Captivated by the Greek

Nikos’s expression changed. The hardness was still in his eyes, but there was something else, too. A glint that, had the stunning but inexplicably bolshie female facing him been one of his acquaintances, she would have known sent a crystal-clear message.

‘Since when is it illegal to admire a woman’s beauty?’ he riposted silkily.

To prove his point he let his gaze wash over her again. Inside him, the visceral reaction she’d aroused so powerfully warred with the irritation he’d felt ever since his hunger had hit him—an irritation that her hostility and rudeness had elevated to outright anger. He wasn’t sure which emotion was predominant. What he was sure of, though, was that right now his overpowering desire was to rattle her cage...

‘If you want to go round ogling women like meat, then you should damn well wear sunglasses and spare us the ordeal,’ she shot back.

Nikos felt yet another emotion spark through him. Almost unconsciously, he found himself starting to enjoy himself.

One arched eyebrow quirked tauntingly. ‘Ordeal?’ he asked limpidly.

And then, quite deliberately, he let his gaze soften. No longer assessing. More...caressing. Letting her see clearly that women who received his approbation most definitely did not regard it as an ordeal...

And before his eyes, to his intense satisfaction, he saw a wave of colour suffuse her clear, translucent skin. Her cheeks grew stained and her gaze dropped.

‘Go away,’ she said. Her voice was tight. ‘Just...go away!’

He gave a low laugh. Game, set and match—thank you very much. He didn’t need any further confirmation to know that he’d just effortlessly breached her defences...got right past that bolshie anger barrier and hit home, sweet home.

With a sweeping gesture he scooped the pile of coins into his pocket, together with the solitary twenty-pound note, then picked up his ham sandwich and the bottle of water.

‘Have a nice day,’ he said flippantly, and strolled out of the sandwich shop.

His irritation was gone completely.

As he emerged he saw the down-and-out, Joe, leaning against a nearby lamppost, wolfing down the sandwich he had been given. On impulse, Nikos reached into his jacket pocket, jingling with all the pound coins she’d landed him with.

He scooped up a handful and proffered them. ‘You asked about spare change,’ he said to the man, who was eyeing him.

‘Ta, guv,’ said the man, and took the handful eagerly, his bloodshot eyes gleaming.

His grimy hands were shaking, and Nikos felt a pang of pity go through him.

‘She’s right, you know,’ he heard himself telling the man. ‘The booze is killing you.’

The bloodshot eyes met his. They were not gleaming now. There was desolation in them.

‘I know, mate...’

He pulled his gaze away and then he was off again, shuffling down the street, pocketing the money, shoulders hunched in defeat. For a moment Nikos’s eyes stayed on him. Then he saw a taxi cab approaching along the High Street, with its ‘For Hire’ sign illuminated. He flagged it down and flung himself into the back seat, starting to wolf down his ham sandwich.

His own words to the down-and-out echoed in his head. ‘She’s right, you know...’

His jaw tightened. Damn—she was, too. And not just about that wretched alcoholic.

Finishing his sandwich, he lifted his mobile phone from his inside pocket and pressed the speed-dial key for his London PA. She answered immediately, and Nikos gave her his instructions.

‘Janine, I need to have some flowers delivered...’

* * *

Mel stood, palms still pressed into the surface of the counter, and glared after the tall retreating figure. She was mad—totally hopping mad. She hadn’t been this angry since she couldn’t remember when.

Damn the arrogance of the man!

She could feel her jaw still clenching. She hadn’t liked him the moment he’d walked into the shop. The way he’d spoken—not even waiting for her to turn around to him, just making his demands as if she was some kind of servant. Underling. Minion. Lackey. The insulting words marched through her head.

She’d tried for her customary politeness while she was finishing Joe’s sandwich, but then she’d caught the way the damn man had looked at Joe—as if he was a bad smell. Well, yes, he was—but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Joe was in a bad way, and for heaven’s sake anyone would have felt pity for the guy, surely? Especially—and now her jaw clenched even more—especially a man whom life had so obviously not treated anything like as grimly as it had poor old Joe.

That had put her back up straight away. And from then on it had just got worse.

The whole monosyllabic exchange about what kind of sandwich he’d wanted replayed itself in her head, followed by—oh yes—his dropping a fifty-pound note down in payment. Mel’s mouth tightened in satisfaction. Well, it had given her particular pleasure to dump all those pound coins on him by way of change.