by Julia James
But that was what seemed so impossible, however hard he tried.
The treadmill slowed, coming to the end of its programme, and he stepped off, heading for the weights. But even as he pumped his muscles he could still feel the memory of Mel in his arms, feel the sensual power of that amazing kiss. It haunted him wherever he went, whatever he did.
Back at work, he made yet another determined effort to move on. Keeping busy must surely help. His diary for today was full, and tomorrow morning he was flying to Geneva. Then he was scheduled for Frankfurt, and after that there was some banking conference somewhere he was due to speak at. Where was it being held? Somewhere long-haul, he thought. New York? Atlanta? Toronto? Was that it?
But as he clicked on the link a completely different venue sprang up on his screen.
Bermuda.
An offshore banking haven, only a couple of hours’ flight off the US East Coast, and best of all a sub-tropical paradise. He’d been before on business, but always on his own. The beautiful island just cried out for spending more time there, R&R—and not on his own...
The thought was in his head before he could stop it. Instantly he sought to eject it, delete it, but it was no good. It was there, indelible, right at the front of his mind. He knew exactly who should be with him on such a break—exactly who it was he wanted there.
Instantly he summoned all the arguments against it—the arguments that had stopped him whispering the words he’d wanted to whisper to Mel—but they were being drowned out. Drowned out by a cacophony of counterarguments.
She longs to go abroad—anywhere in the world. Bermuda would be perfect for her. It’s not the kind of place she’d ever get to on her own—not the place for budget backpacking tourists—but with me it would be possible. I could show her a place she would otherwise never see.
It was a brilliant idea—just brilliant. And now it was in his head he could not obliterate it. It would not be silenced.
He stared out over his office, his thoughts churning. Overwhelming him with their power.
Why do I assume she would want more from me than a simple holiday romance? Why do I fear she would want something deeper, more lasting? Why not ask her and see? After all, she told me she wanted to see the world, travel everywhere—does that sound like a woman who wants to tie me down or get involved in a heavy relationship?
Even as he thought it alarm snatched at him. When had she said she was leaving London? Setting off on her travels? She might already be in Spain for all he knew.
The thought was like a blow. If she were gone, how would he ever find her?
She could disappear completely and I’d have no clue where she was!
Without realising it he’d reached for his phone. Urgency impelled him, overriding everything else. Only one thing filled his head—Mel, as she’d been that evening, so fantastically beautiful, so soft and ardent in his arms, the sweetness of her mouth, the honey of her lips.
I won’t let her disappear from my life. Not without seeing whether I can’t persuade her to come with me!
His secretary answered the phone instantly. Mood soaring, he gave her his instructions.
‘Cancel Geneva and Frankfurt. Book me to London tomorrow instead.’
* * *
‘Sarrie, here are the accounts for while you were away. I think they’re looking quite good. I made a few tweaks to the menu, and tried out a few new things. I think they’ve worked.’
She’d added more boxed salads for diet-conscious customers, and sourced a scrumptious organic carrot cake for when they fell off their diets, keeping careful tabs on costs, sales and profits.
A sudden shaft of memory assailed her—of how she’d spun that impressive-sounding line about FMCG customer-facing research at that charity do, surrounded by all those high-flying career women. She hadn’t meant it seriously...it had just been to amuse Nikos...
No. No thinking about Nikos.
No remembering that evening. And no remembering that devastating goodnight kiss.
This time tomorrow I’ll be in Spain, and if I want romance I’ll set my cap at some sultry Spaniard. That will take my mind off Nikos Parakis.
It had better.
Because so far nothing was taking her mind off him and everything was reminding her of him—even packing for Spain. When she’d refolded the evening gown she’d worn for him memories had rushed back into her head—memories of how he’d gazed at her when she’d glided up to him in the hotel, how he’d smiled at her, how at the end of that wonderful, fabulous evening he’d taken her into his arms to kiss her...
Stop it. Just...stop it. It’s over, he’s gone, and he’s not coming back into your life.
That was what she had to remember. That was what she had to think about.
Not about the way he kissed me...turning me inside out and back again...
Most of all not wishing there had been more than just a single kiss...
If he’d kissed me again—swept me off my feet—if I’d gone with him—
No, she must not think of that—definitely, definitely not that!
And anyway—she dropped a clanging reality check down through her hectic thoughts—he hadn’t kissed her again, had he? And there’d been no sweeping her off her feet, had there? No, he’d just kissed her goodnight and gone. The evening had ended and her brief, fleeting acquaintance with Nikos Parakis had ended, too.
Time for her to move on. To put Nikos Parakis out of her head for once and for all.
She heard the shop door open and, leaving Sarrie in the back room with the accounts and her packed suitcase, went through to serve their latest customer.
And froze.
‘Hello, Mel,’ said Nikos Parakis.
Emotions surged within her. Mixed emotions. Fighting each other. One emotion—the rational one that went with her head, that went with her packed suitcase, her airline ticket to Spain and her new life—was dismay. Just as she was finally on the point of leaving London, making a new start, putting him and their brief, intoxicating encounter behind her, this had to happen.
But that emotion didn’t last. Couldn’t last. It was flooded out by a far more vivid one.
Nikos was here—right here—just the other side of the counter, half a metre away and exactly as she remembered him. Tall, ludicrously, ridiculously good-looking, with his sable hair and his olive skin, and his eyes...oh, his eyes...all dark and velvety, with lashes you could sweep floors with. And the look in them was turning her stomach inside out.
The rush of emotion was unstoppable, palpable. Her face lit. She couldn’t stop it.
‘Nikos!’
The long lashes swept down over his dark, gold-flecked eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re still here,’ he said.
She bit her lip. ‘I’m flying off tomorrow morning,’ she said. Did her voice sound breathless? She didn’t know—didn’t care. Knew only that her heart had started pounding, her pulse racing. Nikos Parakis—no longer just a memory of a fabulous evening, a goodnight kiss to remember all her life—was here, now, right in front of her in real, glorious flesh.
He smiled, and the tug of his mouth was doing things to Mel’s stomach that it shouldn’t—but did all the same.
‘Then I’ve arrived just in time,’ he said.
She stared. ‘In time for what?’ she asked automatically.
He changed his stance, became relaxed somehow. It made Mel aware all over again of the long, lean length of him, of the way the jacket of his suit fitted like a glove across his shoulders, the way his silver-buckled leather belt snaked around his narrow hips, the way the pristine white of his shirt moulded the strong wall of his chest. She felt the force of his physical impact on her assailing her senses like an onslaught of potent awareness...
‘In time to ask you something,’ he elucidated.
There was an expression in his face now that Mel could not read. Truth to tell, she could not do anything other than gaze at him, feeling her heart-rate soaring in her chest.
The intensity of emotion inside her kicked once more. He was speaking again. Saying something that knocked the breath out of her. Stilled her completely.
‘Would you...?’ Nikos said, the eyes resting on her veiled suddenly, she realised, even though they met hers. ‘Would you consider a...detour...before you head for Spain?’
There was a husk in his voice as he put the question to her. The question he’d cancelled his engagements for, flown to London for. He’d driven straight here from Heathrow and walked into Sarrie’s Sarnies to invite this fantastically beautiful woman, whom he could not get out of his head, to come to Bermuda with him.
Seeing her again, now, he wanted to hear only one answer to the question. Just seeing her in the flesh had slammed the truth of that into him with the full force of a tangible impact. He’d felt a kick go through him—a stab of exultation. Desire had coursed through him like a flash flood.
Would she accept what he was offering her? Share a few weeks with him, no more than that, before she headed off on her travels and they went their separate ways?
His eyes rested on her and his brow quirked. She was looking at him. Was it with a wary expression in her luminous blue eyes?
‘I don’t understand...’ she said.
He elucidated. ‘I’m due to speak at a conference in Bermuda next week. I was wondering...’ his long lashes dipped over his eyes as he studied her reaction ‘...if you’d like to come with me?’
She didn’t answer—not for a full second. She’d gone very still. Then her expression changed.
‘Don’t tell me Fiona Pellingham is going to the conference, as well?’ she asked.
Mel’s voice was dry. But her emotions, whirling around inside her, were not dry at all—they felt as if they were in a spin cycle, like turbulent laundry. Was Nikos really standing there asking her to go to Bermuda with him?
He shook his head immediately. ‘Nothing like that,’ he assured her. His expression changed. ‘This is just for you and me.’
She was staring at him still. ‘Why?’ she asked.
‘Why?’ he echoed. Then he smiled. ‘Because, Mel Cooper, I can’t get you out of my head—that’s why. One kiss,’ he told her, ‘was not enough.’ He paused. ‘Will you come with me?’
He could see her face working—see the emotions flitting through her gaze. He took a breath. Before this went further he had to speak—anything else would not be fair.
‘A holiday, Mel—that’s what I’m asking you to share with me. A holiday—fun, relaxation, good times. With each other. A few weeks in the sun. On a beautiful island which,’ he said, ‘I suspect is probably not on your itinerary but which, I do promise you, you will enjoy.’ He paused. ‘What do you say?’ he asked.
She was silent still.
His voice changed. ‘Mel, we can’t deny the charge between us—it would be pointless to do so. So let’s not deny it. Let’s have some time with each other—a holiday—and then...’ He took a breath. ‘Then you go off on your travels, as you planned, and I... Well, I go back to banking. Nothing more demanding than that.’
He watched her take it in. It had been uncomfortable to spell it out, but he knew he’d had to. He wanted no deceit, no false expectations, no hope for anything more of himself than he could give her.
She’d gone very still again. She was resting her eyes on him, but not, he thought, really seeing him. It was as if she were absorbing what he’d said to her. What was behind what he’d said.
He fixed his eyes on her, waiting for her answer. Then she spoke. There was less strain in her voice now, but her tone was serious for all that.
She lifted her chin, looked right at him. ‘Nikos... You gave me, without doubt, the most glamorous evening of my life. And you don’t need me to tell you that that goodnight kiss would have won you a gold medal.’
The slightest tinge of humour infused her voice, and then it was gone again.
‘But I really, really should say no to you now. It’s the sensible thing to do. To say thanks, but I’m going to Spain tomorrow. I’m never going to see you again.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. ‘That’s what I’ve got to say to you.’
She meant it—meant every word. Of course she did. It was the only sensible thing to do. Nikos Parakis was temptation personified. How could he not be? But even with what he was offering her—a no-strings romance, a couple of weeks in the sun, in a place she’d never be likely to go to herself—she felt the ripple of danger go through her.
She’d melted like chocolate at a single kiss—what would she be like after a fortnight with him? And after a lot more than a kiss.
You melted because you haven’t been kissed for years and the man who kissed you is a world champion kisser!
Her thoughts ran on...hectic, whirling around in her head...
Don’t you deserve something like this? Something thrilling and wonderful and fantastic, with a man like Nikos? He’s offering you exactly what you want now—a carefree, no-strings holiday romance. A few weeks of bliss and fun. Fabulous while it lasts—and unregretted when it’s over.
His expression had changed. She didn’t quite know how, but it had. He was looking at her still, but there was a glint in his eye—a gleam of humour and of expectation.
‘And are you?’ he asked. His voice was limpid, his eyes lucent. ‘Are you going to say that? Say goodbye to me again?’
Mel looked at him. Heard the confidence in his voice and knew the reason for it. Knew, too, what the sensible answer was—but why should she be sensible now? Her life was her own from now on—she could make decisions that maybe weren’t sensible, but so what? So what?
A flutter of emotion went through her. She took it for excitement. Seized it. If a single evening with Nikos had been an amuse-bouche before the banquet that was to be her new life of freedom, and his melting kiss the icing on that amuse-bouche, then a holiday with him—and all that entailed—would be the most fabulous entrée.
The flutter of emotion came again. Oh, it was definitely excitement. And why not?
Nikos was a gorgeously irresistible male—why should she resist him? They both wanted the same thing from each other—so why not take it?
He was quirking an eyebrow at her, waiting for her answer. A smile was curving his mouth...his eyes glinted in the sunlight.
She took a breath, lifted her chin. Yes, she would do it!
Her mouth split into a dazzling smile.
‘So,’ she said, ‘when are we going?’
CHAPTER SIX
‘I CAN SEE IT,’ Mel’s voice sounded excitedly. ‘There—just coming into view!’
Nikos leant sideways in his seat, peering out of the porthole. ‘So it is,’ he said.
Mel gazed entranced as the deep cobalt sea beneath changed colour to a paler blue. The curving shoreline was fringed with a clear reef line, changing the colour of the sea yet again, turquoise in the lee of the little bays, with foam from the ocean swell catching on the rocks of the reef.
Could this really be happening? Could she really be gazing out over the western Atlantic, flying in a plane and descending to a subtropical, reef-fringed island far below?
She’d barely had time to say goodbye to Sarrie, her face flushed and her eyes as bright as sapphires with excitement as she’d seized what Nikos was offering her. And now here she was, Nikos beside her, as the plane descended to the tiny island below.
She could see houses and gardens and palm trees now, closer and closer, and then there was the tarmac of the runway and they were touching down.
‘We’re here!’ she exclaimed.
Nikos grinned. She was reacting like a kid,
but he could see why. Hell, he was pretty damn ecstatic himself. Here he was, his hopes utterly fulfilled, with Mel beside him, coming away on holiday with him—and she was everything he’d remembered about her. Even more beautiful... His gaze softened as it skimmed over her.
Deplaning was swift, and so was Immigration.
‘It’s so British,’ exclaimed Mel, looking at the large portrait of the Queen that graced the immigration hall.
‘It is British.’ Nikos smiled. ‘An Overseas Territory—the last outpost of Empire. But most visitors are Americans, because it’s so close to the Atlantic seaboard. You can get here from New York in a couple of hours—short enough for a weekend.’
When they left the small airport building a chauffeured car was waiting for them. Mel spent the journey with her face pressed almost to the window, gazing at the scenery as they left the airport and started to head south.
‘It will take a good forty minutes or so to reach the hotel, and we should get a good sunset there—the hotel is right on the beach,’ Nikos told her.
He was thinking ahead rapidly. With jet lag, and Mel not being used to dealing with it, she would probably need an early night. He’d booked adjoining rooms at the hotel because he didn’t want to rush her, or appear crass, and he knew—reluctantly—that a romantic evening tonight might not be on the cards.
He continued with his tour-guide speech. ‘We’re bypassing the capital, Hamilton, although the old capital, St George’s, is a must-see while we’re here. It’s one of the oldest European settlements in the New World. Most of the island south of Hamilton is covered by villas, as the land mass is so small here, but there are botanical gardens, and a few small agricultural plots. Of all things, Bermuda is famous for its onions.’
Mel laughed. ‘It’s all so incredibly pretty,’ she said, gazing out over the stone-built houses, many of them painted in pastel shades of pink and pale green and yellow, set in lush tropical gardens with palm trees, hibiscus and vivid bougainvillaea. ‘The houses have funny roofs—sort of stepped tiles.’