‘Oh, fine, but if I’d known this would involve baby sitting and being abandoned all night I would never have come,’ Maria complained, turning her slender body away from Santos and Amelia.
Amelia, for her part, could only look at Maria with a sense of wonder—she’d never seen a woman in the flesh who was so like some kind of Hollywood celebrity. Everything about her was a study in perfection, from her figure to her sheening hair; from her flawless make-up and sky-high heels to manicured nails.
‘She’s very beautiful,’ Amelia remarked conversationally as they left the room, returning to the long marbled corridor.
‘Yes,’ Santos returned in almost the same tone, pausing at another doorway. This time, it led to an office, all modern furniture and computers. There was more artwork here, and a large mirror that showed a reflection of the stables.
He closed the door behind them and Amelia—for no reason she could think of—jumped a little.
‘So, Miss Ashford? You have my full attention; what would you like to speak to me about?’
He gestured to one of the seats opposite his desk. She took it, crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap, her eyes following him across the room, where he paused at a bar and opened a crystal Scotch decanter. He poured two generous measures then handed a glass to her, their fingertips brushing as he placed the Scotch in the palm of her hand.
‘Thank you.’ She cradled the Scotch without taking a sip. She’d bypassed the usual phases of wild abandon and teenage letting down of hair and had never really developed a tolerance for or interest in alcohol. Every now and again she enjoyed a few sips of a nice wine with a special dinner, or champagne on Christmas Eve, but it certainly wasn’t something she imbibed on a daily basis.
Unlike Santos, she gathered, as he threw half of his own Scotch back in one go before resting his bottom on the edge of his desk, rather than taking up the seat opposite, so he was much closer to her than she’d anticipated. His long legs were just to her right, so she could reach out and touch them if she wanted.
The thought threw her completely off-balance in a way she’d never experienced in her life. She’d been on a few dates, but they had been academic exercises more than anything, something she’d been encouraged to try at Brent’s urging and never really found comfortable or fun.
You have to give it time, Millie. Get to know a guy, see his good side. Just go with the flow!
But those dates had all ended the same way—with Amelia feeling bored out of her brain and wanting nothing more than never to see the man again. One particular date had left her so bored she’d almost fallen asleep at the table. It was very rare for her to factor her intellect
into her thoughts but, at times like that, it was impossible not to realise that being a child genius, being exposed to some of the world’s greatest minds from a very young age, had left her with absolutely zero tolerance for small talk. And particularly not with men who were quite clearly preoccupied with the more physical aspects of the evening.
A shudder shifted through her at the whole failed debacle of dating, but that didn’t explain why now, so close to Santos Anastakos, she felt heat building inside her blood, warming her from the inside out.
The sooner she could get this over and done with, the better. She had to plead Cameron’s case and then leave—she never had to see Santos again after that.
She geared herself up to start speaking, to say what she’d come to say, but Santos spoke first, his eyes roaming her face quite freely, his gaze curious now, speculative in a way that did nothing to help her overheating blood.
‘How old are you?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
His expression shifted; for a moment she saw scepticism there, perhaps even disapproval. ‘You look too young to be a teacher.’
She ran her finger around the edge of the Scotch glass, feeling the indents in its shape. ‘I’ve been at Elesmore for a little over three years.’
She brushed aside his disbelief. It wasn’t necessary to tell him that she’d graduated with her first degree—physics—at the age of eleven, completed her second degree by thirteen and a postgraduate doctorate by fifteen, before doing an about-turn and deciding she wanted to become a teacher. He didn’t need to know that she’d graduated from her education degree at sixteen and had spent a few years travelling and consulting for various space agencies before finally accepting a position in a small local comprehensive on the basis they wouldn’t advertise who she was.
Anonymity and a lack of pressure had been her goal—normality after a lifetime of being pushed through one hoop to another.
‘Which makes you...?’ he prompted, taking another sip of his Scotch. His throat shifted as he swallowed and she found her gaze focussed on his skin there, covered by a hint of stubble, dark and thick. It would feel bristly if she reached up and ran her fingers across it.
She startled at the thought and wrenched her eyes to the view of the stables just visible in the mirror.
‘My age isn’t relevant,’ she murmured, her fingers tightly gripping the Scotch glass. She was nervous! Amelia hadn’t expected that but sitting in this man’s office now, surrounded by proof of his business acumen and success, it was impossible not to recognise how dynamic and powerful he was—imposingly so. That was why she felt as though a kaleidoscope of butterflies had been let loose in her belly.
‘Fine, then, let’s discuss what is relevant,’ he responded with a hint of something in his voice—something cold and unwelcoming, as though she were wasting his time and he wanted her gone.
‘Mr Larcombe told me you’re planning to pull Cameron out of Elesmore. That not only are you looking to remove him from the school he’s been at since he was three years old, you’re also intending to move him to Greece once the term ends.’
Silence fell, a silence that was thick and unpleasant, but Amelia resolutely didn’t interrupt it, and several beats passed, each heavy with the words she’d flung at him; each filled with nothing but the sound of her thudding heart.
‘And...?’ The word was drawled by his lips, lips that were wide and chiselled, harsh and compelling; lips that drew her attention far more than she was comfortable with.
‘And? Is it true?’