The Abby Green Modern Collection. Эбби Грин
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clawing feeling of boredom that Alexandros had felt earlier was gone. As though he’d just been injected with vital energy. And desire. The kind of desire he hadn’t felt in a long, long time. The fierce elemental kind that made his insides burn for completion, for fulfilment.
Reluctantly responding to Isabelle’s urging to go, he was already making plans in his head. Plans that didn’t involve her, but that did involve Kallie. He couldn’t believe how she’d strayed into his path, like a plump, succulent piece of fruit.
He hadn’t thought about her in years—hadn’t had the time—and only fleetingly had she crossed his mind when her uncle had approached him recently. Agreeing to meet with her uncle, he’d congratulated himself that he’d left all that behind…until now.
Kallie Demarchis.
He couldn’t stop repeating her name in his head.
He’d seen her uncle earlier, and had acknowledged him briefly across the room, but who would have known that she’d have come there, too? Who would have known that she’d be the very woman who was stoking the dying embers of his desire? And who would have known that he’d ever get the chance to do something about her petty, spiteful act all those years ago? An act with ripple effects that had vastly eclipsed the actual incident involved. She’d never been made accountable for those actions. The feelings of betrayal and anger from those days surprised him now with their resurgence, with their freshness. He didn’t like being reduced to such primitive emotions.
The initial anger that had gripped him fed his energy. Seeing Kallie again tonight, the timing was so perfect that he almost laughed out loud. The linkages that existed in place for him to take advantage of this opportunity were mind-blowing with their simplicity. If there was such a thing as karma, this was it. And he was going to enjoy every minute of it. And enjoy every piece of her.
Two days later, Kallie stared at the blinking light on the intercom of her phone. Her PA’s disembodied yet unmistakably awe-struck voice floated through again. ‘Kallie…did you hear me? Alexandros Kouros is on line one for you.’
Just like that. Alexandros Kouros is on line one…
Her heart, which had stopped, started to beat again, slowly. She’d somehow, in the past forty-eight hours, tried to convince herself that she hadn’t actually seen him. That it had been some sort of bad dream. She tried to speak but nothing came out and with a huge effort she shook herself out of the inertia that seemed to have taken control of her every limb. ‘Thank you, Cécile. I’ll take it now.’
She picked up the phone, pressed the button under the blinking light and took a deep breath.
‘Hello?’
‘Kallie.’ The deep authoritative voice sounded close in her ear and made her sit up straight.
‘Alexandros.’ She marvelled that she could sound so cool when her head and insides seemed to be self-combusting. The treacherous unfurling of desire that had started the minute she’d seen him again was still there. And that knowledge scared her. What did he want? Kallie swivelled around in her chair and didn’t take in the view of Paris outside her third-floor window, the Eiffel Tower going unnoticed in the distance. Her voice was clipped, tense.
‘What can I do for you, Alexandros? I’m sure this isn’t a social call.’
Even if they didn’t share history, the most successful Greek shipping magnate in the world wouldn’t be ringing up her small Anglo-French PR firm.
His slightly accented tones came like silk down the phone into her ear again. ‘It was certainly a shock to see you the other night. It’s been, what, six years?’
‘Seven.’ She had answered far too quickly and easily. Her hand tightened around the phone, hoping that he hadn’t noticed. He didn’t seem to as he spoke again. And took the wind out of her sails.
‘I was sorry to hear about your parents…’
Kallie was feeling more and more bemused. This man had been thrown out of their house by her father. Slapped by her mother. He had told her he never wanted to see her again. He must have picked up something in the silence because he said, ‘Despite the past, Kallie, I was sorry to hear of their deaths.’
The shock at hearing his voice was beginning to wear off. ‘Well…thank you.’
She repeated her question again. ‘What…what can I do for you, Alexandros?’
He didn’t speak for a long moment, and she was almost about to repeat her question when he said with devastating banality, ‘I want you to have dinner with me tonight.’
Kallie took the phone away from her ear for a second and looked at it. Alexandros was up to something. That was one thing she was sure of. She existed on his list of people to call for dinner somewhere alongside Attila the Hun. He whizzed around the world on his private jet, doing billion-dollar deals, meeting heads of state and dating what seemed to be an endless stream of models and actresses, like Isabelle Zolanz. It was only afterwards, when she’d got away from him, that she’d realised who the other woman had been: a famous French actress. He certainly didn’t ring people he despised to ask them out for dinner. People who had ruined his chance for marital happiness. And even by some accounts a huge merger with his fiancée’s family shipping company, but she wasn’t sure about that. She’d avoided listening to anyone talk about it at the time and in England, at least, it hadn’t hit the news with the same force.
‘Somehow I don’t think you do, Alexandros.’
‘But I do, Kallie. I’d like us to catch up,’ he returned easily. Far too easily. As if he’d anticipated exactly how she’d respond.
Kallie’s hand tightened even more on the phone and she felt dizzy. This had to be some kind of bad dream, a sick joke. He was playing with her.
‘Alexandros, I don’t want to go out for dinner. You said you never wanted to see me again.’
‘Well, I’ve changed my mind.’
‘Why?’ she almost pleaded.
‘Let’s just say you owe me at least this, don’t you think?’
Kallie closed her eyes weakly. What could she say? She searched frantically for an excuse but, as if reading her mind, his voice trickled down the line like dark honey, weaving around her senses.
‘I had a nice chat with your assistant. She was most helpful in informing me how clear your diary is this evening.’
Kallie cursed Cécile mentally. And yet she couldn’t stop the entirely uncontrollable part of her that was intrigued…that wanted to be able to say yes. She had no excuse not to, and to fight was to invite him further into a dialogue that might take them down a path she didn’t want to go.
Her voice was stiff with obvious reluctance. ‘It would seem that I have no choice. I’m finished work around six this evening…when would suit you?’
‘I have a table booked for dinner at the Hotel de Crillon at the Place de la Concorde. Eight o’clock. I can pick you up…or send my driver?’
Kallie thought of her tiny flat in the Marais district and spoke quickly. ‘No. There’s no need. I can meet you there.’
She could almost feel him shrug on the other end of the phone. ‘As you wish. Eight, then. I’ll wait for you in the bar.’
ALEXANDROS put down the phone and stood up from the leather chair. In custom-made Italian trousers and shirt, he walked over to the window of his office and stuck his hands deep in his pockets. The action drew the fabric taut over his buttocks, the shirt stretched over broad shoulders. He cut an impressive, very masculine figure silhouetted against the window. He thought back to the other night. The remnants of the shock of seeing Kallie again still lingered.