‘It’s good.’
Feeling like a spare part, Angelos watched as she cleverly coaxed his father to eat, selecting small quantities of healthy food for him to try.
Only when she was satisfied that he’d eaten something did she turn her attentions to her own plate. After several mouthfuls she smiled at his father. ‘You’re right, it is delicious. I’d swim through a shark-infested pond to eat this again.’
His father laughed with delight and reached for another dish. ‘If you think that’s good, then you should try this one—’
The two of them were like excited children and Angelos watched as his father flirted outrageously with Chantal.
Now that he knew she wasn’t Isabelle Ducat, he was noticing things he should have noticed before. Like the fact that she didn’t actually flirt. No simpering, no hair tossing, no lowered lashes. Nothing, in fact, that could be described as flirtatious. She just had an open, friendly attitude.
He remembered that night of the ball, and recalled that one of the things about her he’d found so attractive was that she’d been so different from everyone around her.
She’d shown a cheeky sense of humour, a playfulness that was quite different from flirting.
It was no wonder his father had liked her.
And no wonder that she was having such a powerful effect on him.
He’d never been so aware of a woman. The curve of her mouth when she smiled; the slight dimple at the corner of her mouth, the light that appeared in her eyes when she laughed.
And then there was her body…At that point he found his descriptive powers severely challenged. All he knew was that she appeared to have been designed specifically to distract a man from whatever path he was taking.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait for dinner to end so that he could finish what they’d started in the pool.
* * *
Trying not to dwell on the fact that Angelos had barely spoken to her over dinner, Chantal stepped into the shower. In the end she’d left him on the terrace with his father, both of them engrossed in an unintelligible conversation about the Far Eastern money markets.
And now she stood under the sharp jets of water, satisfied that Costas had at least eaten something. She just needed to make sure that he did that at every mealtime.
Reaching for one of the fluffy towels that were piled in uniform rows, Chantal walked out of the shower and into the bedroom.
Angelos was sprawled on the bed, talking in rapid Greek into his mobile phone.
Shocked to see him there, she was about to retreat into the bathroom when he noticed her and ended the call with a decisive stab of one long finger. ‘You were so long I was about to join you in
the shower.’
‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’
‘Our bedroom, agape mou,’ he drawled softly, extending a hand in her direction. ‘Come to bed.’
She clutched the towel. ‘What for?’
His eyes shimmered with amusement. ‘I understand that you’re inexperienced, but surely not that inexperienced.’
Chantal didn’t move. ‘You’re suggesting that we share a bed?’
‘Generally that’s what happens.’ Dark lashes veiled his expression and she felt her tummy jump like a grasshopper.
‘But you—I—’ She broke off. ‘It was a one off.’
‘I don’t do “one-offs”. I’ve already told you, casual affairs are not my style.’
‘But that’s ridiculous—we hardly know each other.’
‘On the contrary. We know each other in the most literal and intimate sense of the word,’ he drawled, and she felt the colour flood into her cheeks.