Greek Tycoon's Mistletoe Proposal

by Kandy Shepherd

  But these thoughts of missing her, of wanting her, of—God help him—being given the privilege of carrying her parcels, could not be allowed to flourish. She was a beautiful, intriguing woman but what he had with her was just a business arrangement. Besides, she had given no indication that she felt any of the attraction he felt for her. The flirtatious looks, the kisses, the seductive smiles had all been with the aim of impressing Tina Norris—not him.

  As they waited in the crush of people to get into the ballroom, he took the opportunity to update her on the negotiations with Tina. After all, the deal with Tina was the sole reason they were at the ball.

  ‘Her finance people have talked to my finance people, so I’m hoping the agreement is progressing.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked.

  He had to lean nearer to hear her soft voice over the chatter and hum of hundreds of people. She had divested herself of her cape to leave in the cloakroom and he was tantalisingly close to her smooth, pale arms and shoulders, the swell of her breasts above the strapless dress. Just like she’d looked in the bubbles.

  He had to clear his throat to speak. ‘Just do what you did at our last meeting with Tina. You made such a good impression.’

  ‘It won’t be a hardship,’ she said. ‘I quite like Tina and this hotel is so magical. I feel like I’m in some kind of fairy tale.’ Fairy tale to her, concrete business opportunity to him. He wanted it. She could help him get it. That was what all this was about.

  As they approached Tina’s table near the front of the ballroom, Ashleigh halted him with a hand on his arm. ‘Come here,’ she said. She made a show of straightening his already perfectly straight bow tie, tweaking it with fingers that feathered over his neck as she did so. It was an intimate caress that only a lover would attempt and, as such, was an inspired gesture on her part. He caught her hand and kissed it, holding the kiss for a beat longer than required. ‘Thank you,’ he said huskily.

  ‘All part of the job,’ she murmured, looking up at him with her wide blue eyes.

  Of course that was all it was to her. And to him. He was crazy to entertain for one head-spinning moment that it could ever be anything else.

  * * *

  The trouble with a fake date was that you couldn’t tell what was real and what was just part of the pretence, Ashleigh thought.

  It made it difficult to know just how to respond to Lukas’s compliments. He seemed so sincere in his admiration. But then perhaps he was as good an actor as she was. Businessmen of his stature did not get to be where they were without being able to put up a good façade when required, to bluff and feint. She had to stop herself from longing for his admiration to be real.

  She was seated by his side as Tina’s guests at the older woman’s table, Tina to his left, she to his right. The other guests around the circular table were business associates of Tina’s, some of whom Lukas was acquainted with. She, of course, knew no one. But she was soon chatting with the other guests. The story about Bundaberg being famous for rum usually went down well.

  For a sudden, breath-stealing moment she realised some of the people at this ball might have attended some of the high-end functions where she had worked as a waitress since she’d been in London. ‘What if someone here recognises me as their waitress or maid?’ she whispered to Lukas.

  He snorted his disbelief. ‘When you look more beautiful in your finery than the rest of the women here put together?’

  ‘That’s patently untrue,’ she said with a smile, enjoying the flattery, at the same time wishing it was real.

  ‘I’m entitled to my opinion,’ he said, which made her smile deepen. Then he had to go and remind her of the gulf between them by adding, ‘Besides, who ever notices the help?’

  ‘I guess not,’ she said, her voice trailing away. Unless he finds them naked in his bathtub.

  She looked around her, admiring the splendour of the ballroom with its period style glamour. The room was elaborate yet elegant with panelled walls, ornate ceiling and outsized chandeliers all in the style of a bygone era. The hotel sat on the north bank of the Thames and the windows revealed a splendid view of the river. She felt entranced by the myriad lights of the city she was growing to love, the iconic London Eye slowly revolving through the dark.

  It made her remember Emma’s glow when she’d told them how Jack had taken her up on the Eye to toast her with champagne at midnight. Emma had gone through hardship and humiliation to get to the happy place she was now, yet Ashleigh could not help a twinge of envy.

  She had got engaged to Dan for all the wrong reasons and ended the engagement for all the right ones. Yet for all her brave move in running away, for all her words about independence, deep down she longed for love with the right man one day. But here she was in the most cynical of sham relationships with the only man she’d found attractive since she’d arrived in London.

  But it was difficult to feel maudlin in Tina’s down-to-earth company. ‘We’re here to help support this wonderful charity,’ she said. The charity funded research into premature and stillbirths. ‘But we’re also here to enjoy a Christmas get-together,’ the older woman said. ‘Let’s eat, drink and be merry.’

  It was a good deal more than that, as far as Lukas was concerned, and Tina knew it. But who was Ashleigh to question her reason for being here at such a glamorous occasion in the most beautiful dress she had ever worn? And—if the look in Lukas’s eyes was genuine—a dress in which she looked her best.

  Her shopping expedition in Sloane Street had been beyond her wildest expectations. As soon as the sales associate—giving awesome service with a countess as part of the party—helped her slip into the designer gown, Ashleigh had known it was the one.

  ‘This is the dress,’ Sophie had said, echoing her thoughts.

  Ashleigh had been grateful for her friends’ presence to help her shop. But she had felt a moment of wrenching disappointment there was no tall, dark-haired man waiting outside for her to watch her twirl the skirts around and ask, What do you think? She’d missed him. Looking back on that wonderful day in Bond Street, much of the magic had come from being with Lukas. And it was nothing to do with him being a credit-card-wielding billionaire—it was Lukas the man she was so unwisely growing attached to.

  At the same shop she had found delicate shoes in purple suede, high-heeled, that wrapped around her ankles with soft suede ties. Pinprick-sized diamanté were scattered over the suede. Then they’d found outsize teardrop-shaped earrings that went perfectly with the dress and the faux amethyst bracelet.

  No wonder she felt like a princess. And she was determined to enjoy every moment of this evening with the man more darkly handsome than any prince. Even if under ordinary circumstances he would never have noticed her. She refused to admit how much that hurt.

  * * *

  Lukas tried not to look bored as he sat through the inevitable talks about the good work of the charity and the speeches from its patrons. He pledged a hefty donation to the appeal. He refrained from pressing Tina for a decision—that would be poor form at a social occasion. And he begrudged the amount of time Ashleigh spent chatting with the other people at the table. Especially the men. It was irrational, he knew, but he wanted her to himself. She was his pretend girlfriend.

  After the main course had finished, a show dance by professional ballroom dancers was announced. The dancers were stars of a popular television dance show and there was much applause.

  The male dancer, slender and dark, and his partner in a flame-coloured spangled dress drew gasps from their audience with their skill. Lukas could see Ashleigh was entranced. She watched the dancers’ every move, swaying to the rhythm of the music, tapping her feet. Lukas, in turn, watched her. He should warn her that her obvious interest would make her a target for when the dancers selected someone from the audience to dance with them. Ashleigh, with her beaut
y and enthusiasm, was a prime target. And if she danced like she sang... He would hate to see her humiliated.

  But, before Lukas could say anything, the male dancer was by Ashleigh’s side. She protested, saying her dress wasn’t right but if he insisted she would love to dance with him. He took her by both hands and drew her to her feet. Flushed and laughing, she turned her head to Lukas. He nodded. She didn’t need his permission. ‘Good luck,’ he said as she was led away by the handsome dancer.

  Tina turned to Lukas. ‘Don’t look so woeful; he won’t steal your lady away.’

  His lady.

  Ashleigh was not his lady. She had a man back in Australia—not for a moment did Lukas believe she wouldn’t reconcile with him. Besides, he hadn’t changed his mind about commitment. He liked his life exactly the way it was. His mansion in Athens. His townhouse in Chelsea. The private Ionian island that had belonged to his grandmother and now belonged to him.

  He had the freedom to come and go as he pleased without answering to anyone. Sailing in summer. Skiing in winter. Women when it suited him. The type of women who knew the score and made no demands—if they did, he disentangled himself immediately. Once the women got his gift of jewellery they knew it was over.

  He didn’t date women like Ashleigh Murphy.

  Not that he’d ever met a woman quite like her. She was unique. Special. At the spontaneous burst of applause Lukas sat up straighter in his seat and stared, astounded. And she was a fabulous dancer.

  Ashleigh was not at the level of the polished professional but she was not far from it. Her partner stepped her into a sweet, simple waltz, slowly gliding Ashleigh around the floor. She gracefully dipped and swayed with utter confidence, her skirts swirling around her, revealing her slender, strong legs. Dancer’s legs.

  Lukas could see the astonishment on the professional’s face. Then, after a murmured consultation with Ashleigh and a signal to the band, the music completely changed tempo to a sensual Latin rhythm. Ashleigh tossed back her head—haughty, sensuous—slowly entwined her fingers with her partner’s and launched into a sinuous, sensual tango. This was a different Ashleigh, accomplished, confident, radiating sensuality and passion—the backpacker banished for ever. Lukas could not keep his eyes from her.

  It was just a dance. But while Lukas joined Tina and the other guests in murmurs of amazed admiration, under the table his hands clenched into fists at the sight of Ashleigh in another man’s arms. He wanted to wrench the man’s hands from where they splayed against her bare skin. Even though common sense kept reminding him it was just a dance.

  The performance was no longer about the expert toting the amateur around the room as entertainment. This had become another show dance—a showcase for the talent and skill of his pretend girlfriend. Her hair gleamed copper-bright under the lights, her pale skin and pastel dress in contrast to the black trousers and shirt of her dance partner. Tiny lights twinkled from her shoes, her feet in constant motion.

  Ashleigh put emotion as well as skill into the dance that was once banned for its blatant sexuality. Her lips were parted seductively, her eyes gleamed with passion and desire, her hips swayed in invitation as she danced. Lukas saw a stranger at the same time he saw sweet, funny Ashleigh. A sensuous, beautiful woman with a life quite separate to his: not his maid, not his fake date, rather a woman with her own agenda. An exciting woman.

  He wanted her. Lukas wanted her so much he ached. He would deny it to her. Deny it to anyone else. But he could no longer deny it to himself.

  The vertical expression of a horizontal desire—that was what Lukas’s mother used to call the tango after she’d had one too many flutes of champagne at those parties that used to fill his parents’ house. Only now did he understand what she’d meant.

  He knew Ashleigh had no interest in the other man. It was all about the performance. But she made her passion for her partner disconcertingly believable. He realised what a skilled actor she was—how much could he believe of how she reacted to him?

  She ended the dance bent backwards over her partner’s leg in a symbolic gesture of sensual surrender. Then the dancer swept her to her feet and waltzed around with her as the guests were invited onto the dance floor.

  Lukas didn’t wait around for pleasantries at his table. He had to get to Ashleigh before any other man claimed her as a partner. Within seconds he was at her side as she thanked the professional with a hug. He heard her talking to him about a dance school in east London as the guy departed.

  For a moment Ashleigh was stranded on the dance floor, alone and uncertain. Lukas could see her hesitate about what to do next. She was a newcomer to London, surrounded by a sea of strangers. He felt an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness towards her.

  ‘Ashleigh,’ he called, staking his claim.

  She turned and her face seemed to light up in delight as she caught sight of him. ‘Lukas!’ He smiled with pleasure at her reaction, then reminded himself how skilled she was at playing a role. ‘Did you see us?’ she asked a little breathlessly. ‘I adore the tango. The dress held me back a bit—I should have been wearing something shorter and slinkier.’

  Lukas had to close his eyes against the image of her body on display in something shorter and slinkier.

  ‘You were incredible.’ He took her arm, making it known to the entire room of people that she was his. ‘The next dance is mine,’ he said with a fierce surge of possessiveness.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Of course it is. I’m yours.’ Words spoken in character as his make-believe girlfriend. Yet he responded to them with something visceral from a place deep inside his soul that he had repressed for so long he’d denied it existed. He wanted to make her his.

  Her face was flushed, her eyes bright, more of her hair had escaped from its confines to tumble around her neck. Like she would look after passionate lovemaking.

  ‘Why didn’t the fact you were a professional dancer come into our get-to-know-you sessions?’

  ‘You didn’t ask,’ she said with a provocative tilt to her head.

  ‘So it was your secret?’ He realised how little he really knew about her. How much he wanted to know. How many other secrets did she hold?

  ‘No secret. It just didn’t seem relevant. I studied dance as soon as I could walk. Ballet. Tap. Jazz. Then ballroom. I’m qualified to teach. I thought about going professional at one stage.’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Injury. My right knee.’ She looked down towards her leg without seeming to realise she did it, held out her foot in its twinkling purple shoe. ‘I’ll pay for this tomorrow—my knee will be swollen and throbbing. But it was worth it. To dance with such a skilled partner in this beautiful room.’

  They were now standing in the midst of other people dancing around them, accidentally bumping into them, apologising in the way English people did, even when they were not at fault.

  ‘Shall we dance?’ he said, holding up his hands to her.

  Her eyes lit up. Was that genuine delight at the prospect of dancing with him? Or part of the act? Without hesitation she put one hand in his and placed the other on his shoulder. ‘With pleasure,’ she said.

  He swung her into the waltz. Immediately, she followed his lead as they fell into the rhythm of the dance. He was intensely aware of her closeness, her hand clasped in his own much bigger one, his other hand resting on the small of her back. It was as intimate as a kiss.

  ‘Hey, you didn’t tell me you could dance,’ she said. ‘You’re very good.’

  ‘My parents considered learning to dance part of my education.’

  ‘Do you do traditional Greek dancing?’ she asked as he whirled her around. She was so adept at the waltz it was obvious she didn’t even have to think about what steps she took.

  ‘But of course. Many Greek men enjoy horos. Dance is part of our traditional celebrations.’ He re
alised he hadn’t taken part in the traditional dances he’d enjoyed so much for a long time—rarely since his time on the islands when a day’s sailing had ended in a taverna where all the men had joined in the dance, much to the delight of the tourists. He’d thought one day he would pass on the traditional dances of his ancestors’ islands to his son—a dream long locked away.

  His dreams and hopes had been frozen that night of the incident with his mother’s friend, when he’d realised his parents cared too much for their decadent lifestyle to protect their son from the lascivious gazes of their guests—men as well as women. Up until then, he’d still sought their approval. But the scales had fallen from his eyes that night. He’d put a lock on his bedroom door and on his emotions.

  The waltz came to an end and the music changed to a jazzy quickstep. The dance was energetic and lively and he swung Ashleigh into it, gliding and hopping where required. ‘You really know how to dance,’ she said, almost accusingly, as if he’d withheld such vital information from her. ‘This is such fun.’

  Fun. She’d accused him of putting work over enjoying life. Since when had work become an obsession, a shield? Having fun with her was opening chinks in that shield and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

  At the end of the dance she collapsed against him, relaxed, uninhibited, laughing. She was all soft curves and warmth. He felt exhilarated by the energy of the dance, by her nearness, and he joined in her laughter. He realised he had laughed more in the days since he’d met Ashleigh than he had for a very long time.

  His dancing teacher at school had berated him for his mechanical correctness in his dancing. ‘It’s not enough to get the steps right,’ she’d said. ‘You have to feel the dance.’

  Dancing with Ashleigh, he finally felt it.

  ‘What’s next? Foxtrot? Cha-cha? Bring it on,’ he said.