A Passionate Night With The Greek
Kat was unable to hide her shock; her face fell. ‘You’re looking for another job?’ If Sue, who was as upbeat as she was hard-working, had already given in... Am I the only one who hasn’t?
‘Too right I am, and I suggest you do too. There’s always bills to pay and in my case mouths to feed. I care about this place too, you know, Kat.’
Kat felt a stab of contrition that her reaction might be read as judgement. ‘I know that.’ But the point was she didn’t know what it was to be like Sue, a single parent bringing up five children and holding down two jobs.
On the brink of sharing the good news, she pulled back and moderated her response. She didn’t want to raise hopes if nothing came of this.
‘I know you think I’m mad, but I really think there’s a realistic prospect someone out there cares.’
The other woman grinned. ‘I know you do, and I really hope life never knocks that starry-eyed optimism out of you.’
‘It hasn’t so far,’ Kat retorted. ‘And Monday’s fine. I’ll cover... Good luck.’
She waited until the other woman had left before she sat down at her desk—actually, it was a table with one wobbly leg—and thought about who she might be meeting. Whoever it was didn’t hang around. The meeting was scheduled for the following morning and the letter had been sent recorded delivery.
Well, she could cross the two off her list who had already sent a sympathetic but negative response, so who did that leave?
But then, did the identity of the potential donor actually matter? What mattered was that someone out there was interested enough for a meeting. So there was no beacon of light at the end of a tunnel but there was a definite flicker. Her small chin lifted in an attitude of determination. Whoever it turned out to be, she would sell her cause to them. Because the alternative was not something she wanted to contemplate—failure.
So for the rest of the day she resisted the temptation to share her news with the rest of her gloomy-looking colleagues. Not until she knew what was on offer, or maybe she just didn’t want to have anyone dampen her enthusiasm with a bucket of cold-water realism? Either way there was no one to turn to for advice when she searched her wardrobe for something appropriate that evening.
There wasn’t a lot to search. Her wardrobe was what designers called capsule, though maybe capsule was being generous.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love clothes and fashion, it was just that her budget was tight and in the past used up by impulse bargain buys, which inevitably sat in her wardrobe untouched and were eventually donated to a charity chop.
After a mega charity shop clear-out at the beginning of the summer and an unseasonal resolution to avoid sale racks, she had adopted a pared-down wardrobe. There had been the one slip. She looked at it now, hanging beside the eminently practical items. She rubbed the deep midnight-blue soft cashmere silk fabric between her fingers and gave a tiny nod; it was perfect for tomorrow’s ‘dress to impress’.
Smiling because her moment of weakness had been vindicated, she extracted the dress that stood out among the white shirts, T-shirts, black trousers and jeans, and hung it on the hook at the back of the bedroom door. Smoothing down the fabric, she checked it for creases, but everything about the dress managed to combine fluid draping with classic tailoring and the look screamed designer. The only fault she’d been able to find that had caused it to be downgraded to a second was the belt loop that needed a few stitches.
It had fitted so perfectly when she’d tried it on and had been marked down so much that, even though her practical head had told her there would never be an occasion in her life where the beautifully cut dress would come into it, she had bought it.
If she’d believed in fate—well, actually she did; the problem, in her experience, was not always recognising the door left ajar by fate as a golden opportunity.
It took her a little longer to dig out the heels buried among the piles in the back of the wardrobe, and she was ready. All she needed now was to go through her plan of attack. If she wanted to sell her case, make it stand out amongst the many deserving cases, she needed facts at her fingertips and a winning smile and someone with a heart to direct it at. The smile that flashed out was genuine as she caught sight of her face in the mirror...her eyes narrowed and her forehead creased in a frown of fierce determination.
So her winning smile could do with some work!
CHAPTER TWO
ZACH WAS EXPECTED. The moment he strode into the foyer his reception committee materialised. He was shown up to the empty boardroom by the senior partner—the only Asquith left in the law firm of Asquith, Lowe and Urquhart—and three underlings of the senior variety.
If Zach had thought about it—which he hadn’t, because he’d had other things on his mind—he would have expected no less, considering that the amount of business Alekis sent this firm’s way had to be worth enough to keep the Englishman’s Caribbean tan topped up for the next millennium and then some, not to mention add a few more inches to his expanding girth.
‘I will bring Miss Parvati up when she arrives. How is Mr Alekis? There have been rumours...’
Zach responded to this carefully casual addition with a fluid shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘There are always rumours.’
The older man tilted his head and gave a can’t blame a man for trying nod as he backed towards the door, an action mirrored by the three underlings, who had tagged along at a respectful distance.
Zach unfastened the button on his tailored grey jacket and, smoothing his silk tie, called after the other man before he exited the room. ‘Inform me when she arrives. I’ll let you know when to show her up.’
‘Of course. Shall I have coffee brought in?’
His gesture took in the long table, empty but for the water and glasses at the end where Zach had pulled out a chair. Watching him, the older man found himself, hand on his ample middle, breathing in. The sharp intake of stomach-fluttering breath came with an unaccustomed pang of wistful envy that he recognised as totally irrational—you couldn’t be wistful about something you had never had, and he had never had the sort of lean, hard, toned physique this man possessed. His own physical presence had a lot more to do with expensive tailoring, which permitted him to indulge his love of good food and fine wine.
‘The water will be fine.’ Zach reached for one of the iced bottles of designer water to illustrate the point and tipped it into a glass before he took his seat.
The door closed, and Zach glanced around the room without much interest. The room had a gentlemen’s club vibe with high ceilings and dark wooden panelled walls—not really his usual sort of environment. He had never been in a position to utilise the old-school-tie network, but he had never been intimidated by it and, more importantly, not belonging to this world had not ultimately hindered his progress. If he was viewed in some quarters as an outsider, it didn’t keep him awake nights, and even if it had he could function pretty well on four hours’ sleep.
He opened his tablet and scrolled onto the file that Alekis’s office had forwarded. It was not lengthy, presumably an edited version of the full warts and all document. Zach had no problem with that; he didn’t need the dirt to make a judgement. The details he did have were sufficient to give him a pretty good idea of the sort of childhood the young woman he was about to meet had had.
The fact that, like him, she had not had an easy childhood did not make him feel any connection, any more than he would have felt connected to someone who shared a physical characteristic with him. But he did feel it gave him an insight others might lack, the same way he knew that the innocence that had seemed to shine out from her eyes in the snapshot had been an illusion. Innocence was one of the first casualties of the sort of childhood she had had.
She had been abandoned and passed through the care system; he could see why Alekis thought he had a lot to make up for—he did. Zach was not shocked by what the mother had done—he was rarely shocked by the depths to which humans could sink—but he was mildly surprised that Alekis, who presumably had had ways of keeping tabs on his estranged daughter, had not chosen to intervene, a decision he was clearly trying to make up for now.
While many might say never too late, Zach would not. He believed there was definitely too late to undo the damage. He supposed in this instance it depended on how much damage had been done. What was not in question was the fact that the woman he was about to meet would know how to look after herself.
She was a survivor, he could admire that, but he was a realist. He knew you didn’t survive the sort of childhood she’d had without learning how to put your own interests first, and he should know.
The indent between his dark brows deepened. It concerned him that Alekis, who would normally have been the first to realise this, seemed to be in denial. The grandfather in him was putting sentiment ahead of facts, and the fact was anyone who had experienced what this woman had was never going to fit into her grandfather’s world without being a magnet for scandal.
As Zach knew, you didn’t escape your past; you carried it with you and learnt to look after number one. When had he last put someone else’s needs ahead of his own?
There was no occasion to remember.
The acknowledgement didn’t cause him any qualms of conscience. You didn’t get to be one of life’s survivors by not prioritising your own interests.
And Zach was a survivor. In his book it was preferable to be considered selfish than a victim, and rather than feel bitter about his past he was in some ways grateful for it and the mental toughness it had gifted him, without which he would not have enjoyed the success he had today.
He responded to the message on his phone, his fingers flying as he texted back. He looked down at the screen of his tablet. The vividness of the woman’s golden eyes, even more intense against the rest of the picture that seemed washed of colour, stared out at him before he closed it with a decisive click.
Maybe he was painting a bleaker picture. He might be pleasantly surprised—unless Alekis had deliberately hidden them, it seemed the granddaughter hadn’t had any brushes with the law. Of course, that might simply mean she had stayed under the radar of the authorities, but she did seem to hold down a steady job. Perhaps the best thing the mother had ever done for her child was to abandon her.
There was the lightest of taps on the door before Asquith stepped inside the room, his hand hovering in a paternal way an inch away from the small of the back of the woman who walked in beside him.
This wasn’t the fey creature from the misty graveyard, neither was it a woman prematurely hardened by life and experience.
Theos! This was possibly the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.
For a full ten seconds after she walked in, Zach’s entire nervous system went into shutdown and when it flickered back into life, he had no control over the heat that scorched through his body. The sexual afterglow of the blast leaving his every nerve ending taut.
He studied her, his eyes shielded by his half-lowered eyelids and the veil of his sooty eyelashes. He felt himself resenting that it was a struggle to access even a fraction of the objectivity he took for granted as he studied her. He expected his self-control to be his for the asking, irrespective of a bloodstream with hormone levels that were off the scale.
He forced the tension from his spine, only to have it settle in his jaw, finding release in the ticcing muscle that clenched and unclenched spasmodically as he studied her. She was wearing heels, which made her almost as tall as the lawyer, who was just under six feet. She was dressed with the sort of simplicity that didn’t come cheap, but to be fair the long, supple lines of her slim body would have looked just as good dressed in generic jeans and a T-shirt.
He categorised the immediate impression she projected as elegance, poise and sex...
Her attention was on the man speaking to her, so Zach had the opportunity to prolong his study of her. She stood sideways on, presenting him with her profile as she nodded gravely at something the other man was saying, eyelashes that made him think of butterfly wings fluttering against her soft, rounded, slightly flushed cheeks. It was a pretty whimsical analogy for him.
Stick to the facts, Zach, suggested the voice in his head.
He did, silently describing what he saw.
Her profile was clear cut, almost delicate. There was the suggestion of a tilt on the end of her nose, her brow high and wide. The fey creature in the snapshot had a face framed by a cloud of ebony hair; this elegant young woman’s hair was drawn smoothly back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck to fall like a slither of silk between her shoulder blades almost to waist level. Dark and cloud-like in the photos, in real life it was a rich warm brown, interspersed with warm toffee streaks.
The slight tilt of her head emphasised the slender length of her swan-like dancer’s neck; the same grace was echoed in her slim curves and long limbs, beautifully framed by the simplicity of the figure-skimming calf-length dress. The length of her shapely legs was further emphasised by a pair of high, spiky heels.
‘I’ll leave you.’
‘Leave?’ Kat echoed.
Zach registered the soft musicality of her voice as her feathery brows lifted in enquiry, then, the moment he had been anticipating, she turned her head. Yes, her eyes really were that impossible colour, a rich deep amber, the tilt at the corners creating an exotic slant and lending her beautiful face a memorable quality.
Kat had been aware of the man in the periphery of her vision, sitting at the head of the long table. Up to that point, good manners had prevented her from responding to her curiosity and looking while her escort was speaking.
She did so now, just as the figure was rising to his feet.
The first thing she had noticed about her escort was his expensive tailoring, his plummy accent and old-school tie. This man was equally perfectly tailored—minus the old-school tie. His was silk and narrow, dark against the pale of his shirt. But what he wore was irrelevant alongside the impression of raw male power that hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.
She actually swayed!
He made the massive room suddenly seem a lot smaller; in fact, she experienced a wave of claustrophobia along with a cowardly impulse to beg her escort to wait for her.
You’re not a wimp, Kat, or a quitter. Appearances and first impressions, she reminded herself, were invariably misleading. She’d found the first man’s air of sleek, well-tailored affluence and accent off-putting initially, and yet now, a few floors up, he appeared cosy and benevolent. In a few minutes this dark stranger might seem cosy too. Her dark-lashed gaze moved in an assessing covert sweep from his feet to the top of his sleek dark head. Or maybe not!
Unless you considered large sleek predators cosy, and there was something of the jungle cat about him, in the way he moved with the fluid grace, the restless vitality you sensed beneath the stillness that a feral creature might feel in an enclosed space.
Aware she was in danger of overreacting and allowing her imagination to run riot, she huffed out a steadying breath between her stiff lips.
‘Good morning.’ She gave her best businesslike smile, aiming for a blend of warm but impersonal.
Easier said than done, when there were so many conflicting emotions jostling for supremacy in her head. Not to mention the fluttery pit of her stomach. She had no idea what she had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this, or him!
She never rushed to judgement. She prided herself on her ability not to judge by appearances, so the rush of antagonism she had felt the moment his dark eyes had locked on hers was bewildering—and it hadn’t gone away.
Her heart was racing, and it wasn’t the only thing that had sped up. Everything had, including her perceptions, which were heightened to an extraordinary, almost painful degree, though they were focused less on the room with its background scent of leather and wood and more on the man who dominated with such effortless ease.
She had taken in everything about him in that first stunned ten seconds. The man stood several inches over six feet, and inside the elegant suit his build was lean yet athletic, with broad shoulders that were balanced perfectly by long, long legs. The strong column of his neck was the same deep shade of gold as his face, the warm and vibrant colour of his skin emphasised by the contrasting paleness of his shirt.
He was sinfully good-looking, if your taste ran to perfect. Such uncompromising masculinity attached to perfect symmetry, hard angles and carved planes, a wide mouth that was disturbingly sensual and the dark-as-night eyes framed by incredible jet lashes set under dark, strongly delineated brows.
There was no reaction to the smile she somehow kept pasted in place. She told herself to keep it together as she struggled to make the mental adjustments required.
‘Oh, God!’ It wasn’t the pain in her knee when she hit the chair leg that made her cry out, it was the sight of the carefully arranged contents of the folder she carried sliding to the floor. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered as she bent to pick up the scattered papers, jamming them haphazardly into the folder.
Walk, think and string two syllables together, Kat. It’s not exactly multitasking! It’s all on your phone so it’s not a disaster!
Cheeks hot, she straightened up. Forget old-school tie, this was who she was dealing with. Fine. Except, of course, it wasn’t fine; she was making an impression, but not the intended one. Having gathered the papers, she promptly dropped them again. She bit her tongue literally to stop herself blurting a very unladylike curse.
* * *
Zach watched her silky hair fall over one shoulder as she fumbled for the scattered papers. The action drew attention to the curve of her behind, and as the soft, silky dark material of her dress stretched tight so did his nerve endings.
He could not recall the last time he had needed to fight his way through a fog of blind lust. If Alekis had had a window into his mind at that moment he might have doubted casting him in the role of protector and mentor. Or maybe not. There was some sense in it. Who better to guard the fluffy chick than a fox? Always supposing the fox in question could keep his own baser instincts in check.
Not that this creature was fluffy, she was more silky-smooth. Smooth all over?
Calming down this illicit line of distracting speculation, he let the silence stretch. It was amazing how many people felt the need to fill a silence, saying things that revealed more than a myriad searching questions.
Unfortunately, and uncomfortably on this occasion, in a moment of role reversal his own mind felt the need to fill the silence.
Alekis trusted him. The question was, did he trust himself?
The moment of self-doubt passed; even taking the trust issue with Alekis out of the equation, the logic of keeping the personal and professional separate remained inescapable.
‘Won’t you take a seat?’
She responded to the offer with relief; her knees were literally shaking. ‘Thank you.’ At least the table between them meant she was not obliged to offer her hand. Instead, she tipped her head and smiled. ‘I’m Kat.’
‘Take a seat, Katina.’ He watched the surprise flare in her amazing eyes and slide into wariness before she brought her lashes down enough to veil her expression momentarily.
The use of her full name, which no one ever used, threw her slightly. Well, actually, more than slightly.
He couldn’t know it, but the last person to call her that had been her mother.
For many years Kat had believed that while she could hear her mother’s voice in her head, her mother was not gone...she was coming back. Nowadays the childhood conviction was gone and so was her mother’s voice. The memory might be lost but she did know that her name on her mother’s lips had not sounded anything like it did when this man rolled his tongue around the syllables.
‘Th-thank you,’ she stuttered. Recovering from the shaky moment, she gathered her poise around herself, protective-blanket style. ‘Just Kat is fine,’ she added finally, taking the seat he had gestured towards and reflecting that it wasn’t at all fine.
Though she was normally all for informality, she would have been much happier with a formal, distant Miss...or Ms or maybe even, hey, you. It wasn’t just her physical distance she felt the need to keep from this man. His dark gaze seemed able to penetrate her very soul.
She forced herself to forget his disturbing mouth, equally disturbing eyes, the almost explosive quality he projected, and move past the weird inexplicable antagonism. She was here to make a pitch, and save the precious resource that the community was in danger of losing. This was not about her—she just had to stay focused on the prize.
All great advice in theory, but in reality, with those eyes drilling into her like lasers... Were lasers cold? She pushed away the thought and tried to dampen the stream of random thoughts that kept popping into her head down to a slow trickle.
Reminding herself that a lot of people were relying on her helped; the fact she was distracted by the muscle that was clenching and unclenching in his lean cheek did not.
‘Water?’
Repressing the impulse to ask him if he had anything stronger, she shook her head.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, thinking, If only!
Nervous was actually how she was feeling and this man was probably wondering why the hell she was here.
She cleared her throat. ‘I’m sure you have a lot of questions?’
His dark brows lifted; there was nothing feigned about his surprised reaction. ‘I would have thought you’d have a lot of questions.’
True, she did. She gave voice to the first one that popped into her head. ‘What do I call you?’
It wasn’t really a change of expression, but his heavy eyelids flickered and left her with the distinct impression this wasn’t the sort of question he had anticipated. She took a deep breath and tried again.
‘It really doesn’t matter to us who you represent—when I say it doesn’t matter I don’t mean... We would never accept anything from a...an...illegitimate source—obviously.’
‘Obviously,’ Zach said, realising for the first time that she wasn’t wondering why she was there, because she thought she knew.
He was intrigued.
His eyes slid to her plump lips. Intrigued had a much better ring to it than fascinated.
‘Not that you look like a criminal or anything,’ she hastened to assure him.
His lips twitched. ‘Would you like to see character references...?’
She chose to ignore the sarcasm while observing that even when his mouth smiled his eyes remained as expressionless and hard as black glass. There was no warmth there at all. She found herself wondering what warmed that chill, and then gathered her wandering thoughts back to the moment and her reason for being here, which wasn’t thinking about his eyes, or, for that matter, any other part of his dauntingly perfect body.
‘We are just grateful that you are willing to consider contributing.’
‘We?’
She flushed and refused to be put off by his sardonic tone. ‘This we...’ Kat pulled the folder from her bag and pointed to the logo on the cover. ‘The Hinsdale project and family refuge. Dame Laura...’ she put a gentle emphasis on the title; it was hard to tell sometimes but some people were impressed by such things, not that she had to pretend pride or enthusiasm as she told him ‘...began it back in the sixties when there was just the one house, a mid-terrace, a two-up two-down. It was all a bit basic.’