Zoe lifted and dropped her tense narrow shoulders as if trying to shrug honesty away. She was a twenty-two-year-old, reasonably attractive woman who’d been batting off the attentions of the opposite sex since she’d suddenly grown breasts and long legs at the age of fourteen. She was a self-confessed swat, a classic blue stocking who would rather spend her time battling with some complicated calculus than flirting with her peers. Her father used to laugh at the clutch of doe-eyed boys who’d used to loiter outside their house waiting for her to walk out of the door.
‘You don’t feel a thing for them, do you?’ His amused voice echoed inside her head and she had to blink the glaze of tears from her eyes.
She had been a late developer. He’d been proud of her blossoming beauty and kind of relieved at the same time that she wasn’t seduced by the pubescent yearnings of her followers. She’d sailed through the coming years of her slow adolescent development and come out of it the other end with any sudden waves of sexually hormonal rushes tempered by good old-fashioned common sense.
Good old-fashioned common sense … Zoe mocked the phrase which had been her uni mantra. She’d been friendly and popular but her compatriots had used to tease her for her level-headed approach to sex and the tumult of excitement that went along with it. They would probably laugh themselves silly if they could see her now, seduced and well bedded by a notorious womanizer within twenty-four hours of meeting him for the first time.
Knocked off her sensible pedestal. Tumbled by the darkly handsome Greek who was a dangerous mix of cold-blooded ruthlessness and annihilating charm.
The sound of hurried steps behind her made Zoe stop and turn. Martha was coming down the path towards her, her pretty face anxious. What now? Zoe thought wearily as she waited for the other girl to catch up with her.
‘Anton sent me to find you, thespinis,’ Martha explained as she came close. ‘He requests that you will please go to him in his study.’
‘You mean he’s here, at the house?’ Zoe started, frowning. ‘But I thought—’
‘He flew to Athens this morning but now he is back,’ explained Martha as if it was nothing unusual to her that Anton should shunt himself about the Aegean like a number fifty-two bus.
Martha waved a hand at Toby’s buggy. ‘I am to take care of the little one while you go.’
Relinquishing Toby into Martha’s care, Zoe walked back up the path towards the house. She tried to come up with a good enough reason that would bring him back here this fast, but couldn’t think of a single thing.
The door to his study stood open by a couple of inches. Still, she knocked lightly on the wood before she pushed it open that little bit wider and stepped warily through the gap. She’d peeped into this room during her quick exploration of the downstairs yesterday, so she remembered its basic layout which consisted of loads of honey-coloured book shelves and furniture, a big fireplace filled with unlit logs, a black leather sofa, a couple of matching chairs and a desk, behind which Anton was standing right now.
He was the lofty tycoon again, she saw with a sinking feeling. A tall, dark power-force of a man wearing an eye-poppingly elegant black silk suit with a fine white stripe running through it that made her think of hard-headed City types. She felt consumed suddenly by an unfamiliar urge to check out her hair and run her palms down the side of the pale-blue straight cotton skirt she’d put on this morning. He looked up and she went still, stricken by a sudden leap of feeling which made her hot with horrible awareness.
‘You asked to see me.’ She fought to keep her voice cool and level.
It was then that she saw his grim-faced expression, the formality with which he nodded. A shiver of alarm took care of the other hotter feelings, consigning them to the archives of her mind—where she preferred them to stay.
‘So what’s gone wrong now?’ she asked as she walked towards the desk.
She’d had too many bad shocks recently not to recognise when another one was on its way.
‘You need to see this.’ He waved a hand at something lying flat on the desk, Zoe looked down with caution.
It was a newspaper, she saw. A British tabloid conveniently placed to face in her direction so she didn’t have to strain her neck to see what was printed on it.
Pallis Crushes Opposition! the headline read.
Snatching the paper up, she just stared at the accompanying photographs until her hands started to shake. The totally humiliating sight of Anton carrying her onto the plane was bad enough, but to see the two of them captured in stark black-and-white, standing by the car locked in a passionate embrace, dropped her like a stone onto a nearby chair. Her face burned hot then paled in crushing mortification. They looked as if it would need a crowbar to prize them apart. The article below read:
In a nifty move that left us all gasping yesterday, Greek tycoon Anton Pallis closed in on the new Kanellis heiress with a speed that left us in no doubt as to where the future prospects of the Kanellis fortune lie. If he’s not going to get the money by deed of succession, he’s determined to get control of it another way. If that means taking control of Zoe Kanellis at the same time, then why not? She’s young, she’s beautiful and, as the hot clinch shows, she’s already fallen for the handsome Greek to the point he had to carry her onto their flight to Greece. Next step wedding bells? Well, business is business, after all.
‘So much for you protecting us,’ Zoe whispered finally, while he continued to stand there like the grim reaper, doing and saying nothing at all. ‘Even they think you are a gold-digger.’
‘So it would seem,’ he responded impassively.
‘While I’m the brainless blonde bimbo who falls into your arms like a ripe plum.’ Impassive did not do it for Zoe; in sheer, angry frustration she ripped the page out of the newspaper with tight trembling fingers then screwed it into a tight ball and stood up, full of intent.
‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ Anton drawled. ‘I will allow you to be angry with me and with them.’ He flicked a glance at her clenched fist. ‘Hurling missiles at me, however, is likely to earn a response.’
‘But this is all your fault!’ She hurled a verbal missile at him instead, the newspaper page still crushed in her fist while the rest of the rag lay in a spread of pages at her feet. ‘If you hadn’t—’
‘Kissed you?’
‘Kidnapped me and Toby. None of this would have happened!’
‘I love it that I seem to be the only one who lost their head in that clinch, agape mou,’ he said dryly. ‘While you were beating me off with a large stick, of course.’