Redeemed By Her Innocence. Bella Frances
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he did and he read in that tense-fingered, quickly retracted handshake that he’d just been judged and dismissed. She didn’t like him.
Well, it did happen. Not often, but he wasn’t every woman’s cup of tea. Particularly the ones who thought they were a bit above him. Even with all his money, he never forgot where he’d come from. And nor, it seemed, did they.
He knew the type. They saw his tattoos, his warpaint as his mother called it. The sensual ones saw brutality and found it fascinating. The repressed ones didn’t get him. They saw brutality and found it disgusting.
The truth, of course, was that he had left brutal back in Sydney at the side of the road. Bikers were brutal; his dad was brutal. His entire childhood had been brutalised beyond what any of these lovely people could understand. They had no idea that his mother suffered brain injury as a result of a beating from his father. Or that he had run drugs for him as an after-school chore.
The fact was that he’d made it his life’s work to be free of every trace of violence and aggression. He’d severed ties with everyone except his mother, and poured millions into projects for delinquent kids.
So to be judged as ‘less than’ pressed his buttons, just a little.
He stood tall, squared his shoulders, one hand on his hip, in a gesture that called out her condescension.
‘Former brother-in-law. My wife passed away five years ago.’
She dropped her gaze completely, and when she swept her perfectly oval lids open again there was a tiny flash of recognition.
‘I’m sorry for your loss. I never met her but my father spoke about Maria. And you.’
Did he now? thought Nikos, his mind conjuring up an image of her baby blues widening over some story or other. Maria’s high jinks were always being reported on some media space. And the look on her face told him that she was remembering something of that sort right now.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I appreciate your kind words. And I’m very pleased to meet you. Are you up for an award tonight?’
The dart of her eyes down to her feet and the blush of pink that bloomed over her face told him all he needed to know on that front. He was beginning to remember the earlier conversation. Was this the woman who was bad in business?
‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Someone else’s turn, this year. But Ariana has won awards in the past, Jacquelyn, haven’t you?’ cut in Martin, gallantly.
‘Oh, yes, one or two. We’ve won Wedding Dress of the Year and been runners-up a few times.’
‘That’s quite an achievement,’ said Nikos. So the business was once at the top of its game. ‘And is this one of your own designs?’
Despite her slightly dismissive glance he stood back to view.
He had a practised eye. He was a retail giant, for heaven’s sake. House was the ‘stylish woman’s department store of choice’, built on his keen eye, and in one of the most rapid, successful expansions in retail in recent years, he’d taken on concessions in all other departments. So he had every professional right to cast his critical eye over the very seductive shape of Ms Ariana Bridal, even as she tried to shield herself with her long slim arms, twisting to the side, speaking the least subtle body language he’d ever witnessed.
Then she started staring over his shoulder, as if looking for someone better to talk to, even more clearly communicating, I’m not interested.
Didn’t she know that being not interested made her uniquely the most interesting person here?
‘Sorry, did you say you designed this yourself?’ he repeated quietly.
She turned, with a slightly irritated look on her face, which he found curiously seductive.
‘Not me, but this is our original design.’
‘Isn’t this the Jones cut?’ said Martin, whom Nikos was beginning to find more than mildly irritating himself.
‘Nonna Ariana’s, yes. Martin, I wonder if we might have a word,’ she said, lowering her voice as she turned to him now and took a step away from the table. Martin mirrored her and moved away too. She was clearly trying to cut Nikos out of the conversation. ‘Later on this evening? Would that be all right?’
Music started to play, people were taking their seats, Martin hesitated and Nikos raised his eyebrow, reminding him that he had a prior engagement.
‘Tonight? Oh, I’m not sure. It’s not ideal.’
‘Please, Martin. There’s something I want to discuss.’
The floor was emptying, people were taking their seats. They were beginning to look very conspicuous as the only three people still standing.
Jacquelyn knotted her fingers together as if she was praying. She looked truly anguished.
Martin looked at Nikos with a what can I do?
Nikos felt a tiny twinge of regret on her behalf but he had bigger things to worry about than a buttoned-up Englishwoman, no matter how attractive.
‘Ah, this could be tricky. I’ve got Nikos here as my guest.’
She turned to look at Nikos as if he was even more of a pariah than she’d first thought, as if he were personally responsible for the fact that her business was dying on its feet.
‘We’d better take our seats now. See you later, sweetheart,’ he said, with a wink.
* * *
Jacquelyn walked back to her table as if she were entirely made of wood and tried to take her seat with grace that seemed to have completely deserted her.
Had she blown it already? She reached for her glass, something to hold as she quickly replayed the meeting in her head. Martin seemed to have been friendly enough but he’d been totally eclipsed by Nikos Karellis. And no wonder. The man was completely unnerving. She’d never met anyone so—intense. So physical. He’d made her self-conscious, tongue-tied and totally put her off her stride.
She slipped a glance to the side to look at him as the band struck up and was met with him staring right back at her. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up in an instant and she looked away.
All through the starter she could feel him staring and she absolutely would not look at him. Maybe he thought that she had gone over there to meet him? He probably thought that every woman was in love with him. He was so off the mark. She’d never let herself fall for a man like him. Anyway, she had one single mission here tonight, and it had nothing to do with love.
She turned again to tell him that with her eyes but he was talking intensely with the woman on his left. She watched as he listened to her, tilting his head towards her and smiling as the woman started flirting, throwing her head back when she laughed, playing with her hair, touching her chest and batting her eyelashes, all while Martin looked miserably at his salad.
She felt more and more desperate and in a haze of self-pity she began to cast around the room, looking for Tim. At the back of the hall she found him, his once boyish good looks now paunchy, his blonde hair thin.
He could have been her husband. They could have been sitting together at that table, waiting to collect awards, gossiping about how everyone was fawning over Nikos Karellis. At one point any other future would have been completely unimaginable.
Jacquelyn Jones not married to Tim Brinley? Don’t be ridiculous—it’s written in the stars...
But strangely enough she didn’t feel wistful. And she didn’t blame him for the mess of Ariana. She blamed herself. Funny how a crisis could put everything into perspective. And this was a crisis. For all she played it down with everyone, especially her parents, she was in a full-blown state of emergency.
She pushed the food about