What the Greek Can't Resist

She glanced at his empty glass. ‘Then I suppose you’ll be upgrading to a bottle instead of a glass shortly?’

He shrugged. ‘Drinking is one way of making the time pass faster, I suppose.’

Danger crawled across her skin, sparking a flame in her belly, but Perla couldn’t move. ‘When you’re alone in a bar at almost midnight, I don’t really see much else to entertain you.’ Her voice emerged huskier than she’d ever heard it.

He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘But I’m not alone. Not any more. I’ve saved you, a damsel in distress, and my reward is your company for now.’

‘I’m not a damsel in distress. Besides, you don’t know me from a blade of grass. I could be one of those predators you described, for all you know, Mr...?’

Her blatant demand for his name went unanswered as he nodded to the bartender and indicated their empty glasses.

‘I don’t think I should have another drink—’

Hooded hazel eyes trapped hers. ‘But we’re just getting to know one another. You were telling me about being a ruthless predator.’

‘And you wanted to be alone less than ten minutes ago, remember? Besides, what makes you think I want to get to know you?’

His small smile was both self-assured and self-pitying, a curious, intriguing combination. ‘I don’t. Forgive me for the assumption. If you wish you leave, you may do so.’

Again the courteous words laced with arrogance set her teeth on edge. But Perla found she couldn’t look away from the fascinating man, whose extremely powerful aura held a wealth of pain and sadness that drew her...made her hesitate.

She licked her lips and immediately regretted it when his gaze latched onto the movement. ‘I don’t need your permission but I...I’ll stay for another drink.’

He nodded solemnly. ‘Efharisto.’ The way his voice and sensual lips formed the word made her stomach perform an annoying little flip.

‘What does that mean?’

‘Greek, for thank you.’

‘Oh, you’re Greek? I love Greece. I visited Santorini a long time ago for the wedding of a client. I remember thinking at the time it’s where I’d like to get married one day. That has got to rank up there as one of the most beautiful places on earth—’ Perla drew to a sharp halt as his face tightened suddenly. ‘I’m sorry. Mindless chit-chat?’

One corner of his mouth lifted. ‘It’s not as mindless as I thought it would be. So you love Greece. What else do you love?’

Her gaze dropped to the table, then immediately rose to meet his, almost against her will. ‘Is this the part where I say long walks in the rain with that special someone?’

‘Only if it’s true. Personally, I detest the rain. I prefer wall-to-wall sunshine. And the sea.’

‘And the special someone is optional?’

That look she’d caught on his face earlier returned—the cross between ragged pain and guilt—and this time it stayed for several moments before he shrugged.

‘If you’re lucky enough to have the choice, and to hang onto your good fortune.’

She bit her lip but was stopped from answering as the bartender delivered their order. Again silence ensued as they sipped their drinks. Only this time, when his gaze travelled over her, she boldly watched him back.

The silvery strands that blended into his temples coupled with the designer stubble gave him a seriously gorgeous but distinctly imposing look that sent her heart thudding faster. He looked vaguely familiar. Mentally shrugging, Perla concluded she must have seen him in the newspaper or on TV. His air of importance and easy way he commanded power lent itself to that theory. And, of course, he was here, at Macdonald Hall, one of the most exclusive private sport clubs in the country.

His fingers curled around his glass and she watched him lift his drink to his lips, his gaze staying on hers. Heat rushed through her, filling her up in places she’d begun to think were frozen forever. Perla tried to tell herself it was the alcohol but in an angry rush of rejection she forced herself to face the truth. She was done lying to herself, to glossing over the bare truth in order to lessen her pain.

No more!

She was attracted to this man. To his gorgeous, pain-etched face, the haunted hazel eyes, the strong stubbled jaw she wanted to run her fingers over just to see if it felt as rough as his manly, callused fingers. The mental pictures reeling through her head should’ve shocked and shamed her. But, for tonight, Perla was determined to suspend shame. And really, when had looking been a crime? And he was as exquisite a specimen as any.