Читать книгу Greek Bachelors: Bound By His Heir: Carrying the Greek's Heir / An Heir to Bind Them / The Greek's Tiny Miracle - Rebecca Winters, Dani Collins - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

‘WAS THAT YOUR boyfriend I saw you with last night?’

The question came out of nowhere and Ellie had to force herself to concentrate on what the guest was saying, instead of the frustrated thoughts which were circling like crows in her mind. Because of the recent heat wave, the restaurant had been fully booked and she’d been rushed off her feet all day. The lobster salad and summer pudding had sold out, and there had been a run on the cocktail of the month—an innocuous-tasting strawberry punch with a definite kick to it.

But now there was only one person left, a wafer-thin blonde who was lingering over her third glass of wine. Not that Ellie was counting. Well, actually, she was. She just wanted the woman to hurry up so that she could finish her shift in peace. Her head was pounding and she was exhausted—probably because she hadn’t slept a wink last night. She’d just lain on her narrow bed, staring up at the ceiling—wide-eyed and restless and thinking about what had happened. Or rather, what hadn’t happened. Telling herself that it was insane to get herself worked up about one kiss with a man who shouldn’t really have been kissing her.

He was a billionaire Greek who was way off limits. She didn’t know him, he hadn’t even taken her on a date and yet... She licked her lips, which had suddenly grown very dry. Things had got pretty hot, pretty quickly, hadn’t they? She could still recall his hands cupping her breasts and making them ache. She remembered wriggling with frustration as he pushed her up against the wall—his rock-hard groin pressing flagrantly against her. For a few seconds she’d thought he was going to try and have sex with her right there, and hadn’t part of her wanted that? It might have been insanely wrong and completely out of character—but in the darkness of the summer night, she had wanted him more badly than she’d ever wanted anyone. She’d seen a side of herself she didn’t recognise and didn’t like very much. She bit her lip. A side like her mother?

The blonde was still looking at her with the expression of a hungry bird who had just noticed a worm wriggling up through the soil. ‘So he is your boyfriend?’ she prompted.

‘No,’ said Ellie quickly. ‘He’s not.’

‘But you were kissing him.’

Nervously, Ellie’s fingers slid along the frosted surface of the wine bottle before she recovered herself enough to shove it back in the ice bucket. She glanced around, terrified that another member of staff might have overheard, because although The Hog was famously laid-back and didn’t have rules just for the sake of it—there was one which had been drummed into her on her very first day... And that was: you didn’t get intimate with the guests.

Ever.

Awkwardly, she shrugged. ‘Was I?’ she questioned weakly.

The blonde’s glacial eyes were alight with curiosity. ‘You know you were,’ she said slyly. ‘I was having a cigarette behind that big tree and I spotted you. Then I saw him walk you back to the hotel—you weren’t exactly being discreet.’

Briefly, Ellie closed her eyes as suddenly it all made sense. So that was the brief flare of light she’d seen from behind the tree trunk and the sense that somebody was watching them. She should have done the sensible thing and left then. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘Yes, oh. You do know who he is, don’t you?’

Ellie stiffened as a pair of lake-blue eyes swam into her memory and her heart missed a beat. Yes, the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. A man who made me believe all the fairy-tale stuff I never believed before. ‘Of course I do. He’s...he’s...’

‘One of the world’s richest men man who usually hangs out with supermodels and heiresses,’ said the blonde impatiently. ‘Which makes me wonder, what was he doing with you?’

Ellie drew back her shoulders. The woman’s line of questioning was battering her at a time when she was already feeling emotionally vulnerable, but surely she didn’t have to stand here and take these snide insinuations—guest or no guest. ‘I don’t really see how that’s relevant.’

‘Don’t you? But you liked him, didn’t you?’ The blonde smiled. ‘You liked him a lot.’

‘I don’t kiss men I don’t like,’ said Ellie defensively, aware of the irony of her remark, considering it was over a year since she’d kissed anyone.

The blonde sipped her wine. ‘You do realise he has a reputation? He’s known as a man of steel, with a heart to match. Actually, he’s a bit of a bastard where women are concerned. So what have you got to say to that...’ there was a pause as she leant forward to peer at Ellie’s name badge ‘...Ellie?’

Ellie’s instinct was to tell the woman that her thoughts about Alek Sarantos were strictly confidential, but the memory of his hands moving with such sweet precision over her body was still so vivid that it was hard not to blush. Suddenly it was easy to forget that at times he’d been a demanding and difficult workaholic of a guest, with an impatience he hadn’t bothered to hide.

Because now all she could think about was the way she’d responded so helplessly to him and if he hadn’t pulled away and done the decent thing, there was no saying what might have happened. Well, that wasn’t quite true. She had a very good idea what might have happened.

She chewed on her lip, remembering the chivalrous way he’d told her to go home and the way she’d practically begged him not to leave her. Why shouldn’t she defend him?

‘I think people may have him all wrong,’ she said. ‘He’s a bit of a pussycat, actually.’

‘A pussycat?’ The blonde nearly choked on her wine. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Very,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s actually very sweet—and very good company.’

‘I bet he was. He’d obviously been flirting with you all week.’

‘Not really,’ said Ellie, her cheeks growing pink again. What was it with all this blushing? ‘We’d just chatted and stuff over the week. It wasn’t until...’ Her voice trailed away.

‘Until?’

Ellie stared into the woman’s glacial eyes. It all seemed slightly unreal now. As if she’d imagined the whole thing. Like a particularly vivid dream, which started to fade the moment you woke up. ‘He asked me to join him for a drink because it was his last night here.’

‘And so you did?’

Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t think there’s a woman alive who would have turned him down,’ she said truthfully. ‘He’s...well, he’s gorgeous.’

‘I’ll concur with that. And a brilliant kisser, I bet?’ suggested the blonde softly.

Ellie remembered the way his tongue had slipped inside her mouth and how deliciously intimate that had felt. How, for a few brief moments, she’d felt as if someone had sprinkled her with stardust. It had only been a kiss, but still... ‘The best,’ she said, her voice growing husky.

The blonde didn’t answer for a moment and when eventually she did there was an ugly note in her voice. ‘And what would you say if I told you he had a girlfriend? That she was waiting for him back in London, while he was busy making out with you?’

Ellie’s initial disbelief was followed by a stab of disappointment and the dawning realisation that she’d behaved like a fool. What did she think—that someone like Alek Sarantos was free and looking to start a relationship with someone like her? Had she imagined that he was going to come sprinting across the hotel lawn to sweep her off her feet—still in her waitress uniform—just like in that old film which always used to make her blub? Hadn’t part of her hoped he hadn’t meant it when he’d said goodbye—and that he might come back and find her?

A wave of recrimination washed over her. Of course he wasn’t coming back and of course he had a girlfriend. Someone beautiful and thin and rich, probably. The sort of woman who could run for a bus without wearing a bra. Did she really imagine that she—the much too curvy Ellie Brooks—would be any kind of competition for someone like that?

And suddenly she felt not just stupid, but hurt. She tried to imagine his girlfriend’s reaction if she’d seen them together. Didn’t he care about loyalty or trampling over other people’s feelings?

‘He never said anything to me about a girlfriend.’

‘Well, he wouldn’t, would he?’ said the blonde. ‘Not in the circumstances. It’s never a good move if a man mentions his lover while making out with someone else.’

‘But nothing happened!’

‘But you would have liked it to, wouldn’t you, Ellie? From where I was standing, it looked pretty passionate.’

Ellie felt sick. She’d been a few minutes away from providing a live sex show! She wanted to walk away. To start clearing the other tables and pretend this conversation had never happened. But what if the blonde went storming into the general manager’s office to tell her what she’d seen? There would be only one route they could take and that would be to fire her for unprofessional behaviour. And she couldn’t afford to lose her job and the career opportunity of a lifetime, could she? Not for one stupid kiss.

‘If I’d had any idea that he was involved with someone else, then I would never—’

‘Do you often make out with the guests?’

‘Never,’ croaked Ellie.

‘Just him, huh?’ The blonde raised her brow. ‘Did he say why he was keeping such a low profile?’

Ellie hesitated. She remembered the way he’d smiled at her—almost wistfully—when the little boy with the cut knee had flung his arms around her neck. She remembered how ridiculously flattered she’d felt when he insisted on that drink. She’d thought they’d had a special bond—when all the time he was just using her, as if she were one of the hotel’s special offers. Angrily, her mind flitted back to what he had told her. ‘He’s been working day and night on some big new deal with the Chinese which is all top secret. And he said his staff had been nagging him for ages to take a vacation.’

‘Really?’ The blonde smiled, before dabbing at her lips with a napkin. ‘Well, well. So he’s human, after all. Stop looking so scared, Ellie—I’m not going to tell your boss, but I will give you a bit of advice. I’d stay away from men like Alek Sarantos in future, if I were you. Men like that could eat someone like you for breakfast.’

* * *

Alek sensed that something was amiss from the minute he walked into the boardroom but, try as he might, he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The deal went well—his deals always went well—although the Chinese delegation haggled his asking price rather more than he had been anticipating. But he pronounced himself pleased when the final figure was agreed, even if he saw a couple of members of the delegation smirking behind their files. Not a bad day’s work, all told. He’d bought a company for peanuts, he’d turned it around—and had now sold it on for a more than healthy profit.

It wasn’t until they all were exiting the boardroom when the redhead who’d been interpreting for them sashayed in his direction and said, ‘Hello, pussycat,’ before giving a fake growl and miming a clawing action.

Alek looked at her. He’d had a thing with her last year and had even taken her to his friend Murat’s place in Umbria. But it seemed she hadn’t believed him when he’d told her that theirs was no more than a casual fling. When the relationship had fizzled out, she’d taken it badly, as sometimes happened. The recriminatory emails had stopped and so had the phone calls, but as he met the expression in her eyes he could tell that she was still angry.

‘And just what’s that supposed to mean?’ he questioned coolly.

She winked. ‘Read the papers, tiger,’ she murmured, before adding, ‘Scraping the barrel a bit, aren’t you?’

And that wasn’t all. As he left the building he noticed one of the receptionists biting her lip, as if she was trying to repress a smile, and when he got back to his office he rang straight through to his male assistant.

‘What’s going on, Vasos?’

‘With regard to...?’ his assistant enquired cautiously.

‘With regard to me!’

‘Plenty of stuff in the papers about the deal with the Chinese.’

‘Obviously,’ Alek said impatiently. ‘Anything else?’

His assistant’s hesitation was illuminating. Did he hear Vasos actually sigh?

‘I’ll bring it in,’ he said heavily.

Alek sat as motionless as a piece of rock as Vasos placed the article down on the desk in front of him so that he could scan the offending piece. It was an innocuous enough diary article, featuring a two-year-old library photo, which publications still delighted in using—probably because it made him look particularly forbidding.

Splashed above his unsmiling face were the words: Has Alek Sarantos Struck Gold?

His hands knuckled as he read it.

One of London’s most eligible bachelors may be off the market before too long. The Midas touch billionaire, known for his love of supermodels and heiresses, was spotted in a passionate embrace with a waitress last weekend, following candlelit drinks on the terrace of his luxury New Forest hotel.

Ellie Brooks isn’t Alek’s usual type but the shapely waitress declared herself smitten by the workaholic tycoon, who told her he needed a vacation before his latest eye-wateringly big deal. Seems the Greek tycoon takes relaxation quite seriously!

And, according to Ellie, Alek doesn’t always live up to his Man Of Steel nickname. ‘He’s a pussycat,’ she purred.

Perhaps business associates should keep a saucer of milk at the ready in future...

Alek glanced up to see Vasos looking ill at ease, nervously running his finger along the inside of his shirt collar as he gave Alek an apologetic shrug.

‘I’m sorry, boss,’ he said.

‘Unless you actually wrote the piece, I see no reason for you to apologise. Did they ring here first to check the facts before they went to press?’ snapped Alek.

‘No.’ Vasos cleared his throat. ‘I’m assuming they didn’t need to.’

Alek glared. ‘Meaning?’

Vasos looked him straight in the eye. ‘They would only have printed this without verification if it were true.’

Alek crumpled the newspaper angrily before hurling it towards the bin as if it were contaminated. He watched as it bounced uselessly off the window and the fact that he had missed made him angrier still.

Yes, it was true. He had been making out with some waitress in a public place. He’d thought with his groin instead of his brain. He’d done something completely out of character and now the readers of a downmarket rag knew all about it. His famously private life wasn’t so private any more, was it?

But worst of all was the realisation that he’d taken his eye off the ball. He’d completely misjudged her. Maybe he’d been suffering from a little temporary sunstroke. Why else would he have thought there was something special about her—or credited her with softness or honesty, when in reality she was simply on the make? The reputation he’d built up, brick by careful brick, had been compromised by some ambitious little blonde with dollar signs in her eyes.

A slow rage began to smoulder inside him. A lot of good his enforced rest had done him. All those spa treatments and massages had been for nothing if his blood pressure was now shooting through the ceiling. Those solemn therapists telling him he must relax had been wasting their time. He must be more burnt out than he’d thought if he’d seriously thought about having sex with some little nobody like her.

His mood stayed dark for the remainder of the day, though it didn’t stop him driving a particularly hard bargain on his latest acquisition. He would show the world that he was most definitely not a pussycat! He spent the day tied up with conference calls and had early evening drinks with a Greek politician who wanted his advice.

Back in his penthouse, he listened moodily to the messages which had been left on his phone and thought about how to spend the evening. Any number of beautiful women could have been his and all he had to do was call. He thought of the aristocratic faces and bony bodies which were always available to him and found himself comparing them with the curvaceous body of Ellie. The one whose face had inexplicably made him feel...

What?

As if he could trust her?

What a fool he was. A hormone-crazed, stupid fool. Hadn’t he learnt his lesson a long time ago? That women were the last species on the planet who could be trusted?

He’d spent years building up a fierce but fair persona in the business world. His reputation was of someone who was tough, assertive and professional. He was known for his vision and his dependability. He despised the ‘celebrity’ culture and valued his privacy. He chose his friends and lovers carefully. He didn’t let them get too close and nobody ever gave interviews about him. Ever. Even the redhead—supposedly broken-hearted at the time—had possessed enough sense to go away and lick her wounds in private.

But Ellie Brooks had betrayed him. A waitress he’d treated as an equal and then made the mistake of kissing had given some cheap little interview to a journalist. How much had she made? His heart pounded because he hadn’t even had the pleasure of losing himself in that soft body of hers. He’d mistakenly thought she was too sweet and then she’d gone and sold him down the river. He’d behaved decently and honourably by sending her chastely on her way and look at all the thanks he’d got.

His mouth hardened in conjunction with the exquisite aching in his groin.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to do something about that.