Kitabı oku: «Greek Bachelors: Buying His Bride», sayfa 2

Knowing that, wasn’t it time she left her insecurities in the past?

‘They’re not looking at me.’ His hand fell to his side and there was a cynical gleam in his eyes. ‘Or if they are then they’re not seeing me. They’re seeing my wallet. When it comes to dress size they want to see one zero, but when it comes to a man’s wallet they’re rather more ambitious.’

Chantal laughed, and refrained from pointing out that he could be penniless and women would still stare. ‘If you’re so rich that women can’t see past your wallet, then there’s an obvious solution.’ Her eyes twinkling, she stood on tiptoe and spoke softly in his ear, ‘Give away all your money.’

His head turned fractionally, so that his lips almost brushed her cheek. ‘You think I should do that?’

He smelt amazing, Chantal thought dizzily, resting a hand on his shoulder to steady herself. ‘It would stop women stereotyping you as a rich, available man.’

‘How do you know I’m available?’

Feeling distinctly light-headed, Chantal stepped away slightly, deciding regretfully that it really was time to move on from this conversation and this man. Before she forgot who she really was. ‘Because if you weren’t, some extremely jealous woman would have stabbed me in the back with her cutlery by now.’

His eyes were on her mouth. ‘So your advice is to give away my money?’

‘Absolutely. Only then can you be sure of a woman’s motives.’

The musicians started to play the seductive, powerful notes of a tango, and Chantal closed her eyes for a moment, wishing they hadn’t chosen that particular moment to perform that number.

It reminded her of Buenos Aires.

She’d spent two months travelling around Argentina, and she loved South American music.

The rhythm was so familiar that her body swayed instinctively, and the next moment the glass was removed from her hand and she felt her mysterious companion slide a hand around her back and pull her close. So close that, had the dance not been a tango, their contact would have drawn comment.

Her eyes opened. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Dancing. With you.’

‘You didn’t ask me.’

‘I never ask a question when I already know the answer. It wastes time.’

‘Arrogant,’ she murmured, and he gave a slow smile.

‘Self-aware.’

‘Over-confident.’ Laughing, she tilted her head to look at him. ‘I might have said no.’ She could feel the warmth of his hand on the bare skin at the base of her spine and the contact sent spirals of heat coursing through her body.

‘You wouldn’t have said no.’

And he was absolutely right.

There was no way she would have been able to say no to this man.

The throbbing, sexy music coiled itself around them and Chantal was breathlessly conscious of the strength and power of his body pressed against hers.

He clasped her hand in his and drew her nearer still, until it felt as though there wasn’t a single part of her that wasn’t touching him. The music washed over them and he moved in response to that intoxicating rhythm, using subtle changes in pressure to lead her around the dance floor.

She was so aware of him that she couldn’t breathe. He was in her personal space and she felt suffocated and seduced at the same time, intoxicated and drugged by the powerful chemistry that had erupted between them from the first moment they’d met.

What they were doing ceased to feel like dancing. It was—

An exploration of sexuality?

Her body slid over his, his leg following her leg, his hands on her hips. He moved with a confidence and innate sensuality that left her in no doubt that this man would be an incredible lover.

For some lucky woman.

And that woman would never be someone like her.

But for now—just for now—he was hers. And she was going to make the most of the moment.

They danced chest to chest, eyes locked, breath mingling, the heat and their chemistry turning the dance into something close to a primal mating ritual.

Chantal ceased to register the other people on the dance floor and suddenly there was just the two of them, their bodies moving together in perfect understanding as they executed something far deeper and more complex than a few dance steps. It was erotic, passionate and deeply intimate. They’d never met before this evening, and yet instinctively she knew what he wanted from her and moved in response to his demands.

Her senses were heightened and she was lost in the music and the moment as they danced with fluency and sensuality. One moment they were chest to chest and she could feel the steady thump of his heartbeat against hers, and then he would turn her and she could feel the seductive slide of his hands over her hips as he moved her body in a dance that only just bordered on the socially acceptable. The movement of his leg drew the silk of her dress up her own leg, and the warmth of his breath against her neck made her shiver. How was it possible to be hot and cold at the same time?

How was it possible to feel this way about a man she’d never met before and wouldn’t ever meet again?

Perhaps that was why, she mused, gasping slightly as he tipped her slightly off balance, forcing her to lean into his body. Because she would never see him again, she could let go and enjoy herself.

For tonight, she was this man’s dance partner.

And dancing with him was shameful, sinful and like nothing she’d ever experienced before.

Her mind and body moved into a different place altogether and when the music finally shifted to a different rhythm it took her a moment to register her surroundings and return to reality.

They stared at each other for an endless moment, and then he released her and stepped away from her.

There was a strange light in his dark eyes as he studied her.

‘I’ll fetch us both a drink.’ His tone was noticeably cooler than it had been before they’d danced.

He strode off and she blinked several times, disorientated by the sudden change in his attitude. A moment ago they’d been in another world, just the two of them, and now—

She took a few deep breaths, trying to settle the intense reaction of her body. He seemed angry—but why would he be angry?

It had been his choice to dance, not hers.

And she hadn’t trodden on his toes or fallen on the floor.

Wondering what she’d done to bring about such a change in him, she was about to melt into the background when a woman approached her.

‘I’m Marianna Killington-Forbes.’ She spoke in a lazy English upper-class accent, and the smile that touched her mouth went nowhere near her eyes. ‘You look very familiar. Have we met?’

Oh, yes, they’d met.

Chantal’s legs started to shake as her disguise fell away. She felt naked and exposed, her past no longer safely concealed but rising in front of her like some vile, malevolent demon. She was going to die of embarrassment and humiliation. Right now. Right here. ‘I—’

‘She doesn’t speak much English, Marianna. I told her to stay with me and not wander off, but we were separated in the crowd.’ The heavily accented voice came from directly behind her, and Chantal turned to find a man by her side. She guessed him to be in his seventies, but he was still ridiculously handsome and his eyes were kind as he smiled down at her. He said something to her in a language that she didn’t understand and then took her freezing cold hand in his, tucking it firmly into the bend of his arm as he drew her close. ‘Marianna?’ His eyes lost some of their warmth as he looked at her tormentor. ‘Is there something that you wish to say? I can try and translate, if you would like?’

The woman’s mouth tightened. ‘She didn’t seem to be having any problems communicating with Angelos.’

The man smiled. ‘As you no doubt noticed, they use an entirely different method of communication.’

Jealousy flashed in the other woman’s eyes and she turned her attention back to Chantal. ‘Well, I wish you luck with your relationship. The ability not to converse could stand you in good stead, given that Angelos never expects conversation from his women anyway.’

Still frozen with horror that Marianna had recognised her face, Chantal watched with relief as the other woman stalked away, apparently unable to recall her name or exactly how she knew her.

‘You’re shaking.’ The man’s voice was soft, and Chantal clung to his arm, struggling to pull herself together. Desperately hoping that her dance partner wasn’t going to choose that moment to reappear, she took several deep breaths.

‘Do you think—could you just stay with me for a minute?’ Her voice cracked. ‘I don’t want to be left on my own just now.’

‘You are not on your own.’ His hand covered hers, and she felt the warmth of his fingers thaw the chill in her bones.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, so pathetically grateful for his intervention that she almost hugged him on the spot. ‘I don’t know why you did that, but I’ll never forget it. You’ve been so, so kind. How did you know I needed rescuing?’

‘When she walked up to you, your face turned white. I thought you were going to faint. You don’t like her, no?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Don’t be embarrassed. I don’t like her either,’ the man said firmly. ‘I never could stand that woman. I wonder why she was invited.’

Chantal thought back to the misery of her schooldays. ‘Her daddy is very rich.’

‘Really? He clearly didn’t spend his money feeding his family.’ The man made a disparaging noise. ‘To look at her you’d think she was starved from birth. Her bones should be classified as a lethal weapon. If you bumped into her, you’d be bruised all over.’

Despite her insecurities, Chantal couldn’t help laughing. He was not only kind, he was also funny. She glanced at him curiously, thinking that he reminded her of someone. ‘I’d better leave—’ She started to move, but he tightened his grip on her arm.

‘If you leave,’ he said softly, ‘then they’ll think they’ve won. Is that what you want?’

She stilled, wondering how he knew what she was feeling. ‘Everyone is staring at me—’

‘So smile,’ the man instructed calmly. ‘Lift your chin and smile. You have as much right to be here as the rest of them.’ Without giving her the chance to argue, he led her to two vacant chairs. ‘Sit for a moment and keep a lonely old man company. I hate these things. I always feel out of place.’

‘That can’t possibly be true. You look as confident as anyone here.’

‘But appearances can be deceptive, can’t they?’ His gentle comment made it clear that he was aware of how uncomfortable and insecure she felt.

His unusual insight probably should have worried her, but it didn’t. All she felt was the most profound gratitude. Not only had he rescued her from a potentially embarrassing situation, he was now pretending that her fears and insecurities were nothing out of the ordinary.

‘Why are you being so kind to me?’

‘I’m not being kind. I hate these events. You can’t blame me for enjoying myself with the best-looking woman in the room.’

She wished her hands would stop shaking. ‘If you hate them, why did you come?’

‘To please my son. He is worried that I haven’t been getting out enough lately.’

‘In that case he won’t want to see you wasting your time with me.’ And she should be leaving. Before Marianna remembered who she was.

‘That dance—’ The man glanced towards her, the corners of his eyes crinkling. ‘It was like watching one person. The rhythm was perfect, the chemistry between the two of you—Only lovers can dance the Argentine tango like that.’

Lovers?

Chantal opened her mouth to tell him that they hadn’t even exchanged names, but then decided that it would be embarrassing to admit that she’d danced like that with a total stranger.

What had Marianne called him? Angelos?

So she’d been right about one thing; he definitely wasn’t English.

What would it be like, she mused dreamily, to be loved by a man like that?

‘And even now you can’t stop thinking about him, can you?’ The man sounded pleased. ‘You share something deep. He cares. I can see with my own eyes. The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him. The way you moved together, as if there was no one else in the room. The body says more than words. I can see from watching you that your relationship is serious.’

His observation shocked her out of her dreams. ‘Oh. Well, no, it isn’t exactly—’

‘You don’t have to be secretive with me. I may be old enough to be your father, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in love. I want to know how you felt the first time you saw him. Tell me!’

Chantal hesitated and then smiled, drawn by the kindness in his eyes. It was strange, she mused. She didn’t make friends easily, and yet after only five minutes in his company she would have died for this man. ‘I thought he was amazing,’ she said honestly. ‘He was charming, clever and surprisingly easy to talk to.’

‘And sexy?’

‘Oh, yes. Incredible.’ She lowered her voice, afraid that the people around them might overhear. ‘I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life before.’

The man nodded with satisfaction. ‘I knew it. And you’re crazy about him, aren’t you?’

‘Well—’ Chantal gave a helpless shrug. ‘Yes. But we haven’t exactly known each other for—’

‘It’s either right or it’s wrong! All these long engagements—all nonsense. If a man and woman are right together, they’re right straight away—not in six months or six years.’

Slightly disturbed by that comment, Chantal thought for a moment. Right together? Hardly. If he was as rich as she suspected, then she couldn’t think of two people less suited.

She would never be comfortable in his world. And he wouldn’t want her in his.

If he knew who she was then he’d join the crowd at the edge of the playground.

Dismissing that thought, she glanced at the man next to her. He really did remind her of someone. ‘So, if you’re such an expert on body language, why do you think he looked so angry?’ She wondered why she was asking the advice of a total stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger, and talking to him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

‘That’s easy enough to answer. A man never likes to admit that he’s well and truly fallen for a woman. I was the same when I met my wife. I struggled for weeks. Loving a woman makes a man vulnerable, and a strong man doesn’t like to be vulnerable. I resisted her.’

‘So what did your wife do to win you over?’

‘She did what women always do when they want something. Talk, talk, talk until a man’s resistance is ground into the dust.’

Chantal laughed. ‘Are you still together?’

‘We had forty years.’ The man’s smile faded. ‘She died fifteen years ago and I’ve never met anyone else to touch her. But I haven’t given up trying. And I can still remember how it feels to move around a dance floor.’

Moved by the emotion in his voice, Chantal stood up impulsively and held out her hands. ‘Show me.’ She angled her head and listened to the music. ‘It’s a waltz. Do you waltz?’

He laughed with delight. ‘You want me to waltz with you?’

‘Why is that funny?’

‘I’m seventy three.’

‘There’s no man in the room I’d rather dance with.’

‘Then you are a brave woman, because Angelos is an extremely possessive man. He would not be amused if I took you onto the dance floor. But I can see now why you’ve succeeded where so many have failed. I’m sure it’s that wonderful spirit of yours that has made you different from all the others.’

‘All the others?’ Chantal frowned. ‘All what others?’

‘All the other women who have aspired to be where you are tonight. By his side. In his heart.’ The man’s eyes misted and Chantal felt her stomach lurch.

‘You know him well?’ Who exactly was this man? Desperately she tried to rerun the conversation. Exactly what had she said? ‘You didn’t mention that you knew him well.’

‘If I’d done that you might not have talked so freely, and that would have been a pity. It was a most illuminating conversation.’ The older man was still smiling, and at that moment Chantal saw her dance partner approach, the expression on his handsome face dark and forbidding.

He stopped in front of them, broad shouldered and powerful, an ominous frown touching his dark brows as he saw their clasped hands.

Chantal instantly withdrew her hands, her heart starting to thud. Why was he looking at her like that? The man she was sitting with was clearly a man of mature years. What possible reason was there for the shimmering anger she saw in the eyes of her handsome dance partner?

He couldn’t possibly be jealous. That would be too ridiculous for words.

She didn’t know what to say, so she just sat holding her breath, waiting for him to speak.

An expression of grim disapproval settled on his face as he glanced between the two of them and finally, after what seemed like an age, straightened his shoulders and spoke.

‘I see you’ve met my father.’

CHAPTER TWO

CHANTAL served the group of tourists seated at the table and then sank into a chair at an adjacent table, staring blankly at an empty coffee cup.

It didn’t matter how much time passed, she still felt horribly, miserably embarrassed. And sad. Really, really sad. As if she’d lost something special that she’d never be able to get back.

What was the matter with her?

Two weeks had passed since the ball. Two weeks since she’d gate-crashed the most prestigious social event of the year—

Why couldn’t she just forget it and move on?

Why couldn’t she just forget him?

Without thinking, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her skirt and touched the piece of torn newspaper she’d been carrying around for the past two weeks. She’d touched and stared at the picture so many times that it was crumpled and thin, and in immediate danger of falling apart. Now she wished that she’d bought a hundred copies of the newspaper and stored them safely, so that when she was old and grey she could remind herself of that one perfect night.

That one perfect man.

The memory of that dance still made her nerve-endings tingle. The chemistry that had sizzled between them had been the most exciting, astonishing experience of her life. Even now, as she remembered the seductive, intoxicating feel of his body against hers, her heart-rate increased.

But it hadn’t just been the chemistry that had kept her by his side long after she should have made her escape. She’d liked him. She’d liked his sharp observations, his intelligence and his dry sense of humour.

Angelos Zouvelekis.

Thanks to the article in her pocket, she now knew exactly who he was.

Billionaire and philanthropist. Greek billionaire and philanthropist.

Of course. Greek. The clues had all been there, if she’d only looked for them. His hair was the deep, glossy black of a Kalamata olive and his bronzed skin hinted at a life spent bathed in the warmth of the Mediterranean sun.

She’d fallen for a Greek billionaire as well known for his bachelor status as for his phenomenal business success.

And, for her, the fairy tale ended there—because she couldn’t have picked a more unsuitable man if she’d tried.

Tears stung her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Ironic, really, she thought to herself. Every other woman would have considered Angelos Zouvelekis to be the most suitable man on the planet. Every other woman would have known immediately who he was.

Not her. She hadn’t had a clue. If she had, maybe she would have walked away sooner.

Found a different man to fall in love with.

Oh, for goodness’ sake! She sucked in a breath, impatient with herself for thinking that way. No one fell in love that easily! It just didn’t happen. What she was feeling wasn’t love. It was just—just—

Rubbing a hand over her face, she struggled to pull herself together.

She didn’t actually understand what it was that she was feeling, but she wished it would stop because it was pulling her down. And anyway, what she felt about him was irrelevant, because he’d made it perfectly clear what he’d thought of her.

He’d been so, so angry.

Somehow—and she’d never actually found out how—he’d obviously discovered that she hadn’t been invited to the ball.

Chantal covered her face with her hands and shook her head, trying to erase the hideously embarrassing memory. Just remembering his hard, icy tone made her want to sink through the floor.

What had he called her? Greedy, unscrupulous and dishonest.

And perhaps she’d deserved it. After all, it had been dishonest to use a ticket that wasn’t hers.

To call her greedy and unscrupulous was a bit over the top, but, given the outrageous price of the tickets, she could see how he might have thought that about her.

And to make matters worse there had been that incredibly sticky moment when his father had expressed his undiluted joy that his son was finally in a loving relationship.

Remembering the look of thunderous incredulity that had transformed Angelos’s features from handsome to intimidating, Chantal slid lower in her seat.

That had been the biggest mistake of all: voicing her dreams and fantasies to the elderly man who had helped her so much. But she’d adored him on sight, and he’d been so kind to her. So approachable and sympathetic. Almost a father figure, although she didn’t really know what one of those looked like. As far as she was concerned, the species was extinct.

Perhaps that was why she’d been so drawn to him.

Angelos’s father.

She gave a whimper of disbelief and regret. Of all the men in the room, why had she chosen him as a sounding board for her fantasies?

Telling herself firmly that it was in the past, and she needed to forget it, Chantal straightened her shoulders and tried to think positively about the future.

Obviously she couldn’t stay in Paris. She needed to travel to somewhere remote. A place where there was absolutely no chance of bumping into one very angry Greek male. The Amazon, maybe? Or the Himalayas? Even a man with a global business wasn’t likely to have an office in Nepal, was he?

She sat for a moment, trying to stir up some enthusiasm for her next step.

It was exciting to be able to travel anywhere and be anyone. She was lucky to be free to make the decisions she wanted to make. How many other people had absolutely no ties? Most people had jobs to restrict their movements, or families to think of. She had no such restrictions.

She had no family to answer to. No one who cared what she did. She could move continents tomorrow without having to ask anyone’s permission, and she could be anyone she wanted to be.

Chantal waited for the usual buzz of excitement that came from the prospect of reinventing herself yet again, but nothing happened. Instead of the thrill of adventure, her mood was totally flat.

She felt as though she’d lost something and she didn’t understand why she would feel that way.

What had she lost?

‘Chantal!’ The café owner’s voice cut through the embarrassing memories like a sharp knife. ‘I am not paying you to rest! We have customers. Get on your feet and serve them! This is your last warning.’

Chantal sprang to her feet, realising with another spurt of embarrassment that she’d sat down at the table she was supposed to be cleaning.

Her cheeks pink, she quickly gathered up the empty cup and two glasses and hurried into the kitchen.

‘More time working and less time dreaming, or I’ll be looking for a new waitress.’ The small, rotund little Frenchman gave an unpleasant smile, openly staring at the thrust of her breasts under her white blouse. ‘Unless you want to apply for a different role.’

Chantal lifted her eyes to his, his comment triggering a response so violent that it shocked her. It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘Look for a new waitress,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I resign.’ And, just to reinforce that decision, she removed the ridiculous little apron that she’d been forced to wear over the vestigial black skirt and white blouse.

The café owner thought that it attracted customers. And it did. But they were almost always the type of customer she would have chosen to avoid.

Vile self-loathing curled inside her and she thrust the apron into his hands, not even bothering to ask for the money he owed her.

She didn’t care about the money.

She just wanted to get away. The truth was that Chantal, waitress, had never really worked for her. Neither had Chantal, chambermaid, or Chantal, barmaid.

The darkness of her past pressed in on her and she hurried towards the door, desperately needing to be outside in the warm Paris sunshine.

The café owner was subjecting her to a tirade of fluent French, but Chantal ignored him and virtually ran out of the door.

She’d move on. Travel somewhere exotic where she knew no one.

Maybe Egypt would be exciting. She could see the pyramids and swim in the Red Sea—

Calming down slightly, she left the café without glancing back and started to walk along the wide boulevard that led towards the Eiffel Tower. The trees were in full leaf, and the fountains bubbled and gushed, the sound soothing and cooling in the warm air.

It was lunchtime, and tourists mingled with elegantly dressed Parisian mothers taking their toddlers for a stroll. A little blonde girl tripped and fell, and instantly her mother was by her side, gathering her into her arms for a hug.

Just for an instant Chantal watched, and then she put her head down and hurried on, ignoring the faint stab of envy that tore at her insides.

She was twenty-four; far too old to be envying a child her mother.

She quickened her pace, dodging a group of teenagers who were gliding in circles on rollerblades. They mocked each other and laughed, their effortless camaraderie making her feel even more wistful.

None of them looked displaced or insecure.

They all belonged.

Above her the Eiffel Tower rose high, but Chantal didn’t spare it a glance. In the two months she’d spent in Paris she hadn’t once joined the throngs who jostled with each other in long queues for a chance to reach the top. She’d avoided the standard tourist traps and opted instead to discover the hidden Paris.

But now it was time to move on.

Not thinking or caring about her destination, she just walked, determined to enjoy her last moments in a city she’d grown to love.

Eventually she reached the river Seine, and she paused for a moment on the embankment, watching the way the sun glinted on the water. Behind her cars roared past, weaving in and out of lanes in an alarmingly random fashion. Horns blared, and drivers shook their fists and yelled abuse at each other through open windows.

It was a typical day in Paris.

She crossed the river and made her way up to the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré with its designer shops. This area was the heart of Paris design and fashion; Chanel, Lanvin, Yves St Laurent, Versace—they were all here. She paused outside a window, her attention caught by a dress on display, her brain automatically memorising the cut and the line.

Why were people prepared to pay such an indecent sum of money for something so simple? she mused. A length of fabric and a reel of cotton thread could produce the same for a fraction of the amount.

The dress she’d made for the ball had been a huge success, and no one had seemed to recognise it as an old piece of discarded curtain lining.

The low growl of a powerful engine broke her concentration, and she glanced behind her as a shiny black Lamborghini jerked to a halt in the road.

Chantal felt her heart skitter, and slowly the world around her faded into the background. She was oblivious to the fact that several other women had turned to stare and equally oblivious to the cacophony of car horns as other drivers registered their protest.

She knew that car.

She’d seen it two weeks before—at the ball she hadn’t been invited to.

It belonged to the man that she hadn’t been supposed to dance with.

The son of the man she wished she’d never talked to.

His attention caught by the gleaming blonde hair and long, long legs of the woman staring into the shop window, Angelos Zouvelekis slammed his foot on the brake and brought the car to an abrupt halt.

Ignoring the sudden swivel of heads that followed his action, he stared hard at the woman.

Was it her?

Had he finally found her, or was it wishful thinking on his part?

She looked different. Wondering if he’d made a mistake, Angelos narrowed his eyes and imagined this woman with her hair piled on top of her head and her arms and shoulders revealed by the clever cut of her couture dress.

And then her eyes met his, and all doubt faded. Even from this distance he caught a flash of sapphire-blue—the same unusual colour that had caught his attention that fateful night at the ball.

Her eyes were unforgettable.

Finally he’d found her. And where else but shopping in one of the most expensive districts of Paris?

It should have been the first place he’d instructed his security team to look, Angelos thought cynically, wondering which deluded fool had provided the money she was clearly about to spend.

The fact that he’d been compelled to search for her at all made the anger explode inside him and he switched off the engine and sprang from the car, as indifferent to the ‘No Parking’ signs as he was to the gaping audience of admiring women who were now watching his movements with lustful interest.

At that precise moment he wasn’t interested in any woman except the one who was staring at him, and he almost laughed as he saw the shock in her eyes.

It didn’t surprise him that she was shocked to see him, given the way they’d parted company.

He was shocked, too. In normal circumstances he went out of his way to avoid women like her. If anyone had told him a month ago that he would have used all his contacts to track down someone whose behaviour appalled and disgusted him, he would have laughed.