Their blissful encounter was a secret…

Until her pregnancy shock!

Powerful Greek Leon Kariakis is not accustomed to being challenged—least of all by an impulsive woman who’s mistaken his identity. Yet warmhearted Ettie Roberts is a breath of fresh air, and Leon can’t resist indulging in a night of tantalizing pleasure! But Ettie’s pregnancy bombshell demands action. Leon’s heir will not be born out of wedlock, so Ettie must say “I do”…

Discover this passionate pregnancy romance!

USA TODAY bestselling author NATALIE ANDERSON writes emotional contemporary romance full of sparkling banter, sizzling heat and uplifting endings—perfect for readers who love to escape with empowered heroines and arrogant alphas who are too sexy for their own good. When not writing you’ll find her wrangling her four children, three cats, two goldish and one dog…and snuggled in a heap on the sofa with her husband at the end of the day. Follow her at www.natalie-anderson.com.

Also by Natalie Anderson

The Forgotten Gallo Bride

Claiming His Convenient Fiancée

Princess’s Pregnancy Secret

The King’s Captive Virgin

Awakening His Innocent Cinderella

The Throne of San Felipe miniseries

The Secret That Shocked De Santis

The Mistress That Tamed De Santis

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Pregnant by the Commanding Greek

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-08775-9

PREGNANT BY THE COMMANDING GREEK

© 2019 Natalie Anderson

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ® are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Kathleen,

your relentless perseverance and efforts

are such an inspiration to me—you rock!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he wants us to “get rid of it”?’ Antoinette Roberts scooped up the small, greying terrier and clutched him close. ‘Doesn’t he realise that “it” is a gorgeous, living creature?’ She glared at Joel, her junior colleague.

‘I don’t think he does, Ettie,’ Joel answered in an agitated whisper. ‘He just stormed in here first thing and demanded access to Harold’s apartment and started clearing stuff out.’

‘You’re kidding?’ Disgust surged through Ettie.

Cavendish House, an exclusive apartment building in the heart of London’s Mayfair, offered full concierge service to its privacy-loving residents, and, as head concierge, Ettie was used to delivering it for her demanding guests; from everyday mundane queries to the most outrageous, extravagant requests.

She didn’t just arrange parcel deliveries and make restaurant bookings, she sourced rare first editions of famous novels and cajoled Michelin chefs to cook in a resident’s apartment to help create the perfect proposal… And she was proud of the service she worked hard to provide. Until today there’d been no request she hadn’t been able to fulfil.

But she drew the line at the euthanasia of a perfectly healthy, beloved pet on a total stranger’s whim.

‘I suppose George let him in?’ she growled.

Joel nodded.

That’d be right. George, the building manager, was obsequious to clients, pernickety with petty rules while sloppy with what was actually crucial, and a belligerent bully to the personnel. Ettie spent half her time fixing his blunders and soothing staff resentment when he’d blamed them.

It was her fault it had got this far with the dog. She’d arrived late for the first time in years because she’d been up most of the night counselling her stressed-out sister, Ophelia, who was panicking that she’d flunked her latest physics test. Not that Ophelia had flunked a test in her life. Fiendishly academic, she was away at boarding school on a partial scholarship. Ettie was paying the rest of the fees and Ophelia was desperate to secure a university place. That meant another scholarship, which in turn meant outstanding results in every assessment in this last year of her schooling. As amazing as Ophelia was, Ettie worried the pressure was too intense. But she wouldn’t let Ophelia give up her dream. Ettie had sacrificed too much herself to allow that. So, after calming Ophelia, she’d lain awake fretting about how she could better financially support her. Since their mother’s death two years ago, it fell to Ettie to make it happen.

But making things happen was what Ettie did. She’d learned and worked for it, making miles-long lists and instituting systems so her sometimes impulsive and distraction-prone self wouldn’t forget anything. But today she’d lapsed into her natural disorder. She’d overslept, in her mad scurry she’d missed breakfast, lost her last hair tie and resorted to using an old rubber band, and still missed her train.

When she’d finally raced into Cavendish House this morning, it was to the shocking news that her favourite long-term resident, Harold Clarke, had been rushed to hospital in the small hours of the night. While his passing had been quick and peaceful, his family—the family Ettie hadn’t seen visit once in the five years she’d been working there—was already on the premises and clearing out his treasures. Apparently they didn’t regard Toby, Harold’s small terrier, as a treasure. They’d sent him down for Joel, her junior concierge, to “get rid of”.

If Ettie had been at work on time, that nephew would never have made it into the apartment, let alone cast his callous instructions for Toby.

‘Ettie, there’s something else…’ Joel called after her.

Not now there wasn’t.

Shock, grief and sheer fury overrode the caution and calm she’d schooled within herself over the years. Ettie tightened her hold on the small dog and impulsively swept to the lift. Appalled by that uncaring request, she’d no time for niceties or other distractions. The family were monsters.

At the slide of the doors, Ettie stepped out onto Harold’s floor. His apartment door was open and curt voices echoed along the corridor. She stalked the length of it, unconsciously stroking the soft fur of the small dog. A quick glance into the room showed George on the far side looking as smarmy as ever, next to an older-looking couple. All three were facing a tall man who had his back to her but, given the sullen looks on the faces of the others and the iceberg-thick atmosphere, he wielded the power. His immaculate appearance and crisply clipped hair enraged her all the more. He was obviously loaded because the impeccably tailored suit was clearly bespoke. No off-the-rack number ever fitted so perfectly—lovingly emphasising his height and strength. Though most men didn’t have perfect physiques either. One look and she knew he was fit, healthy and wealthy. So why did he need to be so greedy over Harold’s assets? Why be so cruel?

‘You shouldn’t be in here.’ Ettie didn’t hesitate stepping into the room.

How could he not have visited Harold in all this time and yet turn up the second he thought there were valuable possessions to be claimed?

‘You don’t storm in here and start stripping out Harry’s assets and condemning his dog to instant death.’ She barely paused to draw breath. ‘You want to us to “get rid of” Toby?’ Her voice quivered but she stood straight, not letting the tremble in her knees spread to the rest of her.

Because the man had turned around and Ettie was rendered breathless. He was much taller than her and younger than she expected. No older than thirty. But it was his face that stopped her—he had the sharpest, most handsome face she’d ever seen. High cheekbones, a straight nose, a full mouth, a cleft in his chin and a square, relentlessly masculine jaw…and to cap it off, deep brown, unbearably intense eyes. Brown eyes usually held some warmth, right? Not his. She’d never encountered either such beauty or such coldness. He was totally intimidating.

But it seemed he wasn’t left as much breathless as speechless. Good. It was obviously time someone challenged him and his appalling instructions. Inhaling sharply, Ettie recovered enough to continue her attack.

‘Toby is the sweetest little dog ever, not that you’d know because you never visited him or Harold in all this time…’ Her voice trembled as she thought of the quiet elderly man who’d been gentle. And so alone. ‘Now it’s barely five minutes after…and you want Toby put down? Are you even human?’

George cleared his throat. ‘Ettie—’

‘You’re not going to get away with it,’ she carried on passionately, too steamed up to let George and his lack of spine stop her from telling this jerk some home truths. ‘I won’t let you.’

She became aware Joel had arrived and was breathlessly standing beside her, an appalled but fascinated expression on his face. The older couple present didn’t look at her at all but stared at the tall stranger with silent, seething resistance. She knew how they felt.

The man’s arctic glare sharpened on her, pinning her with almost visceral force. ‘Who are you?’

She refused to quake. ‘I think that’s my question. You’re the one trespassing.’

‘I think not,’ he said softly. There was a faint foreign tone to his cutting, cold accent.

George was frantically doing some kind of dance behind the arrogant ass’s back. But she paid no attention—she was too incensed. The guy needed to be schooled. Tired and strung out and sad, Ettie couldn’t hold back her contempt. ‘You’ve never once set foot in this place before now.’

‘No.’ His quiet confirmation sounded stronger than George’s audible gasp.

‘You’re despicable,’ Ettie told him.

‘Despicable?’ He glanced behind him and caught George midway through miming self-strangulation. He turned back to face her. ‘I think what your colleague is trying to convey is that you’ve made a mistake.’

There was the slightest curl to the man’s lips—as if he was deriving some small, hideous pleasure from this moment.

Ettie frowned, not comprehending. She was still puffed from the force of her emotions and her furious dash up to the apartment. ‘I’m not Mr Clarke’s nephew,’ he informed her with brutally cold precision. ‘In fact, I’m no relation whatsoever to Mr Clarke.’

Nonplussed, Ettie blinked. Now she took a moment to study him, he didn’t look anything like Harold. This man’s hair was dark and thick and his eyes were that wintry brown, not blue, and his bronze complexion was more than a summer tan. A wave of relief so strong it was shocking rippled through her. He wasn’t an animal-murdering brute?

Then she was hit with a wave of something else altogether. Something from deep inside, so hot and intense that she refused to acknowledge, let alone define it. Because it was shocking.

‘Then what are you doing in here?’ she snapped uncharacteristically. But she was determined to halt the appallingly inappropriate, intimate direction of her thoughts. Why was everyone looking at him as if he was ridiculously important? Why was George turning greener by the second?

‘You’ve made a mistake.’ His gaze drifted over her uniform in an inspection so quick it was almost insulting. ‘And yet I think you’re this star concierge I’ve heard about. Cavendish House’s very own Girl Friday.’

She had a sudden prickling sensation that a giant black hole had opened up before her, but that she’d already taken the fatal step. It was too late to stop—the fall was in play and there was no way to backpedal and stop herself tumbling into a bottomless pit.

‘My name is Leon Kariakis. And as of close of business last night, I own this building.’

Leon Kariakis? The Leon Kariakis? Serious, publicity-averse, wealthier-than-most-small-countries Leon Kariakis?

Ettie stared at him, slack-jawed. Oh, yeah, she’d fallen into one never-ending crevasse. All she could do was comment stupidly, ‘You own…’ she drew in a breath and tried to regroup ‘…and you’re not—’

‘No relative. This man is Mr Clarke’s nephew and I’ve already spoken to him and his wife about Mr Clarke’s belongings. Nothing will leave this building until the executor of his will has been to the premises and itemised everything.’

The other man began to bluster but Leon Kariakis turned and quelled him with a filthy look. ‘Is it true you instructed the staff to get rid of the dog?’

The nephew didn’t respond.

‘Is it true?’ Leon Kariakis demanded an answer.

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Evidently it was very clear what you meant.’ Leon cut the man off. ‘You will leave immediately.’

‘You can’t throw us out.’

‘I think you’ll find I can,’ Leon Kariakis replied softly. The atmosphere chilled even more, his physical threat apparent even though he didn’t move an inch. If Leon Kariakis wanted to manhandle this guy out of the apartment, he’d do so with ease. And the sorry excuse for Harold’s family knew it.

Ettie’s heart raced faster than a puppy chasing a pigeon. Since when was Cavendish House even on the market? And to be bought by Leon Kariakis? Even she’d heard of the serious son of the incredibly rich Kariakis holiday empire. His parents owned a number of swanky five-star hotels on the continent, but sole heir Leon had gone into finance, making even more eye-watering amounts of money in an unseemly short amount of time. Apparently buying up exclusive residential apartment buildings was his new hobby. And she’d just called him out—accusing him of animal cruelty and disgusting greed.

‘This isn’t over, Kariakis,’ the nephew blustered. ‘You’ll be hearing from our lawyers.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Leon replied tersely. ‘I imagine they’ll be much more pleasant to deal with than you.’

Ettie bit down on her lip to stop her unbidden smile as the nephew and his wife stomped out of Harold’s apartment. They didn’t so much as look at her, or the small dog she was still cuddling. But neither she nor Toby were out of the woods yet. All-powerful, super-serious, still scowling, Leon Kariakis wouldn’t have appreciated her shouting at him in public like that.

‘Everyone else, please leave as well.’ He seared her with an icy glance. ‘Except you.’

Yeah, she’d just lost her job.

George stepped in. ‘Mr Kariakis, I’m terribly sorry for this misunderstanding. Ettie is always—’

‘I’ll meet with you later.’ Leon Kariakis’s snappy dismissal brooked no argument.

George shot her an irritated look that she ignored, even though she knew he’d been about to throw her even further under the bus. She was fine. She could handle it. But her heart thudded as her Joel reluctantly left too.

She turned to face the music, disconcerted to discover Leon Kariakis was still watching her and still wasn’t smiling. Indignation surged and she lifted her chin at him. She’d been doing her job—protecting her client’s pet—and she wasn’t going to apologise for that. The silence echoed in the apartment. Even Toby, the dog, didn’t stir in her arms, but she stroked him regardless.

‘You’re Antoinette Roberts,’ he said quietly. ‘Cavendish’s Girl Friday. I’ve heard much about you and yet…’

She’d disappointed him?

Too bad. Even though she knew she was about to lose her job, she felt a small flush of pride that he’d been told about her. What had he said before—star concierge? Yet she couldn’t claim any praise as entirely her own. Joel and the other guys were always willing to help.

‘I have a very good team,’ she said.

He kept regarding her steadily, but no warmth softened his eyes.

She should probably apologise for mistaking him for one of Harry’s mean relatives, but suddenly she couldn’t get her voice to work. Awareness trickled down her spine as the tension within her transformed. She’d loathed him on sight, only now…it was another emotion stiffening her spine. And it was just insane. Ettie Roberts did not lust after anyone. Ettie Roberts was far too sensible.

But Leon Kariakis was abnormally handsome and the way he was looking at her right now was unbearably intense. It was only that, mixed with relief that he wasn’t a cruel tyrant out to murder an innocent animal, that made him all the more attractive in this moment, right? It wasn’t real. Leon Kariakis wasn’t someone she’d ever be interested in and he’d certainly never be interested in her.

A sudden wave of defensiveness let her mouth slip the leash. ‘If you’re going to sack me, just get it over with.’

There was another moment of profound silence. She burned with a horrible mix of embarrassment, nerves and resentment. She hated how calm and in control he was. Even when she’d shouted at him he hadn’t lost his ice-cool composure.

‘You don’t like uncertainty?’ He watched her steadily.

‘I don’t like being kept waiting.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘I’m taking the time to think.’

‘Does it usually take you this long?’ She didn’t mean to be rude, but it surprised her. He was incredibly successful and she bet he hadn’t become so by mulling over trivial decisions about low-level staff.

But wasn’t she was doing him a disservice? He’d already stood up to those horrible, grasping relatives before she’d even arrived and he’d had no hesitation in showing them the door. She was finally about to offer a shamefaced, belated apology when he spoke.

‘I’ve found that giving a problem my full consideration, rather than making a snap judgment, results in a better night’s sleep for me.’ He offered the slightest sarcastic curve to his lips in lieu of an actual smile.

She’d made a snap judgment that he was Harold’s nephew, and this was an unsubtle rebuke for that. Yet it wasn’t his reprimand that bothered her. It was another ripple of that forbidden feeling slithering down her spine. She did not need to be thinking about sleeping—specifically him sleeping—at this moment. And she did not need to be wondering what he’d look like with an actual, genuine smile on his face when he was already this attractive.

He studied her for another long moment and his gaze lowered to the resting creature in her arms. ‘The dog is old,’ he said bluntly.

‘So that means we should just put him down?’ she asked scornfully, her outrage torched again. The debate was on and she was fighting for Toby.

‘He’ll miss his owner,’ Leon answered with surprising softness. ‘He’ll fret.’

The note of compassion from him oddly made her more uncomfortable.

‘So we find him someone who can be with him all the time so he has the companionship he needs while he grieves.’

He reached out and petted the dog’s head gently. Ettie froze, stunned by the illicit surge in her body at his closeness…the craving.

‘He can’t go to a shelter,’ she added.

She couldn’t help staring at Leon. She’d never seen someone as handsome, or as serious, and suddenly he felt more of a danger to her than when she’d thought him to be a heartless brute or when she’d thought he was going to fire her. The unaccustomed response within her to his fierce masculinity was shocking.

She whipped up her resistance. She didn’t want to like him. Of all the moments for her stagnant sensuality to spark up…

‘Would you take him?’ Curiosity burned in his eyes.

‘I would,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘Except I’m at work all hours and he’d be lonely. And I’m not allowed pets in my building.’

‘Pets aren’t allowed in these apartments either,’ he muttered. ‘Isn’t that the rule the previous owner implemented?’

‘No resident ever minded Toby. He’s lovely and he was around before that petty rule came into force.’ She looked down at the dog protectively. She’d disliked that owner who’d wanted to charge more but offer less. He’d employed the awful George to enforce the ‘new way’—most of which involved paying the staff less for more onerous rules and rosters, which had led to that festering resentment and feeling as if they couldn’t be trusted. Ironically, the rumour was that the absent owner had got into money trouble…and now she was faced with this guy.

‘You aided and abetted Mr Clarke in keeping Toby a secret, didn’t you?’

They all had. But Ettie lifted her chin; she wasn’t about to offer excuses or drag her friends under with her. ‘Are you going to sack me for it?’

He remained impassive but she sensed his assessment. And his judgment. ‘That depends. What other rules do you break?’

‘Just the stupid ones.’

He watched, waiting for her to expand on her answer, but she refused. She was not going to desperately fill the awkward silence he was deliberately leaving. And she was not going to let his stunning looks have a stupefying effect on her brain any longer either. She was here for Toby—for the last thing she could do for old Harold Clarke.

‘He needs to be in a familiar environment,’ she said. ‘Given he’s not a nuisance to anyone, you should allow Toby to remain in Cavendish House, don’t you think?’ she asked with more defiance than deference in her voice.

Because more than anger bubbled within her at his silent appraisal and that stern stare beneath those slightly pulled strong eyebrows.

She tore her gaze from him and desperately looked around Harold’s apartment to remind herself of her mission. The old man had been their longest resident. He’d mostly kept to himself, but he’d been kind and his dog had been his world. He’d protected the vulnerable even when he was vulnerable himself. ‘We owe it to Harold to take care of Toby.’

‘We?’

‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin pointedly and looked back at him. ‘Why can’t you take him?’ she challenged directly.

There was another moment of total silence, but as she gazed into his eyes, the amber light within them flared. ‘No reason that I can see,’ he muttered.

She blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘Toby will move to my penthouse. You’ll take him for fresh air.’

Her jaw dropped. He wanted her to go to his penthouse? ‘You want him to sleep in your apartment?’

‘It’s a temporary arrangement,’ he said brusquely. ‘On the condition that you walk him. You feed him. I do nothing but provide the space.’

The sizzle she felt was just her, right? She gave herself a mental shake. Just because he was insanely good-looking didn’t mean she had to turn into a twittering ditz. She’d pull herself together and get the job done. ‘You want me to—’

‘Morning and night obviously. Yes.’ He turned that cool demeanour on her and dared her to object.

Ettie was so stunned, she couldn’t help questioning him. ‘Why can’t you walk him?’

The coldness that entered his expression now stunned her. ‘We’ll find a more permanent solution in a few days. In the meantime, there’ll be no disturbance to the other residents.’

She was shocked. ‘You really want me to—’

‘Do I really need to repeat myself?’

‘No. Of course not.’ She stilled, annoyed with his superciliousness. Usually she’d say ‘sir’, but she was struggling to suppress her rebellion and tell this guy what for again. He couldn’t walk or feed the dog himself? Was he for real?

And yet he’d just offered up his own space to ensure Toby’s safety and security, so that the vulnerable little dog could stay.

* * *

What the hell had forced that foolish suggestion from him? Leon Kariakis smothered his growl and gritted his teeth. He didn’t want anything to do with the dog. The ancient, arthritic creature was most probably incontinent and most definitely going to be a pain. Except he was a sweet-looking thing with the saddest eyes Leon had ever seen, and there was no way he could resist reaching out again to soothe the boy with a gentle pat. As he pulled back, he inadvertently brushed his fingers on Antoinette’s arm. He glanced up to her face. Sea-green, luminous, emotion-drenched eyes glared back at him.

Why was she looking so angry again now?

He was the one who ought to be put out. And truthfully he was still oddly angered by her assumption he was the selfish bastard who’d issued the instruction to destroy the innocent creature. Somehow he wanted to make her pay for the conclusion she’d so swiftly, and unjustly, leapt to.

Not somehow.

His body knew exactly how he wanted her to pay. He wanted her to keep looking at him with those overly emotional green eyes, but not with anger and judgment. He wanted to see hunger and willingness. Desire.

Basic instinct roared. Because he knew it was there within her too. She’d studied him anew once she’d realised her error. And she’d responded on the same basic level as he had—the sparkle of awareness in her eyes, the flush in her face, had given her away.

He wanted her beneath and about him. His primal response to her passion shocked him. He wanted her in the most animal, basic of ways.

It was the most inappropriate thought of his life. Lusting after her was wrong. He was staying in the building for only a week or so to understand its processes first-hand before deciding on what changes needed to be made. The last thing he should do was flirt with one of the staff who was literally in his firing line. She was off-limits and he was never that out of control. Ever. This was a situation that required a swift conclusion. Yet he couldn’t resist getting involved directly.

‘You’ll need to bring the dog and all his accoutrements.’ He checked his watch and then glanced back at her.

‘Yes, of course.’ She lifted her chin.

The action didn’t make her any taller. She remained a smidgeon shorter than the average woman and slight through the shoulders. Her dark blonde hair was swept off her face into a loose, messy ponytail and her wide green eyes offered unusually clear reflections of her feelings.

She wasn’t the sleek automaton he’d envisaged when he’d been told about her. She wore barely any make-up—as far as he could tell, there was little more than a slick of lip gloss. Yet her skin was smooth, unblemished and glowing. The uniform black trousers and monogrammed T-shirt she wore did little to reveal much of her figure, but what they did show was slim and the suggestion of fit. His overall impression was of supple, fresh femininity. He’d been accosted by another of the more elderly residents in the lift this morning who’d been at pains to tell him that Antoinette Roberts was the only reason he’d remained at Cavendish House in recent years.

One look at her and Leon understood why.

But she wasn’t his type. She’d spoken to him in a way no one else dared to. Tearing strips off him with blunt, brutal honesty, not stopping to censor herself or having the slightest hesitation in telling him what she really thought. Her heart wasn’t just on her sleeve, she was waving it on a flag in front of him.

It was extremely novel. In his life, communicating emotions had not only been discouraged, but also punished. As his parents had ruthlessly taught him, any kind of emotional display was a weak loss of self-control.

Yet he didn’t want Antoinette to start picking her words with care now. He liked knowing, without any uncertainty, exactly what she was feeling. And it was her fierce protectiveness that riveted him. Like a lioness protecting a lone cub, she’d held her corner and not given an inch, no matter the possible personal cost to herself. She’d fully expected him to fire her. But Leon knew people made mistakes. He’d give her one chance to redeem herself.

‘Be on time. Always. I don’t like to be disturbed,’ he said roughly.

‘I can be discreet,’ she answered defiantly.

He simply stared at her. As if she could come into his apartment unseen? Unheard? As if she could ever be anything but disruptive?

A thread of wicked amusement trickled through him as she stilled in the face of his silence. He knew the exact moment she mentally replayed her words and realised an alternative innuendo. The same intimacy-drenched scenario he was imagining. A deep rose burnished her creamy skin—her cheeks, her neck, even the small hint of skin he could see at the vee of her high-collared T-shirt. But then he registered the rebellion in her gaze again—together with her less than subtle attempts to suppress it.

He didn’t want her to suppress anything.

The urge to haul this petite emotional tornado close and kiss her into a frenzy of desire almost felled him. Grimly he fought the need to provoke her into taking everything else she might want from him. He knew he could. He saw the awareness in her eyes. Women found him attractive and sex was a fun relaxant. But he’d bet that sex with Girl Friday here wouldn’t be as much fun as mind-blowing. If the incandescence of her anger was anything to go by, in bed she’d be unrestrained and utterly responsive.

Sex of the best kind. The kind that was irresistible.

He knew she felt the sparks. They were why she’d flushed over her choice of words. Why she’d trembled at his inadvertent touch before. Why she was looking at him with unrestrained rebellion now. Because she didn’t want this chemistry either. And that irritating rejection was precisely why he couldn’t resist making what he knew would be a massive mistake.

He roughly pushed the request past the tightness in his throat. ‘I want you in my apartment in one hour.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘WHY DIDN’T YOU tell me?’ Ettie groaned to Joel as soon as she safely got back into the small concierge office, Toby still in her arms.

‘I didn’t have the chance…’

Of course he hadn’t. Ettie shook her head and stopped him, regretting her unfair question. ‘Sorry, I know you didn’t.’

‘Don’t you think he’s out of this world?’ Jess, one of the housemaids, leaned over her desk. ‘Chloe saw a model-type leaving his penthouse late last night. She was in the lift. Really dishevelled.’ She waggled her eyebrows in a suggestive gesture. ‘First night in and he’s already—’

‘No gossip,’ Ettie whispered loudly, but softened her rebuke with a smile at the maid.

The news didn’t surprise her. Of course he’d bed models. He was as striking as a model himself. He’d have no trouble getting any woman he wanted into bed. Even she’d responded to him on a purely primal level. He was so handsome it was almost painful. He was extraordinarily uptight, though, and he had a way of looking as if he could see right through her, while at the same time revealing nothing of his own thoughts.

Unabashed by Ettie’s warning, Jess just laughed. ‘Well, I think he’s gorgeous. I’d do him.’

‘He’s an unsmiling ogre,’ Joel grumbled. ‘An arrogant jerk who thinks he’s special.’

Well, with his obvious physical strength as well as his business success, he was a bit special. He had it all—looks, wealth, women…success.

‘He was unfairly harsh with you, Ettie,’ Joel added. ‘And as for George…’

Yeah, it was no surprise that her boss was nowhere to be seen—hiding out until the dust had settled, no doubt. But she smiled at the hint of protectiveness in Joel’s voice. ‘He’ll be even harsher if I don’t get all that stuff up to his apartment within the hour.’

‘Do you want help?’

She shook her head. ‘We’re behind down here already—you get on top of this for me and I’ll deal with the ogre.’

She had to go into his apartment. Repeatedly. Her heart beat stupidly quickly at the thought. The range of inappropriate images that rioted through her head at the prospect of turning up to his apartment early tomorrow morning… Would he be awake or sleepy? She’d bet her life he didn’t bother with pyjamas…but what if he had another dishevelled model-type with him? Ugh.

Get a grip and act like a professional.

Somehow she had less than fifteen minutes until the hour he’d given her was up, and she was not being late a second time today. With the dog in one arm and pushing a trolley with all his other stuff, she took the lift. She knocked but got no answer, so keyed in the security code.

‘Hello? Mr Kariakis?’ She walked into the apartment, but the room was silent.

Was she supposed to leave Toby alone in here or wait with him? Gritting back a frustrated sigh, she popped the dog down and turned to lift all his paraphernalia from the trolley. As she struggled with full arms, she noticed Toby wandering off towards a bedroom. She called to him quickly, dropping his water bowl as she hurried to catch him. And at that worst possible moment the ancient rubber band securing her ponytail snapped, sending her hair flying about her face in a mess of half-curls and straggle. She dumped the dog’s gear down in the middle of the room and glanced about for something to use. She spied a pen lying on the nearest table and quickly swiped it up. She twisted her unruly hair into a knot on top of her head and secured it with the pen. Thank heavens perfect Leon Kariakis wasn’t there to see her in such a debacle with the dog, basket, blankets and bowls all in a muddle at her feet.

‘Ms Roberts.’

She froze. And wasn’t that just her luck?

She swivelled to face him as he strode through from the bedroom. Usually it was at this point that she’d offer her first name to a new resident. Something held her back from doing so with Leon Kariakis, however. The grim look of disapproval on his face perhaps?

He still looked impeccable in that charcoal suit. She quelled the smidgeon of disappointment that he might’ve relaxed a little in his own space; it wasn’t to be.

‘You’re late,’ he said.

‘Actually, I’m right on time.’ She held up her watch and then walked further into the lounge, trying not to let her confidence plummet. Remote and controlled, he relentlessly watched her progress as she self-consciously set up Toby’s basket in a corner of the room with a stunning view of the city out of the floor-to-ceiling windows.

‘Is that my pen in your hair?’

She froze. Could his voice be any more arctic?

‘Sorry, my hair tie broke.’ She looked at him and registered the astonishment in his eyes. ‘It’s a special pen?’

‘It can write upside down.’

Was he kidding? She couldn’t contain an impish grin at his perennial solemnity. ‘You do handstands and take notes?’

Was that an answering glint of humour in his eyes now?

‘It’s my pen.’ He ignored her little joke. ‘You stole it.’

‘I borrowed it.’ So much for any chance of a sexy librarian look with the whole hair-tied-in-a-bun thing. The man didn’t soften an inch. She sighed. ‘You’d like it back right away?’

‘If you wouldn’t mind.’

Seriously? He was that uptight about a pen?

As she took it out her hair tumbled into chaos. She was too aware of his gaze lingering on the unruly mess and then he returned to look at her eyes. Suddenly she felt hotter than when she’d been furious about what was going to happen to Toby.

She held the pen out to him. Wordlessly he took it and put it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Over his heart.

She quickly turned away, wishing he’d just leave her to it. Instead he watched the fall of her hair, and her every other move as she set out Toby’s blanket and bowl. Toby padded straight into his basket and curled into a small ball.

Leon leaned against the wall, still watching intently as she gave the dog a couple of soothing pats.

‘Is there nothing you can’t do?’ he asked.

She was unwilling but unable to resist looking up at him. She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or not, but she resolved to treat him as she did any other difficult client—with respect and distance.

‘There’s plenty I can’t do,’ she muttered softly. Keep her hair under control for one thing.

‘You’ve thought of everything.’

She straightened. ‘It’s my job to think of everything.’

‘And you’re very good at your job,’ he drawled.

She looked him directly in the eyes at that. ‘Yes, I am.’

Which was why he wasn’t going to sack her for her earlier mistake. Which was why she was going to maintain a professional distance from him now.

Ophelia needed her to keep this job. She needed to remember that. She’d ignore the silent, magnetic pull.

‘I assume Security has given you your own access code so it doesn’t matter if I’m here or not.’ His huskiness somehow built that sense of intimacy in the moment.

She nodded, momentarily fascinated by the discovery that his eyes weren’t completely wintry; there were almost amber lights in them. Warm ones.

‘This is a short-term solution,’ he said. ‘Until we can get him rehomed in a more suitable environment.’

‘Of course.’

Focus, Ettie.

She looked around the room and then sent him a sideways look. ‘Though this environment seems pretty suitable.’

Leon walked over to her and hunched down by Toby’s basket. ‘Is he always this subdued?’ He patted the dog gently again. ‘I wondered if he wasn’t well.’

Ettie smiled at him, pleased he was concerned. ‘He’s old and quiet and missing Harold. He’s probably wondering what on earth is going on…’

Leon absently scratched the dog’s ears.

‘His quality of life is good, though.’ Ettie looked at him earnestly.

‘Don’t worry. I’m not about to summon the vet.’

For a split-second Ettie relaxed, but she was then hit by a flood of intense pleasure at seeing this powerful man almost kneeling at her feet. It was dizzying. ‘I’ll leave you two to get to know each other, then.’ On an irresistible impulse, she teased him. ‘Perhaps you could smile at him? Make him feel welcome?’ That stupid suggestion had popped out before she’d thought better of it.

He suddenly stood. She’d not realised how near he was. Now he towered over her.

Don’t prod a grumpy beast.

‘Bare my teeth at him, you mean?’ he muttered quietly. ‘I’m not sure it’s wise to do that to a wolf.’

That low pull tugged deep in her belly—purely physical, animal magnetism that set off a melting sensation deep within. Restless, inappropriate desire. With it came recklessness.

‘One wolf to another?’ she nudged dangerously. ‘Don’t you ever just smile?’

Oh, yes, she’d crossed a line now.

He didn’t answer other than to stare down at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. As if he was contemplating what kind of retribution he was about to mete out…

He liked to take the time to think, right?

Ettie had forgotten how to think. Or move. Or even breathe. She just stared right back at him for an endless moment. He really was far too handsome. And far too serious. She was utterly mesmerised. ‘Thank you for taking care of him,’ she whispered.

Something fierce flared in his eyes. ‘Contrary to what you thought earlier, I’m not a monster.’

No, he wasn’t. And she guessed he was allowed to be as serious as he liked, in his own home and all.

‘I’m sorry for that mistake,’ she finally apologised. Flushing with heat, she brushed a lock of her rebellious hair back from her face. Again.

He watched her movement as intently and inscrutably as ever. ‘Thank you.’

She didn’t feel forgiven, she felt flayed.

She didn’t know if he stepped closer, or if she swayed, but suddenly there seemed to be no space at all between them. Her breath stalled in her lungs. He was so very close. But he was also utterly, inhumanly, still. He had such intensity of focus—expressionless, but not remote—and having that focus solely on her was more than dizzying, it was like being in the path of a lightning strike. She was going to get burned, but the chance to get lit up…?

Another long moment passed before her brain kicked back into operational mode. Oh, heaven, he probably thought she was waiting for him to make a move. He must get so many women throwing themselves at him. Models in the lift, remember? He’d never look twice at her. Mortified, she desperately clawed back her sanity and her dignity.

‘I’d better get back downstairs,’ she croaked, turned tail and fled.

* * *

Leon was hanging on to his control by the thinnest of threads. He’d spent the day determined to forget Antoinette Roberts. And for the first time in a very long time he’d spent a day failing.

She kept appearing in his thoughts—gorgeously fresh, her beautiful, wavy hair shimmering with every turn of her head. He never should have made her give his pen back because now he was beset with the fantasy of having that glorious hair spread across his pillows as the rest of her arched up to…

Leon stalked out of Cavendish House, his body aching. It was late in the evening but he’d not bother with dinner, he’d walk and wear himself out that way. Toby was fast asleep in his basket and too old to keep pace with him. He knew Antoinette had returned earlier to walk the dog and given him food. Leon had deliberately stayed away at the time, but the scent of her lingered in his rooms, sending his brain back into the direction he’d been trying to avoid all day.

Since when did he lose control over his own damn pulse? Ice-cool control was the one thing he always maintained. Antoinette Roberts threatened it with one fiery glance. Maybe it had been too long since he’d taken a lover. He should’ve taken up that offer last night.

Grimacing, he walked along the footpaths. The shops were open late and crowds milled about. He glanced sightlessly into the windows as he threaded through the masses. But through one immaculate window display he swore he recognised the gleaming rich hair of the petite woman standing with her back to him.

Great. Now he was seeing her everywhere.

But then he heard her voice as well—her lilting humour as she asked a customer if she needed help. He stared into the store, listening through the open door. Either Antoinette Roberts had a doppelgänger, or she’d come straight here after her shift at Cavendish and was now helping some woman choose a set of thank-you cards.

He walked in, quickly taking in the high-end stationery supplies the shop was stocked with. A couple of minutes later the female customer walked past him on her way out carrying a beautifully wrapped parcel and a satisfied smile on her face.

Leon walked up to the woman behind the counter. ‘Ms Roberts?’

It was definitely her. And he definitely couldn’t stop staring. Gone was the utilitarian, practical Cavendish concierge uniform and now she was in a lithe little black dress. He could finally see something of her legs and, just as he’d suspected, they were smooth, shapely and gorgeous. He’d known that if she could make those black trousers look sexy, she’d be dynamite in a dress. This one had a slightly scooped neckline, which meant there wasn’t anywhere near enough cleavage, but there was skin—creamy, silken-looking skin and the suggestion of sweet curves beneath the fabric. And her glorious hair was freed from that bouncing mess of a ponytail and now cascaded in glossy wild waves down her back. It looked lush, as if it’d be soft to touch and he’d bind it around his wrists—

‘Oh.’ A blush flooded her smooth cheeks and she licked her lips. ‘Mr Kariakis?’ Then her wide-eyed gaze narrowed. ‘You left Toby alone?’

The beseeching reproach in her eyes made him feel guilty even when he shouldn’t. ‘You know he ate a good dinner; now he’s fast asleep. He’s not missing me.’

The inward tension he’d been trying to settle tightened again. He’d needed to get out of that soulless apartment. He’d wanted to exorcise the ghost of her standing there, challenging him with that sassy look in her eyes as she’d flicked his stupid pen back at him. He’d been hopelessly distracted by the memory—but he was thrown back into that whirling web of desire again now.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked irritably.

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ Her tone cooled to match his.

His tension spiked, he released it on her insane workload. ‘You’ve worked all day already.’

She stiffened. ‘Lots of people work more than one job. I’m sure you work long hours too.’

But there was a hint of tiredness in the backs of her eyes.

‘You’re tired.’ He refused to believe she wanted to work fourteen or more hours a day.

‘Oh, no,’ she answered airily. ‘Actually as soon as I’m done here, I’m going clubbing.’

‘Are you?’ He fired with her challenge. ‘Excellent. Take me with you—I’m new to town and don’t know all the cool places.’

A disconcerted expression crossed her face and he inwardly laughed. He couldn’t lie to himself any more. His offer to care for the dog was based in selfish motivation: to see more of Antoinette. He wanted her in his bed. Ideally tonight. It had hit in that first second—lust at first sight. Lust that was only increasing the longer he spent in her company. Perhaps if he satisfied the urge, it’d disappear as swiftly as it had come.

And her reaction to him? He could tempt her.

‘I…’ She glanced at her watch and that flush across her delicate, high cheekbones built.

It was five minutes until closing and he wasn’t planning on leaving. ‘You like working here?’

He made conversation to ease her embarrassment. Despite those delicious feisty flashes, she displayed hints of shyness. He found the combination unbelievably tantalising.

‘It’s nice.’ She nodded.

He tensed. ‘Nicer than Cavendish?’

Was she thinking of leaving her concierge job? In some ways that would be good—it would free them of any messiness, given their positions there.

‘It’s quieter than Cavendish, but I don’t build the same relationship with my customers as I do there. I only work the late nights here.’ She glanced at the counter display. ‘It’s beautiful stationery.’

‘That’s why you work here—because you like the product?’

A bubble of laughter burst from her shimmering lips. ‘No, if I just liked the product, I’d buy it.’

‘So it’s money.’ He frowned, unhappy at the thought that she was forced to work two jobs. ‘We don’t pay you enough.’

A wary expression crossed her face. ‘It’s fine. I have commitments. Most of us do, right?’

He shouldn’t pry further but he couldn’t help watching intently, waiting to see if she’d say more. Her clear eyes dimmed with faint shadows.

‘Saving,’ she muttered, unable to help herself.

Unusually for him, his curiosity deepened. But it wasn’t his business. He had no right to press further. ‘Good for you.’

She nodded awkwardly. ‘So did you want anything in particular?’

He bit back the blunt answer of what he particularly wanted and made himself breathe first. ‘I wanted to see if it was really you.’

‘Well.’ That impish smile flashed on her lips, flicking away the shadows in her eyes. ‘It is.’

‘In another uniform.’ He couldn’t help noticing that damned demure neckline again.

‘Black again.’ She bit her lip as she quickly glanced down as if afraid she’d spilled something. ‘Always ready for a funeral, that’s me,’ she quipped. ‘But it’s discreet. Unobtrusive.’

‘I would never describe you as unobtrusive,’ he muttered quietly.

She’d burst into his life in a blaze of passion and fury.

She met his gaze, silently questioning just how he’d describe her. Unspoken awareness flickered between them, like a gravitational pull.

Her blush returned full force, a ruby tide over her creamy complexion. ‘I should get back to work. It’s almost time to close.’

She was flustered again. He was fascinated by her unconscious dance—she advanced closer with those challenges, then retreated in shyness. He glanced around the shop, pleased to discover it had emptied completely of other customers. ‘Show me the biggest seller.’

‘Seriously?’ The droll scepticism on her face was a picture.

Entertained by her expressiveness, he leaned closer. ‘Why not? You don’t think I can afford it?’

She sent him another look. ‘Well, I know you don’t need a new pen.’ She lifted an item from the counter and met his gaze with a prim, shop-girl pose. ‘But we have an exquisite range of journals.’

‘Exquisite,’ he echoed dryly.

‘Incredibly so,’ she emphasised, refusing to acknowledge his soft sarcasm.

‘What is it about girls and diaries?’ He reached out and traced the smooth leather cover with his finger. ‘Do you pour out your soul into one of these every night?’

‘What if I do?’ She lifted her chin in that irresistibly defiant gesture.

‘Would it make for fascinating reading?’ He was appallingly curious now. For the first time intrigued enough to want to know all a woman’s thoughts, all her wishes, every last secret and deepest desire.

‘Sadly, no. I only keep lists in mine.’ She reached across the counter and flipped an open book around to show him. ‘See?’

‘This is yours?’ His pulse rate lifted.

‘I work on it in quiet moments,’ she said. ‘I have permission from my boss—it’s good to see our products in use.’

Her defensiveness amused him. Was she as discomforted by him as much as he was by her? He leaned closer to read the scrawled list.

‘I forget things,’ she added nervously. ‘I’m naturally disorganised, so I work hard to get it together and nail my job. Lists are the only thing that work for me.’ She tried to pull the journal back but he planted his hand down to keep it there. His fingers brushed against her for the second time that day. Skin touched skin. She stilled, as did he.

A millisecond later she snatched her hand back. But he knew she’d felt that current of electricity flow between them.

He turned the pages of her journal, refusing to feel any remorse—she was the one who’d offered it for his viewing. But to his disappointment there were no deepest desires on show inside. Only ruthless organisation, as she’d said.

‘Everything in your life is dictated by a list?’ There were reminders, shopping lists, ticked-off tasks, pros and cons for other things… ‘It’s a lot of lists.’ He flicked through more pages, wishing there were something far more personal in it. ‘And in a rainbow of colours.’

‘It doesn’t need to be boring. Right? But I’m no artist, so I just choose a different colour for each…’

‘I have a planner,’ he offered idly. ‘But it’s online.’

‘Online?’ She shuddered theatrically. ‘I couldn’t get all these lists on the one screen. And what if it got deleted?’

‘What if you lost your journal?’ he countered with the obvious. ‘What if someone you don’t want to read it gets hold of it?’

Her impish grin darted back. ‘That’s why there are only lists and reminders.’

‘So, nothing too personal or incriminating?’ He sighed with genuine disappointment. ‘You’re not a risk-taker, then.’

Her eyes widened.

‘You won’t run the risk of someone discovering your secrets,’ he explained.

‘Perhaps I don’t have any,’ she muttered.

‘Everyone has secrets.’ And desires.

Silent, she just gazed back at him.

‘And I’ll bet you’re not really going clubbing,’ he added quietly.

This time her smile was more sheepish than impish, and she shook her head.

‘Have you had dinner?’ He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘I don’t think you’ve had time if you came straight from your shift at Cavendish. You must be hungry.’

He saw her hesitate and spoke again before she could deny it. ‘Have dinner with me.’

‘No thanks,’ she instantly answered.

‘Am I that awful?’ he shot back, unafraid to challenge her directly. He knew what he wanted. He knew what she wanted too. He was just more honest about it.

She stared at him for a moment, shocked. ‘No, I—’

‘Well, don’t let me down so roughly. It’s only dinner.’

Roughly? Ettie narrowed her eyes on him. He was pulling her leg, right? Behind that serious facade there was some humour. ‘It’s not a wise idea. You’re my boss.’

‘It’s not a date, just dinner. If it makes you feel better, you can tell me about life on the concierge desk. I need to know how the whole operation works. There’ll be no repercussions for complete honesty.’ He paused. ‘Anyway, I’m not really your boss.’

Yeah, right. ‘You own the building I work in.’

‘But a management company employs the staff.’

‘Do you own the management company?’ She wouldn’t have been surprised if he did.

‘They’re contracted… I don’t own them.’

‘So that makes it okay?’ Her heart was pounding unnaturally fast.

‘I think it creates a technicality we can take advantage of.’ He looked right at her. Those amber flecks in his eyes lit up with every word. ‘And you like breaking the stupid rules, right? This is a stupid one. Besides, I’m only living in the penthouse while I get my head around the building. Then I’ll lease it to a client and move to my next investment, so you won’t see me much.’

His message couldn’t be clearer. He was saying he’d stay out of her way. That his presence was temporary. That this was just dinner. Just one night.

But Ettie needed a moment.

‘You don’t ever want to stay in one of your buildings?’ She was intrigued by his transitory lifestyle.

‘I like projects. I like the excitement and unique challenge of each one, and once I’ve overcome that challenge it’s time to move on to another.’

She suspected he wasn’t just talking building acquisition. It was lovers as well. ‘You get bored easily?’

A speculative gleam heated his eyes even more. Yeah, he was talking on more than one level. But he answered with that customary seriousness. ‘I like to keep busy. I like having problems to grapple with.’

‘You don’t ever want to just blob out on the beach?’

He cocked his head and considered it briefly. ‘It’s not something I’ve ever done.’

‘Seriously?’ She frowned. ‘Not ever?’ Didn’t his parents own all those hotels in Greece? Wasn’t that the ultimate holiday destination? ‘You never have holidays?’

‘Do you?’ he countered.

‘I don’t have much choice.’ She grimaced. ‘I work hard but I don’t have the same financial rewards, and I have obligations…’ Which she didn’t want to go into with him right now. ‘What’s the point in all your success if you don’t stop and celebrate it every so often?’

‘The point is the success itself,’ he answered.

‘You don’t get tired?’ She was flummoxed. If she could take a break somewhere warm and beautiful, she’d be there in a heartbeat.

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured. ‘I know how to relax.’

Yeah, she bet he did. She sent him a reproachful glare and he suddenly laughed. Ettie gaped, stunned at his instant transformation from unsmiling autocrat to hot, buttered hunk. She dragged oxygen into her tight lungs. It wasn’t right that a man should be so gorgeous.

‘It’s not what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘Well, not entirely.’

‘How do you know what I’m thinking?’

‘It’s written all over your face.’

Hopefully not everything she was thinking. And hopefully it wasn’t obvious how her innards were positively melting. ‘So you don’t do this often? Pick up women and take them to dinner?’

‘No, not often, actually. Does that surprise you?’ His expression returned to serious as he studied her. ‘You don’t believe me?’

‘You’ve been seen with other women,’ she said.

His eyebrows shot up. ‘When?’

‘Last night, apparently.’ She tried to play it cool but she was already regretting bringing it up. ‘A woman leaving your apartment.’

He’d probably been celebrating his first night in Cavendish House.

Now Leon studied her for another long moment. She knew he was thinking. She just wished she knew what.

‘You were talking about me.’ His lips curved ever so slightly. ‘You were curious.’

Before she had the chance to deny it, or to apologise, or to melt in a swelter of embarrassment, he continued softly.

‘Was she seen in my company?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think so. The woman who left my apartment late last night had arrived only minutes earlier. She’s an acquaintance who’d heard I’d moved in. She came to see me as a surprise but it wasn’t something I wished to pursue.’

‘You don’t like surprises like that?’

What red-blooded man wouldn’t want to be surprised by some model-type turning up at midnight with a booty call on her mind?

‘I already told you,’ he replied. ‘I like challenges.’

Surely he didn’t see her as a challenge?

But she was pleased somehow, that he didn’t dally with anyone and everyone who offered.

Leon picked up her journal from the counter and opened it again to look at the long columns of her lists. ‘You could write a list about whether or not to have dinner with me.’ He shook his head and snapped her book shut. ‘Or you could just trust your instincts.’

Ettie regarded him warily. Her very basic instincts were hell-bent on leading her into trouble and her instincts had let her down before. Leon Kariakis was pure temptation and he knew it. Unfortunately for him, she was determined to remain in control of herself.

But this was a dare and he didn’t scare her.

‘All right, then,’ she decided with spirit. ‘Only to tell you all about the Cavendish.’

‘Wonderful.’

He waited while she closed up the shop and set the security alarm. She grabbed her coat, but despite the chill in the air she didn’t put it on. The thing was ancient and the zip was broken and she didn’t want him seeing how worn it was.

‘What do you usually have for dinner?’ he asked as they walked along the crowded footpath.

Usually on the nights she’d worked late she grabbed a chocolate bar from the tube station on the way home or didn’t bother. Tonight had been going to be a not-bother night. But she wasn’t about to admit that. ‘I might cook a quick stir-fry.’

‘But if you were to dine out?’

She shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. Truth? She never dined out.

He sent her a sideways look. ‘I know a good place.’

‘I thought you were new to the area and didn’t know any of the cool places.’ She couldn’t help smiling.

‘I asked one of the concierges at my apartment building,’ he replied smoothly. ‘They offer a superb service.’

She rolled her eyes and kept pace with him along the busy footpath. A couple of corners later he paused outside a beautiful brick mansion.

She shook her head at him. ‘No chance. You have to have a booking.’

He shrugged as if he wasn’t fazed. ‘We won’t take up much space.’

It was a celebrity chef’s place—the kind you had to make a reservation for six months in advance, which was actually a good thing, as it then gave you the time to save the small fortune you needed just to enjoy an appetiser, let alone sample the full menu. Ettie made bookings all the time on behalf of her Cavendish residents.

But Leon simply walked up to the door, which the discreet security guard immediately opened. The maître d’ swept towards them, his wide gaze fixed firmly on Leon and his smile welcoming and wide. Leon didn’t even need to utter a word.

‘May I have five minutes, sir, if you’d like a drink first?’

‘Thank you,’ Leon answered with the ease of one born to privilege. ‘Champagne?’ He turned to Ettie.

‘Lemonade,’ she replied firmly and caught a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

‘Definitely not a risk-taker,’ he murmured.

‘Fine, then,’ she breathed. ‘Champagne.’

One glass wouldn’t do any harm.

They’d barely been given their drinks when the maître d’ reappeared to lead them through the busy dining room. Ettie tried not to stare. Several faces were familiar to her but not through personal acquaintance. These were publicly led lives—an actress, a politician. Possibly a minor royal? They stopped at a secluded table in an alcove near the rear of the restaurant. It was quieter than the main dining room, more intimate and far more private.

‘You like it?’ Leon asked as she took her seat.

‘You know the owner?’ She hazarded a guess as she tried not to stare at the gleaming lighting and sumptuous décor, but she couldn’t hold back her smile. The place was amazing. ‘This is really kind of you.’

‘No, I’m not really kind,’ he corrected bluntly. ‘This is pure self-interest. I get a pretty companion for dinner to take my mind off my misery.’

‘Misery?’ She quirked an eyebrow while battling the warmth she felt at his compliment. He didn’t really mean it. He was just adding ‘charming’ to his repertoire, which was very unfair of him. ‘Because your life’s so terrible?’ Curious, she watched him keenly for his answer.

But he turned the conversation back on her. ‘Was it really going to be a stir-fry?’

‘No,’ she admitted with a chuckle. ‘I hate cooking. Generally I exist on grilled cheese sandwiches.’

‘There’s a place in the world for a good grilled cheese sandwich.’ He nodded. ‘But not here.’

‘Then what do you suggest?’

‘I suggest we leave it to the experts.’ He nodded at the maître d’, who, with a slight bow, left for the kitchen. ‘So, why are you working such intense hours?’ Leon sipped his champagne. ‘Do we not pay you enough to live on?’

She too took a sip and savoured the fizz of bubbles before replying. ‘I’m saving.’

‘For travel? A house?’

She laughed and shook her head. Was she really here to entertain him and take his mind off whatever torments he thought he had? ‘I’ve a younger sister who aspires to go to university.’

‘It’s just the two of you?’

She nodded and took another sip.

‘How old is she?’ His gaze narrowed.

‘Seventeen. She’s away at boarding school up north.’

‘You support her financially?’

‘She’s on a partial scholarship.’

‘And you pay the rest?’ His mouth tightened. ‘But you’re not that far out of school yourself.’

‘I’m twenty-three, so a few years out. It’s her last year, so it really counts.’

‘And she’s obviously talented.’

‘Top of her school.’ Ettie beamed with unashamed pride. ‘She’s amazing. She wants to study medicine. So.’ She inhaled deeply. ‘A lot of study.’ And a lot of tuition and living fees. But Ophelia was worth it and she’d do anything to see her achieve her dreams.

‘What happened to your parents?’

‘Twenty questions, huh?’ She sent him a look but answered anyway. ‘My father was never around. My mother passed away a couple of years ago.’

‘That must have been hard.’

It had been but she didn’t want to dwell on her mother’s slow decline with cancer. Not tonight. Not here. She smiled softly. ‘We’ve survived.’

She didn’t tell him about the huge mistake that she’d made not long after her mother’s death either. The total car crash that had been her love life.

‘What’s your sister’s name?’

‘Ophelia.’

‘Antoinette and Ophelia,’ he said quietly. ‘But you’re “Ettie”?’

‘Yes, fingers crossed neither of us suffers the delusions or disappointment of our namesakes.’ She sat back as the waiter appeared and placed dishes on the table. ‘My mother was a romantic.’ Not that she’d had any kind of romantic luck. Like mother, like daughter. ‘This looks amazing.’

She was pleased to have the interruption to the topic. And she realised she was absolutely starving.

He waited for her to take a bite, amusement softening his innate seriousness. ‘What do you think? Better than a grilled cheese sandwich?’

Ettie couldn’t answer, she was too busy salivating. But she finally swallowed her mouthful. ‘I’ve never eaten anything like it. It’s to die for.’

And that was all she could say, because she needed more this instant. He probably thought she was an idiot, but right this second she didn’t care. This was one of those rare experiences in life that had to be luxuriated in.

‘Here, try this.’ He pushed another plate towards her.

Ettie tasted what was, frankly, the food of the gods. Conversation turned to flavours and textures. Leon was animated, knowledgeable and entertaining as they debated which dish was the most delicious.

‘Do you have room for dessert?’ he teased her almost an hour later as she sat back with a satisfied sigh.

‘I should say no, because I’m not remotely hungry now…’ She trailed off.

When was she ever going to be in a restaurant like this again? With a man like this? It was a once-in-a-lifetime fantasy night and she didn’t want it to end.

‘What if we share?’ He offered her pure temptation.

She flashed a huge grin at him. ‘I get to pick, right?’ she said impulsively. ‘Because you can come here any time.’

He laughed a little beneath his breath. ‘Sure.’

‘Or maybe you should pick.’ She suddenly backpedalled, remembering the guy was all but her boss. ‘You probably know what’s good…’

There was a quizzical light in his eye and his eyebrows twitched. ‘I’m sure they’re all good.’ He turned and said something softly to the waiter who’d magically appeared with his impeccable service-required senses on full alert.

Ettie narrowed her gaze on Leon. ‘You did not just order every dessert on the menu.’

‘You don’t have to eat them all, just taste.’

Her jaw dropped at the decadence of the suggestion and she shook her head. ‘That’s wasteful.’

‘Then we can take the rest home for later,’ he said softly.

Ettie stilled, swamped with heat at the suggestion of intimacy that throwaway comment inferred. Was he assuming she’d go home with him tonight?

Images burned in her brain—of her licking a decadent chocolate dessert while in bed with him. Even better, licking said chocolate dessert off him.

‘Ettie?’ He was watching her closely as if he could read her mind. ‘You can take them home and have them for breakfast,’ he clarified in a slightly husky voice.

The less than subtle undercurrents between them were unbearably strong and gaining power with every passing second. She licked her suddenly dry lips and decided it was his turn to answer twenty questions. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

He hesitated and for a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

But his mouth twisted. ‘I’m an only child. Spoilt little rich boy.’ His tone was mocking, but the edge of bitterness ran deeper than a mere joke.

‘But you built your own business, right?’ She knew his parents had that Greek hotel empire, but he’d gone into finance on his own. That was according to the official bio in his ‘most eligible bachelor’ blurb in the magazine Jess the housemaid had been flashing around this afternoon at work.

He shook his head. ‘I had every advantage—education, health, wealthy parents. While my business success is my own, I can’t rightly claim to have done it all by myself when I came from that starting point. Most people don’t get that privilege to begin with.’

‘But you made the most of your opportunities.’

Of course those schools, those contacts—sure they helped. But in the end, he had to do the work himself. And there were plenty of heirs to vast fortunes who’d frittered their lives away.

A lick of something indefinable flickered in his eyes. ‘I like to extract every possible success from every possible scenario. Yes.’

Again that undercurrent swept over her like a blanket of wild dizziness—sensuality of a kind she’d never encountered or imagined. Sexual tension so intense…but it was also teasing, almost fun. Which was surprising, given he was so very serious…and she so very inept at banter.

Two waiters appeared and set six dishes on the table. Six decadent desserts that were miniature works of culinary art.

‘They’re only small portions,’ she said softly, as if that made it better. ‘I imagine they’re rich.’

‘Why don’t you take a bite and find out?’ That tone was back—dry on the surface, but wicked beneath—daring her to take the risk, to take a bite of something so far out of her league. To taste something miles away from her realm of experience.

She picked up the silver fork and forced herself to focus on the glorious-looking food, rather than the man across the table mesmerising her. She took a moment to mentally debate which she should taste first—it was a three-way contest between the chocolate nirvana, the caramel or the raspberry heaven. In the end the chocolate won.

Ettie closed her eyes as she sucked the rich mousse from the spoon.

‘Good?’

It was impossible to answer him—the deliciousness too much to express. It was like all the good things in the world had been put together in the one flavour bomb and it had just burst on her tongue.

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