Kitabı oku: «Greek Mavericks: The Greek's Unforgettable Secret»

CHAPTER ONE

‘DAMON GAVROS! LONG TIME, no see!’

Damon Gavros! Lizzie felt weak. Surely there had to be more than one Damon Gavros in London? She could hardly breathe as Stavros, her excitable boss, burst into the busy restaurant kitchen where Lizzie was ploughing her way through a mountain of dirty dishes at the sink. No. There was no mistake. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was the Damon Gavros when she could feel Damon in every fibre of her being. Was it really eleven years since they had last seen each other?

Steadying herself against the sink, Lizzie braced herself for an encounter she had never expected to happen—least of all here in the safety of her workplace.

Images of Damon started flashing behind her eyes. Impossibly compelling and dangerously intuitive, Damon Gavros was the only man to have made an impact on Lizzie so powerful that she had never forgotten him—never could forget him. And for more reasons than the fact that Damon was the most charismatic man she’d ever met.

‘Welcome! Welcome!’ Stavros was calling out on a steadily mounting wave of hysteria. ‘Damon! Please! Come in to the kitchen! Follow me! I want to introduce you to everyone…’

Lizzie remained rooted to the spot. Head down, with her fists planted in the warm suds, she drew a deep, shuddering breath as a spurt of the old anger flashed through her. Standing outside that courtroom in London eleven years ago, she had never felt more alone in her life, and she had cursed Damon Gavros to hell and back for being part of the root cause of that upheaval.

Now she could see that Damon and his father had done a good thing, and that the fault had rested squarely with Lizzie’s father, who had defrauded so many people out of their life savings. At the time she had been too confused and angry and upset to see that. It had only been when she had returned home and her stepmother had thrown her out of the house that Lizzie had finally accepted that her father was a crook and her stepmother was a heartless, greedy woman.

And Damon…?

She’d never forgotten Damon.

But where had he been for the past eleven years?

He certainly hadn’t been part of Lizzie’s life. Not that she held him responsible for anything except his absence. In fact she thanked him for making her life infinitely richer. She wondered what he would think of her now. She’d been such a rebel then, and now she was conventional to a fault. Would that make him suspicious?

Her body trembled with awareness as he drew closer. She hadn’t felt this affected by a man in eleven long years. She’d sworn off sex after Damon—and not just because no man could compare with him.

Damon and Stavros were growing closer to the dishwashing section of the busy kitchen, and the warmth between the two men reminded Lizzie of the warmth between Damon and his father after the trial. How she’d envied them their closeness. To have someone to confide in had seemed such an impossible dream. Looking back, she could see now that the court case had done her a favour. She had learned to stand on her own feet and now, though she didn’t have much, she earned her living honestly and she was free.

‘Lizzie!’ Stavros’s voice was full of happy anticipation as he called out her name across the banks of stainless steel counters. ‘May I present a very good friend of mine, recently returned from his travels…? Damon Gavros!’

She turned reluctantly.

There were a few seconds of absolute silence, and then Damon said, ‘I believe we know each other.’

Damon’s voice slicked through Lizzie’s veins like the slide of warm cream. It was so familiar she felt as if they’d never been apart.

‘That’s right,’ she agreed, trembling inside as she made sure to give Stavros a reassuring smile.

‘I’ll leave you two together,’ Stavros said tactfully, practically rubbing his hands with glee at the thought that he had finally managed to play Cupid.

‘It’s been a long time, Damon.’

‘Indeed it has,’ he agreed, scrutinising her with matching interest.

She felt vulnerable. She was hardly kitted out in her armour of choice for this reunion, in rubber overshoes, with an unflattering overall over her old clothes and an elasticated protective hat covering her wilful red curls, and her face was no doubt red and sweaty from the steam of the kitchen.

And I don’t know you, she thought as she stared into a ridiculously handsome face that had only improved with age. Apart from the information in press reports about his public persona, she didn’t know who Damon Gavros had become. And if he was back in London for good she had to find out.

Incredible eyes. Seductive eyes. Laughing eyes…

Dangerous eyes. They saw too much.

Damon’s impact on her senses was as devastating as it had ever been—which was the only warning Lizzie needed that she should take care. From the flash of black diamonds on his crisp white cuffs to the faintly amused stare that could obliterate her sensible mind at a stroke, Damon Gavros, with his power and money, was the most terrible threat to everything Lizzie held dear.

And still her wilful body clamoured for his attention while her sensible mind screamed caution. Damon was overwhelmingly charismatic, as well as physically imposing, but it was the power of his mind that dominated everything—and that frightened her.

‘Success suits you,’ she said, carelessly speaking her thoughts out loud.

He gave a slight nod of acknowledgement to this, but made no reply. That was probably the best he could do, after finding her here in the kitchen.

Business pundits spoke of Damon’s unparalleled success, and his monumental wealth since taking over his father’s company. When their articles weren’t referring to him as the world’s most eligible bachelor, they were dubbing him the benevolent billionaire, because of his charitable interests. She doubted he’d feel charitably disposed towards her if he discovered how she’d lived for the past eleven years.

Tamping down her alarm, Lizzie accepted that they’d both changed. She was more savvy, and better able to handle Damon.

‘Why don’t we get out of here?’ he suggested.

‘I beg your pardon?’ She looked at him in surprise, thinking she must have misheard him.

‘I’m not keen on holding our reunion here, are you?’

His stare seared through her, and for a moment she didn’t know what to say. The thought of going anywhere with Damon Gavros was alarming.

Damon could understand Lizzie’s surprise at seeing him. Seeing her had been a shock for him too—especially finding her so changed. He was keen to know what had been happening to Lizzie over the past eleven years, and why on earth she was working here.

‘I’m sure Stavros can spare you for an hour or so,’ he insisted.

Confident that Lizzie would follow him, he was already halfway to the door.

‘I can’t,’ she said flatly, bringing him to a halt. ‘As you can see…’ She spread her hands wide in the ugly rubber gloves when he turned around. ‘I’m working.’

It had never occurred to him that she might say no. ‘Stavros?’ he queried, turning his attention to her boss, who was hovering at the back of the kitchen.

‘Of course,’ Stavros insisted with enthusiasm. ‘Lizzie deserves a break. She can join you at your table. My chefs will prepare a feast—’

‘I’d rather not,’ Lizzie interrupted.

Damon had caught a glimpse of shabby jeans and a faded top beneath Lizzie’s overall and could understand her reservations. Stavros’s restaurant was seriously high-end, but now they’d met again he was determined to find out everything about her, and bury the hatchet so many years after her father’s trial.

‘We don’t have to eat here—somewhere casual?’ he suggested. ‘Another time, Stavros,’ he was quick to add, with a reassuring smile for his hovering host. ‘I’d like the chance to fill in the past eleven years, wouldn’t you?’ he said, turning to Lizzie.

She gave a nervous laugh. This was so unlike the Lizzie he’d known that he felt instantly suspicious. ‘Unless your eleven years includes a husband or a fiancé?’

‘No,’ she said, lifting her chin to regard him steadily. ‘It doesn’t.’

‘Then, do you have a coat?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘An hour or so of your time?’ He shrugged. ‘What harm can that do?’

Stavros intervened before she could reply. ‘How can you refuse?’ Stavros asked Lizzie, with a warm smile and an expansive gesture so typical of the genial restaurateur. ‘I’ll get someone to take over your work. Go now,’ he chivvied, ‘Lizzie never takes time off,’ he confided to Damon. ‘Half an hour for old times’ sake?’ he urged Lizzie, doing Damon’s work for him.

Short of being rude to both of them, there was only one thing Lizzie could do.

‘I’ll get my coat,’ she said.

She went to the staff bathroom and sluiced her face in cold water. Staring at herself in the mirror above the sink, she wondered where eleven years had gone. Did it matter? Damon Gavros was back. She had to handle it.

At least Stavros was delighted. He was always trying to fix her up with a man. Billionaire and pot-washer? Even Stavros couldn’t make that one fly, though Damon seemed happy enough. That had better not have been a smile of triumph on his lips. Lips that had kissed her into oblivion, Lizzie remembered, trying not to think back to the most significant night of her life.

Her heart jumped when she walked out of the restroom to find Damon relaxed back against the wall. Had he always been so hot?

Yes, she thought, smiling politely as he insisted on helping her with her coat.

To his credit, his expression didn’t falter, though her coat, with its plucked threads and plastic buttons, and a collar that had already been bald when she’d bought it in the thrift shop, was miles too big for her. She’d just needed something warm, while Damon’s coat had probably been custom-made. It was a soft alpaca overcoat, in a blue so dark it was almost black.

With a cashmere scarf slung casually around his neck, he looked like the master of the sexual universe. He had to be thinking, What the hell has happened to Lizzie Montgomery?

Life. Life had happened to Lizzie Montgomery, Lizzie reflected as Damon held the door. And life changed people. For the better, she could only hope, in both their cases.

‘I’m driving myself tonight,’ Damon explained as he stopped by the passenger door of a fabulous brand-new black Bentley with a personalised number plate: DG1.

‘Of course you are,’ she teased in a pale imitation of her old self. ‘Chauffeur’s night off?’ she suggested.

Damon chose not to answer as he opened the passenger door. The scent of money and leather assailed her the moment she sank into, rather than perched on, the most incredibly comfortable pale cream kidskin seat.

‘This is lovely,’ she observed, looking around as Damon slid in beside her.

She didn’t want him to think she was so downtrodden and disadvantaged that she was overwhelmed by his obvious wealth. She’d been bold when they’d first met, and now, in spite of how she must appear to Damon, she had everything she could possibly need. He might have made millions, and she might be poor, but there were more ways than one to feel a deep sense of satisfaction with life and she’d got that.

When Damon started the engine it purred—in contrast to the jangling conflict inside Lizzie. Pulling smoothly away from the kerb, he joined the sluggish London evening traffic. This was how the rich travelled, she concluded. They didn’t bounce along, crushed on every side in an over-full rush hour bus. They glided in their opulent private space, enjoying classical music playing softly in the background.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’

The blunt question jolted Lizzie back to the unlikely reality of being cocooned inside the most luxurious vehicle in London with the world’s most eligible bachelor.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed, lifting her chin. ‘I have great friends at the restaurant—especially Stavros. I’m exactly where I want to be, working alongside genuine people who care for me as I care for them.’

Damon seemed taken aback for a moment, and then he said, ‘Hungry?’

She was—and for more than food, she realised as Damon flashed a glance her way. She hadn’t felt like this in eleven years, but he only had to look at her for her to remember how it had felt to be in his arms. Which was a complete waste of good thinking time, she accepted, drawing her shabby coat closer around her trembling body.

‘Surprising even myself, I’m hungry too,’ he admitted.

‘You can take me back.’

‘Now, why would I do that?’

She stared down in shock as his hand covered hers. He’d better not be feeling sorry for her.

He drew the Bentley to a halt on the Embankment running alongside the river Thames. By the time she had released her seat belt he was opening her door. It was such a romantic view it took her attention for a moment.

‘Burger or hot dog?’ he said.

She almost laughed. Perhaps it was just as well he’d shaken her away from the romantic sight of the Palace of Westminster and stately Big Ben. It wouldn’t do to lose focus around Damon. ‘Hot dog, please.’

‘Ketchup and mustard?’

‘Why not be lavish?’ she said.

He gave her a look and turned away, allowing her to take in the powerful spread of his shoulders as he started chatting easily to the guy behind the food stand not far from where they had parked. Damon had always got on well with everyone—but how would he handle what she had to tell him?

Not yet, she decided. She would have to know this older, shrewder Damon better before she could tell him everything. She had to know what made him tick and how he lived his life.

As he handed the hot dog over their fingers touched and a quiver of awareness ran through her. It seemed that however hard she tried to remain detached, so she could think straight, her body insisted on going its own way. And her body wanted Damon as much as it ever had.

‘Thinking back?’ he said, reading her mind.

Thinking back to when she had been an eighteen-year-old virgin with nothing certain in her future except that it would change? Yes—unfortunately. ‘I’m thinking maybe I have too much sauce?’ she suggested.

‘You always had too much sauce,’ Damon observed.

She decided to ignore the jibe. Damon was standing under a street lamp, leaning back against it, and the spotlight suited him. He was so dark and swarthy—so compelling in every way. The shadowed light only enhanced his sculpted features.

‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was,’ she said, biting down hard on the delicious snack in an attempt to distract herself from Damon’s brazen physicality. And, truthfully, it was a treat to have someone other than Stavros buy her a meal and to care a damn if she enjoyed it.

‘Where did you disappear to after the trial?’ he asked with a frown.

‘Where did I “disappear to”?’ she repeated thoughtfully.

Good question. Not to a loving home—that was for sure.

‘Who’ll support me now?’ That had been Lizzie’s stepmother’s first question when Lizzie had returned home to find her suitcases waiting in the hall.

She should have known what was happening, but she had rushed up to her bedroom, thinking to bury her grief in her pillows, only to find her bedroom had been cleared. She had wasted a few precious minutes railing against fate before pulling herself together and accepting that this was her life now, and she’d better get on with it.

On her way out of the house she’d found her stepmother in her father’s study, going through the drawers of his desk. ‘I guess we’ll both have to work,’ Lizzie had said.

Her stepmother’s expression had twisted into something ugly. ‘I don’t work,’ she’d said haughtily. ‘And if you think you can persuade me to let you stay, you’re wasting your time. You’re one expense I can’t afford.’

That had been the last time they’d seen each other, and it had taken Lizzie’s stepmother less than a week to replace Lizzie’s father with a richer man.

She decided on a heavily edited version for Damon. ‘It wasn’t all bad,’ she said, thinking back. ‘The shock of finding myself homeless was good for me. I had to stand on my own two feet, and I found I enjoyed doing it.’