His Penniless Beauty

As for clothes—apart from the repellent outfit she’d had to buy for her escort work, which she’d got in a charity shop anyway, she’d bought nothing for longer than she could remember.

For a moment—brief, poignant—a memory flashed in her head, vivid and piercing.

The evening dress I wore to the Covent Garden gala that first, magical night with Nikos! That beautiful, beautiful dress…

Her mouth thinned. Well, that was gone—along with every other designer dress she’d owned.

Along with everything else. Including the life she had once lived.

She swallowed. Sentiment was pointless. Worse than pointless. Unaffordable.

‘You took your time!’ The petulant tones of her customer penetrated.

‘I’m so sorry…’

Forcing an apologetic smile to her lips, Sophie got on with her job.

Nikos sat at a table in the bar of the West End hotel, one he never frequented himself. His expression was grim. It had been ever since he’d phoned the escort agency Cosmo had booked Sophie through. Getting the number had meant an unpleasant phone conversation with Cosmo, who had not missed the opportunity both to complain about Sophie running out on him and to jibe at Nikos’s sudden interest in girls of her kind.

But his expression had got even grimmer after he’d phoned the agency, and now, as he glanced at his watch impatiently, it was black. His eyes flicked to the hotel entrance again. She should be here any minute.

And then she was there, walking into the bar, her gait stiff, her posture tense. Nikos felt emotion kick in him, intense, hard.

It should have been anger. Anger that despite all his dire warnings to her about the true nature of what she was doing she had clearly ignored him. But, though anger was there, it was not the predominant emotion.

What emotion it was precisely he didn’t know, didn’t care. Knew only that it came with a leap in his veins that was like a tongue of scorching wind on a forest fire. Her presence instantly, immediately filled the space—filled his consciousness.

She was wearing the same outfit she’d worn the evening before, advertising her wares to the whole world. Yet she seemed oblivious to the fact. She was walking blindly, tautly, across the empty space from the hotel foyer into the bar. He watched her walking, waiting for the moment when she realised just who she was walking towards.

He saw when it happened. Saw her eyes widen abruptly, starkly, her face bleach, her stride falter. Saw the blankness in her face shatter like broken glass. As if she herself were shattering…

Then it was gone. The blankness was back. A rigid, frozen mask immobilising her face. He got up from his chair, confronting her. Her eyes darted sideways, searching past him. Nikos’s mouth pulled into a caustic line. She was looking urgently for someone else. Anyone else. Just not him.

‘Wrong call, Sophie,’ he told her, and there was an edge in his voice like a blade. Her eyes whipped back to him, stared. Disbelieving. And somewhere deep in her eyes he saw something that he could not fail to recognise.

Panic. Dismay.

But beneath them was something else. Something that made the emotion slicing through him quicken, though he fought against it.

She was staring at him. The shock—disbelief—flaring in her eyes. No, this couldn’t be. No. Not him. Not him. Not Nikos…

The denial was flighting through her, urgent, vehement. Oh, God, how could this be? How could it be? She fought for coherence, comprehension.

This can’t be happening. It can’t, it can’t!

She couldn’t be seeing Nikos again, not after it had taken all her strength to cope with what had happened the night before. How could she endure seeing him again? Denial screamed in her mind, but it was like a bird smashing itself against an iron cage. It was Nikos—there, waiting for her. Taunting her. Mocking her.

She summoned the only weapon she could, crushing down every other emotion. Her face hardened. ‘What’s this farce all about, Nikos?’ she demanded, every muscle in her body like steel under impossible tension. Her voice was as hard as her expression.

So was his. ‘Sit down.’ He pulled out a facing chair, holding it for her.

He saw her balking, and lifted one eyebrow sardonically. ‘I said, sit down, Sophie. I’ve engaged your services this evening, so start earning your money.’

Sophie sat, her legs suddenly soggy. Numbly, she watched Nikos fold his long, lean body, clad in a superb hand-made suit, into the opposite chair, every centimetre of him assured, sleek, powerful.

Devastating.

She felt the hollow gape in her stomach, felt emotions rush into the space, churning and convulsing. Overpowering.