until turnover reaches an appropriate level,’ Mel heard him say. His voice was dry.
She turned to him, her eyes glinting. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said lightly.
Then, deciding that Sarrie’s business expansion plans—let alone her own role in his business—had better not get any more probing right now from all these high-powered City folk who dealt in turnovers of millions of pounds, she changed the subject. Time to disarm Fiona...
‘Nikos was telling me,’ she said, directly addressing the other woman, ‘what a rising star you are, and how much you’ve achieved.’ She made her voice warm and her smile genuine.
A slightly startled, but gratified expression crossed Fiona’s face. ‘Well, it’s been hard work,’ she acknowledged.
There was a definite thaw in her voice now—Mel was sure of it. She pressed on.
‘How real is the glass ceiling in the City?’ she asked, and widened her question to include the other two women there. ‘You seem to be unhindered by it.’ She went back to Fiona and let her approbation show in her face.
‘It does take determination to break through it,’ Fiona replied.
One of the other women nodded in agreement. ‘And not having babies,’ she exclaimed feelingly.
‘The dreaded “mommy track”.’ Mel grimaced. ‘It’s still the ultimate dilemma, isn’t it, for women? Career versus family.’
Just as she’d hoped, the conversation took off along the well-trodden path of whether high-flying women could have babies without jeopardising their careers and she left them to it. It was a vigorous debate, with one of the female guests strongly defensive about the ‘mommy track’, and Fiona and the other woman saying bluntly that families would just have to wait.
At Mel’s side, she felt Nikos lean closer in to her.
‘FMCG?’ she heard him query heavily. One arched eyebrow was lifted interrogatively.
Mel turned to him and smiled sweetly. ‘Fast-moving consumer goods—surely you know that, Nikos?’
His dark eyes glinted. ‘And so do you, it seems.’ His voice was dry now, with a hint of surprise in it.
Mel’s gaze was limpid. ‘Yes, the knowledge came courtesy of my degree in Business Studies,’ she murmured. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you thought I was just a little blonde bimbo, Nikos, sweetie?’ she mused.
The glint which was so becoming familiar to her showed in his eyes. ‘Only if I feel like living dangerously,’ he replied, the resigned humour in his voice audible.
Mel shot him a flashing smile of approval. ‘Smart guy,’ she said, with a quirk of her mouth.
‘You know, I’m beginning to think I am. Inviting you tonight was the smartest thing I’ve done in quite a while,’ Nikos replied, and there was something in his voice that told Mel he wasn’t talking about her brainpower any more.
A tiny ripple of heat went down her veins.
Careful! The voice inside her head was sharp, and instant.
She was grateful to hear herself addressed by someone else. The question came from Fiona.
‘And where do you stand yourself on the “mommy track”?’
Mel answered without hesitation. ‘I’m afraid I’m pretty much indelibly focussed on personal goals and priorities at the moment,’ she said, not elaborating to say that travel and globetrotting were those personal goals and priorities—not building a glittering career in FMCG data analysis. ‘So right now,’ she added feelingly, ‘I’d definitely say I don’t want a baby. Of course,’ she allowed, ‘I’m nowhere near your level, and never likely to be, so the whole “mommy track” thing wouldn’t be the issue for me as it is for you.’
Again, her compliment on Fiona’s high-powered career was well-received by its target. Mel could almost see her preening.
‘Mind you,’ she went on, ‘there is another tricky issue that female high-flyers hit, which is the shortage of suitable partners for you in the first place. It’s a pretty brutal truth that men “date down”—I mean, look at me. Here I am, a humble retail analyst, and I get to hang out with a guy whose family own a bank!’
‘So how did you?’ The needles were back in Fiona’s voice.
Mel smiled disarmingly. ‘Oh, Nikos can be so very...persuasive when he sets his mind to it,’ she purred, in an outrageously over-the-top style, clearly meant to be humorous, that drew a laugh from the other guests.
Even Fiona smiled, and Mel was glad. She didn’t blame the other woman for setting her sights on Nikos Parakis. She wouldn’t have blamed any woman for doing so. With or without a bank in his family, Nikos was the kind of man that every female in town would make a beeline for.
And go weak at the knees over.
Like I’m doing?
The darting question—warning?—came
before she could stop it.
At her side she could hear his deep tones take up the conversational baton.
‘You’ve no idea how hard I had to work to get Mel here,’ Nikos was saying lightly. ‘In the end I think it was this venue that swung it for her.’
‘It’s certainly fabulous,’ she agreed warmly, glancing around once more at the opulent ballroom.
‘All the Viscari hotels have this level of cachet,’ one of men commented. ‘Something that sets them apart from the common run of luxury hotels.’
‘Oh, yes, absolutely,’ enthused his partner. ‘I think my favourite so far has to be the one in Florence.’
The conversation moved into a lively discussion about just which of the ultra-luxurious Viscari hotels was the very best of all, and Mel left them to it.
The main course was being served, and she got stuck in with definite enthusiasm. The lamb melted in her mouth, and the Burgundy washed it down to perfection.
‘To think I was going to turn this down,’ she murmured sideways to Nikos.
He turned his head to glance down at her. ‘Enjoying yourself?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed. ‘You know, I could definitely, definitely get used to this.’
Something flickered across his eyes. ‘Well, enjoy...’ he murmured, and reached for his wine glass.
Mel found she was lifting hers, too. There was a clink as the rims met together.
‘To all my good ideas, Mel,’ he murmured, and his eyes were like dark, melting chocolate.
Except that the melting sensation seemed to be inside her as he spoke.