Читать книгу Greek Tycoon, Waitress Wife - Julia James - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

CARRIE kept walking forward. If she kept walking, she wouldn’t think. Wouldn’t think she’d just lost her job. Again. Was she doomed to keep losing jobs? she thought woefully. It had been her own fault, obviously, and she couldn’t blame them for sacking her. She’d let herself be distracted, she knew—fatally—by that incredible man. If she hadn’t been gawping at him so stupidly she’d have been more aware of what was going on. But, no, she’d had to just stand there like an idiot.

She hadn’t been able to help herself, though. He had just been so incredible! It really was the only word for him. She’d never seen a man that good-looking, who had that kind of impact. Talk about tall, dark and handsome! In the few moments she’d looked at him she hadn’t really been able to take in any specific details, but the overall impact had been just amazing.

And when he’d met her eyes…

She felt again the whoosh that had knocked her in that breathless moment, when she’d felt the impact of those dark, long-lashed eyes holding hers. There had been something in them as he’d looked at her that had squeezed her lungs tight.

Then his partner had wanted water, and the moment had passed. And then—then the disaster.

Mr Bartlett had raged at her when he’d found her in the back, and sacked her on the spot. She was incredibly lucky, he’d told her, not to have to pay for the woman’s dress she’d ruined, which would easily have cost hundreds of pounds. Even so she’d been sacked without her wages, to cover the cost of the specialist dry cleaning Mr Bartlett had said would be required.

Well, at least now she could get a daytime job and not just the evening work that she’d been restricted to up till now. Her eyes shadowed. She’d only been in London for three months, and had been glad to get away from her home—get away from the grief and the anguished memory of her father’s final days. Glad, too, to get away from everyone’s sympathy, not to mention the kindly meant offers of financial help that she could never accept. Here, in this vast city, she was all but anonymous, and she welcomed it.

Yet London was a bleak place, certainly when finances were as straitened as hers were. Just keeping her head above water was hard, but it had to be done—at least until the summer was over and she could go home again to Marchester and resume the life she knew, painful though it would be without her father. Casual jobs here, at least, were plentiful, but it was relentless and grinding, and in three months she’d had no time off for herself and no money to spare for anything beyond necessities.

There was another aspect to working in London she didn’t like either. The hassle she got. That was what had cost her the first job she’d lost. She’d been working in a tapas bar and a customer had slid his hand up her skirt. Shocked and appalled, she had hit his hand away violently. The man had complained about her and Carrie had been sacked. The woman at the job agency had been unsympathetic.

‘With your looks you should be used to it—and used to handling it,’ she’d said dismissively.

But she wasn’t, thought Carrie miserably. No one behaved like that in the world she was used to, nor had any interest in doing so. Their minds were focussed on other matters. It was hard to be subjected to that kind of treatment, or even just to be looked at the way men did here—so blatantly. So sleazily.

It wasn’t sleazy when that incredible guy looked at you—

Memory flushed through her again hotly. No, sleazy had not been the word. Not in the slightest. The way that man had looked at her had made her feel—

Breathless.

She felt the tightness in her chest again as she recalled the way his eyes had held hers. He really had been amazing! The sort of fantasy man a girl could dream about. He was probably rich, too, because all the guests at the gallery had been—or at least well-heeled. He’d had a very rich look indeed about him. There’d been something about him, something more than just his fantastic dark looks and what had obviously been a hand-made suit and a silk tie—a sort of assurance, arrogance, even, as if he were one of the princes of the world…

She gave a twist of her mouth. Whatever he was, he belonged to the London that she didn’t! The one she only saw from the other side of the bar or the table or through the door, where the likes of her served the likes of him, and remained anonymous and unobtrusive.

Dejection hit her again, and she quickened her pace, unconsciously hunching her shoulders, feeling bleak and lonely. Though she saved money and got exercise by walking, there was still a good long way back to the poky bedsit in Paddington that was all she could afford.

Suddenly she stopped. A car door had just opened in front of her, enough to block her path and require her to veer around it. Then, as she gathered her wits to do just that, a voice spoke.

‘Are you all right?’

Carrie’s head turned. The voice—deep, and with an accent she did not register—came from the interior of the car. As she looked at the speaker her eyes widened involuntarily. It was the incredible-looking man from the gallery, whose girlfriend’s dress she’d soaked. Apprehension stabbed at her. Was he going to demand money for the dress? She didn’t have anywhere near enough on her, even just for cleaning it. And if he told her she had to replace it she would be completely stuck. The prospect was so daunting that she just froze.

The man was getting out of the car, and she stepped back hurriedly. He seemed taller than she remembered—and even more incredible looking. She couldn’t help reacting to it, even though it was the stupidest thing in the world to do.

‘Is—is it about the dress?’ she blurted, gripping her bag by its shoulder strap out of sheer tension.

A frown pleated his brow momentarily. It made him look even more forbidding than the dark, severely tailored bespoke suit and his air of wealth and power did.

‘Your girlfriend’s dress? The one I spilt the juice over?’ Carrie continued.

The man ignored her question. ‘Why are you not still at the gallery?’ he demanded.

Carrie swallowed. It seemed more like an accusation than a question, and she could only say, ‘I got dismissed.’

The man said something in a language she did not recognise. He looked foreign, she registered belatedly. That dark tanned skin and the darker eyes.

‘You were fired?’ he demanded. Again, it sounded like an accusation.

Carrie could only nod, and clutch her bag more tightly.

‘I’m really sorry about the dress. Mr Bartlett said he’d use my wages to dry clean it, so I hope it will be all right.’

The man made an impatient gesture with his hand.

‘The dress is taken care of,’ he said. ‘But tell me—do you want your job back? If you do I shall arrange it. What happened was clearly an accident.’

Carrie felt her cheeks heat with acute embarrassment.

‘No—please,’ she said. ‘I mean—thank you—thank you for offering. And I’m really very sorry about the dress. I really am,’ she finished quickly. Then she made to start walking again.

Her elbow was taken.

‘Allow me,’ said the man, ‘to offer you a lift to wherever you are going.’ His voice had changed somehow. She didn’t know how. It seemed smooth—not abrasive, the way it had been before. Then the import of what he’d said registered. Carrie could only stare at him—feel his hand on her elbow like a burning brand.

‘A lift?’ she echoed stupidly. ‘No—no, thank you. I’m fine walking.’

Something flickered in the man’s eyes. If she hadn’t known better she would have said it was surprise.

‘Nevertheless,’ he said. The smoothness was still there, but underpinned now by something else. ‘Please—allow me. I insist. After all, it is the least I can do to make amends for you losing your job.’

Carrie’s eyes widened even more. ‘But it wasn’t anything to do with you!’

‘Had I been quicker off the mark I could have steadied your tray,’ said the man, in the same smooth voice. ‘Now, where would you like to be driven?’

The hold on her elbow had tightened imperceptibly, and Carrie felt herself being inexorably guided towards the open door of the car.

‘No—please, it’s not at all necessary.’ Nor, she knew with strong female instinct, would his girlfriend welcome the presence of the waitress who’d ruined her dress.

‘Please do not delay me further. The car is causing an obstruction.’ The voice was still smooth, but now in its place was something like impatience.

Carrie looked, and realised that cars were backing up, unable to get by easily. Without realising how, she found herself being handed into the car, looking apprehensively for the brunette. But she wasn’t there.

‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ She’d gone back to blurting.

The man lowered himself lithely into the seat next to her, and reached for his seat belt with a fluid movement. He cast a frowning look at Carrie.

‘Girlfriend?’

‘The one I spilt the juice over—’

His eyes cleared. ‘She is not my girlfriend.’ He said the word as if it were deeply alien to him.

Something lifted in Carrie. Something she knew was quite pointless, but it did all the same. That chic brunette hadn’t been his girlfriend.

And it wouldn’t matter if she was, anyway! Good grief, what do you think this is? Some kind of pick-up? For some reason the man feels a sense of obligation that you’ve lost your job, and is giving you a lift! That’s all!

She swallowed again. ‘The end of Bond Street will be fine. Thank you very much.’

The man didn’t say anything, just instructed the driver to go, and the car moved forward. Carrie sank back into the leather seat. It was deep and luxurious, as was the rest of the car. Carrie had never been inside a car so upmarket, and she couldn’t help looking around. The man was leaning forward, depressing a button, and a recessed shelf slid forward into the spacious leg-well between them. Carrie’s eyes widened. There was a bottle of champagne and several flutes. Before she could say or do anything, she was watching with disbelieving fascination as the man lifted the champagne bottle, eased it expertly open, and with equal expertise took up a flute, tilted it, and filled it with foaming liquid. Then he handed it to her.

‘Um—’ said Carrie. But she found she had taken the flute anyway.

The smallest semblance of a smile seemed to flicker momentarily at the man’s mouth, before he filled his own glass and replaced the bottle in its holder. He eased back in his seat again and turned towards Carrie, who was just sitting there, disbelievingly.

‘It’s very good champagne, I do assure you,’ the man said. Again, that smile flickered briefly on his mouth, as if he found her reaction amusing. He took a considering mouthful of the gently effervescing liquid. ‘Yes, perfectly drinkable,’ he said. ‘Try it.’

Carrie lifted the glass to her mouth, and sipped. The chilled pale gold champagne slipped into her mouth, tasting delicious. Her eyes widened. She knew almost nothing about champagne, but she could tell that this was, indeed, a superior potation.

‘What do you think of it?’ the man asked. The smoothness was in his voice again, and it seemed to glide over Carrie, doing strange things to her. Like getting her to drink a glass of champagne with a man who was a complete stranger.

But we’re in the middle of Bond Street! It might be bizarre, but it’s not dangerous or anything!

And it was also—irresistible. The word was the right one, she knew, because it summed up what seemed to be going on in her—an inability to resist.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said. She didn’t know what else to say, and it was the truth. Gingerly, she took another sip.

I’m drinking champagne with a tall, dark, handsome stranger. It’s something that will never happen to me twice in my life, so I might as well make the most of the experience!

‘I’m glad you like it,’ said the man, as he took another mouthful himself. He eased his long legs forward. His eyes were resting on her, and Carrie felt intensely self-conscious.

Oh, God, he really is gorgeous, she thought helplessly. Beneath his disturbing regard, she felt her nerve-ends jitter. Instinctively, she took another mouthful of the champagne. It fizzed down her throat, its native effervescence seeming to infect her blood.

‘So, where would you like to eat tonight?’ said the man. The voice was again as smooth as ever.

Carrie stared. ‘Eat?’

The man gestured loosely with his half-empty flute. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world to say to her. The most obvious.

An edge of caution cut into Carrie’s mind. Carrie looked at him. Really looked at him.

He met her eyes.

‘But…I don’t know who you are,’ she said, in a low, strained voice. ‘You could be anyone.’

Alexeis had never been told he ‘could be anyone’ before. The novelty intrigued him. But then the entire novelty of what he’d just done—what he was still doing and what he fully intended to do—was intriguing him. It was an experience he’d never had, and it had charms he had not anticipated. His identity had never been in question before.

Yet he could understand her caution and be pleased for it—for it only helped to recommend her to him. Half of his mind was telling him he was behaving with a rashness he would inevitably regret. The other half was determined to continue on the path his impulsiveness had started. After all, what real risk was there? There was nothing about the girl that was off-putting. Just the reverse. His original opinion of her had not changed—she was, indeed, very, very lovely.

So why not indulge his inexplicable whim and continue the evening with her? Besides, there had been something else that had made him so impulsively order his driver to stop. It was something to do with the way she had been walking—rapidly, but hunched up, head bowed. She’d looked—dejected. Down.

Clearly she needed something to divert her. Take her mind off her woes. So the whim he was following would be good for her, too, he reasoned. He would expect nothing of her she did not wish, and he would relinquish her at any point in the proceedings. But it would be a pity to do so now, so soon. Time to set her mind at rest. She was right, after all, to be cautious. Cities such as London could be dangerous for vulnerable and beautiful young women.

He slipped a hand inside his inner breast pocket and drew out a slim silver card case, flicking it open and offering her a card from within.

‘This will reassure you, I trust,’ he said.

She took the card and looked at it.

‘Alexe-is Ni-Nicol-ai-des,’ she read, hesitating over the foreign syllables.

‘You may have heard of the Nicolaides Group of companies?’ said Alexeis, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

The girl shook her head.

The sense of novelty struck Alexeis again. He had never encountered anyone who had not heard the name of Nicolaides. But then, of course, he moved in circles where everyone knew who had money and what that money derived from. Why should he expect a simple waitress to know such things?

‘It is listed on several stock exchanges, and is capitalised at just under a billion euros. I am the chief executive, and my father the chairman. So you can see, I am sure, that I am quite respectable, and that you are, accordingly, perfectly safe.’

Carrie looked at Alexeis Nicolaides. The surname was a mouthful, but his first name seemed to quiver inside her, as if a vibration had been struck, very deep in her body. There was an uncertain expression on her face.

She ought to go. She ought to ask him to stop the car and let her out. So that she could walk briskly away. Back to her poky bedsit in the run-down house where she didn’t know anyone, to eat toasted cheese for supper as she always did.

The prospect seemed bleak, uninviting, and into her mind crept another thought.

Would it be so very wrong to have dinner with him? This Alexeis Nicolaides, or whatever his name is. Do you think drinking champagne in a luxury car with a man who’s obviously a millionaire and then having dinner with him is going to happen twice in your life? Do you?

But it wasn’t his obvious wealth, or the luxury car and the brimming flutes of champagne that tempted her.

It was the man. The man who had made her breath catch when she’d first set eyes on him. The man she’d been unable not to stare at, to register as the most amazing-looking creature she’d ever seen.

She could feel part of her brain cut out. The part that was sensible and cautious. And sane.

Another part seemed to be pushing its way forward. Telling her something. Something that was getting more insistent. More persuasive.

More tempting to listen to.

Why not? Honestly, why not? You don’t exactly have a packed social life, do you? You don’t exactly have a million people you know in London to go and see. You don’t exactly have anything else desperately urgent to do this evening, do you? So why not? Why not? What have you got to lose?

‘So,’ Alexeis said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was still smooth, and again made her feel strange and fluttery inside. ‘You will have dinner with me?’

The expression of uncertainty deepened in her eyes.

‘Um…’ she said. ‘I…I don’t know. I…I…’ She fell silent, just staring at him helplessly, as if she was waiting for him to make the decision for her.

He did. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then that is settled. All we need decide now is where you would like to eat. Would you like to choose somewhere?’

He was, he knew, offering her the choice in order to make her feel more in control of a situation that was overwhelming her.

The look of uncertainty in her eyes deepened yet more.

‘I…I don’t really know anywhere in London,’ she said.

He smiled. ‘Fortunately, I do.’

Carrie made no answer. She couldn’t. His smile had come out of nowhere, and it electrified her. Dazzled her. Then it was gone, leaving her nerves tingling. Alexeis took another mouthful of champagne, and the movement triggered her to do so as well.

‘So, you have the advantage of my name, but not I of yours,’ he said encouragingly.

‘It’s Carrie—Carrie Richards,’ she answered, almost hesitantly.

Was she reluctant to give him her name? The novelty again intrigued Alexeis, as did the faint colouring of her cheeks. Women were usually eager for him to know who they were, glad to draw his attention…

‘Carrie,’ he echoed. He lifted his glass in a toast. ‘Well, Carrie, I am enchanted to make your acquaintance,’ he said, with a smile.

She bit her lip, still in a daze about the whole adventure, not seeing the way her gesture made his eyes focus on her mouth. She took another swallow of her champagne, feeling it fizzing warmly down her throat. It seemed to have fizzed into her veins as well. Suddenly she felt buoyant, as if everything were getting light around her. The dejected anxiety and depression she’d felt about losing her job, the bleak loneliness of living in London, seemed far away now, and she was glad and grateful. Grateful to the man who had dispelled it.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, suddenly thrilled at the prospect.

‘My hotel is by the river, and it has a very good restaurant, with a three-starred Michelin chef,’ said Alexeis.

A look of sudden dismay crossed Carrie’s face.

‘Oh, I can’t! I can’t go into a restaurant—I’ve just realised! I mean—I’m still wearing this stupid uniform, and I haven’t got any proper clothes with me!’

Alexeis gave a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘That won’t be a problem. Trust me.’

He smiled at her again. In the dim interior light, just for a moment, she felt a stab of unease go through her. Not just uncertainty. His smile had seemed, just for a moment, to be amusement at some private source of humour. Then he was speaking to her again, and the moment passed.

‘Have you always lived in London?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’ve only been here a few months.’

‘It must seem very exciting to you.’ It was the sort of thing that seemed appropriate to say to a girl as beautiful as she was, at the peak of her youth.

But she gave a quick shake of her head again. ‘No, I hate it!’

He looked taken aback. ‘Why?’

‘Everyone is so rude and unfriendly, and in a rush, pushing all the time.’

‘Then why do you stay here?’

She gave an awkward half-shrug. ‘It’s where the work is.’

‘There are no waitresses in your home town?’

She looked as though she were about to say something, then stopped herself. Alexeis wished he hadn’t said what he had, lest she think it sarcastic. He hadn’t meant it to be—he was simply surprised that a girl as beautiful as her had expressed so strong a dislike of London. She must have men flocking around her, and she could take her pick from them!

Even as the image formed in his mind he felt himself react. What he was doing was on impulse, he knew, but even with that allowance he still recognised his reaction. He didn’t want her taking her pick of other men. Then his hackles retracted. While she was with him she would have eyes for no one else.

And nor would he…

There was no doubt in his mind about that, at any rate.

He let his gaze wash over her. She really did have something. He wasn’t sure what, but it was growing on him with every passing moment.

‘So where is your home town?’ he asked, returning to the conversation. She was still uncertain about what she was doing, he could tell—and, again, the novelty of that uncertainty intrigued him. He knew of no women who had ever been in the least bit uncertain about their reaction if he showed the slightest interest. They positively bit his hand off when he took them up! They didn’t bite their lip in that incredibly softly sensual way…

Another reaction took him, and he had to subdue it. It was far, far too soon for that! Now was only the time for gentling, for drawing her to him, for making her feel at ease—making her lose that last vestige of caution that would only encumber his plans for the evening.

‘Um—it’s Marchester,’ she said. ‘It’s a small town, sort of in the Midlands.’

Alexeis had barely heard of it, and was little interested, but he made some anodyne reply, and continued the conversation with bare attention. He was far more interested in watching how a strand of her blonde hair had worked loose and was caressing her cheek, how her profile was etched against the windowpane. He was also impatient to arrive at the hotel and get her opposite him at a dining table, in a good light. Indulge himself in appreciating her soft beauty.

The car seemed to crawl the rest of the way, but eventually it drew up under the portico of the hotel—one of London’s most prestigious, with breathtaking views over the Embankment.

As the driver opened his door, Alexeis crossed around the back of the car and helped her out, holding his hand to her. She took it tentatively, and it added, yet again, to her novelty value. Then his eyes were on the slender length of her black-stockinged leg, below the hem of her raincoat. She seemed to hug it more tightly around her as he escorted her into the hotel. She glanced around almost nervously.

‘Don’t worry—I won’t subject you to a crowded restaurant,’ he assured her. ‘There is a much quieter place to eat upstairs.’

He guided her towards the bank of elevators, and in a moment they were being whisked upstairs. She had gone back to biting her lip again, he noticed.

Suddenly a pang struck him. Should he really be doing this?

Then she looked across at him and gave him a tentative smile, as if seeking reassurance. Something kicked through him, and his own uncertainty vanished. Her smile was enchanting—

He found himself smiling back at her. Giving her the reassurance she was silently seeking.

‘It will be all right,’ he said. ‘I promise you.’

The flicker was in her eyes again. ‘It’s just that…just that…’

‘It’s just that I’m a complete stranger and I picked you up off the street.’

The blunt way he said it made her cheeks colour. But he had done it deliberately, spelling out her fears, her apprehension and unease.

‘But think about this,’ he went on, and his eyes held hers. ‘The Irish have a saying—“All friends were strangers to each other once.” Is that not true? We were not formally introduced to each other by mutual acquaintances—but so what? If I’d met you at a party I’d still have wanted to invite you to dinner. What difference does it make how we got to know each other?’ His voice changed, something in his eyes changed, and something inside her shimmered and caught, like a soft flame lit deep, deep in her being. ‘Now we do know each other. And over dinner, I trust, we will get to know each other more. But nothing, absolutely nothing, will happen that you do not want to happen. You have my word on this.’

His eyes held hers, and then, out of the solemnity, a smile slanted suddenly across his face. Carrie felt that dazzle glitter inside her, as it had done when she’d first seen that incredible smile in the car.

Slowly, she nodded, swallowing. She wasn’t being stupid—she wasn’t! She was simply being—

Carried away. Swept away. But why not? Why not? What was the harm in it? It was true, if she’d met him at a party she would not have been so nervous, so uneasy. And how could she walk away now? She didn’t have the strength of mind to do so. And she didn’t have the will. Why should she? He wasn’t some seedy, creepy bloke—he was…gorgeous. Fantastic. Devastating. Irresistible.

And someone like that would never appear twice in her life.

The elevator doors opened and she stepped out.

Champagne still seemed to be fizzing in her veins.