The same silent connection that had drawn them together the night of the ball.
Something flickered in the depths of his eyes, something dark and dangerous, and she knew that his mind was in the same place as hers: the exquisite agony of anticipation as their bodies had moved and slid together, the heat, the restrained passion, the delicious intimacy—
They stared at each other until the tension in the room was wound so tightly that it came close to snapping.
This time he was the one to break the silence. ‘Tell me something—’ his voice was lethally soft ‘—is that how you trap all your men? You dance with them first? Is it your idea of a free trial? Try before you buy?’
His cynicism clashed with the image of him that her mind had greedily stored away. She’d remembered a gentleness, but there was nothing gentle about his man. He was all hard angles and sharp anger. ‘I’m not for sale, Mr Zouvelekis.’
‘I think the people who watched you dance might have trouble believing that.’
And the amazing thing was she hadn’t been aware of anything or anyone but him. She’d been so absorbed by the rhythm of the music and the movement of his body that she’d been lost in her own world. The dance had been special. Something astonishing that they’d created together.
But that was ridiculous, of course. A prime example of her imagination running away yet again. For him, it hadn’t been special. It had been a prelude to sex.
Not only was he turning the dance into something sleazy, he was judging her.
And although she didn’t know anything about this Isabelle woman, she knew all about being judged.
Chantal straightened her shoulders. ‘I danced because you insisted on it. You hauled me onto the dance floor like some possessive herd bull. But on that dance floor we were equally matched.’ For a brief moment she’d experienced the bliss of having a man completely in tune with her. ‘If I gave, then it’s because you demanded. Whatever I did, you were there before me.’
‘You manipulated the entire scenario. With a different man your plan might have worked.’
‘I didn’t have a plan. And you approached me.’
‘You paraded yourself in front of me in a dress designed specifically to capture a man’s attention.’
She decided that this wasn’t the time to feel pride that her work on a length of material that had begun life dressing windows had been so successful and convincing. ‘I didn’t exactly parade.’
‘Let me give you a few hints,’ he purred, his lashes lowering to conceal the expression in his eyes. ‘I’m Greek. I’m Greek all the way through. And when it comes to women we’re still very traditional. Greek men like to do the choosing and the chasing.’
Chantal frowned, thinking about the article she’d read about him the day after the ball. ‘I thought you were supposed to be very forward thinking. You have more women in executive positions than most companies.’
‘That’s business. In my personal life I’m very traditional,’ he drawled. ‘And it doesn’t matter whether it’s the boardroom or the bedroom, the important thing is to find the right woman for the job. As far as wife material goes, you don’t fit my ideal profile. Next time spend more hours on your research.’
‘Research?’ Chantal shook her head in confusion. ‘Did you think you were some sort of project, or something?’
Contempt flickered across his features. ‘Do you really think that I haven’t heard about you?’
So obviously Isabelle had a reputation as a gold-digger.
Floored by that piece of news, Chantal stood still, her brain a hopeless tangle of indecision. It was obvious that she needed to try once again to tell him that she wasn’t this Isabelle person, but doing that would mean admitting to an even worse crime. She was a thief, and strictly speaking she’d impersonated someone else. Could that be classed as fraud if the ticket had been in the bin? Possibly. Could she go to gaol? Possibly. She didn’t really know, but she did know that he was angry enough to make trouble.
Trouble that she didn’t need.
Better a gold-digger than a thief.
Deciding that for the time being the less she revealed the better, Chantal licked her lips. ‘You’re wrong about me.’
‘Not wrong. It’s obvious that you went to the ball with the intention of targeting me.’
Astonished by his interpretation of the facts, Ch
antal shook her head. ‘I didn’t even know who you were until I picked up a newspaper the next day.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’
‘Not stupid. Arrogant.’