Ruthless Greek Boss, Secretary Mistress

She found her voice. ‘Excuse me, but I really don’t think it’s any of your—’

‘You’re right,’ the woman dismissed cuttingly. ‘However, I thought I’d do you a favour. Ari may sleep with a woman like you, but he’ll never marry a woman like you. That’s more than likely why he’s home. He’ll be looking for a suitable bride soon. A man like him? He’ll want to have an heir to secure his inheritance. He’ll do anything to stop his brother getting what’s rightfully his.’

Lucy watched the tall thin woman disappear back out into the bustling throng with a last glacial glance. She turned to face the mirror, realised that she was holding her breath and let it out in a big whoosh. What on earth had precipitated that? And what did she mean about his brother? And was Ari really looking for a suitable bride as well as the merger? And was she really that transparent?

Lucy forced herself to stand tall and looked at herself critically. She’d chosen one of the less revealing dresses, but still she wanted to yank it up and pull it down. One-shouldered, silk, it cut across her bosom far too low for her liking, and showed a veritable acreage of pale skin, which she was very conscious of in this milieu of much skinnier, more sun-kissed people.

The dark grey seemed to make her eyes stand out too large in her face, and her hectic flush had nothing to do with makeup and everything to do with embarrassment that everyone in the room must have seen her mooning after her boss. Well, it ended here. For the next two weeks it was work only. She’d keep Aristotle at arm’s length however she could. A dart of doubt struck her. How did she know he hadn’t already transferred his affections to that blonde? Perhaps he’d finally grown weary of chasing his too tall and too buxom secretary?

Choking back a frustrated cry at her own awful weakness and feeling so vulnerable, she left the bathroom—every intention of going back to the hotel. She got out to the lobby and retrieved her coat. She’d just leave a note for—

‘Where have you been?’

A hard hand whirled her around so fast she lost her balance and ended up plastered against Aristotle’s chest, looking up, slightly winded. When she realised what she was doing she scrambled back, inarticulate anger rushing through her. ‘I’m going back to the hotel. I’m tired.’

‘Well, I’m not—and we’re not finished here.’

‘It’s a social event. Surely you don’t need me to work.’

‘I…’ Ari faltered. He’d been about to say, I do need you. But she was right. It wasn’t for work, and if it wasn’t for work then what was it? Had he got so used to her calm, insightful presence? Had he really missed her throughout dinner?

He made the only decision he could. ‘Fine, then I’ll escort you back.’

A huge neon danger sign flashed over Lucy’s head. ‘No!’ She tempered her response. ‘I mean—you stay. I don’t want to drag you away…’ From that blonde you were obviously enjoying so much.

But in his usual arrogant way he’d already taken her arm and was leading her outside, where as if by magic his car drew up in front of them.

She tried again in the car. ‘Really, you should stay.’

He quirked a small hard smile, leaning back easily, studying her. ‘Oh, really? Should I?’

Lucy’s hands twisted in her lap. She felt something intangible shift between them. The energy was palpable. ‘Yes…’ Why did her voice sound breathy all of a sudden? ‘Yes,’ she said again, stronger. ‘You should. You obviously have…people to talk to.’

Aristotle grimaced when he recalled trying to evade the clutches of Pia Kyriapoulos just now. A very beautiful and very wealthy divorcee, she’d made it quite clear what he could expect if he wanted to indulge in an affair while in Athens. Before, he might have been tempted—she was offering just what he liked, no-strings sex—but now…the only woman he wanted was sitting just a few inches away from him, and he couldn’t contemplate sex with anyone else.

‘You’re wrong, Lucy,’ he drawled in deep honeyed tones. ‘There’s no one I want to talk to, and I am only too happy to

escort you back.’

Lucy stifled a retort and looked out of the window, a mixture of dread and excitement licking through her when she remembered the last time he’d insisted on taking her home.

Far too soon they were pulling up outside their hotel. Lucy scrambled inelegantly from the car before her door could be opened. But of course her attempts were futile. Aristotle caught up with her easily and took her arm again, leading them over to the gleaming lifts.

Once inside, standing apart from him, Lucy looked up resolutely. She nearly collapsed when she heard Aristotle say innocuously, ‘Do you remember the first time we met in a lift?’

Shocked and aghast, she looked at him—and realised too late that it was a mistake. ‘The first time we…?’

‘Met in a lift,’ he said easily, turning to look up at the display. ‘Funnily enough, the day you walked into my office to interview for the job I remembered it.’ He looked back down at her. ‘In vivid detail.’

Lucy was barely aware that she was still standing. She wanted to put out a hand to hold onto something, but the only solid thing was him. She prayed she wouldn’t collapse.

She shook her head. ‘No,’ she croaked…and then knew she couldn’t lie. ‘That is…yes. I remember you using the staff lift, but I don’t remember much else.’

Her heart was thumping as all she could remember right then was how hard his body had felt underneath hers. A lot like it had felt over hers the other day in the car.

The lift doors opened and Lucy almost fell out. Aristotle walked alongside her easily. Her legs were trembling. As she tried and failed to stick her keycard in her door she felt it taken out of her hand imperiously, and watched helplessly when he effortlessly opened the door.

When she stepped in he said quietly, ‘Who knew you were such a consummate liar, Lucy Proctor?’