Seduced into the Greek's World. Dani Collins
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It made her think she might be holding her own in this match of wits, surprising him.
Which gave her a thrill that she did her best to ignore.
“Look, I’m flattered,” she rushed to say, glancing away so he wouldn’t see how flattered. As sophisticated as she dreamed of being, she wasn’t prepared for someone like him. “But I’ve seen the women you date and I’m not in their league. Which, by the way, is another reason I would never set my sights on your brother-in-law. So thank you for this extremely interesting conversation, but I need to get back to work. I don’t want to get fired,” she added pointedly.
“Not in their league?” he repeated, frowning in disagreement as he gave her yet another thorough assessment in a way that set her alight. Her entire body actually hurt from the blood rush that prickled through her.
She’d starved herself and worked out like mad before leaving Montreal, determined that if any sort of corporate limelight fell upon her—or any sexy Frenchmen—she’d have nothing to be insecure about. Nevertheless, she experienced a pang of insecurity under his review, worried she wasn’t up to standard.
He dragged his gaze back up to hers and let her see undisguised male desire.
Tingling excitement encompassed her. It wasn’t exactly confidence, but it wasn’t uncertainty, either. It was a delicious and involuntary “yes, please” that scared the hell out of her.
“You’re very much in an elite league of your own, Natalie. Or are you making excuses to spare my feelings? It would surprise me if you are. You don’t strike me as someone who would bother. Not considering the frankness we’ve already arrived at.”
That made her chuckle drily, but she suppressed it with a sheepish dip of her chin. “You’re right. But read my personnel file, Mr. Makricosta—”
“Demitri,” he corrected.
“I don’t live nearly as fast as you do. Demitri.” She tried to make her voice diffident and amused, but Demitri was a surprisingly erotic name for a man with an American accent. “If I thought you were issuing a genuine invitation—and one that was only for dinner,” she added with a you-can’t-fool-me look. “I would be tempted. My coworkers here have families to go home to. It would be refreshing not to eat alone. But I suspect you’re mocking me. Or maybe punishing me for said frankness?”
He was taken aback by that. “Why wouldn’t I want to take you out? You’re beautiful, amusing and you have a pretty laugh.”
The sincerity in his tone made her heart swing inside her chest, dipping and lifting in a way that made her set a hand on the edge of her desk for balance. She grappled for humor to deflect how thoroughly his simple compliment disarmed her.
“And you want to hear that laugh in bed?” she challenged.
“Ha!” His chuckle was surprised and real, his grin appreciative before it turned hot and hungry. His gaze closed around her like a fist.
“I’ll have the car brought to the curb for seven.”
DON’T BOTHER.
That was all she’d had to say before he had winked and left her alone in her office. She could have chased him down, although she’d kept her eye out for him the rest of the day, filled with misgivings, but hadn’t seen him. The intercompany email was the simplest option. It didn’t even require the awkwardness of explaining herself. All she would have had to type was I can’t make it.
She hadn’t.
Why not?
Oh, she’d come up with dozens of rationalizations including, “it’s only dinner.” She was lonely and homesick. Travel for work wasn’t as glamorous as she’d expected, especially without someone to share stories with, and calling Zoey twice a day wasn’t nearly enough. She was used to her daughter disappearing for a weekend with her father up to the farm, but going on ten days without being able to hug her girl was a form of slow torture.
Therefore, she reasoned, she was entitled to a night out on the company that had separated them. She’d already put in tons of extra hours on this project. She and Demitri would probably talk about work anyway. She certainly wasn’t looking at this as a real date. Definitely not one where she might get lucky.
She shaved her legs anyway. Then put on the sexy black underwear she’d bought here in Paris and topped it with a black lace sheath over a black slip. She stepped into the heels she’d picked up at the consignment store before leaving Montreal, the ones she’d debated whether to bring at all because they were too high to be practical for anything less than a night on the town. With her fake diamond earrings winking from behind the fall of her freshly washed hair and her makeup more dramatic than usual, she was as date-worthy as she’d ever been.
Then she stood at the curb like an idiot for ten minutes.
Wow. What a prince. And she had developed quite a jerk radar after her brief marriage and lengthy attempt to finalize her divorce. Well, she’d wanted a taste of the dating scene. Who knew it was this bitter? But it was exactly this well-honed resentment of thoughtless men that steeled her spine and made her demand better for herself whenever she had offers back home.
Pivoting to go back inside the hotel, she entered the rotating doors as Demitri entered them from the inside. She ignored him as she passed him and kept walking into the lobby.
“Hey!” he circled back to call after her. “Natalie. Wait.”
“I was stood up,” she said over her shoulder, then paused to swing around and level a glare at him. “Lesson learned. If that was your intention. Good night.” She swung back toward the elevators.
“I stood at your door thinking the same thing.”
She checked her step. Turned to search his expression. He looked annoyed, not smug or smarmy. She didn’t want to believe him, too aware that giving men the benefit of the doubt was an invitation to be walked over.
“You said to meet you at the curb,” she reminded him coolly. Her entire body prickled with awareness that the front desk and bell staff could see them, if not hear them.
“No, I said the car would be there.” He came even with her and scowled. “What kind of men have you dated that they pick you up on the sidewalk?”
That gave her pause. For all her ideals, she still expected the very worst from men. Maybe she ought to give Demitri more credit.
He offered his arm, gaze still vaguely hostile.
After a brief hesitation, she transferred her pocketbook to her other hand and tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow, nervous now because she wasn’t sure how to take him. Was he one of the few good ones after all?
With his reputation?
He skimmed a glance down her front to where her dress was revealed by her open raincoat. “I’ll forgive you for underestimating me since you look so lovely,” he commented.
It wasn’t the most extravagant compliment, kind of backhanded in the way he suggested she was seeking his forgiveness, but she warmed under his words. And couldn’t help taking a visual snapshot of him in his black pants and black buttoned shirt under a smoky gray suede jacket that was so buttery soft it made her want to caress his arm. He smelled fantastic, too, all spicy and masculine, jaw shiny where he’d freshly shaved.
They turned more than a few heads walking out to the car, but she doubted it was because they made such a striking couple. She’d have to make a point of mentioning how innocuous this evening had been when training her coworkers over the next few days. He’d been just being nice, she’d stress. Even though she doubted a man like Demitri went out of his way to be nice. She suspected he was ruled by self-interest, and most of his interest was banked below his belt.
For the moment, however, she set all that aside and