Читать книгу Sold to the Enemy - Sarah Morgan - Страница 6

‘NO ONE will lend you money, Selene. They are all too afraid of your father.’

‘Not all.’ Selene sat down on the bed and stroked her mother’s hair—hair tended regularly by hairdressers in order to keep up the appearance of a perfect life. ‘Stop worrying. I’m going to get you away from here.’

Her mother lay still. She said ‘from here’ but they both knew that what she really meant was ‘from him’.

‘I should be the one saying that to you. I should have left years ago. When I first met your father he was so charming. Every woman in the room wanted him and he only had eyes for me. Have you any idea how that feels?’

Selene opened her mouth to say How could I, when I’ve been trapped on this island for most of my life? but realised that would only hurt her mother more. ‘I can imagine it must have been very exciting. He was rich and powerful.’ She wouldn’t make that mistake. She would never let love blind her to the true nature of the man underneath.

‘It’s stupid to talk of leaving when we both know he’ll never let us go. As far as the world is concerned we’re the perfect family. He isn’t going to let anything ruin that image.’ Her mother rolled away, turning her face to the wall.

Selene felt a rush of frustration. It was like watching someone adrift on a raft, making no effort to save themselves. ‘We’re not going to ask him. It’s our decision. Ours. Maybe it’s time we told the world this “family” is a lie.’

Her mother’s lack of response didn’t surprise her. Her father had dictated to them and controlled them for so long she’d forgotten she even had a choice.

Despite the oppressive summer heat and the fact that their fortress home had no air-conditioning, a chill spread across her skin and ran deep into her bones.

How many years did it take, she wondered, before you no longer believed your life was worth fighting for? How many years before hope turned to helplessness, before anger became acceptance and spirit was beaten to a stupor? How many years until she, too, chose to lie on her side facing the wall rather than stand up and face the day?

Beyond the closed shutters that blotted out the only window in the tiny bedroom the sun beamed its approval from a perfect blue sky onto the sparkling Mediterranean, its brightness a cruel contrast to the darkness inside the room.

To many, the Greek Islands were paradise. Perhaps some of them were. Selene didn’t know. She only knew this one, and Antaxos was no paradise. Cut off from its neighbours by a stretch of dangerous sea, rocks that threatened ships like the jaws of a monster and by the fearsome reputation of the man who owned it, this island was closer to hell than heaven.

Selene tucked the covers around her mother’s thin shoulders. ‘Leave everything to me.’

That statement injected her mother with an energy that nothing else could. ‘Don’t make him angry.’

She’d heard those words more often than she could count.

She’d spent her life tiptoeing around ‘angry’.

‘You don’t have to live like this, watching everything you say and everything you do because of him.’ Looking at her mother, Selene felt sad. Once, she’d been a beauty and it had been that blonde, Nordic beauty that had attracted the attention of the rich playboy Stavros Antaxos. Her mother had been dazzled by wealth and power and she’d melted under his charm like candle wax under a hot flame, never seeing the person beneath the smooth sophistication.

One bad choice, Selene thought. Her mother had made one bad choice and then spent years living with it, her heart and spirit crushed by a life spent with a ruthless man.

‘Let’s not talk about him. I had an e-mail this week from Hot Spa in Athens.’ She’d been nursing the news for days, not daring to share it before now. ‘Remember I told you about them? It’s a really upmarket chain. And they have spa hotels on Crete, Corfu and Santorini. I sent them samples of my candles and my soap and they love them. They used them in their treatment rooms and three of their top clients insisted on taking them home and paid a fortune for the privilege. Now they want to talk to me and put in a large order. It’s the break I’ve been hoping for.’ She was buzzing inside and longing to share the excitement so it came as a blow when her mother’s only response was to shake her head.

‘He’ll never let you do it.’

‘I don’t need his permission to live my life the way I want to live it.’

‘And how are you going to live it? You need money to set up your business and he won’t give you money that enables us to leave him.’

‘I know. Which is why I don’t intend to ask him. I have another plan.’ She’d learned not to speak without first checking to see who might be listening and instinctively she turned her head to see that the door was closed, even though this was her mother’s bedroom and she’d secured the door herself. Even though he wasn’t even on the island. ‘I’m leaving tonight and I’m telling you this because I won’t be able to contact you for a few days and I don’t want you to worry about me. As far as everyone is concerned I am at the convent for my usual week of retreat and meditation.’

‘How can you leave? Even if you could slip past his security and make it off the island you will be recognised. Someone will call him and he will be furious. You know how obsessed he is about maintaining the image of the perfect family.’

‘One of the advantages of being the shy, reclusive daughter of a man feared by everyone is that no one is expecting to see me. But just to cover all eventualities I have a disguise.’ And she didn’t intend to share the details with anyone. Not even her mother, who was now looking at her with panic in her eyes.

‘And if you do manage to make it as far as the mainland, what then? Have you thought that far?’

‘Yes, I’ve thought that far.’ And further, much further, to a future that was nothing like the past. ‘You don’t need to know any of this. All you need to do is trust me and wait for me to return and fetch you. I’d take you now only two of us travelling together are more likely to attract attention. You have to stay here and keep up the perfect family pretence for just a little longer. Once I have the money and somewhere to stay I’m coming back for you.’

Her mother gripped her arm tightly. ‘If by any chance you manage to do this, you should not come back. It’s too late for me.’

‘It drives me mad when you say things like that.’ Selene hugged her mother. ‘I will come back. And then we’re leaving together and he can find someone else to control.’

‘I wish I had money to give you.’

So did she. If her mother had maintained her independence then perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess now, but her father’s first and cleverest move following his marriage had been to ensure his wife had no income of her own, thus making her dependent on him in every way. Her mother had confessed that at first she’d found it romantic to have a man who wanted to care for her. It had been later, much later, that she’d realised that he hadn’t wanted to care for her. He’d wanted to control her. And so her mother’s independence had slowly leeched away, stolen not by a swift kill but by a slow, cruel erosion of her confidence.

‘I have enough to get me to Athens. Then I’m going to get a loan to start my business.’ It was the only option open to her and she knew other people did it all the time. They borrowed money and they paid it back and she would pay it back, too. All of it.

‘He has contacts at all the banks. None of them will loan you money, Selene.’

‘I know. Which is why I’m not going to a bank.’

Her mother shook her head. ‘Name one person who would be prepared to do business with you. Show me a man with the guts to stand up to your father and I’ll show you a man who doesn’t exist.’

‘He exists.’ Her heart pumped hard against her chest and she forced herself to breathe slowly. ‘There is one man who isn’t afraid of anyone or anything. A strong man.’

‘Who?’

Selene kept her voice casual. ‘I’m going to see Stefanos Ziakas.’

The name alone drained the colour from her mother’s face. ‘Ziakas is another version of your father. He’s a ruthless, self-seeking playboy with no conscience and not one shred of gentleness in him. Don’t be fooled by that handsome face and that charismatic smile. He’s deadly.’

‘No, he isn’t. I met him once, years ago, on the yacht on one of the occasions we were forced to play “happy families” in public. He was kind to me.’ Selene was annoyed to feel herself blushing.

‘If he was kind, it was because he knew it would annoy your father. They hate each other.’

‘He didn’t know who I was when we started talking.’

‘You were the only seventeen-year-old there. It was obvious who you were.’ Her mother sounded weary. ‘Ask yourself why a sophisticated man like him would spend his time talking to you when he came with the actress Anouk Blaire.’

‘He told me she was boring. He said she only cared about how she looked and who wrote about her and that being with him enhanced her career. He said I was much more interesting. We talked all night.’ About everything. She’d told him things she’d never told anyone before. Not about her family, of course—she was too well trained to let that particular truth slip—but she’d talked about her dreams and her hopes for the future and been grateful when he hadn’t laughed. He’d listened with those sexy eyes fixed on her and when she’d asked him if he thought she might be able to run a business one day he’d spoken words she’d never forgotten.

You can do anything if you want it enough.

Well, she wanted it.

Her mother sighed. ‘The schoolgirl and the billionaire. And because of this one conversation you think he’ll help you?’

Come back in five years, Selene Antaxos, then maybe we’ll talk.

She’d wanted to do a whole lot more than talk and she suspected he’d known that, just as she suspected he’d guessed the truth about the fabricated life she led. She’d felt more of a connection with him than she had with any other human being. For the first time in her life someone had listened to her and his words had stayed with her, day and night. When life had grown hard it had been a comfort to remember that she had someone to go to if things were desperate.

And things were desperate.

‘He’ll help me.’

‘That man is more likely to hurt you than help you. You have no experience of men like him. I would not put you with a man like Ziakas. I would find you someone kind and gentle who deserves you.’

‘I don’t want him to be kind or gentle. I need him to be ruthless or this isn’t going to work. If he doesn’t have the guts to stand up to my father then there is no hope for my plan. I want to run my own business and Ziakas knows more about how to do that than anyone. He did it all himself. He lost his parents when he was young. No one helped him. No one gave him a helping hand. And look at him now. He was a billionaire by the time he was thirty and he did that by himself.’

She found his story inspirational. If he could do it, why couldn’t she?

Her mother struggled upright, finding energy from anxiety. ‘Do you honestly think you’ll just be able to walk up to a man like Stefan Ziakas and ask him for money? He is protected from the outside world by layers of security, just like your father. Getting an appointment with someone like him would be almost impossible, especially at short notice. Even if you could somehow find a way to leave the island undetected while your father is away, Ziakas won’t see you.’

‘He’ll see me. And I have found a way to leave the island.’ Determined not to reveal too much, and even more determined not to let her mother batter her confidence, Selene stood up. ‘I will be back tomorrow, which gives us plenty of time to get far away before my father returns from—from his trip.’ ‘Trip’ was the word they both used to describe her father’s frequent absences from the island. It disgusted Selene that he didn’t even bother to keep his infidelities a secret. Disgusted her more that her mother accepted them as part of the marriage deal.

She couldn’t allow herself to think about what she’d do if her mother refused to leave, as she’d refused so many times before. All she knew was that she didn’t want to spend anther day on Antaxos. She’d lived here all her life, trapped within its rocky shores, thirsty for a life other than the one she’d been given. She didn’t want to spend another day in this ‘family’ pretending that everything was perfect.

The events of the last week had shown her that she had to do it sooner rather than later.

Bending down, she kissed her mother on the cheek. ‘Dream about what you’re going to do on the first day of your new life. You’re going to laugh without worrying that the sound is going to draw his attention. You’re going to paint again and people will buy those paintings, just as they used to.’

‘I haven’t painted for years. I don’t feel the urge any more.’

‘That’s because he didn’t like you doing anything that took you away from him.’ The anger was like an energy source, giving her a determination that felt close to power. ‘You’re going to get your life back.’

‘And if your father returns from Crete early and finds you gone? Have you thought of that?’

It was like stepping off a cliff or missing a step on the stairs. Her heart bumped uncomfortably and she wanted to clutch something for support. ‘He won’t return early. Why would he?’

Bored out of his mind, Stefan lounged with his feet on his desk.

Far beneath the glass cocoon that housed his corporate headquarters, Athens was slowly waking up. Athens, a city in trouble, licking its wounds as the world watched in wary fascination. People encouraged him to move his base to a different city. New York. London. Anywhere other than the troubled Greek capital.

Stefan ignored them.

He had no intention of abandoning the place that had allowed him to become who he was. He knew what it was like to have everything and then lose it. He knew how it felt to go from prosperity to poverty. He understood fear and uncertainty. And he knew all about the effort required to drag yourself back from the edge. It made winning all the more satisfying and he’d won in a big way. He had money and power.

People would have been surprised to learn the money didn’t interest him. But power? Power was different. He’d learned at an early age that power was everything. Power opened doors that were closed. Power turned no to yes and stop to go. He’d learned that power was an aphrodisiac and, when it needed to be, it was a weapon.

It was a weapon he wasn’t afraid to use.

His phone rang for the tenth time in as many minutes but he chose to ignore it.

A tap on the door disturbed his thoughts. Maria, his PA, stood in the doorway.

Irritated by the interruption, Stefan lifted an eyebrow in question and she pursed her lips.

‘Don’t give me that look. I know you don’t want to be disturbed, but you’re not answering your personal line.’ When he still didn’t answer, she sighed. ‘Sonya’s PA has been ringing and when you didn’t answer Sonya herself called. She isn’t in a good mood.’

‘She is phoning to give me an update on her moods? I have marginally more interest in the weather forecast.’

‘She wanted me to give you a message. She said to tell you she’s not playing hostess at your party tonight until you make a decision about your relationship. Her exact words were …’ Maria cleared her throat. ‘“Tell him it’s either on or off.”’

‘It’s off. I already told her that in words that even she should have been able to understand.’ Exasperated, Stefan picked up his phone and deleted all his messages without listening to them. Even without looking he could feel Maria’s censorship and he smiled. ‘You’ve worked for me for twelve years. Why the long face?’

‘Doesn’t the end of a relationship ever bother you?’

‘Never.’

‘That says something about you, Stefan.’

‘Yes. It says I’m good at handling break-ups. Go, me.’

‘It says you don’t care about the women you date!’

‘I care as much as they do.’

With a despairing shake of her head, Maria cleared two empty coffee cups from his desk. ‘You have your pick of women and you can’t find one you want to settle down with? You are a success in every aspect of your life except one. Your personal life is a disaster.’

‘I happen to consider my personal life an unqualified success.’

‘You must want more than this from a relationship.’

‘I want hot, frequent, uncomplicated sex.’ He smiled at her disapproving expression. ‘I pick women who want the same thing.’

‘Love would be the making of you.’

Love?

Stefan felt something slam shut inside him. He swung his legs off his desk. ‘Did your job description change when I wasn’t looking? Has there been some EU employment law that requires you to take charge of my private life?’

‘Fine. I can take the hint. It’s none of my business. I don’t know why I even bother.’ The cups rattled in her hand as she stalked through the door but she was back moments later. ‘There’s someone here to see you. Perhaps she’ll be able to persuade you to get in touch with your human side.’

‘She? I thought my first appointment wasn’t until ten o’clock?’

‘This person doesn’t have an appointment, but I didn’t feel comfortable turning her away.’

‘Why not? I employ you to be the dragon at my door.’

‘I can be dragon-like when I have to be but not when the person wanting to see you is a nun.’

‘A nun? You have to be kidding me.’

‘She says she has something urgent to discuss with you.’

Stefan gave a sardonic smile. ‘If she’s here to save my soul, tell her she’s too late.’

‘I will not. To be honest I have no idea what to say to her.’

‘Any combination of words would have sufficed, providing “no” and “get out” were included.’

Maria squared her shoulders. ‘I can’t turn a nun away. I don’t want that on my conscience.’

Stefan, who hadn’t made the acquaintance of his conscience for several decades, was exasperated. ‘I never saw you as gullible. Has it occurred to you she’s probably a stripper?’

‘I know a genuine nun’s habit when I see one. And your cynicism does you no credit.’

‘On the contrary, my cynicism has protected me nicely for years and will continue to do so—which is just as well given that you’re turning into a soft touch.’

‘I’m sorry, but there’s no way I can tell a nun you won’t see her. And she has a really sweet smile.’ Maria’s face softened momentarily and then she glared at him. ‘If you want it done, you’ll have to do it yourself.’

‘Fine. Send her in. And then take a trip to the nearest fancy dress store and see for yourself how easy it is to hire a nun’s costume.’

Clearly relieved to have offloaded that responsibility, Maria retreated, and Stefan felt a rush of irritation at the thought of an interruption that would bring him no benefit.

His irritation intensified at the sight of a nun in a black habit standing in the doorway to his office. Under the robes he could see that she was slightly built but she kept her head bowed, allowing him a single glimpse of a pale face under flowing black and white.

Unmoved by her pious attitude, Stefan leaned back in his chair and scrutinised his unwanted visitor. ‘If you’re expecting me to confess my sins then I should probably tell you that my next appointment is in an hour and that is nowhere near long enough for me to tell you all the bad things I’ve done in my life. On the other hand if you’re about to beg for cash then you should know that all my charitable donations are handled through my lawyers, via a separate part of my company. I just make the money. I leave other people to spend it.’

The tone he used would have had most people backing towards the door but she simply closed it so that they were alone.

‘There is no need to close the door,’ he said coldly, ‘because you’re going to be going back through it in approximately five seconds. I have no idea what you’re expecting to gain by …’ The words died in his throat as the nun removed her hood and hair the colour of a pale moonbeam tumbled in shiny waves over her black habit.

‘I’m not a nun, Mr Ziakas.’ Her voice was soft, breathy and perfect for the bedroom, a thought that clashed uncomfortably with the vision of her in a nun’s outfit.

‘Of course you’re not,’ Stefan drawled, his eyes fixed on her glorious hair, ‘but you managed to convince my hardened PA so I suppose you should get points for that.’ Suddenly he was annoyed with Maria for allowing herself to be so easily manipulated. ‘I’m used to women using all sorts of devices in order to meet me, but I’ve never yet had one stoop so low as to impersonate a nun. It smacks of desperate behaviour.’

‘I’m not impersonating anyone. But it was essential that I keep a low profile.’

‘I hate to break this to you, but in the business district of Athens a nun’s habit is not considered camouflage. You stand out like a penguin in the Sahara. If you want to blend, next time dress in a suit.’

‘I couldn’t risk being recognised.’ Her eyes flickered to the huge glass windows of his office and after a moment she sidled across and peered down at the city while he watched in mounting exasperation.

Who would recognise her? Who was she? Someone’s wife?

There was something vaguely familiar about her face. His mind coming up blank, he tried to imagine her without her clothes to see if he could place her, but mentally stripping a nun proved a stretch even for him. ‘I don’t sleep with married women so that can’t be the reason for the elaborate subterfuge. Do we know each other? If so, you’re going to have to remind me.’ He raised an eyebrow as a prompt. ‘Where? When? I admit to being hopeless with names.’

She dragged her gaze from the view, those green eyes direct. ‘When and where what?’

Stefan, who hated mysteries and considered tact a quality devoid of reward, was blunt. ‘Where and when did we have sex? I’m sure it was amazing but you’re going to have to remind me of the details.’

She made a sound in her throat. ‘I haven’t had sex with you!’

‘Are you sure?’

Green eyes stared back at him. ‘If rumour is correct, Mr Ziakas, sex with you is a memorable experience. Is it something I’m likely to have forgotten?’

More intrigued than he would have been willing to admit, Stefan sat back in his chair. ‘You clearly know a great deal more about me than I do about you. Which brings me to the obvious question—what are you doing here?’

‘You told me to come and see you in five years. Five years is up. It was up last week, actually. You were kind to me. The only person who was.’

There was a wistful note in her voice that sparked all the alarm bells in his head. Trained to detect vulnerability from a hundred paces so that he could give it a wide berth, Stefan cooled his voice.

‘Then this is clearly a case of mistaken identity because I’m never kind to women. I work really hard not to be or they start to expect it and the next thing you know they’re dropping hints about rings, wedding planners and a house in the country. Not my style.’

She smiled at that. ‘You were definitely kind to me. Without you I think I would have thrown myself overboard at that party. You talked to me for the whole night. You gave me hope.’

Stefan, all too aware that he was widely regarded as the executioner of women’s hopes, raised his eyebrows. He stared at that glorious hair and filed through his memory bank. ‘Definitely a case of mistaken identity. If I’d met you, we definitely wouldn’t have wasted a night talking. I would have taken you to bed.’

‘You told me to come back in five years.’

That news caught his attention and Stefan narrowed his eyes. ‘I’m impressed by my own restraint.’

‘My father would have killed you.’

My father would have killed you.

Stefan stared at her, his eyes sweeping her face for clues, and suddenly he stilled. Those beautiful washed-green eyes were a rare colour he’d only seen once before, hidden behind a pair of unflattering glasses. ‘Selene? Selene Antaxos.’

‘You do recognise me.’

‘Barely. Theé mou—’ His eyes swept her frame. ‘You’ve—grown.’ He remembered her as a gangly blonde who still had to grow into her lean body. An awkward teenager completely dominated by her overprotective father. A pampered princess never allowed out of her heavily guarded palace.

Stay away from my daughter, Ziakas.

It was the unspoken threat that had made him determined to talk to her.

Just thinking of the name Antaxos was enough to ruin his day and now here was the daughter, standing in his office.

Dark emotion rippled through him, unwelcome and unwanted.

He reminded himself that the daughter wasn’t responsible for the sins of the father.

‘Why are you dressed as a nun?’

‘I had to sneak past my father’s security.’

‘I can’t imagine that was easy. Of course if your father didn’t make so many enemies he wouldn’t need an entire army to protect him.’ Blocking the feelings that rose inside him, he stood up and strolled round his desk. ‘What are you doing here?’

The one thing he did remember from that night was feeling sorry for her and the reason he remembered it was because he so rarely felt sorry for anyone. He believed that people made their own choices in life, but he’d taken one look at her in all her leggy, uncomfortable misery and decided that being the daughter of Stavros Antaxos must be the shortest straw anyone could ever draw.

‘I’ll get to that in a minute.’ She bent down and caught hold of the hem of her habit. ‘Do you mind if I take this off? It’s really hot.’

‘Where did you get it? The local dressing-up shop?’

‘I was educated by the nuns on Poulos, the island next to ours, and they’ve always been very supportive. They lent it to me but there’s no point in keeping it on now I’m safe with you.’

Knowing that most women considered him anything but ‘safe’, Stefan watched in stunned disbelief as she wriggled and struggled until finally she freed herself and emerged with her hair in tangled disarray. Underneath she was wearing a white silk shirt teamed with a smart black pencil skirt that hugged legs designed to turn a man’s mind to pulp.

‘I almost boiled to death on the ferry. You have no idea. That’s why I couldn’t wear the jacket.’

‘Jacket?’

‘The jacket from my suit. It’s designed to be worn in an air-conditioned office, not a floating tin can which is how the ferry feels.’

Stefan wrenched his gaze from those bare legs, feeling as if he’d been hit round the head with a brick. Staring into those green eyes, he looked for some sign of the awkward teenage girl he’d met years before. ‘You look different.’

‘I should hope so. I hope I look like a businesswoman because that’s what I am.’ She slid her arms into a jacket that matched the skirt, scooped up her hair and pinned it with brisk efficiency. ‘When you met me five years ago I had spots and braces. I was hideous.’

She wasn’t hideous now. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’

‘What do you think?’

The corner of her mouth dimpled into a naughty smile and Stefan stared at that smile, hypnotised by her lips, trying to clear his mind of wicked thoughts.

‘I think your father must be having a few sleepless nights.’ The wicked thoughts still very much in play, he tried desperately to see her as she’d been that night on the boat. Young and vulnerable. ‘I should offer you a drink. Would you like a—’ he groped for something suitable ‘—a glass of milk or something?’

She pushed some loose strands of her hair away from her face in a gesture that somehow managed to be both self-conscious and seductive. ‘I’m not six. Do you often offer your visitors milk?’

‘No, but I don’t usually entertain minors in my office.’

‘I’m not a minor. I’m all grown up.’

‘Yes. I can see that.’ Stefan loosened his collar and discovered it was already undone. He wondered if the air-conditioning in his office was failing. ‘So—why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

If she wanted him to ruin her father, they might yet find themselves with a common goal.

‘I’m here about business, of course. I have a business proposition.’

Huge eyes were fixed hopefully on his face and Stefan felt an instant pull of lust. The explosion of attraction was instant, unmistakable—and entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.

Apart from the obvious physical changes she still looked as innocent as she had that night on the boat. It would be asking for trouble. Even he wasn’t going to stoop that low.

‘I’m not known for doing favours for people.’

‘I know. And I’m not expecting a favour. I know a lot about you. I know you date different women all the time because you don’t want a relationship. I know that in business they call you all sorts of things, including ruthless and uncaring.’

‘Those are generally good traits to have in business.’

‘And you never deny any of those awful things they write about you. You’re happy to be portrayed as the big bad wolf.’

‘And yet still you’re here.’

‘I’m not afraid of you. You sat with me for seven hours and talked to me when no one else could be bothered.’ Folding the nun’s habit carefully, she leaned forward to stuff it into her bag, oblivious to the fact that the movement gave him a perfect view of the curve of her breasts above a hint of lacy bra.

Stefan made a valiant attempt to avert his eyes and failed. ‘You were sweet.’

He emphasised the word for his own benefit. If there was one thing designed to kill his libido it was ‘sweet’, so why the hell was he painfully aroused? And why was she looking at him with big trusting eyes when what he should have been seeing was an appropriate degree of caution?

Come into my house, Little Red Riding Hood, and close the door behind you.

Caution nowhere in sight, she gave him a warm smile. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing to remember it, to be honest. I was so upset I would have done anything just to make my father mad, but you refused to take advantage of me even though you hate him. You didn’t laugh at me when I told you I wanted to set up my own business and you didn’t laugh when I flirted with you. You told me to come and find you in five years, which I thought was very tactful.’

She spoke quickly, almost breathless as she got the words out, and Stefan stared at her for a long moment, all his instincts telling him that something wasn’t quite right.

Was he seeing desperation or enthusiasm?

Stefan bought himself some time. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something cold to drink?’

‘I’d love some champagne.’

‘It’s ten in the morning.’

‘I know. It’s just that I’ve never tasted it and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. According to the internet you live a champagne lifestyle.’ There was a wistful note in her tone that didn’t make sense. He’d assumed the Antaxos family bathed in champagne. They were certainly rich enough.

‘Believe it or not I try and restrict my champagne consumption until the end of my working day.’ Clenching his jaw, Stefan hit a button on his phone. ‘Maria? Bring us a jug of water, or lemonade, or—’ he racked his brains for a suitable soft drink ‘—or something soft and refreshing. With ice,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Lots of ice. And some pastries.’

‘That’s thoughtful of you. I’m starving.’

Stefan leaned against his desk, maintaining a safe distance. ‘So—you say you have a business proposition. Tell me about it and I’ll tell you if I can help.’ Those words felt alien on his tongue. When did he ever help anyone but himself? He’d learned at an early age to take care of himself and he’d been doing it ever since.

‘I want to set up my own business just like you did. That night on the yacht, you inspired me. You talked about how you’d done it all yourself and about how great it felt to be independent and not rely on anyone. I want that.’ She dug her hand into her bag again and pulled out a file. ‘This is my business plan. I’ve worked hard on it. I think you’ll be impressed.’

Stefan, who was rarely impressed by other people’s business plans, gingerly took the pink file from her outstretched hand. ‘Is there an electronic version?’

‘I didn’t want to save it on the computer in case my father found it. It’s the figures that count, not the presentation.’

So her father knew nothing about it. Perhaps that explained the hint of nerves he detected beneath all that bounce and optimism.

No doubt this was her summer project, designed to fill the long boring hours that came with being an overprotected heiress, and he was the lucky recipient of her endeavours.

Shaking off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the whole situation, Stefan flipped open the file and scanned the first page. It was surprisingly professional. ‘Candles? That’s your business idea?’

‘Not just candles. Scented candles.’ Her voice vibrated with enthusiasm. ‘I went to school in a convent. I started making candles in craft lessons and I experimented with different scents. I have three different ones.’

Candles, Stefan thought. The most boring, pointless product on planet earth.

How the hell was he going to let her down gently? He had no experience of letting people down gently. He just dropped them from a great height and stepped over their broken remains.

Clearing his throat, he cultivated what he hoped was an interested expression. ‘Why don’t you tell me a bit more about what makes them special? Top line? I don’t need detail.’ Please, God, no detail. As far as he was concerned talking about candles would be one step down from talking about the weather.

‘I’ve called one Relax, one Energise and one—’ her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink ‘—Seduction.’

Something in the way she hesitated over the word made him glance up from the file. She was trembling with anticipation, and all it took was one glance to know that his first assumption had been correct.

She was a bored heiress, playing at business.

And now she’d prompted him he could clearly remember the night they’d met.

She’d been a teenager—miserable, confused and self-conscious. An ugly duckling dumped in the middle of a flock of elite swans with a doting father who barely took his eyes off her. None of the other men had dared talk to her, none of the women had wanted to, so she’d stood alone, her awkwardness almost painful to witness.

But she was no longer that teenager. She was all woman, and she knew it.

Stavros Antaxos must be having lots of sleepless nights. And now she was looking at him with those big eyes filled with unwavering trust.

Stefan knew she couldn’t have found a man less worthy of that trust.

He wondered just how much she knew about his relationship with her father.

The atmosphere in the room shifted.

When he was sure he had his reactions under control, he closed the file slowly and looked at her. ‘So your candles are called, Relax, Energise and Seduction?’

‘That’s right.’

‘And just how much,’ he asked slowly, ‘do you know about seduction?’