Читать книгу One Night with a Gorgeous Greek - Люси Монро, Sarah Morgan, Люси Монро - Страница 12

POLLY woke to an insistent buzzing sound. Cracking open one eye, she was dazzled by an intense beam of light and she gave a moan and stuck her head under the pillow. ‘Turn that spotlight off.’

‘It’s the sun.’

‘Well, what’s the sun doing up at this time?’ Irritable, she stuck her head under the pillow and then howled with pain as it brushed against her wound. ‘Ow. That hurts. And that noise is—’

‘You set the alarm on your phone.’ A strong bronzed hand appeared in front of her face and he picked up her BlackBerry and silenced the noise. ‘It’s six o’clock.’

‘Nooooo. It can’t be …’ Her voice was muffled by the pillow. ‘Go away.’

‘You are welcome to turn over and go back to sleep, but you’ve slept without moving all night and I wanted to know you were alive.’

‘I’m not alive. No one is ever truly alive at this hour of the morning.’ She gave a whimper and huddled under the covers. ‘Leave me alone.’

‘You feel ill?’ His voice was tight. ‘I will call the doctor and ask him to come.’

‘I don’t need a doctor. I’m always like this in the morning whether I’ve banged my head or not. I’m not a morning person. I have to wake up slowly in my own time. What are you doing in my room anyway? I suppose you’re sitting there planning new methods to use me to flush my father out of hiding. I’m just a worm on a hook.’ All the horrors of the night before rushed down on her and Polly touched her fingers to her forehead. ‘Did you put your hook through my head?’

‘No, but that’s still on my list of possible actions.’ He sounded exasperated. ‘Just for the record, I’m in your room because I was worried about you.’

‘How long have you been there?’

‘Most of the night. I slept in the chair. I wanted to be sure you didn’t develop any of the signs the doctor mentioned.’

Carefully, so that she didn’t brush her wound again, Polly cautiously removed the pillow and looked at him. Some time during the night he’d changed out of his tuxedo, discarded his bloodstained shirt and showered. Casually dressed in black jeans and a polo shirt, he looked every bit as striking as he did in a suit.

‘You don’t look like a guy who slept in a chair.’ He looked sickeningly energetic, she thought gloomily, resentful at being forced to start her day confronted by all that vibrant masculinity. ‘You watched me sleeping? Isn’t that a little creepy?’

‘It’s boring. You’re not very exciting when you’re asleep.’ Despite the mockery in his tone, his words jarred uncomfortably with the forbidden thoughts she’d been having.

‘So why did you watch me? Were you afraid your hostage might die?’

‘You are not my hostage.’

‘You brought me here so because you’re hoping my father will come and find me, not because you care about me, so stop the saint act. That makes me your hostage.’

Stunned by the discovery that he’d spent the night watching over her, Polly sat up slowly and noticed the cup of coffee on the low table next to the bed. The aroma of fresh coffee seduced her brain, sliding underneath her defences. ‘Oh—is that for me?’

‘Yes. I’m fast learning that your preference is for pink, but I’m afraid I don’t own a pink cup.’

She didn’t know which irritated her more—his dry tone, or the fact that he radiated vitality while she felt like a wet rag.

‘Of course you don’t. You’re the sort of man who has to constantly prove his masculinity by bossing everyone around. A real man isn’t afraid to have pink in his life. It’s a very happy colour. Real men often wear pink ties or pink shirts.’

‘Real men?’ His sardonic smile was the final straw and she glared at him over the rim of the mug.

‘Yes. And by that I don’t mean all that muscle and testosterone stuff. ‘Her eyes dropped to the hint of dark stubble that was already shadowing his jaw. ‘Masculinity isn’t just about looking as if you can split a log with one swing of an axe.’ Which he did. Oh, God, how could a man look so incredibly good first thing in the morning? Particularly after he’d slept in a chair. Stubble on most men just looked unkempt. On Damon Doukakis it simply amplified his ferocious sex appeal. It wasn’t fair.

‘I’ve split logs in my time, but I confess I’ve never done it wearing a pink shirt.’

Assailed by an unsettling image of those broad shoulders swinging an axe, Polly was about to put the mug down when she spotted the ink on the bedcover. ‘Oh, no! Did I do that? I’m so sorry. I must have fallen asleep holding my pen.’

‘Your pink, fluffy, happy pen. The one that is necessary for all your creative thinking.’

Something in his tone didn’t sound quite right but Polly was too mortified by the damage she’d caused to work out what. She licked her finger and rubbed at the stain. When that didn’t work, she looked at him apologetically. ‘I’ll buy you another duvet cover. I know you have a low opinion of me but damage to property isn’t on my usual list of crimes. I really am sorry.’

‘Compared to most of the disasters that appear to happen when you are around, I would say I escaped lightly. Get dressed. I want to talk to you.’

‘What have I done this time?’

‘That’s what I intend to find out.’

Polly racked her brains to think of something he could have discovered that might have got her into trouble. Was this something about the way they’d decorated the office? ‘It’s not a great time to talk right now. I need to get going if I’m going to make my train to Paris.’

‘A moment ago you were all but unconscious. You’re not going to Paris.’

‘I slept like the dead because I’m really tired, not because I banged my head. I haven’t slept properly since you rang me to tell me that you were about to ruin my life. And I have to go to Paris. The staff are depending on me to keep that account.’ Trying to wake herself up, Polly pushed her hair away from her face and winced as she encountered the bruise. ‘If I hurry, I can still make it.’

‘Why are you so determined to protect the staff?’

‘What sort of a question is that? Because I care about them, that’s why. I don’t want them to lose their jobs—especially because part of the blame for the current mess lies with my father. I feel responsible. They’ve always been kind to me. And helpful. When I first started in the company I’d just left school—I was clueless.’

‘You didn’t go to university?’

Polly thought wistfully of the prospectuses they’d shredded. ‘I went straight to work in my father’s company when I left school. I learned on the job. You can learn a lot about something by doing it.’ Knowing that someone like him was never going to agree with her, she slumped back against the pillows. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

Her notebook landed on the bed next to her and she stared at it, her cheeks hot as she mentally ran through all the secrets that might have been revealed from that book.

He waited a beat. ‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘It made for extremely illuminating bedtime reading.’

‘It’s very bad manners to read someone else’s private notes,’ she said in a small voice. ‘I suppose you also peep through keyholes and listen at doors.’

‘Yesterday I asked you who came up with the creative ideas. Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?’

‘I told you it was a team effort. That’s the truth.’

‘The tagline and thinking behind the running shoe campaign came from you. If this notebook is to be believed, you’re responsible for every decent creative idea that has come from Prince Advertising in the past three years. I’ve been looking through the portfolio and your company accounts—’

Polly flinched. ‘More bedtime reading? You obviously like a good horror story.’

‘More like a mystery. My financial director, Ellen, has unpicked the finances and those numbers make for interesting reading. Why did everyone agree to take such a drastic pay cut?’

‘You have a female financial director?’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

‘Why did we take a pay cut? Because no one wanted anyone to be made redundant. Close your eyes while I find something decent to wear. You’re right, I can’t have this sort of conversation in my pyjamas.’ Sliding out of bed, Polly grabbed something from her suitcase and shot towards the bathroom. ‘As I said, we’re a team. We’re in this together.’

‘You clearly have significant creative talent. Why wasn’t it recognised?’

The compliment stopped her in her tracks. Her smile faltered. ‘You think I have talent?’

‘Answer my question.’

Holding the clothes in front of her like a shield, she shrugged. ‘You met the board.’

‘When you hinted that they’d stolen your work, I assumed you were talking about the spreadsheets.’

Polly just looked at him and he sighed.

‘They claimed credit for all your ideas, didn’t they? When they pitched for business, you were part of the team?’

‘I had to be. No one on the board was able to present the ideas. So they went along as the figurehead and I did the talking.’

‘And you won High Kick Hosiery.’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘We should have won that account.’

‘We were better. Which just goes to show that even a hot desk doesn’t always produce hot ideas. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a train to catch.’ The mere thought of battling her way through the train station made her want to lie down in a dark room, but she’d rather walk to Paris in bare feet than admit that to him.

‘You’re not travelling on a train. A doctor will examine you and then if he says you’re fit to fly then we’ll go to Paris on my jet.’

‘Your jet? Er—why?’

‘Because I don’t travel by train.’

‘No, I mean—’ She licked her lips. ‘Why are you coming? I’m assuming you’re not joining me for a romantic mini-break.’ She hoped that being flippant would break the tension between them.

It didn’t.

He was obviously as aware of it as she was because he narrowed his eyes.

‘I make you nervous. Why?’

Her stomach curled and her mouth dried. What was she supposed to say to that? Because you have monumental sex appeal. ‘You’re the boss. You can fire me.’

His eyes held hers. ‘That isn’t why you’re nervous.’

Wondering why she was such a mess when it came to men, Polly gave what she hoped was a dismissive shrug. ‘Look, there’s a lot going on, OK? Gérard’s business is important. He has one of the largest marketing budgets in Europe. It’s not just about this brand, it’s about the rest of his portfolio. If I do well in this meeting, he might give us more business.’

‘That’s why I’m coming with you. You shouldn’t be seeing someone of his seniority on your own.’

‘You mean you don’t trust me not to mess it up.’

‘On the contrary. I want to watch you in action. I want to know more about your novel creative process.’ Infuriatingly calm, he glanced at his watch. ‘Get dressed. We’ll finish this discussion later.’

‘Well, that’s something to look forward to. Yippee.’ She subsided as he shot her a warning look.

He walked towards the door and then paused. ‘You ought to know that an hour ago I had a call from the private investigator I hired to track your father. It seems that he’s also in Paris.’

‘Oh?’ Was it wrong not to be pleased that he’d been tracked down? Her mouth was dry and she wondered whether it was the bang on the head that was making her feel sick or whether it was the thought of weathering the reality of her father’s next relationship. And this time it would be worse because the woman in question was Arianna. Her friend. Damon’s sister. ‘He could be in Paris. My father is a romantic person.’

‘There is nothing romantic about a relationship between a fifty-four-year-old guy and a twenty-four-year-old girl.’

‘You don’t know that. You’re very judgemental.’

‘When it comes to protecting my family, yes, I’m judgemental.’ His voice was suddenly hard. ‘And, talking of judgemental, I hope you put ‘formal business wear’ on the list you gave Franco. If you’re going to take on the responsibility of a high-flying business executive then you need to look like one. You may be used to flouncing into work in party clothes, but if you’re meeting a vice president of marketing you need to clean up your image. The French appreciate chic. The look you should be going for is high-class and elegant.’

Smug in the knowledge that there was so much more he yet had to discover about her, Polly couldn’t resist a dig of her own. ‘Is that how your team was dressed when they didn’t win the pitch? You’re very traditional. Maybe the client didn’t want traditional. He said he was blown away by our creativity and individuality.’

‘Presumably he wasn’t referring to your appearance.’ Polly gave an innocent smile. ‘Or maybe he just has a thing for flamingos. I’ll get dressed and meet you in the living room. I need to make some calls before we leave. And for goodness’ sake get changed into something more rigid and formal. I’m not taking you to Paris wearing those jeans.’ Without giving him the chance to reply, she escaped into the bathroom and bolted the door.

‘This is the wrong hotel. I booked myself somewhere cheap and miserable.’ Prepared for something seedy, Polly blinked at the glamour and elegance of the luxurious hotel foyer. After seeing the inside of Damon’s private jet she’d thought that nothing could ever impress her again. Evidently she’d been wrong. ‘Unless the place has had a major upgrade in the past twenty-four hours, this definitely isn’t the place I chose.’ Light shafted off gold, marble and glass and every person who glided through the revolving doors looked like a multi-millionaire. A sense of inferiority nibbled the edges of her confidence and she stood up a little straighter and tried to look as if she belonged.

No matter how many times she told herself that she deserved to be here she still felt like a fake. It depressed her that she could still feel that way.

The moment Damon set foot in the exclusive hotel there was a subtle shift in the atmosphere. Heads turned, staff straightened uniforms and descended on him with just the right degree of discretion and deference. Smiles were plentiful. Nothing was too much trouble.

Accustomed to staying in cheap hotels, checking in with grumpy, overworked staff and hauling her ancient suitcase up endless stairs only to find herself in an airless room with a window overlooking a grim car park, Polly was fascinated by the contrast.

The staff were attentive to the point of smothering. Damon’s presence had an electrifying effect on those around him. He barely acknowledged them, accepting the fawning attention with the same arrogant assurance he displayed in every other part of his life.

This was his normal.

‘I can’t afford to stay here.’ Seriously worried, Polly was mentally running through the budget. ‘I could never charge this to the client.’

‘I think we both know that finances aren’t your strong point. From now on you can leave that side of the business to me. You just concentrate on the creative side, which apparently is your forte.’ Leaving his security team to sort out the details with the hotel staff, Damon strode through the foyer. ‘I’ve booked out a floor for us.’

A floor? ‘Could you slow down? Just wait a minute.’ Worried that her ‘creative side’ might have gone on vacation, Polly jogged to keep up with him as he strode towards a bank of elevators. ‘I can’t ignore the finances. I have to think about it.’

‘You’re the one who mentioned teamwork. This is teamwork. We each do the bit we do best. For you, that’s scribbling in your pink notebook. Leave the money to me.’

‘Yes, but—’ Her phone buzzed and she paused outside the elevator. ‘Wait a minute. I need to answer this … Bonjour, Gérard, ça va? Oui … d’accord …’ When she finally finished her call, Damon was standing inside the elevator, watching her through those thick, dusky lashes that tipped his looks from handsome to spectacular.

Her heart skittered and bumped as she joined him. ‘Sorry about that, but I couldn’t exactly put a VP of marketing on hold.’

‘I didn’t expect you to put him on hold. I also didn’t expect you to speak French.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I have hidden talents.’

‘So I’m discovering.’ That disturbingly acute gaze didn’t shift from her face. ‘You haven’t stopped e-mailing and talking to people since you woke up. When did you learn to speak French?’

‘We had a seriously hot French master at school. It was the only lesson we were all awake in—’ Remembering too late that mentioning school probably wasn’t a good idea, Polly flushed. ‘Just kidding. I promised myself that if a gorgeous Frenchman ever whispered sweet nothings in my ear I wanted to be able to understand him.’

‘If he’s whispering nothing it would probably be better not to understand him,’ Damon said dryly and his words made her laugh.

Then she realised she was laughing and stopped instantly. But the connection remained. A connection she didn’t want or need and yet still it sucked her in, driving her heartbeat faster. The sudden darkening of his beautiful eyes told her he felt it too and rejected the unwanted chemistry as completely as she did. Perversely, that rejection didn’t hurt as much as aggravate. Her emotions spun and suddenly she wanted to press her mouth to his and kiss away the sarcasm and cynicism that flowed from him.

The impulse was so alien to her that if she’d been in possession of a thermometer she would have taken her own temperature. Was she ill?

Alarmed by her own thoughts, Polly was relieved when they reached the palatial suite.

‘C’est magnifique.’ Grateful for the size of it, she walked the length of the spacious living room and out thought the open glass doors to the roof terrace. The fresh air brushed away the claustrophobic cloud that had smothered her in the confines of the lift. That crazy impulse to kiss him faded and she breathed a sigh of relief as she stared over the rooftops of Paris. Enjoying the moment of relative calm, she tensed as she heard his footsteps behind her.

‘Where would your father stay?’

‘He’d stay somewhere no one would think to look for him. That’s the sort of guy he is.’ Thinking wistfully that it would be nice to enjoy the luxury of the hotel and the romance of Paris without having to think about work or her father, Polly turned from her contemplation of the city. ‘This isn’t just about my father, you know. It’s also about your sister. She hasn’t been on the phone to you, has she? That sort of implies that she doesn’t want to be found.’

‘She’s very impulsive and easily led.’

Polly clenched her jaw. ‘If you’re still going on about that episode at school, can I remind you that I was fourteen? That was ten years ago. She’s an adult now.’

‘She doesn’t behave like an adult. She doesn’t always make good decisions.’

‘Isn’t that part of growing up? You have to make some bad decisions in order to discover they’re bad.’ Polly attributed the sudden warm flush on her skin to the hot French sun shining down on the terrace. ‘Didn’t you ever make a bad decision? Or were you born doing the right thing? I suppose life just fell into place for you.’

The fruits of that success were all around him. Not just in this hotel and the private jet that had transported them to Paris in such luxury, but in his lifestyle. He owned an island in Greece, didn’t he? A penthouse in New York and a ski chalet in Switzerland. People fell over themselves to befriend Damon Doukakis and his sister. They walked through life without hindrance, doors swinging open to welcome them.

‘You think I was born into this? You think I had it handed to me?’ His voice held a raw, rough edge that increased her tension. ‘My father worked for an engineering company. A badly managed engineering company. When he was made redundant, he was so ashamed that he’d let his family down that every morning he kissed my mother goodbye and left to go to work. Only instead of going to work he used to sit in the library and hunt for jobs. But there weren’t any.’

Shocked into silence by that unexpected revelation, Polly simply stared at him. When she finally managed to say something it came out as a croak. ‘D-did he get another job?’

‘No. My father was Greek. Proud. Not being able to provide for his family was the ultimate failure. Overwhelmed with the responsibility of it, he drove his car off a bridge.’ The words were emotionless and matter of fact. ‘I was waiting for them to come home when the police knocked on the door.’

Polly couldn’t breathe. ‘Them?’

‘My mother was in the car, too. No one understood why he did it. Whether he lost all hope and decided to take her with him—whether she even knew what he intended—’ His eyes were blank as he stared over the city. ‘Do you know the worst thing? The redundancies weren’t necessary. I found that out a few years later when I’d learned a few sharp lessons about business. It was all down to bad decisions and I decided right then that I was never going to work for anyone else. I was never going to let someone else control my destiny.’

It explained so much. His ruthless approach. The rigid control with which he managed his business.

Polly realised that her impression of him was as false as his was of her.

It was as if the pieces of a jigsaw had been thrown in the air and, on landing, had created a different picture.

‘You were left to raise your sister.’

‘She was six.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I was sixteen years old and the only skill I had was with computers. I was always in trouble at school for hacking, so I decided there had to be a way of turning that to my advantage. I developed a way of analysing data that every company wanted.’ He shrugged. ‘Right place, right time. I was lucky.’

‘But your business isn’t computers now—’

‘Something else I learned—diversify. That way if one part of the business is in trouble, another part may be performing well.’

He’d thought it all through. Done everything he could to provide security for his sister.

Feeling a strange ache behind her ribcage, Polly turned away. She shouldn’t envy someone who had suffered such a tragic loss, but she did. Even without parents, they’d been a family. Everything he’d done, everything he’d achieved, had been driven by his love for Arianna. Protecting her had been his priority from the moment she’d been left in his care.

‘It must have been very hard losing both your parents like that.’

‘Life can be hard. It happens.’ He glanced towards her, his expression unreadable. ‘What happened to your mother? Presumably she was divorce number one?’

The ache behind her ribs didn’t fade. ‘She walked out when I was a toddler. Being a mother didn’t suit her. Or maybe I was just hard work. Whichever—my dad hated being on his own. Whenever a relationship fell apart, he moved onto the next woman.’

Even now, at twenty-four, she found her father’s behaviour still had the power to embarrass her and she hated that. She hated the mixed-up feelings that came with every new relationship he started.

‘The women are always younger?’

Hearing the judgement in his voice, Polly felt her face heat and wanted to fall through the floor. ‘Mostly.’

‘Is that embarrassing?’

‘Hideous.’ In the face of his startling honesty about his own background there didn’t seem any point in lying about her feelings.

He let out a long breath. ‘So you don’t approve of his relationship with Ana?’

‘You didn’t ask me if I approved. You asked me if I found it embarrassing. The answer to that is yes. As for whether or not I approve—’ She broke off, wondering why on earth she was sharing her deepest thoughts with this man whose opinion of her was so low. He couldn’t possibly understand, could he? ‘He’s my dad and I love him. I just want him to be happy. Isn’t that what you want for Arianna?’

‘Yes, which is why I don’t approve of this relationship.’

‘I think all relationships are complicated and I’m not sure age makes any difference to that.’

‘When you see a twenty-four-year old girl with a fifty-four year old man, don’t you ask yourself why they’re together?’

Polly chewed her lip, wondering whether to confess that the entire relationship merry-go-round terrified her. The whole thing seemed designed to wreck lives. ‘This is the twenty-first century. Age of same-sex marriages, the toyboy and the cougar. Relationships don’t always conform to rigid tradition any more. Why does it bother you? You’re too big and tough to care what people think.’ But Damon Doukakis was rigidly traditional. Greek. If she’d learned anything about him over the past twenty-four hours it was that family was the most important thing to him.

‘I don’t care what people think. I do care that Ana will be hurt. Let’s face it, your father doesn’t have a great track record when it comes to commitment.’

Polly made a weak attempt to defend him. ‘You’re not exactly famed for long-term commitment.’

‘That’s different.’

‘You move from one woman to the next. Apart from the obvious—prenuptial agreements, huge payouts to lawyers etc—what’s the difference?’

‘Marriage is a responsibility and I have more than enough responsibilities.’ He took a deep breath as if the mere thought of it was enough to unsettle him. ‘In my relationships there are no broken promises. No one gets hurt.’

‘For a woman not to care when a relationship ends, the man in question has either got to be incredibly boring or a real bastard. What I’m saying is that I’m pretty sure plenty of women get hurt when you dump them. They probably just don’t show it. Pride and all that. And I don’t really see the difference between your serial relationships and my father’s. Not every relationship has to be about marriage.’ But the fact that he felt so strongly about responsibility and commitment made her feel strange inside. It was so different from her father’s approach.

‘If you’re about to say my sister’s relationship with your father is about sex then don’t,’ he advised in a thickened tone. ‘I don’t want to think about that.’

‘That makes two of us. He’s my dad and no one wants to think about their parents having sex. Yuck.’ Polly gave a dramatic shudder. ‘But you have to admit that Arianna is an adult. My father hasn’t kidnapped her against her will. They enjoy each other’s company.’

His brow lifted in a cynical arch. ‘Are you about to use the word “love”?

She didn’t tell him that she didn’t believe in love. She’d seen what happened to people who believed in love and she’d made it her golden rule never to allow herself to be sucked into that particular delusion. ‘They get on well together,’ she said lamely. ‘They laugh all the time. They talk. There’s chemistry between them. Maybe they know it’s crazy but find it impossible to resist.’

‘Chemistry?’ There was an ominous pause and she could see the thought appalled him. His eyes locked on hers and suddenly thoughts of her father and his sister faded into the background. In the distance she heard the insistent cacophony of car horns, the shriek of tyres as Parisians drove their city like a racetrack, but the loudest sound was the insistent thrumming of her pulse.

Suddenly it was hard to keep a grip on the conversation. ‘Chemistry,’ she croaked. ‘I’m just saying that chemistry can be a powerful thing.’ Or so she’d heard. Truthfully she couldn’t imagine a sexual attraction so strong that it overpowered caution but she wasn’t going to admit that to a red-blooded male whose sexual prowess was the subject of hushed rumour. ‘Perhaps it was something they couldn’t walk away from. I don’t know.’

There was a long silence and then his strong hands captured her face and he lowered his mouth to hers. Caught off guard, Polly tumbled headlong into the addictive heat of his kiss, her mouth colliding with his in a fusion of intimacy that was shocking in its intensity. The exploding heat was fierce enough to fuel a nuclear reactor, the hunger so all-consuming it devoured her preconceptions about just how a kiss could feel because this kiss was like no other. Damon kissed the way he did everything else, with the instinctive assurance of someone who knew he was the very best at everything. That clever, sensuous mouth drove everything from her mind and he controlled it all, from the angle of her head to the depth of the kiss, the skilled erotic slide of his tongue taking over her mind, her body, her soul. She didn’t feel him move his hands but he must have done because suddenly she was flattened against his hard thighs, the contours of their bodies blending as fiery heat licked through her. Burning up, she slid her palms over his chest, feeling male muscle and latent strength. Her mouth still fused with his, she slid her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, desperate to touch, frantic to feel. Instantly his hand tightened on her bottom as he brought her into firm contact with the hard ridge of his erection.

Liquid with longing, Polly moved against him but the moment she did so he released his grip on her and lifted his mouth, depriving her of the satisfaction her body craved. And that sudden deprivation was so sharply felt that she gave a faint moan of protest and swayed towards him. With a soft curse he locked his hands around the tops of her arms, holding her steady, as if he sensed she would not stay standing without his support. But he kept the distance and didn’t kiss her again. Slowly, the implications of that penetrated her foggy brain and she opened her eyes to find him watching her with those eyes as black as jet and unfathomable as a deep mountain pool.

Her body was screaming for more, refusing to adjust to the sudden withdrawal of pleasure. The craving was so intense she almost reached out and grabbed him just so that she could press her mouth to his again. She wanted to know why he’d stopped doing something that felt so perfect.

His breathing fractionally less than steady, he released his supporting grip on her arms and stepped away from her. ‘You want to know how you walk away from chemistry? This is how it’s done. It’s called self-discipline. You just say no.’ The chill in his tone was as lethal to her tender, exposed feelings as a late frost to an early spring bud.

Confronted by cool arrogance and an insulting degree of indifference, Polly wanted to say something flippant. Something dismissive that would indicate that the earth hadn’t moved for her. But it had. It hadn’t just moved, it had shifted—reformed her entire emotional landscape into something terrifyingly unfamiliar. And that shift strangled any words she might have spoken.

She wanted to slap his handsome face, but to show that level of emotion would be to betray what that kiss had done to her so she stood still and silent, holding everything inside. Fortunately she’d had decades of practice.

Insultingly cool, Damon glanced at his watch. ‘We’re meeting Gérard for dinner at the Eiffel Tower at seven.’ The ease with which he moved from nirvana to normal was another blow to her savaged pride. ‘Dress is elegant.’ Having delivered that lowering statement, he turned and walked back into the apartment—back into his world of pampered luxury and elegance where real life was filtered and sifted until it appeared in its most refined form.

Polly stood for a moment feeling displaced. Really, what had just happened? She was the same and yet she wasn’t the same. Opening her mouth a fraction, she traced her lower lip with her tongue.

Her first thought was that clearly the kiss hadn’t affected him as it had affected her, and yet she knew that wasn’t true. She’d felt the strength of his reaction.

However easily he’d walked away, it had definitely been mutual.

He’d kissed her to prove—what? That he could walk away every time? That lust was a decision like every other? She wondered whether the intensity of the chemistry had been as much of a shock to him as it was to her.

Anger flashed through her. How dared he kiss like that and then just walk away?

No doubt he was feeling smug and superior, having successfully demonstrated the practical application of ruthless self control, whereas she—Polly breathed in and out slowly—she’d demonstrated nothing except an embarrassing degree of feminine compliance. Compelled by his breathtaking sexual expertise, she’d been ready to go the whole way. Like Icarus, she would have flown straight at that hot burning sun, the ecstasy of the flight obliterating any sense of caution.

In proving his point, he’d made a monumental fool of her.

Furious and humiliated, she turned her head and looked back towards the luxurious suite, but there was no sign of him. Presumably, having achieved his goal with such spectacular success, he’d taken himself off somewhere to focus his sought-after attentions on some aspect of his global empire before the meeting this evening. A meeting during which he was clearly expecting her to embarrass him.

Dress is elegant.

He thought she was going to mess up.

Polly’s mouth tightened.

She knew how good she was at her job. If only she were half as good in her dealings with men he wouldn’t have played that trick on her. So far he’d made nothing but false assumptions and she’d been so focused on handling the immediate crisis that she’d done nothing to challenge him on his opinions.

But tonight that was going to change.

If Damon Doukakis thought he could control everything around him then he was in for a shock.