Modern Romance July 2015 Books 1-4. Maisey Yates
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in reception in her city clothes, with the cool smile expected of her. And if inside her heart was aching because Hannah had gone...well, she would soon learn to deal with that. She had dealt with plenty worse.
Brushing fine droplets of water from her raincoat, she lowered her voice. ‘You don’t happen to know what’s going on?’ she said. ‘Why I received a mystery summons out of the blue, when I’m not due to start shooting the new catalogue until early summer?’
Suzy started looking from side to side, like someone who had been watching too many spy films. ‘Actually, I do.’ She paused. ‘We have a new boss.’
Jessica’s smile didn’t slip. ‘Really? First I’ve heard about it.’
‘Oh, you wouldn’t have heard anything. Big takeover deal—very hush-hush. The new owner’s Greek. Very Greek. A playboy by all accounts,’ said Suzy succinctly, her eyes suddenly darkening. ‘And very dangerous.’
Jessica felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, as if someone had just stroked an icy finger over her skin. Hearing someone say Greek shouldn’t produce a reaction, but the stupid thing was that it did, every time. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, but she could never hear the mention of anything Hellenic without the sudden rush of blood to her heart. She was like one of Pavlov’s dogs, who used to salivate whenever a bell was rung. One of those dumb dogs who expected to be fed and instead were presented with nothing but an empty bowl. And how sad was that? She stared at Suzy and injected a light-hearted note into her voice.
‘Really?’ she questioned. ‘You mean dangerous as in swashbuckling?’
Suzy shook her mop of red curls. ‘I mean dangerous as in oozing sex appeal, and knows it.’ A light flashed on her desk and she clicked the button with a perfectly manicured fingernail. ‘Something which you’re just about to find out for yourself.’
Jessica thought about Suzy’s words as she rode in the elevator towards the penthouse offices, wishing they could have swopped places. Because the new boss would be completely wasted on her—no matter how hunky he was. She’d met men who’d oozed testosterone and she’d had her fingers burnt. She stared at her reflection in the smoky elevator mirrors. Actually, it had only been one man and she’d had her whole body burnt—her heart and soul completely fried—and as a consequence she steered clear of dangerous men and all the stuff which came with them.
The elevator stopped and the first thing Jessica noticed was that things were different up here, too. More flowers, but the place was deserted and oddly quiet. She’d expected a small delegation of executives or some sort of fanfare, but even the usual rather scary-looking assistant who guarded the inner sanctum was missing. She looked around. The doors to the executive suite were open. She glanced down at her watch. Dead on three. So did she just walk in and announce herself? Or hang around here and wait until someone came out to find her? For a moment she stood there feeling slightly uncertain, when a richly accented voice brushed over her skin like gravel which had been steeped in honey.
‘Don’t just stand there, Jess. Come right in. I’ve been waiting for you.’
Her heart clenched and at first she thought her mind was playing tricks. She told herself that all Mediterranean voices sounded similar and that it couldn’t possibly be him. Because how could she instantly recognise a voice she hadn’t heard for years?
But she was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
She walked into the office in the direction of the voice and stopped dead in the centre of the vast room. And even though her brain was sending out frantic and confused messages to her suddenly tightening body, there was no denying the identity of the man behind the desk.
It was him.
Loukas Sarantos, framed by the backdrop of a London skyline—looking like the king of all he surveyed. Big, and brooding and in total command. A mocking half-smile curved his lips. His long legs were spread out beneath the desk while his hands were spreadeagled on the expansive surface, as if emphasising that it all belonged to him. With a shock she noted the expensive charcoal suit which hugged his powerful frame and more confusion washed over her. Because Loukas was a bodyguard. A top-notch bodyguard with clothes which made him blend in, not stand out. What was he doing here, dressed like that?
He had been forbidden to her from the start and it was easy to see why. He could intimidate people with a single glance from those searing black eyes. He was like no one else she’d ever met, nor was ever likely to. He made her want things she hadn’t even realised she wanted—and when he’d given them to her, he’d made her want even more. He was trouble. He was the night to her day. She knew that.
The room seemed to shift in and out of focus, blurring at the edges before reappearing with a clarity so sharp that it almost hurt her eyes. She wanted the sight of him to leave her cold. For him to be nothing but a distant reminder of another time and another life.
Some hope.
He was leaning back in a black leather chair, which gleamed like the thick hair that curled against his neck. But his half-smile held no trace of humour—it was nothing but an icy assessment which seemed to hit her like a chill wind. His eyes bored through her and for a moment Jessica felt as if she was going to faint, and part of her wondered if that might not be a good thing. Because if she crumpled to the floor, wouldn’t that give her a let-out clause? Wouldn’t it force him to ring for medical assistance, so that his potency would be diluted by the presence of other people?
But the feeling quickly passed and a lifetime of hiding her emotions meant she was able to look around the room with nothing but curiosity on her face and say almost casually, ‘Where’s the assistant who’s usually here?’
A flicker of irritation passed across his face as he leaned forward. ‘Eight years,’ he said softly. ‘Eight long years since we’ve seen each other—and all you can do is ask me some banal question about a member of staff?’
His confidence unnerved her almost as much as his appearance, because the brashness of yesteryear seemed to have disappeared—along with the beaten-up leather jacket and faded jeans. Yet even in his made-to-measure suit, he still exuded a carnal sexuality which nothing could disguise. Was that why the almost forgotten aching had started deep inside her? Why she suddenly found herself remembering the burn of his lips pressing down on hers and the impatience of his fingers as he pushed up her little tennis skirt and...and...
‘What are you doing here?’ she questioned, only suddenly she didn’t sound quite so calm and she wondered if he’d picked up on that.
‘Why don’t you take off your coat and sit down, Jess?’ he suggested silkily. ‘Your face has gone very white.’
She wanted to tell him that she’d stay standing, but the shock of seeing him again really had affected her equilibrium. And maybe fainting wasn’t such a good idea after all. She would only find herself horizontal—and imagine just how disconcerting it would be to find Loukas bending over her. Bending over her as if he wanted to kiss her...when the reality was that he was looking at her as if she’d recently crawled out from beneath a stone.
She walked over to the chair he’d indicated and sank down, letting her leather bag slide noiselessly to the ground as she lifted her gaze towards the empty blackness of his. ‘This is a...surprise,’ she said lightly.
‘I imagine it must be. Tell me...’ his eyes gleamed ‘...how it felt to walk into the room and realise it was me?’
She lifted her shoulders as if there were no words to answer that particular question, and even if there were she wasn’t sure she’d want him to hear them. ‘I suppose there must be some sort of...explanation?’
He looked at her unhelpfully. ‘To what, Jess? Perhaps you could be a little more specific.’
‘To you sitting here and behaving as if—’
That half-smile again. ‘As if I own the place?’
She swallowed, thinking how arrogant he sounded. ‘Well,