Читать книгу Pregnant By The Commanding Greek - Natalie Anderson - Страница 10

‘WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me?’ Ettie groaned to Joel as soon as she safely got back into the small concierge office, Toby still in her arms.

‘I didn’t have the chance…’

Of course he hadn’t. Ettie shook her head and stopped him, regretting her unfair question. ‘Sorry, I know you didn’t.’

‘Don’t you think he’s out of this world?’ Jess, one of the housemaids, leaned over her desk. ‘Chloe saw a model-type leaving his penthouse late last night. She was in the lift. Really dishevelled.’ She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive gesture. ‘First night in and he’s already—’

‘No gossip,’ Ettie whispered loudly, but softened her rebuke with a smile at the maid.

The news didn’t surprise her. Of course he’d bed models. He was as striking as a model himself. He’d have no trouble getting any woman he wanted into bed. Even she’d responded to him on a purely primal level. He was so handsome it was almost painful. He was extraordinarily uptight, though, and he had a way of looking as if he could see right through her, while at the same time revealing nothing of his own thoughts.

Unabashed by Ettie’s warning, Jess just laughed. ‘Well, I think he’s gorgeous. I’d do him.’

‘He’s an unsmiling ogre,’ Joel grumbled. ‘An arrogant jerk who thinks he’s special.’

Well, with his obvious physical strength as well as his business success, he was a bit special. He had it all—looks, wealth, women…success.

‘He was unfairly harsh with you, Ettie,’ Joel added. ‘And as for George…’

Yeah, it was no surprise that her boss was nowhere to be seen—hiding out until the dust had settled, no doubt. But she smiled at the hint of protectiveness in Joel’s voice. ‘He’ll be even harsher if I don’t get all that stuff up to his apartment within the hour.’

‘Do you want help?’

She shook her head. ‘We’re behind down here already—you get on top of this for me and I’ll deal with the ogre.’

She had to go into his apartment. Repeatedly. Her heart beat stupidly quickly at the thought. The range of inappropriate images that rioted through her head at the prospect of turning up to his apartment early tomorrow morning… Would he be awake or sleepy? She’d bet her life he didn’t bother with pyjamas…but what if he had another dishevelled model-type with him? Ugh.

Get a grip and act like a professional.

Somehow she had less than fifteen minutes until the hour he’d given her was up, and she was not being late a second time today. With the dog in one arm and pushing a trolley with all his other stuff, she took the lift. She knocked but got no answer, so keyed in the security code.

‘Hello? Mr Kariakis?’ She walked into the apartment, but the room was silent.

Was she supposed to leave Toby alone in here or wait with him? Gritting back a frustrated sigh, she popped the dog down and turned to lift all his paraphernalia from the trolley. As she struggled with full arms, she noticed Toby wandering off towards a bedroom. She called to him quickly, dropping his water bowl as she hurried to catch him. And at that worst possible moment the ancient rubber band securing her ponytail snapped, sending her hair flying about her face in a mess of half-curls and straggle. She dumped the dog’s gear down in the middle of the room and glanced about for something to use. She spied a pen lying on the nearest table and quickly swiped it up. She twisted her unruly hair into a knot on top of her head and secured it with the pen. Thank heavens perfect Leon Kariakis wasn’t there to see her in such a debacle with the dog, basket, blankets and bowls all in a muddle at her feet.

‘Ms Roberts.’

She froze. And wasn’t that just her luck?

She swivelled to face him as he strode through from the bedroom. Usually it was at this point that she’d offer her first name to a new resident. Something held her back from doing so with Leon Kariakis, however. The grim look of disapproval on his face perhaps?

He still looked impeccable in that charcoal suit. She quelled the smidgeon of disappointment that he might’ve relaxed a little in his own space; it wasn’t to be.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘Actually, I’m right on time.’ She held up her watch and then walked further into the lounge, trying not to let her confidence plummet. Remote and controlled, he relentlessly watched her progress as she self-consciously set up Toby’s basket in a corner of the room with a stunning view of the city out of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘Is that my pen in your hair?’

She froze. Could his voice be any more arctic?

‘Sorry, my hair tie broke.’ She looked at him and registered the astonishment in his eyes. ‘It’s a special pen?’

‘It can write upside down.’

Was he kidding? She couldn’t contain an impish grin at his perennial solemnity. ‘You do handstands and take notes?’

Was that an answering glint of humour in his eyes now?

‘It’s my pen.’ He ignored her little joke. ‘You stole it.’

‘I borrowed it.’ So much for any chance of a sexy librarian look with the whole hair-tied-in-a-bun thing. The man didn’t soften an inch. She sighed. ‘You’d like it back right away?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

Seriously? He was that uptight about a pen?

As she took it out her hair tumbled into chaos. She was too aware of his gaze lingering on the unruly mess and then he returned to look at her eyes. Suddenly she felt hotter than when she’d been furious about what was going to happen to Toby.

She held the pen out to him. Wordlessly he took it and put it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Over his heart.

She quickly turned away, wishing he’d just leave her to it. Instead he watched the fall of her hair, and her every other move as she set out Toby’s blanket and bowl. Toby padded straight into his basket and curled into a small ball.

Leon leaned against the wall, still watching intently as she gave the dog a couple of soothing pats.

‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ he asked.

She was unwilling but unable to resist looking up at him. She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but she resolved to treat him as she did any other difficult client—with respect and distance.

‘There’s plenty I can’t do,’ she muttered softly. Keep her hair under control for one thing.

‘You’ve thought of everything.’

She straightened. ‘It’s my job to think of everything.’

‘And you’re very good at your job,’ he drawled.

She looked him directly in the eyes at that. ‘Yes, I am.’

Which was why he wasn’t going to sack her for her earlier mistake. Which was why she was going to maintain a professional distance from him now.

Ophelia needed her to keep this job. She needed to remember that. She’d ignore the silent, magnetic pull.

‘I assume Security has given you your own access code so it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.’ His huskiness somehow built that sense of intimacy in the moment.

She nodded, momentarily fascinated by the discovery that his eyes weren’t completely wintry; there were almost amber lights in them. Warm ones.

‘This is a short-term solution,’ he said. ‘Until we can get him rehomed in a more suitable environment.’

‘Of course.’

Focus, Ettie.

She looked around the room and then sent him a sideways look. ‘Though this environment seems pretty suitable.’

Leon walked over to her and hunched down by Toby’s basket. ‘Is he always this subdued?’ He patted the dog gently again. ‘I wondered if he wasn’t well.’

Ettie smiled at him, pleased he was concerned. ‘He’s old and quiet and missing Harold. He’s probably wondering what on earth is going on…’

Leon absently scratched the dog’s ears.

‘His quality of life is good, though.’ Ettie looked at him earnestly.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to summon the vet.’

For a split-second Ettie relaxed, but she was then hit by a flood of intense pleasure at seeing this powerful man almost kneeling at her feet. It was dizzying. ‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then.’ On an irresistible impulse, she teased him. ‘Perhaps you could smile at him? Make him feel welcome?’ That stupid suggestion had popped out before she’d thought better of it.

He suddenly stood. She’d not realised how near he was. Now he towered over her.

Don’t prod a grumpy beast.

‘Bare my teeth at him, you mean?’ he muttered quietly. ‘I’m not sure it’s wise to do that to a wolf.’

That low pull tugged deep in her belly—purely physical, animal magnetism that set off a melting sensation deep within. Restless, inappropriate desire. With it came recklessness.

‘One wolf to another?’ she nudged dangerously. ‘Don’t you ever just smile?’

Oh, yes, she’d crossed a line now.

He didn’t answer other than to stare down at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. As if he was contemplating what kind of retribution he was about to mete out…

He liked to take the time to think, right?

Ettie had forgotten how to think. Or move. Or even breathe. She just stared right back at him for an endless moment. He really was far too handsome. And far too serious. She was utterly mesmerised. ‘Thank you for taking care of him,’ she whispered.

Something fierce flared in his eyes. ‘Contrary to what you thought earlier, I’m not a monster.’

No, he wasn’t. And she guessed he was allowed to be as serious as he liked, in his own home and all.

‘I’m sorry for that mistake,’ she finally apologised. Flushing with heat, she brushed a lock of her rebellious hair back from her face. Again.

He watched her movement as intently and inscrutably as ever. ‘Thank you.’

She didn’t feel forgiven, she felt flayed.

She didn’t know if he stepped closer, or if she swayed, but suddenly there seemed to be no space at all between them. Her breath stalled in her lungs. He was so very close. But he was also utterly, inhumanly, still. He had such intensity of focus—expressionless, but not remote—and having that focus solely on her was more than dizzying, it was like being in the path of a lightning strike. She was going to get burned, but the chance to get lit up…?

Another long moment passed before her brain kicked back into operational mode. Oh, heaven, he probably thought she was waiting for him to make a move. He must get so many women throwing themselves at him. Models in the lift, remember? He’d never look twice at her. Mortified, she desperately clawed back her sanity and her dignity.

‘I’d better get back downstairs,’ she croaked, turned tail and fled.

* * *

Leon was hanging on to his control by the thinnest of threads. He’d spent the day determined to forget Antoinette Roberts. And for the first time in a very long time he’d spent a day failing.

She kept appearing in his thoughts—gorgeously fresh, her beautiful, wavy hair shimmering with every turn of her head. He never should have made her give his pen back because now he was beset with the fantasy of having that glorious hair spread across his pillows as the rest of her arched up to…

Leon stalked out of Cavendish House, his body aching. It was late in the evening but he’d not bother with dinner, he’d walk and wear himself out that way. Toby was fast asleep in his basket and too old to keep pace with him. He knew Antoinette had returned earlier to walk the dog and given him food. Leon had deliberately stayed away at the time, but the scent of her lingered in his rooms, sending his brain back into the direction he’d been trying to avoid all day.

Since when did he lose control over his own damn pulse? Ice-cool control was the one thing he always maintained. Antoinette Roberts threatened it with one fiery glance. Maybe it had been too long since he’d taken a lover. He should’ve taken up that offer last night.

Grimacing, he walked along the footpaths. The shops were open late and crowds milled about. He glanced sightlessly into the windows as he threaded through the masses. But through one immaculate window display he swore he recognised the gleaming rich hair of the petite woman standing with her back to him.

Great. Now he was seeing her everywhere.

But then he heard her voice as well—her lilting humour as she asked a customer if she needed help. He stared into the store, listening through the open door. Either Antoinette Roberts had a doppelgänger, or she’d come straight here after her shift at Cavendish and was now helping some woman choose a set of thank-you cards.

He walked in, quickly taking in the high-end stationery supplies the shop was stocked with. A couple of minutes later the female customer walked past him on her way out carrying a beautifully wrapped parcel and a satisfied smile on her face.

Leon walked up to the woman behind the counter. ‘Ms Roberts?’

It was definitely her. And he definitely couldn’t stop staring. Gone was the utilitarian, practical Cavendish concierge uniform and now she was in a lithe little black dress. He could finally see something of her legs and, just as he’d suspected, they were smooth, shapely and gorgeous. He’d known that if she could make those black trousers look sexy, she’d be dynamite in a dress. This one had a slightly scooped neckline, which meant there wasn’t anywhere near enough cleavage, but there was skin—creamy, silken-looking skin and the suggestion of sweet curves beneath the fabric. And her glorious hair was freed from that bouncing mess of a ponytail and now cascaded in glossy wild waves down her back. It looked lush, as if it’d be soft to touch and he’d bind it around his wrists—

‘Oh.’ A blush flooded her smooth cheeks and she licked her lips. ‘Mr Kariakis?’ Then her wide-eyed gaze narrowed. ‘You left Toby alone?’

The beseeching reproach in her eyes made him feel guilty even when he shouldn’t. ‘You know he ate a good dinner; now he’s fast asleep. He’s not missing me.’

The inward tension he’d been trying to settle tightened again. He’d needed to get out of that soulless apartment. He’d wanted to exorcise the ghost of her standing there, challenging him with that sassy look in her eyes as she’d flicked his stupid pen back at him. He’d been hopelessly distracted by the memory—but he was thrown back into that whirling web of desire again now.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked irritably.

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Her tone cooled to match his.

His tension spiked, he released it on her insane workload. ‘You’ve worked all day already.’

She stiffened. ‘Lots of people work more than one job. I’m sure you work long hours too.’

But there was a hint of tiredness in the backs of her eyes.

‘You’re tired.’ He refused to believe she wanted to work fourteen or more hours a day.

‘Oh, no,’ she answered airily. ‘Actually as soon as I’m done here, I’m going clubbing.’

‘Are you?’ He fired with her challenge. ‘Excellent. Take me with you—I’m new to town and don’t know all the cool places.’

A disconcerted expression crossed her face and he inwardly laughed. He couldn’t lie to himself any more. His offer to care for the dog was based in selfish motivation: to see more of Antoinette. He wanted her in his bed. Ideally tonight. It had hit in that first second—lust at first sight. Lust that was only increasing the longer he spent in her company. Perhaps if he satisfied the urge, it’d disappear as swiftly as it had come.

And her reaction to him? He could tempt her.

‘I…’ She glanced at her watch and that flush across her delicate, high cheekbones built.

It was five minutes until closing and he wasn’t planning on leaving. ‘You like working here?’

He made conversation to ease her embarrassment. Despite those delicious feisty flashes, she displayed hints of shyness. He found the combination unbelievably tantalising.

‘It’s nice.’ She nodded.

He tensed. ‘Nicer than Cavendish?’

Was she thinking of leaving her concierge job? In some ways that would be good—it would free them of any messiness, given their positions there.

‘It’s quieter than Cavendish, but I don’t build the same relationship with my customers as I do there. I only work the late nights here.’ She glanced at the counter display. ‘It’s beautiful stationery.’

‘That’s why you work here—because you like the product?’

A bubble of laughter burst from her shimmering lips. ‘No, if I just liked the product, I’d buy it.’

‘So it’s money.’ He frowned, unhappy at the thought that she was forced to work two jobs. ‘We don’t pay you enough.’

A wary expression crossed her face. ‘It’s fine. I have commitments. Most of us do, right?’

He shouldn’t pry further but he couldn’t help watching intently, waiting to see if she’d say more. Her clear eyes dimmed with faint shadows.

‘Saving,’ she muttered, unable to help herself.

Unusually for him, his curiosity deepened. But it wasn’t his business. He had no right to press further. ‘Good for you.’

She nodded awkwardly. ‘So did you want anything in particular?’

He bit back the blunt answer of what he particularly wanted and made himself breathe first. ‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’

‘Well.’ That impish smile flashed on her lips, flicking away the shadows in her eyes. ‘It is.’

‘In another uniform.’ He couldn’t help noticing that damned demure neckline again.

‘Black again.’ She bit her lip as she quickly glanced down as if afraid she’d spilled something. ‘Always ready for a funeral, that’s me,’ she quipped. ‘But it’s discreet. Unobtrusive.’

‘I would never describe you as unobtrusive,’ he muttered quietly.

She’d burst into his life in a blaze of passion and fury.

She met his gaze, silently questioning just how he’d describe her. Unspoken awareness flickered between them, like a gravitational pull.

Her blush returned full force, a ruby tide over her creamy complexion. ‘I should get back to work. It’s almost time to close.’

She was flustered again. He was fascinated by her unconscious dance—she advanced closer with those challenges, then retreated in shyness. He glanced around the shop, pleased to discover it had emptied completely of other customers. ‘Show me the biggest seller.’

‘Seriously?’ The droll scepticism on her face was a picture.

Entertained by her expressiveness, he leaned closer. ‘Why not? You don’t think I can afford it?’

She sent him another look. ‘Well, I know you don’t need a new pen.’ She lifted an item from the counter and met his gaze with a prim, shop-girl pose. ‘But we have an exquisite range of journals.’

‘Exquisite,’ he echoed dryly.

‘Incredibly so,’ she emphasised, refusing to acknowledge his soft sarcasm.

‘What is it about girls and diaries?’ He reached out and traced the smooth leather cover with his finger. ‘Do you pour out your soul into one of these every night?’

‘What if I do?’ She lifted her chin in that irresistibly defiant gesture.

‘Would it make for fascinating reading?’ He was appallingly curious now. For the first time intrigued enough to want to know all a woman’s thoughts, all her wishes, every last secret and deepest desire.

‘Sadly, no. I only keep lists in mine.’ She reached across the counter and flipped an open book around to show him. ‘See?’

‘This is yours?’ His pulse rate lifted.

‘I work on it in quiet moments,’ she said. ‘I have permission from my boss—it’s good to see our products in use.’

Her defensiveness amused him. Was she as discomforted by him as much as he was by her? He leaned closer to read the scrawled list.

‘I forget things,’ she added nervously. ‘I’m naturally disorganised, so I work hard to get it together and nail my job. Lists are the only thing that work for me.’ She tried to pull the journal back but he planted his hand down to keep it there. His fingers brushed against her for the second time that day. Skin touched skin. She stilled, as did he.

A millisecond later she snatched her hand back. But he knew she’d felt that current of electricity flow between them.

He turned the pages of her journal, refusing to feel any remorse—she was the one who’d offered it for his viewing. But to his disappointment there were no deepest desires on show inside. Only ruthless organisation, as she’d said.

‘Everything in your life is dictated by a list?’ There were reminders, shopping lists, ticked-off tasks, pros and cons for other things… ‘It’s a lot of lists.’ He flicked through more pages, wishing there were something far more personal in it. ‘And in a rainbow of colours.’

‘It doesn’t need to be boring. Right? But I’m no artist, so I just choose a different colour for each…’

‘I have a planner,’ he offered idly. ‘But it’s online.’

‘Online?’ She shuddered theatrically. ‘I couldn’t get all these lists on the one screen. And what if it got deleted?’

‘What if you lost your journal?’ he countered with the obvious. ‘What if someone you don’t want to read it gets hold of it?’

Her impish grin darted back. ‘That’s why there are only lists and reminders.’

‘So, nothing too personal or incriminating?’ He sighed with genuine disappointment. ‘You’re not a risk-taker, then.’

Her eyes widened.

‘You won’t run the risk of someone discovering your secrets,’ he explained.

‘Perhaps I don’t have any,’ she muttered.

‘Everyone has secrets.’ And desires.

Silent, she just gazed back at him.

‘And I’ll bet you’re not really going clubbing,’ he added quietly.

This time her smile was more sheepish than impish, and she shook her head.

‘Have you had dinner?’ He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘I don’t think you’ve had time if you came straight from your shift at Cavendish. You must be hungry.’

He saw her hesitate and spoke again before she could deny it. ‘Have dinner with me.’

‘No thanks,’ she instantly answered.

‘Am I that awful?’ he shot back, unafraid to challenge her directly. He knew what he wanted. He knew what she wanted too. He was just more honest about it.

She stared at him for a moment, shocked. ‘No, I—’

‘Well, don’t let me down so roughly. It’s only dinner.’

Roughly? Ettie narrowed her eyes on him. He was pulling her leg, right? Behind that serious facade there was some humour. ‘It’s not a wise idea. You’re my boss.’

‘It’s not a date, just dinner. If it makes you feel better, you can tell me about life on the concierge desk. I need to know how the whole operation works. There’ll be no repercussions for complete honesty.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I’m not really your boss.’

Yeah, right. ‘You own the building I work in.’

‘But a management company employs the staff.’

‘Do you own the management company?’ She wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

‘They’re contracted… I don’t own them.’

‘So that makes it okay?’ Her heart was pounding unnaturally fast.

‘I think it creates a technicality we can take advantage of.’ He looked right at her. Those amber flecks in his eyes lit up with every word. ‘And you like breaking the stupid rules, right? This is a stupid one. Besides, I’m only living in the penthouse while I get my head around the building. Then I’ll lease it to a client and move to my next investment, so you won’t see me much.’

His message couldn’t be clearer. He was saying he’d stay out of her way. That his presence was temporary. That this was just dinner. Just one night.

But Ettie needed a moment.

‘You don’t ever want to stay in one of your buildings?’ She was intrigued by his transitory lifestyle.

‘I like projects. I like the excitement and unique challenge of each one, and once I’ve overcome that challenge it’s time to move on to another.’

She suspected he wasn’t just talking building acquisition. It was lovers as well. ‘You get bored easily?’

A speculative gleam heated his eyes even more. Yeah, he was talking on more than one level. But he answered with that customary seriousness. ‘I like to keep busy. I like having problems to grapple with.’

‘You don’t ever want to just blob out on the beach?’

He cocked his head and considered it briefly. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever done.’

‘Seriously?’ She frowned. ‘Not ever?’ Didn’t his parents own all those hotels in Greece? Wasn’t that the ultimate holiday destination? ‘You never have holidays?’

‘Do you?’ he countered.

‘I don’t have much choice.’ She grimaced. ‘I work hard but I don’t have the same financial rewards, and I have obligations…’ Which she didn’t want to go into with him right now. ‘What’s the point in all your success if you don’t stop and celebrate it every so often?’

‘The point is the success itself,’ he answered.

‘You don’t get tired?’ She was flummoxed. If she could take a break somewhere warm and beautiful, she’d be there in a heartbeat.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured. ‘I know how to relax.’

Yeah, she bet he did. She sent him a reproachful glare and he suddenly laughed. Ettie gaped, stunned at his instant transformation from unsmiling autocrat to hot, buttered hunk. She dragged oxygen into her tight lungs. It wasn’t right that a man should be so gorgeous.

‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘Well, not entirely.’

‘How do you know what I’m thinking?’

‘It’s written all over your face.’

Hopefully not everything she was thinking. And hopefully it wasn’t obvious how her innards were positively melting. ‘So you don’t do this often? Pick up women and take them to dinner?’

‘No, not often, actually. Does that surprise you?’ His expression returned to serious as he studied her. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘You’ve been seen with other women,’ she said.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘When?’

‘Last night, apparently.’ She tried to play it cool but she was already regretting bringing it up. ‘A woman leaving your apartment.’

He’d probably been celebrating his first night in Cavendish House.

Now Leon studied her for another long moment. She knew he was thinking. She just wished she knew what.

‘You were talking about me.’ His lips curved ever so slightly. ‘You were curious.’

Before she had the chance to deny it, or to apologise, or to melt in a swelter of embarrassment, he continued softly.

‘Was she seen in my company?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think so. The woman who left my apartment late last night had arrived only minutes earlier. She’s an acquaintance who’d heard I’d moved in. She came to see me as a surprise but it wasn’t something I wished to pursue.’

‘You don’t like surprises like that?’

What red-blooded man wouldn’t want to be surprised by some model-type turning up at midnight with a booty call on her mind?

‘I already told you,’ he replied. ‘I like challenges.’

Surely he didn’t see her as a challenge?

But she was pleased somehow, that he didn’t dally with anyone and everyone who offered.

Leon picked up her journal from the counter and opened it again to look at the long columns of her lists. ‘You could write a list about whether or not to have dinner with me.’ He shook his head and snapped her book shut. ‘Or you could just trust your instincts.’

Ettie regarded him warily. Her very basic instincts were hell-bent on leading her into trouble and her instincts had let her down before. Leon Kariakis was pure temptation and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, she was determined to remain in control of herself.

But this was a dare and he didn’t scare her.

‘All right, then,’ she decided with spirit. ‘Only to tell you all about the Cavendish.’

‘Wonderful.’

He waited while she closed up the shop and set the security alarm. She grabbed her coat, but despite the chill in the air she didn’t put it on. The thing was ancient and the zip was broken and she didn’t want him seeing how worn it was.

‘What do you usually have for dinner?’ he asked as they walked along the crowded footpath.

Usually on the nights she’d worked late she grabbed a chocolate bar from the tube station on the way home or didn’t bother. Tonight had been going to be a not-bother night. But she wasn’t about to admit that. ‘I might cook a quick stir-fry.’

‘But if you were to dine out?’

She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. Truth? She never dined out.

He sent her a sideways look. ‘I know a good place.’

‘I thought you were new to the area and didn’t know any of the cool places.’ She couldn’t help smiling.

‘I asked one of the concierges at my apartment building,’ he replied smoothly. ‘They offer a superb service.’

She rolled her eyes and kept pace with him along the busy footpath. A couple of corners later he paused outside a beautiful brick mansion.

She shook her head at him. ‘No chance. You have to have a booking.’

He shrugged as if he wasn’t fazed. ‘We won’t take up much space.’

It was a celebrity chef’s place—the kind you had to make a reservation for six months in advance, which was actually a good thing, as it then gave you the time to save the small fortune you needed just to enjoy an appetiser, let alone sample the full menu. Ettie made bookings all the time on behalf of her Cavendish residents.

But Leon simply walked up to the door, which the discreet security guard immediately opened. The maître d’ swept towards them, his wide gaze fixed firmly on Leon and his smile welcoming and wide. Leon didn’t even need to utter a word.

‘May I have five minutes, sir, if you’d like a drink first?’

‘Thank you,’ Leon answered with the ease of one born to privilege. ‘Champagne?’ He turned to Ettie.

‘Lemonade,’ she replied firmly and caught a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

‘Definitely not a risk-taker,’ he murmured.

‘Fine, then,’ she breathed. ‘Champagne.’

One glass wouldn’t do any harm.

They’d barely been given their drinks when the maître d’ reappeared to lead them through the busy dining room. Ettie tried not to stare. Several faces were familiar to her but not through personal acquaintance. These were publicly led lives—an actress, a politician. Possibly a minor royal? They stopped at a secluded table in an alcove near the rear of the restaurant. It was quieter than the main dining room, more intimate and far more private.

‘You like it?’ Leon asked as she took her seat.

‘You know the owner?’ She hazarded a guess as she tried not to stare at the gleaming lighting and sumptuous décor, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. The place was amazing. ‘This is really kind of you.’

‘No, I’m not really kind,’ he corrected bluntly. ‘This is pure self-interest. I get a pretty companion for dinner to take my mind off my misery.’

‘Misery?’ She quirked an eyebrow while battling the warmth she felt at his compliment. He didn’t really mean it. He was just adding ‘charming’ to his repertoire, which was very unfair of him. ‘Because your life’s so terrible?’ Curious, she watched him keenly for his answer.

But he turned the conversation back on her. ‘Was it really going to be a stir-fry?’

‘No,’ she admitted with a chuckle. ‘I hate cooking. Generally I exist on grilled cheese sandwiches.’

‘There’s a place in the world for a good grilled cheese sandwich.’ He nodded. ‘But not here.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’

‘I suggest we leave it to the experts.’ He nodded at the maître d’, who, with a slight bow, left for the kitchen. ‘So, why are you working such intense hours?’ Leon sipped his champagne. ‘Do we not pay you enough to live on?’

She too took a sip and savoured the fizz of bubbles before replying. ‘I’m saving.’

‘For travel? A house?’

She laughed and shook her head. Was she really here to entertain him and take his mind off whatever torments he thought he had? ‘I’ve a younger sister who aspires to go to university.’

‘It’s just the two of you?’

She nodded and took another sip.

‘How old is she?’ His gaze narrowed.

‘Seventeen. She’s away at boarding school up north.’

‘You support her financially?’

‘She’s on a partial scholarship.’

‘And you pay the rest?’ His mouth tightened. ‘But you’re not that far out of school yourself.’

‘I’m twenty-three, so a few years out. It’s her last year, so it really counts.’

‘And she’s obviously talented.’

‘Top of her school.’ Ettie beamed with unashamed pride. ‘She’s amazing. She wants to study medicine. So.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘A lot of study.’ And a lot of tuition and living fees. But Ophelia was worth it and she’d do anything to see her achieve her dreams.

‘What happened to your parents?’

‘Twenty questions, huh?’ She sent him a look but answered anyway. ‘My father was never around. My mother passed away a couple of years ago.’

‘That must have been hard.’

It had been but she didn’t want to dwell on her mother’s slow decline with cancer. Not tonight. Not here. She smiled softly. ‘We’ve survived.’

She didn’t tell him about the huge mistake that she’d made not long after her mother’s death either. The total car crash that had been her love life.

‘What’s your sister’s name?’

‘Ophelia.’

‘Antoinette and Ophelia,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’re “Ettie”?’

‘Yes, fingers crossed neither of us suffers the delusions or disappointment of our namesakes.’ She sat back as the waiter appeared and placed dishes on the table. ‘My mother was a romantic.’ Not that she’d had any kind of romantic luck. Like mother, like daughter. ‘This looks amazing.’

She was pleased to have the interruption to the topic. And she realised she was absolutely starving.

He waited for her to take a bite, amusement softening his innate seriousness. ‘What do you think? Better than a grilled cheese sandwich?’

Ettie couldn’t answer, she was too busy salivating. But she finally swallowed her mouthful. ‘I’ve never eaten anything like it. It’s to die for.’

And that was all she could say, because she needed more this instant. He probably thought she was an idiot, but right this second she didn’t care. This was one of those rare experiences in life that had to be luxuriated in.

‘Here, try this.’ He pushed another plate towards her.

Ettie tasted what was, frankly, the food of the gods. Conversation turned to flavours and textures. Leon was animated, knowledgeable and entertaining as they debated which dish was the most delicious.

‘Do you have room for dessert?’ he teased her almost an hour later as she sat back with a satisfied sigh.

‘I should say no, because I’m not remotely hungry now…’ She trailed off.

When was she ever going to be in a restaurant like this again? With a man like this? It was a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy night and she didn’t want it to end.

‘What if we share?’ He offered her pure temptation.

She flashed a huge grin at him. ‘I get to pick, right?’ she said impulsively. ‘Because you can come here any time.’

He laughed a little beneath his breath. ‘Sure.’

‘Or maybe you should pick.’ She suddenly backpedalled, remembering the guy was all but her boss. ‘You probably know what’s good…’

There was a quizzical light in his eye and his eyebrows twitched. ‘I’m sure they’re all good.’ He turned and said something softly to the waiter who’d magically appeared with his impeccable service-required senses on full alert.

Ettie narrowed her gaze on Leon. ‘You did not just order every dessert on the menu.’

‘You don’t have to eat them all, just taste.’

Her jaw dropped at the decadence of the suggestion and she shook her head. ‘That’s wasteful.’

‘Then we can take the rest home for later,’ he said softly.

Ettie stilled, swamped with heat at the suggestion of intimacy that throwaway comment inferred. Was he assuming she’d go home with him tonight?

Images burned in her brain—of her licking a decadent chocolate dessert while in bed with him. Even better, licking said chocolate dessert off him.

‘Ettie?’ He was watching her closely as if he could read her mind. ‘You can take them home and have them for breakfast,’ he clarified in a slightly husky voice.

The less than subtle undercurrents between them were unbearably strong and gaining power with every passing second. She licked her suddenly dry lips and decided it was his turn to answer twenty questions. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

He hesitated and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

But his mouth twisted. ‘I’m an only child. Spoilt little rich boy.’ His tone was mocking, but the edge of bitterness ran deeper than a mere joke.

‘But you built your own business, right?’ She knew his parents had that Greek hotel empire, but he’d gone into finance on his own. That was according to the official bio in his ‘most eligible bachelor’ blurb in the magazine Jess the housemaid had been flashing around this afternoon at work.

He shook his head. ‘I had every advantage—education, health, wealthy parents. While my business success is my own, I can’t rightly claim to have done it all by myself when I came from that starting point. Most people don’t get that privilege to begin with.’

‘But you made the most of your opportunities.’

Of course those schools, those contacts—sure they helped. But in the end, he had to do the work himself. And there were plenty of heirs to vast fortunes who’d frittered their lives away.

A lick of something indefinable flickered in his eyes. ‘I like to extract every possible success from every possible scenario. Yes.’

Again that undercurrent swept over her like a blanket of wild dizziness—sensuality of a kind she’d never encountered or imagined. Sexual tension so intense…but it was also teasing, almost fun. Which was surprising, given he was so very serious…and she so very inept at banter.

Two waiters appeared and set six dishes on the table. Six decadent desserts that were miniature works of culinary art.

‘They’re only small portions,’ she said softly, as if that made it better. ‘I imagine they’re rich.’

‘Why don’t you take a bite and find out?’ That tone was back—dry on the surface, but wicked beneath—daring her to take the risk, to take a bite of something so far out of her league. To taste something miles away from her realm of experience.

She picked up the silver fork and forced herself to focus on the glorious-looking food, rather than the man across the table mesmerising her. She took a moment to mentally debate which she should taste first—it was a three-way contest between the chocolate nirvana, the caramel or the raspberry heaven. In the end the chocolate won.

Ettie closed her eyes as she sucked the rich mousse from the spoon.

‘Good?’

It was impossible to answer him—the deliciousness too much to express. It was like all the good things in the world had been put together in the one flavour bomb and it had just burst on her tongue.