The Billionaire's Bridal Bargain

As well as being cool and unflappable towards small boys, she’d spent the week anticipating his every need—and while that was nothing new to someone like him, her presence had been surprisingly unobtrusive. She hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation, or wow him with wisecracks. She’d been pleasant and friendly but hadn’t hinted about her evenings off, or offered to show him around. In short, she hadn’t come onto him like any other woman would have done. She had treated him with the same quiet civility she’d exhibited towards every other guest in the discreet New Forest hotel—and maybe that’s what was bugging him. His mouth hardened—for it was almost unheard of for Alek Sarantos to be treated like other people.

But it wasn’t just that which had captured his interest. She had an air about her which he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Ambition maybe, or just some quiet professional pride. Was it that which made his gaze linger for a heartbeat too long—or the fact that she reminded him of himself, more years ago than he cared to remember? He’d once had that same raw ambition—back in the days when he’d started out with nothing and waited tables, just like her. When money had been tight and the future uncertain. He had worked hard to escape his past and to forge a new future and had learnt plenty of lessons along the way. He’d thought that success was the answer to every problem in life, but he had been wrong. Success made the pill sweeter, but you still had to swallow the pill all the same.

Wasn’t he realising that now—when he’d achieved every single thing he’d set out to achieve? When every hurdle had been leapt over and unimaginable riches were stuffed into his various bank accounts. Didn’t seem to matter how much he gave away to charity, he still kept making more. And sometimes that left him with a question which made him feel uncomfortable—a question he couldn’t seem to answer, but which he’d been asking himself more and more lately.

Was this all there was?

‘Will there be anything else, Mr Sarantos?’ she was asking him.

The waitress’s voice washed over him like balm. ‘I’m not sure,’ he drawled and lifted his eyes to the sky. Above him, stars were spattering the darkening sky—as if some celestial artist had sprayed the canvas silver. He thought of returning to London the following day and a sudden, inexplicable yearning made him lower his head and meet her gaze. ‘The night is still young,’ he observed.

She gave him a quick smile. ‘When you’ve been waiting tables all evening, eleven-thirty doesn’t really feel young.’

‘I guess not.’ He dropped a lump of sugar in his coffee. ‘What time do you finish?’

Her smile wavered, as if the question wasn’t one she’d been anticipating. ‘In about ten minutes’ time.’

Alek leant back in his chair and studied her some more. Her legs were faintly tanned and the smoothness of her skin made you almost forget how cheap her shoes were. ‘Perfect,’ he murmured. ‘The gods must be smiling on us. So why don’t you join me for a drink?’

‘I can’t.’ She shrugged as if in answer to his raised eyebrows. ‘I’m not really supposed to fraternise with customers.’

Alek gave a hard

smile. Wasn’t fraternise an old-fashioned word, which had its roots in brotherly? An irrelevant word as far as he was concerned, because he’d never had brothers. Never had anyone. Well, nobody that mattered, that was for sure. He’d always been alone in the world and that was the way he liked it. The way he intended to keep it. Except maybe for this starlit night, which was crying out for a little female company. ‘I’m just asking you to join me for a drink, poulaki mou,’ he said softly. ‘Not to drag you off to some dark corner and have my wicked way with you.’

‘Better not,’ she said. ‘It’s against hotel policy. Sorry.’

Alek felt the stir of something unknown whispering down his spine. Was it the sensation of being refused something—no matter how small—which had started his heart racing? How long since he had been refused anything and felt this corresponding frisson of excitement? A heady feeling that you might actually have to make an effort—instead of the outcome being entirely predictable.

‘But I’m leaving tomorrow evening,’ he said.

Ellie nodded. She knew that. Everyone in the hotel did. They knew plenty about the Greek billionaire who had been creating a stir since he’d arrived at The Hog last week. As the most luxurious hotel in the south of England, they were used to rich and demanding guests—but Alek Sarantos was richer and more demanding than most. His personal assistant had actually sent a list of his likes and dislikes before he’d arrived and all the staff had been advised to study it. And even though she’d considered it slightly over the top, Ellie had got stuck right in, because if a job was worth doing—it was worth doing well.

She knew he liked his eggs ‘over easy’ because he’d lived in America for a while. That he drank red wine, or sometimes whisky. His clothes had arrived before he did—delivered by special courier and carefully wrapped in layers of filmy tissue paper. There had even been a special staff pep talk just before he’d arrived.

‘Mr Sarantos must be given space,’ they’d been told. ‘Under no circumstances must he be disturbed unless he shows signs of wanting to be disturbed. It’s a coup for someone like him to stay in this hotel, so we must make him feel as if it’s his own home.’

Ellie had taken the instructions literally because The Hog’s training scheme had given her stability and hope for the future. For someone who’d never been any good at exams, it had offered a career ladder she was determined to climb, because she wanted to make something of herself. To be strong and independent.

Which meant that, unlike every other female in the place, she had tried to regard the Greek tycoon with a certain impartiality. She hadn’t attempted to flirt with him, as everyone else had been doing. She was practical enough to know her limitations and Alek Sarantos would never be interested in someone like her. Too curvy and too ordinary—she was never going to be the preferred choice of an international playboy, so why pretend otherwise?

But of course she had looked at him. She suspected that even a nun might have given him a second glance because men like Alek Sarantos didn’t stray onto the average person’s radar more than a couple of times in a lifetime.

His rugged face was too hard to be described as handsome and his sensual lips were marred by a twist of ruthlessness. His hair was ebony, his skin like polished bronze, but it was his dark-fringed eyes which captured your attention and made it difficult to look away. Unexpectedly blue eyes, which made her think of those sunlit seas you always saw in travel brochures. Sardonic eyes which seemed to have the ability to make her feel...

What?

Ellie shook her head slightly. She wasn’t sure. As if she sensed something lost in him? As if, on some incomprehensible level, they were kindred spirits? Stupid crazy stuff she shouldn’t be feeling, that was for sure. Her fingers tightened around the tray. It was definitely time to excuse herself and go home.

But Alek Sarantos was still staring as if he was waiting for her to change her mind and as those blue eyes seared into her she felt a brief wobble of temptation. Because it wasn’t every day a Greek billionaire asked you to have a drink with him.

‘It’s getting on for twelve,’ she said doubtfully.

‘I’m perfectly capable of telling the time,’ he said with a touch of impatience. ‘What happens if you stay out past midnight—does your car turn into a pumpkin?’

Ellie jerked back her head in surprise. She was amazed he knew the story of Cinderella—did that mean they had the same fairy tales in Greece?—though rather less surprised that he’d associated her with the famous skivvy.

‘I don’t have a car,’ she said. ‘Just a bicycle.’