by Sarah Morgan
‘Doesn’t the end of a relationship ever bother you?’
‘Never.’
‘That says something about you, Stefan.’
‘Yes. It says I’m good at handling break-ups. Go, me.’
‘It says you don’t care about the women you date!’
‘I care as much as they do.’
With a despairing shake of her head, Maria cleared two empty coffee cups from his desk. ‘You have your pick of women and you can’t find one you want to settle down with? You are a success in every aspect of your life except one. Your personal life is a disaster.’
‘I happen to consider my personal life an unqualified success.’
‘You must want more than this from a relationship.’
‘I want hot, frequent, uncomplicated sex.’ He smiled at her disapproving expression. ‘I pick women who want the same thing.’
‘Love would be the making of you.’
Love?
Stefan felt something slam shut inside him. He swung his legs off his desk. ‘Did your job description change when I wasn’t looking? Has there been some EU employment law that requires you to take charge of my private life?’
‘Fine. I can take the hint. It’s none of my business. I don’t know why I even bother.’ The cups rattled in her hand as she stalked through the door but she was back moments later. ‘There’s someone here to see you. Perhaps she’ll be able to persuade you to get in touch with your human side.’
‘She? I thought my first appointment wasn’t until ten o’clock?’
‘This person doesn’t have an appointment, but I didn’t feel comfortable turning her away.’
‘Why not? I employ you to be the dragon at my door.’
‘I can be dragon-like when I have to be but not when the person wanting to see you is a nun.’
‘A nun? You have to be kidding me.’
‘She says she has something urgent to discuss with you.’
Stefan gave a sardonic smile. ‘If she’s here to save my soul, tell her she’s too late.’
‘I will not. To be honest I have no idea what to say to her.’
‘Any combination of words would have sufficed, providing “no” and “get out” were included.’
Maria squared her shoulders. ‘I can’t turn a nun away. I don’t want that on my conscience.’
Stefan, who hadn’t made the acquaintance of his conscience for several decades, was exasperated. ‘I never saw you as gullible. Has it occurred to you she’s probably a stripper?’
‘I know a genuine nun’s habit when I see one. And your cynicism does you no credit.’
‘On the contrary, my cynicism has protected me nicely for years and will continue to do so—which is just as well given that you’re turning into a soft touch.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can tell a nun you won’t see her. And she has a really sweet smile.’ Maria’s face softened momentarily and then she glared at him. ‘If you want it done, you’ll have to do it yourself.’
‘Fine. Send her in. And then take a trip to the nearest fancy dress store and see for yourself how easy it is to hire a nun’s costume.’
Clearly relieved to have offloaded that responsibility, Maria retreated, and Stefan felt a rush of irritation at the thought of an interruption that would bring him no benefit.
His irritation intensified at the sight of a nun in a black habit standing in the doorway to his office. Under the robes he could see that she was slightly built but she kept her head bowed, allowing him a single glimpse of a pale face under flowing black and white.
Unmoved by her pious attitude, Stefan leaned back in his chair and scrutinised his unwanted visitor. ‘If you’re expecting me to confess my sins then I should probably tell you that my next appointment is in an hour and that is nowhere near long enough for me to tell you all the bad things I’ve done in my life. On the other hand if you’re about to beg for cash then you should know that all my charitable donations are handled through my lawyers, via a separate part of my company. I just make the money. I leave other people to spend it.’
The tone he used would have had most people backing towards the door but she simply closed it so that they were alone.
‘There is no need to close the door,’ he said coldly, ‘because you’re going to be going back through it in approximately five seconds. I have no idea what you’re expecting to gain by...’ The words died in his throat as the nun removed her hood and hair the colour of a pale moonbeam tumbled in shiny waves over her black habit.
‘I’m not a nun, Mr Ziakas.’ Her voice was soft, breathy and perfect for the bedroom, a thought that clashed uncomfortably with the vision of her in a nun’s outfit.
‘Of course you’re not,’ Stefan drawled, his eyes fixed on her glorious hair, ‘but you managed to convince my hardened PA so I suppose you should get points for that.’ Suddenly he was annoyed with Maria for allowing herself to be so easily manipulated. ‘I’m used to women using all sorts of devices in order to meet me, but I’ve never yet had one stoop so low as to impersonate a nun. It smacks of desperate behaviour.’
‘I’m not impersonating anyone. But it was essential that I keep a low profile.’
‘I hate to break this to you, but in the business district of Athens a nun’s habit is not considered camouflage. You stand out like a penguin in the Sahara. If you want to blend, next time dress in a suit.’
‘I couldn’t risk being recognised.’ Her eyes flickered to the huge glass windows of his office and after a moment she sidled across and peered down at the city while he watched in mounting exasperation.
Who would recognise her? Who was she? Someone’s wife?
There was something vaguely familiar about her face. His mind coming up blank, he tried to imagine her without her clothes to see if he could place her, but mentally stripping a nun proved a stretch even for him. ‘I don’t sleep with married women so that can’t be the reason for the elaborate subterfuge. Do we know each other? If so, you’re going to have to remind me.’ He raised an eyebrow as a prompt. ‘Where? When? I admit to being hopeless with names.’
She dragged her gaze from the view, those green eyes direct. ‘When and where what?’
Stefan, who hated mysteries and considered tact a quality devoid of reward, was blunt. ‘Where and when did we have sex? I’m sure it was amazing but you’re going to have to remind me of the details.’
She made a sound in her throat. ‘I haven’t had sex with you!’
‘Are you sure?’
Green eyes stared back at him. ‘If rumour is correct, Mr Ziakas, sex with you is a memorable experience. Is it something I’m likely to have forgotten?’
More intrigued than he would have been willing to admit, Stefan sat back in his chair. ‘You clearly know a great deal more about me than I do about you. Which brings me to the obvious question—what are you doing here?’
‘You told me to come and see you in five years. Five years is up. It was up last week, actually. You were kind to me. The only person who was.’
There was a wistful note in her voice that sparked all the alarm bells in his head. Trained to detect vulnerability from a hundred paces so that he could give it a wide berth, Stefan cooled his voice.
‘Then this is clearly a case of mistaken identity because I’m never kind to women. I work really hard not to be or they start to expect it and the next thing you know they’re dropping hints about rings, wedding planners and a house in the country. Not my style.’
She smiled at that. ‘You were definitely kind to me. Without you I think I would have thrown myself overboard at that party. You talked to me for the whole night. You gave me hope.’
Stefan, all too aware that he was widely regarded as the executioner of women’s hopes, raised his eyebrows. He stared at that glorious ha
ir and filed through his memory bank. ‘Definitely a case of mistaken identity. If I’d met you, we definitely wouldn’t have wasted a night talking. I would have taken you to bed.’
‘You told me to come back in five years.’
That news caught his attention and Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m impressed by my own restraint.’
‘My father would have killed you.’
My father would have killed you.
Stefan stared at her, his eyes sweeping her face for clues, and suddenly he stilled. Those beautiful washed-green eyes were a rare colour he’d only seen once before, hidden behind a pair of unflattering glasses. ‘Selene? Selene Antaxos.’
‘You do recognise me.’
‘Barely. Theé mou—’ His eyes swept her frame. ‘You’ve—grown.’ He remembered her as a gangly blonde who still had to grow into her lean body. An awkward teenager completely dominated by her overprotective father. A pampered princess never allowed out of her heavily guarded palace.
Stay away from my daughter, Ziakas.
It was the unspoken threat that had made him determined to talk to her.
Just thinking of the name Antaxos was enough to ruin his day and now here was the daughter, standing in his office.
Dark emotion rippled through him, unwelcome and unwanted.
He reminded himself that the daughter wasn’t responsible for the sins of the father.
‘Why are you dressed as a nun?’
‘I had to sneak past my father’s security.’
‘I can’t imagine that was easy. Of course if your father didn’t make so many enemies he wouldn’t need an entire army to protect him.’ Blocking the feelings that rose inside him, he stood up and strolled round his desk. ‘What are you doing here?’
The one thing he did remember from that night was feeling sorry for her and the reason he remembered it was because he so rarely felt sorry for anyone. He believed that people made their own choices in life, but he’d taken one look at her in all her leggy, uncomfortable misery and decided that being the daughter of Stavros Antaxos must be the shortest straw anyone could ever draw.
‘I’ll get to that in a minute.’ She bent down and caught hold of the hem of her habit. ‘Do you mind if I take this off? It’s really hot.’
‘Where did you get it? The local dressing-up shop?’
‘I was educated by the nuns on Poulos, the island next to ours, and they’ve always been very supportive. They lent it to me but there’s no point in keeping it on now I’m safe with you.’
Knowing that most women considered him anything but ‘safe’, Stefan watched in stunned disbelief as she wriggled and struggled until finally she freed herself and emerged with her hair in tangled disarray. Underneath she was wearing a white silk shirt teamed with a smart black pencil skirt that hugged legs designed to turn a man’s mind to pulp.
‘I almost boiled to death on the ferry. You have no idea. That’s why I couldn’t wear the jacket.’
‘Jacket?’
‘The jacket from my suit. It’s designed to be worn in an air-conditioned office, not a floating tin can which is how the ferry feels.’
Stefan wrenched his gaze from those bare legs, feeling as if he’d been hit round the head with a brick. Staring into those green eyes, he looked for some sign of the awkward teenage girl he’d met years before. ‘You look different.’
‘I should hope so. I hope I look like a businesswoman because that’s what I am.’ She slid her arms into a jacket that matched the skirt, scooped up her hair and pinned it with brisk efficiency. ‘When you met me five years ago I had spots and braces. I was hideous.’
She wasn’t hideous now. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’
‘What do you think?’
The corner of her mouth dimpled into a naughty smile and Stefan stared at that smile, hypnotised by her lips, trying to clear his mind of wicked thoughts.
‘I think your father must be having a few sleepless nights.’ The wicked thoughts still very much in play, he tried desperately to see her as she’d been that night on the boat. Young and vulnerable. ‘I should offer you a drink. Would you like a—’ he groped for something suitable ‘—a glass of milk or something?’
She pushed some loose strands of her hair away from her face in a gesture that somehow managed to be both self-conscious and seductive. ‘I’m not six. Do you often offer your visitors milk?’
‘No, but I don’t usually entertain minors in my office.’
‘I’m not a minor. I’m all grown up.’
‘Yes. I can see that.’ Stefan loosened his collar and discovered it was already undone. He wondered if the air-conditioning in his office was failing. ‘So—why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’
If she wanted him to ruin her father, they might yet find themselves with a common goal.
‘I’m here about business, of course. I have a business proposition.’
Huge eyes were fixed hopefully on his face and Stefan felt an instant pull of lust. The explosion of attraction was instant, unmistakable—and entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.
Apart from the obvious physical changes she still looked as innocent as she had that night on the boat. It would be asking for trouble. Even he wasn’t going to stoop that low.
‘I’m not known for doing favours for people.’
‘I know. And I’m not expecting a favour. I know a lot about you. I know you date different women all the time because you don’t want a relationship. I know that in business they call you all sorts of things, including ruthless and uncaring.’
‘Those are generally good traits to have in business.’
‘And you never deny any of those awful things they write about you. You’re happy to be portrayed as the big bad wolf.’
‘And yet still you’re here.’
‘I’m not afraid of you. You sat with me for seven hours and talked to me when no one else could be bothered.’ Folding the nun’s habit carefully, she leaned forward to stuff it into her bag, oblivious to the fact that the movement gave him a perfect view of the curve of her breasts above a hint of lacy bra.
Stefan made a valiant attempt to avert his eyes and failed. ‘You were sweet.’
He emphasised the word for his own benefit. If there was one thing designed to kill his libido it was ‘sweet’, so why the hell was he painfully aroused? And why was she looking at him with big trusting eyes when what he should have been seeing was an appropriate degree of caution?
Come into my house, Little Red Riding Hood, and close the door behind you.
Caution nowhere in sight, she gave him a warm smile. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing to remember it, to be honest. I was so upset I would have done anything just to make my father mad, but you refused to take advantage of me even though you hate him. You didn’t laugh at me when I told you I wanted to set up my own business and you didn’t laugh when I flirted with you. You told me to come and find you in five years, which I thought was very tactful.’
She spoke quickly, almost breathless as she got the words out, and Stefan stared at her for a long moment, all his instincts telling him that something wasn’t quite right.
Was he seeing desperation or enthusiasm?
Stefan bought himself some time. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something cold to drink?’
‘I’d love some champagne.’
‘It’s ten in the morning.’
‘I know. It’s just that I’ve never tasted it and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. According to the internet you live a champagne lifestyle.’ There was a wistful note in her tone that didn’t make sense. He’d assumed the Antaxos family bathed in champagne. They were certainly rich enough.
‘Believe it or not I try and restrict my champagne consumption until the end of my working
day.’ Clenching his jaw, Stefan hit a button on his phone. ‘Maria? Bring us a jug of water, or lemonade, or—’ he racked his brains for a suitable soft drink ‘—or something soft and refreshing. With ice,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Lots of ice. And some pastries.’
‘That’s thoughtful of you. I’m starving.’
Stefan leaned against his desk, maintaining a safe distance. ‘So—you say you have a business proposition. Tell me about it and I’ll tell you if I can help.’ Those words felt alien on his tongue. When did he ever help anyone but himself? He’d learned at an early age to take care of himself and he’d been doing it ever since.
‘I want to set up my own business just like you did. That night on the yacht, you inspired me. You talked about how you’d done it all yourself and about how great it felt to be independent and not rely on anyone. I want that.’ She dug her hand into her bag again and pulled out a file. ‘This is my business plan. I’ve worked hard on it. I think you’ll be impressed.’
Stefan, who was rarely impressed by other people’s business plans, gingerly took the pink file from her outstretched hand. ‘Is there an electronic version?’
‘I didn’t want to save it on the computer in case my father found it. It’s the figures that count, not the presentation.’
So her father knew nothing about it. Perhaps that explained the hint of nerves he detected beneath all that bounce and optimism.
No doubt this was her summer project, designed to fill the long boring hours that came with being an overprotected heiress, and he was the lucky recipient of her endeavours.
Shaking off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the whole situation, Stefan flipped open the file and scanned the first page. It was surprisingly professional. ‘Candles? That’s your business idea?’
‘Not just candles. Scented candles.’ Her voice vibrated with enthusiasm. ‘I went to school in a convent. I started making candles in craft lessons and I experimented with different scents. I have three different ones.’