The Greek Children's Doctor

Mario rolled his eyes dramatically and gave an exaggerated sigh but he stepped forward, loosening Adrienne’s hair from the childish band she wore. He pulled a face as he pushed and pulled, feeling the hair and placing it in different positions, his eyes narrowed as he experimented with different effects.

‘It is too heavy,’ he murmured. ‘It’s concealing her face. And she has a very beautiful face. It needs layers and texture.’

Libby beamed. ‘My point exactly.’

Mario pushed, twisted and lifted for a few minutes and then sighed and looked at his receptionist. ‘Rearrange my morning, Francesca. I’m going to be busy.’

He took Adrienne by the hand and led her through to the basins. ‘We’ll start with some serious conditioning.’

Libby followed and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Mario. You’re a star. We’ll go and grab a coffee and be back in an hour. And remember. She’s not quite thirteen. I don’t want lamb dressed as mutton.’

Mario looked affronted. ‘You are trying to tell me how to do my job?’ He clicked his fingers at one of the salon juniors who hurried across to shampoo Adrienne’s hair.

‘I’m not sure I should be leaving my innocent niece in the hands of that man,’ Andreas muttered darkly, following her across the road to a café.

Libby laughed. ‘Mario’s great. But you had a narrow escape.’ She shot him a wicked look. ‘He really, really fancied you.’

Andreas shook his head disapprovingly and sat down at one of the tables on the pavement.

The sun shone down on them and the air smelt of fresh baking and garlic as the many restaurants prepared for their lunchtime trade.

Libby ordered cappuccinos. ‘You look really tense. Come on, what’s wrong? You’re not seriously worrying about Mario, are you? Because you shouldn’t. He really is the best hairdresser in London. People wait an average of four months to get an appointment with him.’

‘Unless your name is Libby,’ Andreas observed dryly. ‘No, it isn’t that. I’m worried that Adrienne will think that fitting in is all about the way you look,’ he confessed, reaching into his pocket for sunglasses.

Libby sucked in a breath. Normally she found it impossible to look away from his sexy eyes, but now they were covered she suddenly found herself focusing on his dark jaw. He was staggeringly handsome and she could hardly help to notice the way that every woman who passed stared at him.

‘Appearances matter,’ she said, leaning back in her chair as their drinks arrived. She smiled at the waiter. ‘Could I have a chocolate brownie, please?’

‘Chocolate brownie?’ Andreas lifted an eyebrow and she shrugged carelessly.

‘A girl’s got to have a vice. Mine’s chocolate.’

Andreas gave a slow, sexy smile, his expression concealed by the sunglasses. ‘And is that your only vice, Miss Westerling?’

‘Yes,’ Libby replied firmly, wishing that he would remove the sunglasses. It was unsettling not being able to see his eyes. ‘But it’s a serious one. Now, back to the subject of appearances. You’re right that appearances shouldn’t matter, but they do, I’m afraid. You know that as well as I do. People form an opinion about you within about thirty seconds of meeting you. And when you’re a teenager, the way you look is part of being accepted. Teenagers have a uniform.’

Andreas lifted his cup. ‘And you really think a new haircut will help her make friends?’

‘I think it will be a start. The rest is up to Adrienne. Mmm. Yummy.’ Libby licked her lips as her chocolate brownie arrived and Andreas tensed.

Feeling his gaze on her, Libby felt suddenly hot, every inch of her quivering, female body helplessly aware of the tension that simmered between them.

‘D-don’t look at me like that,’ she muttered, and he lifted an eyebrow.

‘Like what?’

His voice was husky and very male and she knew he was teasing her. Suddenly she found she couldn’t breathe properly.

Being this close to him affected her so badly.

He leaned forward in his chair, his voice soft. ‘How do I look at you, Libby?’

His Greek accent seemed very pronounced and she dropped her eyes, concentrating hard on her cappuccino. It didn’t really help. Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel him. ‘You look at me as though you—you wish I was the chocolate brownie,’ she said finally, and he laughed.

‘My vice definitely isn’t chocolate brownies,’ he drawled. ‘And we both know how I look at you. I want you, Libby. I’ve never pretended otherwise. And you want me.’