Greek Mavericks: The Greek's Unforgettable Secret. Кейт Хьюит
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With a cashmere scarf slung casually around his neck, he looked like the master of the sexual universe. He had to be thinking, What the hell has happened to Lizzie Montgomery?
Life. Life had happened to Lizzie Montgomery, Lizzie reflected as Damon held the door. And life changed people. For the better, she could only hope, in both their cases.
‘I’m driving myself tonight,’ Damon explained as he stopped by the passenger door of a fabulous brand-new black Bentley with a personalised number plate: DG1.
‘Of course you are,’ she teased in a pale imitation of her old self. ‘Chauffeur’s night off?’ she suggested.
Damon chose not to answer as he opened the passenger door. The scent of money and leather assailed her the moment she sank into, rather than perched on, the most incredibly comfortable pale cream kidskin seat.
‘This is lovely,’ she observed, looking around as Damon slid in beside her.
She didn’t want him to think she was so downtrodden and disadvantaged that she was overwhelmed by his obvious wealth. She’d been bold when they’d first met, and now, in spite of how she must appear to Damon, she had everything she could possibly need. He might have made millions, and she might be poor, but there were more ways than one to feel a deep sense of satisfaction with life and she’d got that.
When Damon started the engine it purred—in contrast to the jangling conflict inside Lizzie. Pulling smoothly away from the kerb, he joined the sluggish London evening traffic. This was how the rich travelled, she concluded. They didn’t bounce along, crushed on every side in an over-full rush hour bus. They glided in their opulent private space, enjoying classical music playing softly in the background.
‘Do you enjoy your job?’
The blunt question jolted Lizzie back to the unlikely reality of being cocooned inside the most luxurious vehicle in London with the world’s most eligible bachelor.
‘Yes,’ she confirmed, lifting her chin. ‘I have great friends at the restaurant—especially Stavros. I’m exactly where I want to be, working alongside genuine people who care for me as I care for them.’
Damon seemed taken aback for a moment, and then he said, ‘Hungry?’
She was—and for more than food, she realised as Damon flashed a glance her way. She hadn’t felt like this in eleven years, but he only had to look at her for her to remember how it had felt to be in his arms. Which was a complete waste of good thinking time, she accepted, drawing her shabby coat closer around her trembling body.
‘Surprising even myself, I’m hungry too,’ he admitted.
‘You can take me back.’
‘Now, why would I do that?’
She stared down in shock as his hand covered hers. He’d better not be feeling sorry for her.
He drew the Bentley to a halt on the Embankment running alongside the river Thames. By the time she had released her seat belt he was opening her door. It was such a romantic view it took her attention for a moment.
‘Burger or hot dog?’ he said.
She almost laughed. Perhaps it was just as well he’d shaken her away from the romantic sight of the Palace of Westminster and stately Big Ben. It wouldn’t do to lose focus around Damon. ‘Hot dog, please.’
‘Ketchup and mustard?’
‘Why not be lavish?’ she said.
He gave her a look and turned away, allowing her to take in the powerful spread of his shoulders as he started chatting easily to the guy behind the food stand not far from where they had parked. Damon had always got on well with everyone—but how would he handle what she had to tell him?
Not yet, she decided. She would have to know this older, shrewder Damon better before she could tell him everything. She had to know what made him tick and how he lived his life.
As he handed the hot dog over their fingers touched and a quiver of awareness ran through her. It seemed that however hard she tried to remain detached, so she could think straight, her body insisted on going its own way. And her body wanted Damon as much as it ever had.
‘Thinking back?’ he said, reading her mind.
Thinking back to when she had been an eighteen-year-old virgin with nothing certain in her future except that it would change? Yes—unfortunately. ‘I’m thinking maybe I have too much sauce?’ she suggested.
‘You always had too much sauce,’ Damon observed.
She decided to ignore the jibe. Damon was standing under a street lamp, leaning back against it, and the spotlight suited him. He was so dark and swarthy—so compelling in every way. The shadowed light only enhanced his sculpted features.
‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was,’ she said, biting down hard on the delicious snack in an attempt to distract herself from Damon’s brazen physicality. And, truthfully, it was a treat to have someone other than Stavros buy her a meal and to care a damn if she enjoyed it.
‘Where did you disappear to after the trial?’ he asked with a frown.
‘Where did I “disappear to”?’ she repeated thoughtfully.
Good question. Not to a loving home—that was for sure.
‘Who’ll support me now?’ That had been Lizzie’s stepmother’s first question when Lizzie had returned home to find her suitcases waiting in the hall.
She should have known what was happening, but she had rushed up to her bedroom, thinking to bury her grief in her pillows, only to find her bedroom had been cleared. She had wasted a few precious minutes railing against fate before pulling herself together and accepting that this was her life now, and she’d better get on with it.
On her way out of the house she’d found her stepmother in her father’s study, going through the drawers of his desk. ‘I guess we’ll both have to work,’ Lizzie had said.
Her stepmother’s expression had twisted into something ugly. ‘I don’t work,’ she’d said haughtily. ‘And if you think you can persuade me to let you stay, you’re wasting your time. You’re one expense I can’t afford.’
That had been the last time they’d seen each other, and it had taken Lizzie’s stepmother less than a week to replace Lizzie’s father with a richer man.
She decided on a heavily edited version for Damon. ‘It wasn’t all bad,’ she said, thinking back. ‘The shock of finding myself homeless was good for me. I had to stand on my own two feet, and I found I enjoyed doing it.’
‘Sacrificing your dreams?’ He frowned.
‘Sometimes dreams have to wait,’ Lizzie said frankly. She’d done more than survive. She’d thrived, and had proved herself capable of far more than she’d imagined.
‘You’ve got ketchup on your chin—’
She sucked in a fast breath as he wiped it off. His touch was still electric.
‘Next time I’ll take you out for a proper meal—’
‘Next time?’ she queried. ‘So you’re back for good?’ Her heart drummed a tattoo as she thought about all the implications of that.
He chose not to answer her question. ‘Stavros says you work too hard. You have to take a break sometime,’ he insisted.
What else had Stavros told him? she wondered. She had so much to lose. Damon had been absent from her life for a long time, but he was still a core part of her existence. He didn’t know it yet, but he could rip her world apart on a whim.
‘Soda or water?’ he asked.
‘Water, please.’ Her throat was tight and dry.
As Damon turned to speak to the vendor she