He couldn’t possibly be jealous. That would be too ridiculous for words.
She didn’t know what to say, so she just sat holding her breath, waiting for him to speak.
An expression of grim disapproval settled on his face as he glanced between the two of them and finally, after what seemed like an age, straightened his shoulders and spoke.
‘I see you’ve met my father.’
CHAPTER TWO
CHANTAL served the group of tourists seated at the table and then sank into a chair at an adjacent table, staring blankly at an empty coffee cup.
It didn’t matter how much time passed, she still felt horribly, miserably embarrassed. And sad. Really, really sad. As if she’d lost something special that she’d never be able to get back.
What was the matter with her?
Two weeks had passed since the ball. Two weeks since she’d gate-crashed the most prestigious social event of the year—
Why couldn’t she just forget it and move on?
Why couldn’t she just forget him?
Without thinking, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her skirt and touched the piece of torn newspaper she’d been carrying around for the past two weeks. She’d touched and stared at the picture so many times that it was crumpled and thin, and in immediate danger of falling apart. Now she wished that she’d bought a hundred copies of the newspaper and stored them safely, so that when she was old and grey she could remind herself of that one perfect night.
That one perfect man.
The memory of that dance still made her nerve-endings tingle. The chemistry that had sizzled between them had been the most exciting, astonishing experience of her life. Even now, as she remembered the seductive, intoxicating feel of his body against hers, her heart-rate increased.
But it hadn’t just been the chemistry that had kept her by his side long after she should have made her escape. She’d liked him. She’d liked his sharp observations, his intelligence and his dry sense of humour.
Angelos Zouvelekis.
Thanks to the article in her pocket, she now knew exactly who he was.
Billionaire and philanthropist. Greek billionaire and philanthropist.
Of course. Greek. The clues had all been there, if she’d only looked for them. His hair was the deep, glossy black of a Kalamata olive and his bronzed skin hinted at a life spent bathed in the warmth of the Mediterranean sun.
She’d fallen for a Greek billionaire as well known for his bachelor status as for his phenomenal business success.
And, for her, the fairy tale ended there—because she couldn’t have picked a more unsuitable man if she’d tried.
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Ironic, really, she thought to herself. Every other woman would have considered Angelos Zouvelekis to be the most suitable man on the planet. Every other woman would have known immediately who he was.
Not her. She hadn’t had a clue. If she had, maybe she would have walked away sooner.
Found a different man to fall in love with.
Oh, for goodness’ sake! She sucked in a breath, impatient with herself for thinking that way. No one fell in love that easily! It just didn’t happen. What she was feeling wasn’t love. It was just—just—
Rubbing a hand over her face, she struggled to pull herself together.
She didn’t actually understand what it was that she was feeling, but she wished it would stop because it was pulling her down. And anyway, what she felt about him was irrelevant, because he’d made it perfectly clear what he’d thought of her.
He’d been so, so angry.
Somehow—and she’d never actually found out how—he’d obviously discovered that she hadn’t been invited to the ball.
Chantal covered her face with her hands and shook her head, trying to erase the hideously embarrassing memory. Just remembering his hard, icy tone made her want to sink through the floor.