“It’s not as though…as though this is some kind of love match.”

She winced as she said that, as though what she had felt for him and still felt could be dismissed in a few well-chosen words. “However strong your sense of duty is, I don’t intend to fall victim to it.”

“This isn’t about you, though, is it?” He turned to face her then. “And it isn’t about whether I wanted to become a daddy or not. The reality is that you’re pregnant with my baby and I intend to take care of the situation.”

“This is not a situation,” Mattie told him, but a small, treacherous side of her longed to be taken care of. It was the same small, treacherous side that had told her she could handle a man like Dominic. Wisdom would be to avoid that small, treacherous side like the plague.

“Event. Occurrence. Happening. Call it whatever you want to, but whatever you decide to call it, you’re not running away from me this time.”

They’re the men who have everything—except a bride…

Wealth, power, charm—what else could a heart-stoppingly handsome tycoon need? In THE GREEK TYCOONS miniseries you have already met some gorgeous Greek multimillionaires who are in need of wives.

Now it’s the turn of talented Presents author Cathy Williams, with her feisty and passionate romance

The Greek Tycoon’s Secret Child

This tycoon has met his match, and he’s decided he has to have her…whatever that takes!

Coming soon in Harlequin Presents:

The Greek’s Virgin Bride

by Julia James

March #2383

The Mistress Purchase

by Penny Jordan

April #2386

The Stephanides Pregnancy

by Lynne Graham

May #2392

The Greek Tycoon’s Secret Child
Cathy Williams

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

DOMINIC DRECOS hadn’t expected to like this sort of place. In fact, he had always been contemptuous of those high-flying businessmen who played at happy families while taking time out to frequent the sort of nightclub that offered them the opportunity to ogle beautiful young women, dressed in next to nothing, for the price of some very expensive alcohol. The sort of place where a woman sold her dignity for ridiculous tips. In fact, a nightclub pretty much like this.

But he hadn’t been able to get out of this. His very important client, along with his entourage of two accountants and three board directors, had insisted.

They wanted to see London at night, by which they had not been referring to a refined restaurant in Knightsbridge followed by a stroll through Piccadilly Circus. Nor had they meant an evening of culture at one of the theatres in Drury Lane.

‘Where the hell am I supposed to take them?’ he had asked his secretary in frustration. ‘Do I look like the sort of man who goes to places like that? And before you answer that one, remember that your job may be on the line.’ But he had grinned at his fifty-five-year-old secretary. ‘I don’t suppose you could recommend somewhere? Do you go to places like that?’

‘Don’t think they allow grannies in, Mr Drecos,’ Gloria had said with commendable seriousness. ‘I’ll ask around and find somewhere appropriate.’

It had been to her credit that she had managed to find one that, at least, had not involved any erotic table dancing or live performances in overhead cages. Thank heavens.

In fact, he thought now as he looked around him with the obligatory glass of champagne in his hand, aside from the minuscule dress code of the waitresses, the place wasn’t too sordid. The lighting was a little subdued, admittedly, but the food had been passable enough and if the drinks were outrageously priced, then what the hell?

This particular deal was worth a substantial amount of money, and his client appeared to be having a good enough time.

And it had to be said that the array of gorgeous waitresses paraded before him were manna to his jaded soul.

Dominic Drecos had had it when it came to meaningful involvement with members of the opposite sex. Just the thought of his ex-girlfriend was still enough to bring him out in a cold sweat, even though he had, thank heavens, neither seen nor heard anything of her for the past six months.

No, sir. Conversation. Intimate meals out. Theatres, presents and the whole paraphernalia of courtship could take a running leap as far as he was concerned.

He forced himself back into conversation with his client, asked politely interested questions about his Oxford University education, and glanced discreetly at his watch.

It was when he looked up that he saw her.

She was standing by their table, tray balanced, naturally, on her hip, body inclined slightly forward. Typical ploy of the waitresses, he had drily observed earlier on. They leaned over to take orders, revealing a tantalising amount of cleavage, in many cases cleavage that seemed to owe their existence to science rather than nature, smiling provocatively as they encouraged the punters to fling their money away on champagne. They would, of course, be taking a cut of each bottle they managed to entice out of their customers.

This one was using the same tired ploy, along with the same smile, same tilt of the head, but he hadn’t noticed her before.

Where had she come from? She certainly hadn’t been in evidence at their table before now. No, that girl had been a brunette of ample proportions and wickedly provocative eyes.

‘Can I interest you gentlemen in some of our champagne?’ she coaxed now, in a voice like slowly burning smoke.

Dominic was amused and slightly surprised to find that the question running through his head was what else she had on offer of interest. To him.

Surprised because since Rosalind he had managed to conduct a very celibate existence, untempted by the many women with whom he came into contact on virtually a daily basis. Either through his very hectic social life or through the myriad business dos that he was obliged to attend.

Her eyes flitted around the group of men and found Dominic’s and, as if reading the message lazily conveyed in his broodingly dark gaze, she looked away quickly and straightened ever so slightly.

‘Perhaps a couple more bottles?’ His client sat back in his chair, knowing that his question was more in the nature of a flat statement. None of his henchmen would dare query the need for yet more champagne and Dominic, who would easily have made known his thoughts on any such thing, found himself readily agreeing.

‘Why not?’ He was finding it difficult to tear his eyes away from the blonde.

She wasn’t just good-looking. Good-looking blondes were a dime a dozen. She was exotically unusual. Slimmer than most of the other waitresses in the place, with a lean, boyish frame that should have lent her an androgynous look but didn’t because her face was just too damn feminine. Heart-shaped, with a short, straight nose, very large, almond-shaped eyes whose colour he couldn’t discern because of the discreet lighting, and framed by the most amazing hair he had ever seen. Hair the colour of vanilla, poker-straight and almost waist-length.

He relaxed back in the chair, all the better to survey her, aware that he was now behaving like one of those sad old businessmen he had mentally sneered at earlier on.

She was, he noticed, making sure not to look in his direction. Which he found just a bit irritating, partly because he was footing the bill for the very expensive and highly unnecessary champagne she had succeeded in persuading them to buy and partly because he was accustomed to being looked at by women.

So he said now, in a smooth drawl, ‘But that’s the last of the champagne, my darling. Some of us have a full day’s work in the morning.’ An equally smooth half-smile accompanied that remark.

He heard the patronising arrogance in his voice and winced, but hell, anything to get her to look at him.

Celibacy, he thought with wry amusement, must really be kicking in if he now found himself reduced to trying to commandeer the attention of a waitress in a nightclub.

But it worked. She looked at him and he could see the need to appear friendly warring with cold distaste. She began gathering the empty glasses onto her tray, and as she turned for his she leaned slightly forward, offering him a glimpse of generous cleavage that looked all natural, and said in a sibilant, deadly whisper,

‘I’m not your darling.’ Then she was standing up again, the bland smile back on her face, and heading off into the shadows.

How dared he? Mattie thought furiously. Of course, she had encountered that sort of thing before. Well-oiled businessmen with eyes on stalks, thinking that they could talk to her in whatever suggestive voice they wanted.

For the most part, she had learnt to ignore them. She was a waitress, whatever her outfit of high shoes and small, tight dress might indicate to the contrary, and there was a strict policy of not fraternising with the customers.

But their customers didn’t usually come wrapped up like that one. Something about him had made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and the lazy contempt she had heard in his voice had fired up a part of her that should have known better. After all, she had been working in the place for nearly seven months now, way long enough to know how to handle seedy customers.

Not that he had looked seedy. Too good-looking for that. But she of all people ought to know that good looks could cover a multitude of sins.

She found that she was glowering at Mike as he replaced two empty bottles of champagne for another two.

‘What’s up, gorgeous?’ he asked, grinning, and Mattie smiled back a weak smile.

‘Oh, the usual.’

‘Ah.’ A nod of understanding. ‘Just ignore him.’ He began handing her clean flutes. ‘Filthy minds. Probably has some poor wife waiting up for him at home and a handful of kiddies.’

‘Look, can Jessie handle that table? I really can’t deal with that sort right now.’ One particularly bad row with Frankie, a course project with a deadline she was finding it difficult to meet, did not add up for a whole lot of patience when it came to difficult customers.

‘No chance.’ Mike looked at her ruefully. ‘The place is heaving and we’re two girls short. Which is why you’re working that table in the first place, with Jackie leaving like that. Old Harry’s fit to explode as it is. If you value your life, I’d just put up with the bastard. He’ll clear off soon enough.’

Easier said than done. She weaved her way back over to the table, her jaw aching from the effort of trying to appear natural. Harry did not approve of his girls looking anything but bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. As if they were enjoying every minute of having to serve drinks to inebriated, rich men whilst dressed in outfits that invited lurid comments and lecherous remarks.

Sometimes it all just seemed too much.

But the money was brilliant. That was one thing she couldn’t afford to forget.

And she needed the money.

And how many other night jobs could offer what she got at this place? Because a day job was out of the question. Too much of her time during the day was used up with completing her course, and what part of the day was left was devoted to sleeping.

Not that she had been getting much of that recently.

She thought of Frankie, knowing that something would have to be done very soon about him, but, as always, the minute she started thinking of him her brain began to rear up at the logical course of her thought processes, and closed down.

The man appeared to be involved in an intense conversation with his friends when she arrived at his table, which was a blessing, and she was given only a fleeting glance as she expertly opened the champagne and filled their glasses.

But he continued to jar on her mind. She found her eyes straying over to him as she waited on her other tables, watching the way he leaned into his conversation, commanding attention. Still managing to command it even when he drew back, drumming restlessly on the table with one hand whilst the other caressed the champagne flute.

People were beginning to filter out now. It wouldn’t be long before she could make her escape. It was a financial disadvantage to leave before the bitter end, as she was inevitably doing herself out of much needed tips from those groups who turned up in the early hours of the morning, but she needed the sleep. Needed the time to restore some energy back into her body. She was young, but she wasn’t made of iron and, unlike the other girls working the tables, she didn’t have hours of unimpeded sleep ahead of her in which to recover.

She watched covertly as they finished the champagne, hoped that there would not be another bottle ordered even if she was doing herself out of money in the process, walked over towards them, taking a deep breath on the way.

Training was given to all the girls when they first joined on walking. She had never, in her twenty-three years of life, known that there were different ways of walking. She had always narrowed it down to simply putting one foot in front of the other. But she had picked up the style quickly enough so that now, as she headed towards their table, her gait was unconsciously provocative, all the more so because of her slenderness.

Dominic followed her progress with leisurely enjoyment. She was determined not to look at him. He could see it in the way she collected their glasses. Nor was she interested in them ordering another bottle of champagne, even though she asked the question in the same breathlessly tempting voice.

‘Now, where,’ he drawled, capturing her reluctant attention, ‘do you suggest I put this?’ He rested one elbow on the table and heard his client chuckle with wicked amusement as he watched the notes between Dominic’s long fingers.

Mattie stretched out her palm.

‘Isn’t it customary to slip it somewhere rather more intimate?’

‘No.’ Mattie flashed him a smile of pure ice and prayed that Harry wasn’t anywhere within earshot.

‘Fair enough.’ He surrendered and handed her his extremely generous tip.

Mattie hadn’t expected it. He was, after all, a typical obnoxious customer who felt he had no need to treat her, a lowly waitress in a nightclub, with anything resembling respect. He shouldn’t be capable of smiling at her with such genuine rueful amusement. As if he could read her mind and could also see for himself what sort of picture he had portrayed and how it had conveyed itself to her.

She felt a second of passing disorientation, then her fingers curled around the money, well earned as far as she was concerned, and she was walking away. Out to the changing room, where she could get rid of her ridiculous outfit, step out of the high shoes which still pinched her toes even though she should have broken them in a long time ago, into sensible jeans and the flat trainers she was so much more comfortable wearing.

‘Harry,’ she said, when she had changed. He was circling the room, frowning, making sure that everyone was happy. ‘I’m off now.’ Mattie liked Harry. If she hadn’t, she would never have stuck the job out for as long as she had, but underneath his veneer of ill-tempered bossiness, he liked the girls who worked for him and treated them with fondness and respect.

‘You’re letting me down, Mattie,’ he growled. ‘Three girls short. What’s the matter with Jackie, anyway? You took over from her. She tell you anything? Suddenly flouncing out like that, leaving me in the lurch.’

‘She felt ill. Tired, I expect.’ Pregnant, Mattie thought, wondering how Harry would take the news. Finishing work at five-thirty in the morning, Mattie was also feeling the strain of her job.

‘Why don’t you stay on, Mats? Earn yourself a few extra quid?’

‘What, and get even less sleep than I manage to now?’

‘You should dump that course of yours,’ he grumbled. ‘Marketing. Pah! Still, when you get your diploma, or whatever it is that college is dangling in front of you, you just make sure you come right back here. Help manage this little joint of mine. Anyway, you’d better go. No good the punters seeing that their glamorous hostess wears jeans and trainers.’

Mattie laughed. ‘No. It wouldn’t do for them to think that I don’t live in tight dresses and high heels, would it?’

She edged her way out of the crowds, towards the exit.

Dominic, standing to one side by the cloakroom, jacket on, accepting the profuse thanks of his little group of guests for showing them an enjoyable time, almost didn’t recognise the slender blonde slipping out of the door, her jacket wrapped firmly around her.

Nor would he, under normal circumstances, have allowed his urge to follow her, catch her up, talk to her, to get the better of him. But being in that nightclub had made him realise something, made him see that the world was full of women, uncomplicated women who might entertain the idea of a brief relationship, no strings attached. Beautiful, uncomplicated women, because what other type of woman worked in a place like that? Certainly not those of the high-flying society category, such as his ex-girlfriend, who had thoroughly succeeded in purging him of any inclination to have a serious relationship.

Or so he told himself as he impatiently said his goodbyes to his client, one eye on the figure hurrying up the dark street, about to spin round a corner.

It took a bit of swift moving, swift enough to leave him insufficient time to ask himself what precisely he was doing, and then the gap was closing between them. He caught up with her just as she was about to cross the road, then he reached out and stilled her by placing his hand on her arm.

Mattie swung around instantly. It was after midnight and, although the streets were still busy, so were all the muggers. This was their time of night, when people were scurrying to catch cabs and buses, very likely with wallets poking out like beacons from jacket pockets and a bit too much drink in their blood for them to do much about a running assault.

‘You!’ Her eyes widened, then narrowed in angry suspicion.

An understandable reaction, Dominic thought belatedly, releasing her and drawing back.

‘What the hell are you doing? Following me?’ She had only seen him sitting down. Now she realised just how tall he was. Well over six feet. Much taller than she was, and she was no shortie at five feet eight. He was also a lot more powerful close up. Under the well-cut jacket, she could sense a finely honed, muscular body.

‘If I told Harry about this, he would have your head for breakfast!’ She didn’t think that anyone, including any of Harry’s very efficient bouncers, could have this man’s head for breakfast, and he obviously was of the same opinion, because he shot her a look of frank disbelief.

‘I accept tips from the punters, mister, but that is all you’re entitled to!’ She whipped back around to discover that he was still following her. Although following would have been the wrong word. More like accommodating his long stride to match hers, to keep up perfectly at her level, until they had both crossed the road, at which point she turned to him again, eyes blazing, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he could take his arrogant and more than likely drunken self up some different road, any road that was not the one she happened to be on!

‘I’ve seen your type before, let me tell you, and you disgust me!’

‘My type?’ Dominic was finding, to his own bemusement, that his instinctive ability to control conversations was being very thoroughly flattened by the spitting blonde in front of him. She had her hands stuck angrily in the pockets of her jacket, only removing one to shove some of that fabulous fair hair away from her face.

He had pursued her because something about her had turned him on. A lot. And he had wanted to apologise for the uncultured oaf he had been inside the nightclub, looking at her with a suggestiveness he knew she had recognised and been repulsed by. Quite rightly.

However, her attack on him was taking its toll on his temper, never that long at the best of times.

‘My type?’ he repeated, in a voice that had sent many a high-powered business rival ducking for cover. On her, however, it appeared to have less than zero effect.

‘Yes, your type!’ Surprisingly, Mattie found that she was enjoying this. Actually enjoying this! The initial shock of seeing him, the passing fear that he had followed her for a purpose, had somehow retreated. Obnoxious, patronising, arrogant boor he might very well be, but somehow she knew that he was not going to shove her down a dark alley so that he could have his wicked way with her.

She felt absolutely free to yell her lungs out at him and it was feeling very good to do just that. She hadn’t yelled like this in a very long time and she should have. Instead of just accepting what had been going on in her personal life, instead of just submitting to the worse kind of emotional abuse at the hands of Frankie King, she should have released her pent-up rage and misery in a good old screaming match. It helped that she was doing it now. Wrong person but right sentiment.

‘Sad losers with too much money who get a kick out of looking at pretty young girls. Oh, yes, I know your type. We all know your type! You don’t want to do anything, you just want to look, give yourselves a little fantasy to take back to your miserable homes with your miserable wives and your unfortunate children!’

‘What?’ Dominic was fast discovering that he hadn’t been quite so prepared for a tongue like a whip. She glared ferociously at him, every inch of her bewitching face pouring scorn, and he began to laugh, a real, genuine belly laugh that only made her face tighten in further rage.

She turned on her heel, began to walk away, knowing that he would catch up with her, expecting it.

‘You don’t take the underground back to your house at this hour, do you?’ he asked as he saw where she was heading.

‘Go away, you pervert.’

That, for him, was not acceptable. He moved ahead of her and then swung around so that he was barring her path, and he watched as she debated whether she should try and shoot past him, then obviously decide that she wouldn’t be able to make it.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ he said coldly.

‘You’re in my way, and if you don’t clear off I’m going to scream so loudly that I’ll have every policeman within a ten-mile radius racing over to see what’s going on!’

‘Is that another threat along the lines of telling your Harry, whoever he might be, that I’ve followed you so that he can send one of his hit men to teach me a lesson?’

‘Get out of my way.’ She found that she could barely breathe properly with him standing there like that, towering over her, his hard, good-looking face a study in angles and shadows.

‘I don’t take very kindly to being labelled a pervert.’

‘Do I look as though I care what you do or don’t take kindly to?’ But she uneasily felt a stab of guilt at the insult she had flung at him. Then she reminded herself that he was nothing but a good-looking face with a squalid mind, or why else would he have followed her out of the nightclub and cornered her on her way to the underground?

‘So you label all the men you see in your line of work as perverts, do you?’

‘I want to get home. It’s late and I don’t need to spend time having this conversation with you. Now, excuse me.’

‘Why don’t you take a taxi to your house?’

‘Because, not that it’s any of your business, I can’t afford the luxury. If I could afford to catch cabs here, there and everywhere, then I wouldn’t be working at a nightclub, would I?’

‘We’re not talking here, there and everywhere. We’re talking at this hour in central London. The underground isn’t a very safe place to be.’ Or so he imagined. He, personally, seldom travelled on the underground. He had a driver so that he could work in the back of the car, and when he didn’t want to use George he drove himself.

‘You would know, would you?’ Mattie snapped, reading his mind with staggering accuracy. ‘When was the last time you went anywhere on the tube?’ She gave a little grunt of pure scorn, at which point his mind told him to just leave the woman alone, to get a grip on himself.

‘I was on my way to the underground myself, as it happens,’ he heard himself saying, beyond all common sense.

‘You’re lying.’

‘So now I’m a liar and a pervert, am I?’

Mattie glared at him for a further few seconds and then dodged around him and began striding towards the illuminated underground entrance.

Dominic fell in line.

What the hell was he doing? he asked himself. What did it matter what a waitress in a nightclub thought of him? So what if she was exciting to look at? At the grand old age of thirty-four he should be over all that by now.

But still he found that he was walking alongside her, feeling her impotent anger simmering from every pore of her body, surreptitiously watching the proud tilt of her head, hands still resolutely thrust into her pockets, her bag, which was no more than a weathered knapsack, casually slung over one shoulder.

‘Well, goodbye.’ Mattie turned to face him as soon as they were in the station, virtually a ghost town at this time in the morning.

It was the first time she was seeing him in light and what she had taken for a good-looking face, not dissimilar to the one that was probably lying, mouth open, empty whisky bottle at the side, waiting for her on the tired sofa in the sitting room, she now realised far exceeded that.

This man, whose name he had not even bothered to tell her because he was, of course, far too high and mighty for such niceties, especially when it came to the fact that he was just out for a good time with a woman he imagined would be an easy lay, went beyond good-looking. He was very firmly placed in the higher regions of staggering.

Faintly olive-skinned, short black hair, eyes that were as dark as midnight and a bone-structure that seemed to have been chiselled lovingly with perfection in mind.

‘What stop are you getting off at?’

‘Not the same as yours,’ Mattie answered smoothly, turning away and slotting her coins into the ticket machine. She always made sure that her change was ready for when she got to the ticket machine. No fumbling in bags. Not very safe.

‘How would you know that?’

‘Because I have eyes in my head.’ To prove her point, she insolently raked her eyes over his immaculately tailored suit, his handmade shoes, the gold watch on his wrist.

‘I’m delivering you to your door,’ Dominic said flatly. There was something about this girl that made him concerned for her safety—her insurgency, perhaps. ‘So we do happen to be travelling to the same stop after all. And you needn’t fear that I shall try and take advantage of you on the way.’

‘I don’t need an escort.’

Green eyes. The purest green he had ever seen. The suggestive lighting in the nightclub had only given him a glimpse of her. Here, her face crystallised into huge, almond-shaped eyes, a nose sprinkled with freckles and a full mouth that was currently down-turned in an expression of fierce disdain.

‘This place is deserted. Or maybe not. Maybe there’ll be a few junkies and drunks waiting to get into the same carriage as you. Am I right?’

‘I’m touched that you care so much about my welfare, but I do happen to do this particular route four nights a week. I think it’s fair to say that I can take care of myself.’ She gave him another scornful once-over. ‘Probably more than you can take care of yourself.’

‘More typecasting?’

‘Look, it’s late,’ Mattie said carefully, meeting his eyes and holding them with difficulty. ‘I didn’t appreciate the way you were looking at me in the nightclub and I don’t appreciate the way you followed me out. Can I make myself any clearer? I need to grab some sleep if I’m not to pass out tomorrow.’

‘Don’t you have all day to catch up on your sleep?’ The dark eyes narrowed speculatively on her face and Mattie felt herself blushing. Blushing like a teenager when in fact she was twenty-three years old and had had enough sobering experiences in her life for a cynical outer shell to be well and truly in place.

‘I happen to have things to do,’ she muttered. ‘The world doesn’t cater for people who sleep by day and work by night, in case it’s missed you. Now, go away.’

‘Fine. But I’ll be waiting for you tomorrow at the club.’

‘Why?’

This was something that was genuinely puzzling her. She had become experienced in a very short space of time in reading the men who patronised the nightclub. They were usually middle-aged, married but not so married that they didn’t still lick their lips at the sight of a pretty girl in next to nothing. Harmless men. Then there were the groups of young, rich yuppies. She personally found them a lot more threatening because there was no wife at home waiting, no kiddies tugging on their consciences.

The man standing in front of her didn’t seem to fall into either category.

In fact, he struck her as the sort who didn’t need to trail behind waitresses in nightclubs or anywhere else for that matter because whatever woman he wanted would come to him with a click of his fingers.

‘Because I don’t particularly like being categorised without an explanation.’ Which beggared the question of why he should give a damn in the first place, but he could tell that that train of thought hadn’t occurred to her from the small frown.

‘Look at it this way,’ he pointed out smoothly, jumping into whatever she had been thinking so that she once more raised her eyes to his. ‘How would you feel if I insulted you by implying that since you were a waitress in a nightclub, willing to dress in next to nothing because the less the clothes, presumably the bigger the tips, you were therefore—’

‘A cheap tart?’ Mattie snapped, interrupting him before he could voice what he had obviously been thinking. ‘A woman of easy virtue? Or maybe a woman of no virtue altogether? A sad loser who has nothing better to do with her life than whistle it down the drain working for tips in a nightclub?’ Yes, they all thought that. All the men who ogled her as she waited their tables. It still got her back up, though.

Not just with him, but with herself because she knew where she was going. She knew why she was doing what she was doing. What did it matter what one passing stranger out of the hundreds thought of her?

‘Like it?’ Dominic murmured lazily. ‘Think you might want to refute it?’

‘I don’t have to refute anything to you, but let me just tell you that I’m not an easy lay.’ Understatement of the century, she was honest enough to think. One lover in all her years. Frankie King, whom she had known since she was sixteen. And she hadn’t even slept with him for…how many months now?

‘So if that’s why you followed me, then you can forget it. I won’t be climbing into your bed, not now, not ever.’

A mixed group of merry teenagers, drunk but too wrapped up in each other to be threatening to her, jostled past and Dominic took hold of her arm and led her away from the ticket machines to the side.

‘I’ll take you home in a taxi.’

‘Oh, suddenly a little bit scared of our great British transport system, are you?’ she sneered, not much liking the way she sounded. Hard and jaded and cynical, but this was the best way she knew of protecting herself.

‘Oh, don’t be such a damned little fool.’

‘Well, it might interest you to know that I’d rather take my chances with that little lot that just waltzed past than cooped up in a taxi with you.’

‘Then I’ll just put you in the damned cab and pay the man to take you wherever it is you live!’

‘Ah. Not so keen on my company now that you know I won’t be sleeping with you.’ Mattie shook her head with an expression of mock disappointment. ‘Now, why am I not falling down in surprise?’

‘Come on.’ He had never met a more suspicious, cynical woman in his life, but did she have spirit! Was that why he was now hailing a taxi for her rather than letting her take the first tube of the morning home? Not liking the thought of her stepping into a carriage with a mob of drunks, even though she was right and was probably more accustomed to dealing with situations like that than he was?

‘You, mister, are the last word in arrogance!’

‘Watch out. I might start getting used to your line of compliments.’

‘Hardly.’ The black cab had slowed down for her and she knew better than to kick up her heels at his insistence. ‘Unless fate decides to behave in a freakish way, this is the last we’ll be seeing of each other.’

Dominic didn’t say anything. Just opened the taxi door for her, handed the driver some notes, sufficient, he was assured, to cover the trip, before turning to her briefly.

His large, powerful frame was draped suffocatingly by her open door, and when he looked down at her his presence seemed to fill the entire back of the taxi like a drug.

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ he said in a low, silky voice, and Mattie felt a disturbing thread of excitement race up her spine. ‘After all, I have yet to refute your accusations, do I not?’

‘I apologise,’ she said quickly. ‘There. Will that do?’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘I’ll never sleep with you,’ she hissed fiercely. ‘You’ve got the wrong measure of me!’

‘In life, I’ve learnt that never is the most fickle word in the English language.’ With which he stood up and slammed the car door.

What he didn’t tell her was that it was also the most challenging word in the English language. Especially in this context and especially for a man like him.

CHAPTER TWO

‘DUNNO know why you bother wasting your time on that rubbish.’

Mattie glanced across the room to Frankie. He was sprawled on the chair in front of the television, his feet propped up on the coffee-table he had dragged over, and he was staring at her in a way that she was all too familiar with.

So she ignored him and returned to the books in front of her. ‘Told you, love, there’s no way you’ve got the brains to do anything in any company anywhere. Left school at sixteen, or you forgotten already?’

He was on the beer. For that she was grateful. If he had been on the whisky, he would be targeting his comments with a lot more venom. And he would be gone in a little while. It was Saturday, after all. Not a night for a man like Frankie to stay in. Not when his mates would be down at the local, eyes glued to whatever sport happened to be showing on the massive overhead screen that The Lamb and Eagle proudly sported.

‘That doesn’t mean I can’t do this,’ Mattie said quietly, knowing that there was no point going down this road but doing it anyway.

‘Sure it does. Big shots in companies ain’t looking for a girl like you, Mats. Pretty you might be but let’s not forget the background.’ He gave a cruel little chuckle and her fingers tightened on the pen she was holding. ‘Anyway, what time you off tonight, then?’

‘Does it matter? You won’t be here anyway.’

‘True, true. Go and fetch us another beer, would you, Mats?’

‘You’ll be drinking at the pub, Frankie.’

‘Oh not another of your little preachy sermons. Don’t think I can stand it. Any wonder I want to clear out of this place whenever you’re around? A right little Miss Prim and Proper you’ve become ever since you started filling your head with ideas about high-flying jobs in marketing. You should ’ave just stuck it out as secretary in that poxy little company you were at before.’

Pushed to the limit, Mattie snapped shut the book she had been studying and fixed him with a cold stare.

‘But I couldn’t, could I, Frankie? And we both know why!’

He staggered to his feet, raked his fingers through his hair and headed towards the kitchen with a thunderous scowl on his face. But this time she wasn’t going to let him get away with his jibe.

Three nights ago it had felt damned good to yell at someone and she was going to do that now. This time at the right person instead of at a perfect stranger who had happened to rub her up the wrong way. A perfect stranger who had, unsurprisingly, not reappeared at her exciting little workplace, even though she had caught herself watching out for him, and then berating herself for letting him get under her skin when she had figured him out for what he was.

‘Well?’ Mattie went to the kitchen door and leaned against the frame, her eyes stormy, watching as Frankie helped himself to another lager, which he proceeded to drink straight from the can.

‘I can’t be bothered to argue this one with you, Mats. Why don’t you just head back to those books of yours and carry on pretending you can get somewhere in life?’

‘No! I want to have this one out, Frankie. I’m sick to death of all your slurs and insults. I couldn’t stick it out in that job because the money wasn’t enough to keep us both!’ She had tiptoed round this long enough.

‘I suppose you blame me for the accident!’

‘I don’t blame you for anything! But that was nearly two years ago! So isn’t it about time you just woke up to the fact that you will never become a professional footballer? It’s over, Frankie! You need to get your head around that and—’

‘Know what, Mats? I don’t need to stand here and listen to all of this! I’m off.’

She felt tears of frustration prick the backs of her eyes, but she stayed where she was, blocking the doorway.

‘You need to get a job, Frankie.’

He slammed the half-empty beer can on the kitchen table and lager shot out of the top over the table-top.

‘An office job, Mats? Think I should get myself decked out in a cheap suit and see if anyone wants me?’

‘It doesn’t have to be an office job.’

‘Well, then, maybe a job like yours, then, eh?’

‘That job happens to pay five times what I was getting as a secretary and a hundred times more than I was getting working at that restaurant.’

‘So you could take time off and study those books of yours. As if you’ll ever be able to do anything in any company.’

‘Well, it didn’t last long, did it? I had to jack that in so that I could get something better paid to pay the bills you have no intention of paying because you won’t get a job!’

‘Know what? If you feel that way, why don’t you just clear off, Mats?’ His blue eyes met hers and he looked away.

‘Maybe I will,’ she said, turning away, only half hearing him as he apologised. Again. Told her he needed her. Again. Slammed his way out of the house. Again.

They both knew that the end of their relationship had already arrived, had arrived quite some time ago, as it happened. But Mattie knew how hard it was to say goodbye to history, to memories of them both as teenagers, when they had had high hopes of going places. Just as she knew that the only glue keeping them together, as far as she was concerned anyway, was pity.

His star had been so promising, and then when the accident happened she had just felt so damned sorry for him, too sorry to take the final step and walk away even though she could see how he had changed, how they both had.

He was enraged and bitter at what fate had done to him but even those spells of anguish, of opening up to her, communicating, had dwindled away. She realised that they hadn’t really communicated in months.

Not, she thought as she tidied away her books and began getting dressed to leave the house, since he had broken down and sobbed like a baby on her shoulder over eight months ago. When yet again she had allowed herself to feel sorry for him, to struggle on with him, knowing that he needed her.

She had, after all, known him for such a long time.

In a way, the nightclub was just the right job for her, quite aside from the fantastic earnings.

There was no time to think about her own problems when she was busy scuttling around the tables, catching up with the other girls now and again so that they could share a giggle about their customers.

But their argument tonight had been different. Had had an edge to it that they had both felt.

Two hours later her mind was still harking back to it, when she looked up and there he was, the man, the stranger, sitting on his own at the back of the room, and her heart gave a sudden, illogical leap of pleasure which disappeared as fast as it had come.

How long had he been sitting there?

And now that she had spotted him, she became acutely conscious of her every movement until finally she had no choice but to walk towards him, even though he wasn’t seated in her patch.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I told you I would return,’ he asked with the same slightly amused, lazy drawl that sent a shiver up her spine. ‘Missed me?’

‘Of course I haven’t missed you, and I also thought I’d made my position clear. I’m not for sale along with the drinks and the food.’ And, since there was no more to be said on the subject, she knew that she should just spin round on her heel and walk away, leaving him ample time to get the message once and for all. But she didn’t. She hesitated.

‘Why don’t we leave here and go somewhere a little more civilised for some coffee? I know a particularly good coffee bar that’s open all hours.’

‘A coffee bar that’s open all hours? Oh, please! And where would that be? On another planet?’

‘Actually, in a hotel that caters for men like me. Not, I might add, the lying pervert you categorised me as but a workaholic who keeps highly irregular hours.’ He raised one eyebrow, leaned back into his chair and proceeded to watch her very intently.

‘I don’t think so. Thanks all the same.’

‘You look exhausted.’

Three words that made her stop in her tracks, brought back the flood of memories of what had taken place between her and Frankie. Right now, there wasn’t a nook or cranny in her life that wasn’t exhausting. How had he spotted that when no one else had?

‘There are one or two reasons why that’s totally out of the question,’ Mattie said tartly. ‘And if you choose to disregard the ones I’ve already given you, then here are a couple more. I’ve only been here for an hour and a half and this is my job. Sorry.’

‘It occurred to me,’ Dominic said, sweeping past her little speech as if it was of no consequence, ‘that I don’t even know your name. What is it?’

‘Look. I have to go. Jackie will hit the roof if she thinks I’m muscling in on her customers.’

‘Why do you work in a place like this?’

‘I already told you. Now, goodbye.’

‘I’ll meet you at the exit in half an hour.’ He stood up, finished his drink and looked down at her. ‘Right?’

‘I’m not going anywhere with you! How much does it take to get through that thick skull of yours?’

‘I’ll sort it out with your boss.’

Mattie gave a short, dry laugh. ‘Oh, right. And how do you propose to do that? Put a gun to his head, by any chance?’

‘I’ve always found that strong-arm tactics never work.’ His dark eyes locked with hers and he felt that sudden surge of unexplained excitement once again. The same excitement that had coursed through him whenever she crossed his mind. Which she had done with puzzling regularity over the past few days.

Why? Logic told him that if all he wanted was a safe and enjoyable antidote to Rosalind, then he could find that anywhere. He certainly didn’t need to pursue a woman who had made her feelings patently clear from the word go. But logic was no match for what he could only put down to the thrill of a challenge, and challenge, he had grudgingly admitted, was certainly what she was.

Hence his reason for returning to the nightclub.

‘Leave it to me.’

Leave it to him! Well, why not? He didn’t know Harry and he obviously had no idea how strict nightclub bosses were when it came to their girls not skipping off work.

‘Sure.’ She shot him a caustic grin. ‘If you can pull that one off, then I’ll come with you to your coffee bar, by all means. But, since I don’t see that happening, I’ll just bid you goodnight and tell you that it’s no use your coming back here because the next time you won’t even get a conversation out of me.’

It was a little disconcerting to feel a tug of regret at the thought of that, but Mattie was nothing if not practical. Her life was just too full of problems for her to take another one on board in the shape of a man, probably married, because good-looking, well-spoken men like that were never single, who was after a little no-strings-attached fling with a pretty young thing.

She would make sure not to look in his direction again.

What she hadn’t bargained on was Harry calling her over ten minutes later as she was on her way back for a refill of champagne for a table of men who had already had far too much to drink.

‘I what?’ Mattie stammered, after he had said what he had to say.

‘Can take the rest of the evening off.’

‘I’ve just got here, Harry.’

‘Jacks won’t mind covering your patch. She needs to catch up on some lost earnings.’

‘How did he do it?’ Mattie glanced around her, seeking him out in the darkness and through the crowds, then finally returning her narrowed eyes to Harry’s flushed face. ‘Well?’ she demanded. Then a thought crossed her mind. ‘He didn’t…he isn’t…some kind of dangerous thug, is he, Harry? He didn’t threaten you, did he?’ She thought back to her throw-away remark about guns and heads.

‘Threaten me? Harry Alfonso Roberto Sidwell?’ He rocked on the balls of his feet for a few seconds, straightened the lapels of his jacket and gave her a superior look. ‘No one has ever dared do such a thing, Matilda Hayes, and don’t you forget it! No. Just said he wanted to talk to you, that this seemed the only time you could snatch. Gave me his card. Told me that if I ever needed any advice, just ask for him.’

‘Advice? Advice about what?’ She felt as if the ground had unexpectedly opened up from under her feet. ‘Relationships? Is he some kind of counsellor or something?’

‘Harry Sidwell has never needed advice on relationships! He’s in finance, Mats. Powerful man. Even I’ve heard of him and you know how much distance there is between the underbelly of life here and the Olympic heights of some of those money men.’ He chuckled at his own sense of humour but Mattie’s head was reeling with shock.

‘You’re giving me the night off because some man asked you to and handed over a business card? And what about my tips, Harry? I can’t afford to take the time off! You know how much I need the money!’

‘I’ll cover you, Mats. Give you roughly the amount you usually pull in on a Friday. Don’t say I’m not fair.’

‘I can’t—’

‘You deserve a night off, Mattie. Reliable as clock-work, you are. Never let me down. When was the last time you went out for enjoyment? Eh? When you’re not at college or poring over textbooks, you’re here. And you’d be doing me a favour, love.’

‘How’s that, Harry?’

‘Thinking of expanding business, Mats. Might need that business card sooner than you think.’ He grinned craftily, and Mattie felt her options closing in.

‘He’s after one thing, Harry. Thanks very much!’

‘You’re safe with that one.’

‘I wouldn’t be safe with anybody who comes here, and you know it!’

‘You’re safe with that one, Mats. I wouldn’t be giving you the evening off otherwise. He’s a big cheese. He wouldn’t make a nuisance of himself because he’s too high-profile. Would never risk a scandal. If he says he wants to talk, then that’s all he’ll do. Unless…’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you decide otherwise…’

‘Fat chance.’

‘Then what’s the problem? Free evening? Enjoy yourself. Now, you go change, darling. Busy, busy, busy here tonight. No time to stop and have a prolonged chat.’

But she didn’t like the feeling of being manipulated. Even if it did feel good to have an evening to herself. No books, no nightclub. No Frankie.

If she got to the door and discovered that he had changed his mind, all the better. She’d play truant and skip one evening’s work and find herself some twenty-four-hour place where she could just sit and be at peace with her thoughts. Going back to the house was not an option, even though Frankie wouldn’t be there. Just being within those four walls was enough to make her feel suffocated.

But he was there. Waiting. Just as he had promised. Tall, impossibly handsome and looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read, which made her feel more apprehensive rather than less. Apprehensive and somehow…alert. Alive.

‘How did you pull that off?’ was the first thing she asked, glaring.

Like an angry cat, he thought. An angry cat that he had got it into his head he wanted to tame. An angry cat that would jump six feet into the air if he so much as touched her, even if the touch was strictly polite. He pushed open the door and stood back so that she could brush past him.

‘Didn’t Harry tell you?’ Dominic asked curiously, making sure not to invade her space.

‘He said you gave him your business card. He said you were someone important in the City.’ Mattie regarded him levelly, with hostile suspicion. ‘I don’t care how important you are, you know the ground rules.’

‘But not your name.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I know the ground rules, but I still don’t know your name.’

‘Matilda.’

‘Matilda. You don’t look like a Matilda,’ he said in an amused voice, and her back stiffened.

‘No. And what do I look like? Something a little fluffier? A Candy, perhaps? Maybe fluffier still?’

‘Are you always on the defensive? Matilda?’

‘Mattie,’ Mattie muttered. ‘Everyone calls me Mattie. I hate the name Matilda.’ She blushed at this unnecessary volunteering of information, even though it was hardly a state secret.

‘Why?’

She shrugged, as he knew she would, just as he knew that she hated having let slip the innocuous detail because it was of a personal nature.

‘Well, Mattie,’ he stretched out one arm to hail a taxi, and as it slowed down to pull up to them he said with deadly seriousness, ‘we’re going to have to get in a cab together to go to this hotel…’

‘Hotel? Oh, no. No, no.’ She began backing away and Dominic clicked his tongue in impatience.

‘I said hotel. I didn’t say hotel room. We’re going to a hotel in Covent Garden that I often use when I’m working late. There’s a bar downstairs and it’s guaranteed to be full.’ But her big green eyes were still watching him warily, and he had to fight the urge to just reach out and smooth her ruffled feathers.

He, who had never had to try when it came to the opposite sex, could scarcely believe that he was now willing, at some ungodly time of the evening, to bide his time.

‘Now, are you going to come with me or not? If not, then you can rest assured that you won’t see me again. If you do decide to come, then you’ll just have to swallow your misgivings and climb into this taxi with me. Make your mind up.’

He saw the debate flitting across her face and wondered what he would do if she walked away. Wondered what had brought him to this juncture in the first place.

Fate? A certain boredom with the women he was used to? A need to erase Rosalind by having an affair with someone dramatically different from her in every possible way? Something else? No, nothing else, he told himself.

But whatever the outcome of her internal debate, he wasn’t going to chase after her. He had already behaved out of character as far as she was concerned, and he wasn’t going to do it again.

‘OK.’ Mattie shrugged and, when she reached out to open the door, found that he was there before her, opening it for her. It was a gesture to which she wasn’t accustomed. Frankie was not an opening-car-doors-for-women kind of man.

Still, she made sure to wriggle up to the furthest side of the seat when he stooped to join her, and was immediately glad of it because, even at this distance, she still felt chokingly aware of him.

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, as the taxi pulled away.

He noticed the way she was huddled against the door, as if scared that he might do something unexpected at any given moment, and he, in turn, made sure to keep a safe distance between them.

‘Dominic Drecos.’

‘Dominic Drecos,’ Mattie repeated, thinking hard. ‘And you’re something important in the City, are you?’

‘Something important, yes.’ She didn’t sound overly impressed with that and he found himself giving in to a childish desire to expand. ‘I deal in corporate finance. We handle mergers and acquisitions. In addition, I speculate in property. Buy to renovate to sell.’

‘Right.’ She turned to gaze out of the window. In this part of London, it was never dark. Too many lights and billboards. It was a rolling scenery she was familiar with, but for some reason she found it easier to stare at the images moving past than at the man sitting on the seat next to her.

He was the first man she had had a proper conversation with in a very long time. She attended her courses during the day but did none of the student socialising that most of the others did and talking to the customers at the nightclub was strictly out of the question. There had just been Frankie. And she and Frankie no longer conversed on any meaningful level.

‘So you don’t live here, then, I take it?’ She reluctantly looked at him and, for one crazy moment, wondered what he looked like underneath the expensive suit and that crisp striped shirt he was wearing under it. Then she blinked and she was back in the taxi, a nightclub waitress with a boyfriend, sitting next to someone important in the City.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Well, if you did, then why would you go to a hotel when you happened to be working late?’

‘I have an apartment in Chelsea. But this particular hotel does very late suppers and occasionally we might come across here to wind up a deal and eat at the same time.’

‘We?’

‘My people.’

‘Your people.’

‘Accountants, lawyers, whoever happens to be needed. Sometimes, I come here on my own to have a late meal and finish business without the distraction of telephones and fax machines.’ No point telling her that he had been responsible for buying and renovating this particular building and, as a stipulation, had a penthouse suite on the top floor which he sometimes used if he simply couldn’t be bothered to get George to drive him back to his own apartment. That little titbit would have her running for cover.

And he was discovering that the last thing he wanted was to have her running for cover.

For someone who had always had total control over every aspect of his life, this in itself puzzled the hell out of him. It also energised him in equal measure.

‘And what about your wife? Does she enjoy your late suppers at expensive hotels when you’re working late with your people?’ Whether he was married or not was immaterial to her. She had no intention of doing anything with him. But she still found that she was curious.

Was he married?

‘If I were married, I wouldn’t be here.’ There was a flat coolness to his voice that made her want to retract the question. ‘Don’t you find it impossible to work somewhere where your opinion of your customers is so low?’

She was spared the difficulty of finding an answer to that one by the taxi slowing down in front of an elegant building sandwiched between an expensive men’s clothing shop and a furniture shop that sported chic, very modern, unpriced handmade furniture.

But somehow she got the feeling that the question would be repeated the minute they were on their own.

In the meantime, she would take some time to get her thoughts together and try to still the fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach that definitely should not be there.

‘Not the sort of place for a girl in jeans,’ she whispered with a nervous laugh as they walked into the foyer. Stark colours, one or two abstract paintings on the walls, plants that seemed to make a statement.

And he had been right. There were people even in the foyer, even at this hour of the night. Expensive, sophisticated, arty-looking people.

The man behind the desk smiled at him, which just made Mattie feel even more nervous. She clenched her fists in the pockets of her jacket and trudged alongside him as he strode towards some stairs and down into the basement bar.

What was she doing here? she wondered a little wildly.

‘People come here dressed in anything they choose,’ Dominic murmured down to her. ‘No need to feel out of place.’

‘I wasn’t feeling out of place.’

‘No?’ He paused to raise one eyebrow at her, and she smiled reluctantly.

‘Well, a little.’

It was the smile, he thought. Something about it gave the lie to her air of cynicism, revealed a wealth of vulnerability and spoke volumes about the wit, the humour, the intelligence lying there just below the surface. Waiting.

Waiting, he thought, for me to unearth it.

‘Grab a table,’ he said. ‘I’ll get drinks. What will you have?’

‘Not champagne. I see enough of that at work to be immune to its charm. Not that I’ve ever been a champagne girl anyway,’ she added quickly, just in case he thought that she was going to take advantage of his wealth to order herself the most expensive drink on the menu. ‘I’ll have some coffee, please. Decaffeinated, if they do it.’

‘They do everything here.’

Mattie took a seat at one of the smooth circular granite tables. The chairs were oddly shaped, very comfortable even though they didn’t look it, and, as in the foyer, there were people here. A whole world of night birds, exotic, young night birds, drinking and having a good time.

‘So,’ he deposited her cup on the table and sat down, ‘feeling a little less…rattled?’

‘I wasn’t rattled,’ Mattie returned with vigour. ‘I was angry because you manipulated me into leaving with you.’

‘You could have said no and walked away. No one forced you to get into the taxi and come here.’ He crossed his legs and proceeded to look at her with such thoroughness that she felt a steady blush invade her face until she was taking refuge in the cup of coffee and wishing she had ordered something a little more substantial.

‘And you never answered my question. Why do you work in a place where the customers obviously repulse you?’

‘They don’t repulse me. Some of them are really quite nice. Or at least they seem to be.’

‘You just dislike the sort of men you think frequent those places.’

‘Wouldn’t you?’ Mattie shrugged, determined not to let him see how nervously aware of him he made her feel.

‘Funnily enough, I feel exactly the same as you do. I just happened to find myself there at the request of my clients.’

‘Oh, and you weren’t enjoying…having a look around?’

‘Not particularly. Until, that is, I saw you.’

There was something shockingly direct about the statement, something that made her body stir slickly into life. She couldn’t think of a thing to say and nor did he seem in any hurry to break the silence that thickened around them.

‘I…I… As I said, I work there because the money is very good… I…’

Dominic watched as she lowered her eyes and busied herself with the cup, staring at it for a few seconds, toying with the handle before raising it to her lips. She was probably as experienced as they came, but she was making him feel like a big, bad wolf all of a sudden and he didn’t like the feeling.

‘Why don’t you get a day job?’ he asked, allowing the change of subject even though he wanted to ask her how she could possibly do what she did and still shy away like a frightened rabbit when a man paid her a compliment. He hadn’t even tried to touch her, for heaven’s sake!

‘Why is it that you aren’t married?’ She tilted her chin up and looked him squarely in the face, leaving him in no doubt as to her intention. If he felt at liberty to quiz her about her private life then she felt at liberty to do the same to him.

‘Should I be?’ Dominic hedged. Personal confidences had never figured high on his conversational agenda. Had never figured at all, in point of fact. He felt his face darken slightly and he knocked back the remainder of his drink in one long swallow.

‘Well, you’re not too old, you’re…you’re…’ Her vantage point was quickly relinquished as Mattie saw the road she was heading down. A list of all his credentials, and when she looked at him there was a wicked gleam in his eyes that did something else to her wall of cynicism that had been so carefully erected over the years.

‘I’m all ears,’ he encouraged.

‘Obviously rich. Being something big in the City, as you are.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Yes. Arrogant. Manipulative. Oh, not forgetting, with an ego as big as a tanker.’

‘Mmm. Doesn’t sound a list of qualities any woman would positively search for.’

Their eyes tangled and Mattie was the first to look away. The conversation was getting dangerous. Some little voice was telling her that.

‘Which just shows that you probably haven’t met the right one,’ she said quickly. ‘So how did you discover this place?’ she asked, making no attempt to hide the change of subject.

‘Oh, I bought the building, renovated it and then sold it on.’ He watched her digest this information whilst his mind began to drift off into images of that exotically beautiful face glowing with the film of passion, her body unclothed, writhing in a lover’s embrace. His embrace.

He cleared his throat, sat up straighter. ‘As I mentioned, that’s a part of what I do.’

She found she wanted to hear more. Wanted to find out more about him. It wouldn’t do. Time to rectify a situation before it became too dangerous.

‘Sounds very important. So…how did you manage to just land up doing that? It must cost an absolute fortune to go into the property business. Mustn’t it? Especially in London.’

‘I studied economics at university,’ Dominic said abruptly. ‘Went into finance before I got into the property side.’

‘You must have made a great deal of money in finance in that case. To enable you to have the capital to play with.’ Mattie pretended to muse on the conundrum of this.

Dominic gave her a long, narrowed look which she met with widely innocent eyes. ‘I’ve always had a fair amount of money at my disposal.’

‘Ah.’ Of course he would have. He was a man born into money. It sat on his shoulders like an invisible cloak. And she had wanted him to say it. Out loud. So that she could remind herself of yet another reason why she should get out of this place and fast, before his sexy face and ability to listen and smooth-talking charm got the better of her caution.

‘So…what did your parents do?’

‘Is this really relevant?’

‘It is to me.’

‘My father is in shipping.’

‘Builds them, you mean?’

‘You know exactly what I mean.’

‘My mum was a cleaner. She died ten years ago. My dad was a carpenter, except not many people seem to want handmade things these days. He lives in Bournemouth now. He still makes bits and pieces for himself, but his full-time job is supervisor at a furniture factory.’ Mattie stood up and smiled politely.

She felt disproportionately hurt at the fact that she would never see him again, but she had had to do it. Had to make him see the one difference between them that would always be there.

‘Well, thanks for the coffee. No, please, I can get a taxi home myself.’ She just couldn’t face the underground just now. And before he could say another word she was hurrying out of the door, up the stairs and through the chic foyer that looked as though it had stepped straight out of a magazine.

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