He was used to not having to fight very hard or work very hard to get what he wanted—women or deals. He knew this was largely thanks to his genes and his wealth. He was under no illusions that if those elements were stripped away his life would be very different.
Still, life had become...boring of late.
He stood at the open French doors. The air was warm and still. Nothing was moving. A lone cow mooed in the distance. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been somwhere so peaceful, and to his surprise it wasn’t making him itch for distraction—it was soothing his ragged edges.
No one knew he was here. That had been one of the indefinable things that had appealed to him about this house. The fact that it was so rural—a complete contrast to the life he usually led—had made his spontaneous purchase even more surprising. But he didn’t want to analyse that now. And he certainly didn’t want to analyse the sensation that he was in a place that felt like home, when nowhere had ever felt like home to him.
He didn’t have a home and he didn’t want one. Home was a myth.
He went over and looked at the bookshelves that lined one wall. Something caught his attention. He reached out and pulled a book off the shelf. It had been a childhood favourite of his, and it immediately and disconcertingly took him back in time to when he’d used books as a form of escape in his younger years.
He heard a sound and looked round. Maggie was coming in with a tray. Immediately he noticed the two glasses beside the bottle of whiskey. The rush of anticipation that coursed through him might have surprised him in another setting, but this evening had thrown up so many surprises that he barely noticed.
She stopped when she saw the book in his hand. She looked sheepish. ‘Sorry, I put some of my books on the shelves. I hope you don’t mind...’
Nikos put the book back. ‘It’s no big deal. I’m surprised you still have your childhood books.’
Maggie wasn’t meeting his eyes now, as she put the tray down. He was used to women being forward, taking advantage of his interest. She was different. And he wanted her.
She poured whiskey into both glasses. She handed him one, kept one.
He lifted his. ‘Cheers.’
She came closer, tapped her glass on his quickly. ‘Cheers.’
She took a sip and made a face as the tart drink burned the back of her throat.
He smiled at her reaction. ‘Not a whiskey drinker?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I’ve always wanted to try it.’
‘So that’s why you agreed to have a drink with me? In the interest of research?’
‘Something like that,’ Maggie said, hoping to sound careless, as if this interaction with the most dynamic man she’d ever met wasn’t as intimidating as it felt.
She sneaked a glance at him. He was looking right at her. Her gaze skittered away again, but not before she saw what looked like a glint of humour in his eyes. As if he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on her.
‘So tell me—how did your books survive for so long?’
Maggie felt ridiculously nervous. ‘We moved around a lot, me and my mother, when I was young. Books were my escape in a world that kept changing. My one constant. I’m kind of superstitious about them now. It’s silly...’
‘Not silly at all. I get it.’
‘You do?’ She was surprised. Again.
He grimaced faintly. ‘I had those books too. But they got left behind long ago and I never really read much again. Didn’t have time.’
Maggie felt a little ache near her heart that she shouldn’t be feeling for a near total stranger. ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a bookworm,’ she remarked.
Nikos arched a brow. ‘I’m more than just a pretty face.’
Maggie couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. He’d said that with a definite mocking edge that he didn’t need—because it was the truth. He was gorgeous. Overwhelmingly so. And she suspected that he was a lot more than just a pretty face. His eyes were way too sharp and knowing. Cynical.
Nikos had opened the French doors and everything was still outside. As if the rest of the world was very far away. But in spite of the stillness and the peace there was an elecricity running through her veins. Dangerous. Thrilling.
He asked, ‘You aren’t bored here? It seems like an odd job for a beautiful young woman.’
Maggie’s heart hitched. Beautiful? She told herself he must say that to dozens of women. An easy platitude. She felt self-conscious. Defensive.