A Greek Escape. Elizabeth Power
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bread he was offering her.
‘Or…you’re chasing something.’
‘Like what?’ she invited, frowning, feeling as though those keen dark eyes were suddenly giving her a mental frisking. She had the feeling that behind that casual manner of his lurked a blade-sharp brain that was assessing her every reaction, and that every word and response from her was being systematically weighed and measured.
Leonidas’s mouth compressed. ‘Dreams. A good time.’ He moved a shoulder in a deceptively nonchalant way. Another sensation-charged story to smear the Vassalio name. ‘So which is it for you, lovely Kayla?’
With her pulse doing an unexpected leap at the way he had addressed her, Kayla viewed him with mascara-touched lashes half-shielding her eyes.
How could he be so perceptive? So shrewd? He was living here like a gypsy. Whether he was alone or with someone she couldn’t tell—although from what he had said she would have put money on it that there wasn’t anyone else in residence. A man close to nature, who wasn’t afraid of hard work, yet with a keen mind behind all that physical strength and potent energy. And a comprehension of human nature that even Craig with his university degree and his boardroom ambitions hadn’t possessed.
She had no intention, however, of telling this unsettling hunk that his first assumption was right. That she was running away, and that she hadn’t fully realised it until now. Her broken engagement and her recently bruised heart weren’t things she wanted to discuss with anyone—least of all a man she had only just met, who didn’t really want her there…even if he obviously felt obliged to share his lunch with her.
Looking down at her plate, and the mouth-watering meal she was tucking in to, she shrugged and said, ‘I’ve been doing some temporary work since leaving a job I’d been in for five years. I thought it would be a good idea to come somewhere quiet and have a think about what I want to do if I have to move on.’ If Lorna’s company folds and I have to apply for something more permanent, she thought, and prayed for Lorna and Josh’s sake that it wouldn’t come to that. Though they had been facing a lot of problems recently.
He nodded, whether in approval or simply in response to what she had said she wasn’t sure. Positioning himself on the crate from which he had retrieved his plate, he said, ‘You mean you’re…what is it you call it…?’ He pretended to search for the word. ‘Freelance?’
Brows drawn together, Kayla said hesitantly, ‘Loosely speaking.’ Filling in for Josh and Lorna when she’d been at her worst, after their bookkeeper had suddenly taken off with someone she’d met on the internet, was simply helping two people she cared about a great deal.
Leonidas reached around him for a stoneware vessel that was standing on an old tree stump beside him, hooking his thumb through the handle and bringing it over his shoulder like some ancient warrior at a feast before offering some to Kayla.
A hunter, she ruminated. Like those warring Greeks who had fought to keep their lands from invading Romans. Clever. Living by his wits. Untamed.
‘It’s homemade and non-alcoholic. Try it,’ he invited smoothly, thinking that if ‘loosely speaking’ meant skirting around the truth then the local wine would have been much better at loosening her tongue to his advantage. However, she was driving, and he had to maintain some responsibility for that. ‘What were you doing in your job?’ he persevered after she’d nodded her assent, reining in the desire to curb the small talk and cut straight to the chase.
‘Accounts. I’m a qualified bookkeeper,’ she answered, taking the glass he had filled for her and trying a sip. It tasted zesty and refreshing, with lime and other citrus juices blended with something that made it fizz. ‘Why are you smiling like that?’ If one could call that curious twist to his mouth a smile, Kayla thought.
Because that’s about as unlikely as my being a nightclub singer, Leonidas considered, amazed and amused by what he decided must be barefaced lies.
‘You don’t look like a bookkeeper,’ he remarked, studying her unashamedly in view of the yarn she was spinning him. Beautiful long hair and captivating features. Elegant swan-like neck, small but alluring figure. What he didn’t expect was the hard desire that kicked through his body, mocking his efforts to remain in command even as he acknowledged her reaction in the colour that stole across her fine translucent skin.
‘What’s a bookkeeper supposed to look like?’ she queried with a betraying little wobble in her voice, feeling his gaze like a hot brand over her scantily clad body and bare legs.
‘Not blonde, beautiful and way too intrusive for her own good.’
She laughed nervously at his double-edged compliment, feeling a stirring in her blood that had nothing to do with the zesty punch, the good food, or the way the warm wind was sighing through the silver leaves of an olive tree that stood at the edge of the shady terrace above the overgrown garden.
‘What about you?’ she asked quickly, to try and stem the ridiculous heat that was pulsing through her veins. ‘I thought this place was derelict. How long have you lived here?’ She glanced up at the house, which she had believed was uninhabited. Most of it was in a serious state of disrepair, but one wing of the old building looked as if it had been renovated in recent years. ‘I take it you do live here?’
‘For the time being,’ he said uncommunicatively, adding after a moment or two, ‘I thought it would be as good a place as any to…what is the expression…? Bed down for a while.’
‘You mean…you’re just bumming around?’
Leonidas laughed, showing strong white teeth, and through the thick fringes of his lashes he surveyed the young woman sitting opposite him with guarded circumspection, wondering how far she was planning to carry this little charade. Yesterday she had displayed all the characteristics of an opportunity-grabbing undercover reporter, and again this morning, when she had wandered in here with that infernal camera—even if she had seemed genuinely distressed when she’d leaped into that hot, angry tirade about her phone, her fridge and her supposedly broken-down car. But if his suspicions about her were right—and he had little reason to doubt that they were—then from the questions she was asking and her response to the answers he was giving he had to admit that she was one hell of a good actress.
‘I prefer to call it opting out,’ he stated laconically.
‘So…do you work?’ Kayla enquired.
‘When I need to.’ Which was twenty-four-seven a lot of the time, he thought grimly. If she was here intent on making a killing out of the Vassalio name, then she would know that already.
And if she wasn’t…
If she wasn’t, he thought, irritated, refusing to give any credence to that possibility, then she shouldn’t have inflicted herself upon him in the way she had.
‘And what do you do? For a living, I mean?’
She was still treading cautiously, still playing the innocent. If she’d been trying for an Oscar, Leonidas thought, she would have won it hands-down.
‘I’m in construction.’ As you probably well know, he tagged on silently.
‘A builder!’ Kayla interpreted, realising her assessment of him was right. He was a man who worked with his hands.
‘Loosely speaking.’ Deliberately Leonidas lobbed her own phrase back at her. Playing along with her whatever her game was, he thought with increasing annoyance. And suddenly he was fed-up with pussyfooting around.
Slinging his plate onto the table, he stood up, thrusting his hands into his pockets, intimidation in his stance and every hard inch of him as he said grimly and with lethal softness, ‘OK, Kayla. This has gone far enough.’
‘What has?’
He had to hand it to her. She looked and sounded perplexed. He might even have said shocked.
‘The