As their eyes locked, the air between them electrified. Her gaze fell to his lips. His hand tightened on her shoulder as he moved closer—
The doorbell rang behind them, jarring him. Then he smiled. “That must be dinner.”
She looked surprised. “You ordered takeout?”
“My housekeeper’s gone home. How else could I serve dinner? I swore to protect you, not poison you with burned meals.”
The edges of her mouth lifted. “True.”
For a moment, they smiled at each other, and he knew she was remembering the single disastrous night he’d tried to cook for her in the Brooklyn apartment. Somehow he’d turned boiled spaghetti noodles and canned marinara sauce into a full-scale culinary disaster that had required a fire extinguisher.
Then her smile fell, and he knew that she was thinking of everything that had happened since.
That was a battle he could not win. So he turned to answer the door. Speaking quietly to the delivery person, he took the bags, then turned to face Daisy. “Shall we?”
She looked at the bags. “What is it?”
“Chinese.” He hesitated. “I know it used to be your favorite, but if you’d rather have something else...”
“Kung pao chicken?” she interrupted.
“Of course.”
“It’s exactly what I want.” She looked almost dismayed about it.
Leonidas led her through the large, spacious house to a back hallway which led to an enormous kitchen, her dog’s nails clicking against the marble floor as she followed behind. On the other side of the kitchen was a small, cozy breakfast room with wide windows and French doors overlooking a private courtyard.
Outside, in the moonlight, a few snowflakes were falling. As Leonidas put the bags of Chinese takeout on the breakfast table, Daisy looked out at the courtyard in surprise. “You have your own yard? In the middle of Manhattan?”
Leonidas shrugged. “It’s why I bought this house. I always want fresh air and space.”
Daisy’s forehead furrowed. “You like fresh air?”
He barked a laugh. “Is that so shocking?”
“I just picture you only in boardrooms, or society ballrooms, or the back seat of a Rolls-Royce or...”
“Let me guess,” he responded, amused. “Sitting in the basement of a bank, counting my piles of gold like Scrooge McDuck?”
Her green eyes widened at mention of the old cartoon character. “How do you know who that is?” she said accusingly. “Do you have a child?”
She really did believe the worst of him. His smile faded. “No, but I was one.”
“In Greece?”
“I was sent to an American boarding school at nine.”
Daisy blinked, her face horrified. “Your parents sent you away? At nine?”
“They did me a favor. Believe me.” Turning away, he went back to the big gleaming kitchen and grabbed two plates and two bowls, china edged with twenty-four-carat gold. He placed the plates on the table, and the bowls on the marble floor.
Taking three bottles of water from the small refrigerator beneath the side table, he poured water into one of the bowls. Her dog came forward eagerly.
“Are you crazy?” Daisy looked incredulously at her dog lapping water from the gold-edged china bowl. “Don’t you have any cheap dishes?”
“No. Sorry.”
“We’re going to need some, before—” She cut herself off.