The Greek's Hidden Vows

Christos’s public biography only briefly touched on a childhood spent in Southern Greece. There was hardly any mention of his parents, and Alexis had worked for him for two years before discovering his grandfather was alive, albeit living a reclusive life on a sprawling island in the Aegean. And that grandfather was Costas Drakakis, the retired shipping mogul.

‘Perhaps it is,’ he answered cryptically, his gaze fixed on her face.

When she realised he wasn’t going to elaborate, she pursed her lips.

‘Whatever it is, if you could bottle it, you’d make an absolute killing.’

‘I believe it’s been labelled as my pathological aversion to failure.’ He shrugged. ‘But if you wish to compliment me on my stamina, then by all means, have at it.’

Alexis glanced at him in time to catch him looking at her hair. She was acutely aware her bun was in the last stages of slipping its knot, and wayward tendrils had escaped about an hour ago. As for her lipstick, it had been rubbed off when they’d stopped for a hurried supper four hours ago.

Again his lips twitched.

She found she was staring at his sculpted mouth and forcibly dragged her gaze away. ‘Well, this lesser human will take you up on your offer to type up the notes in the morning, if you’re sure?’

‘Don’t put yourself down. Your fire burned almost as brightly as mine.’ The compliment was countered with a slightly mocking gleam in his eye as he continued, ‘Until I caught your yawn about an hour ago.’

She suppressed a grimace. She’d thought she’d hidden it well. ‘Well... I—’

‘I’m not going to hold it against you if that’s a worry. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you less than immaculately put together,’ he mused.

Alexis reached up to tidy her hair, but suddenly, his fingers were there, beating her to it.

Their fingers grazed, then tangled. Her breath caught, the sharp sizzle dancing through her blood making her drop her hand as the sensation raced up her arm. With a slow, unhurried movement, he captured a tendril between his fingers and slowly caressed it. Stepping forward, he wound the strand behind her ear, then trailed his fingers down her cheek.

Her breath stalled as she stood frozen, caught between the electrifying spell and the need to flee.

Christos regarded her with an almost detached interest, his piercing grey eyes scouring every expression she attempted to hide. As if he was conducting an experiment.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Testing your performance levels like we talked about,’ he confirmed, ‘since you insist you’re not tired.’

Alarmed by the excitement leaping inside her, she jerked back. ‘That won’t be necessary. You’ve given me your feedback. Allow me the courtesy of letting me work on it.’

‘But how will you learn without practical experience?’ he drawled.

She shrugged, a little perturbed by how quickly they’d landed in this quagmire again.

‘I’m not going to discuss this with you any further. Either you trust me to do everything in my power to honour our agreement or you don’t.’

His nostrils flared but he remained silent, those eyes still fixed on her.

Until his scrutiny forced her into speech. ‘If that’s all, goodnight—’

‘It’s pointless going back home tonight when I need you back here by six. You should stay in the executive suite,’ he tossed out, before heading back to his seat.

The executive suite. Separated from his own private suite by a twelve-foot-long marble hallway. It wasn’t a big deal under normal circumstances. She’d stayed over before when their workload had pushed their working hours deep into the night.

But somehow this felt...different. Perhaps it was all this talk of sharpening her performance. Perhaps it was the recurring recollection of what happened the last time they were near a sofa.

‘It’s fine. I’ll get the car service to drive me home.’

‘All the drivers are busy delivering the associates home.’

He picked up his phone and showed her the app that displayed their vehicle availability. Every car displayed the in use sign.

‘I can get a cab—’