The Millionaire's Virgin. Anne Mather
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Despite herself, Paige was puzzled. She couldn’t believe it was anything to do with her.
‘Because it is a personal matter,’ he replied, taking another mouthful of his wine. Then, because she was still looking at him enquiringly, he went on, ‘The job I have in mind concerns my ward. In such circumstances, it is not—suitable—to leave the decision in Yanis’s hands.’
Paige gasped. ‘Your ward?’ She looked stunned. ‘I didn’t know you had a ward.’
‘That is because I did not have a ward when we—knew one another,’ he told her. ‘Ariadne’s father was a close friend, and when he and his wife were killed three years ago I discovered they had appointed me their daughter’s guardian. She has no other close relatives, you understand? Oriste, I have a ward.’
‘I see.’ Paige moved her shoulders uncertainly. ‘That’s quite a responsibility. How old is she?’
‘Ariadne is seventeen years of age. Not too much of a responsibility, as you can see.’
‘Oh.’ Paige was surprised. ‘Then why—?’
‘I am looking for a young woman of good family to—how shall I put it?—keep her company for the summer. And to share with her all those womanly confidences she can no longer share with her mother.’
‘And you thought that I—?’
‘In the absence of any other offers, yes,’ he essayed mildly. ‘Why not?’
Paige gasped. ‘I couldn’t work for you.’
‘Do not be too hasty, aghapita.’ He speared her with a penetrating look. ‘The position carries a generous salary with all expenses found, and the hours would not be too arduous.’
‘I’m not for sale, Nikolas.’
‘No, but you are short of funds, are you not? And you said yourself that your sister is eager for you to find alternative accommodation, ne?’
Paige put down her fork. ‘This is a pointless conversation. I don’t speak Greek.’
‘Ariadne understands English. She is still at school, of course. But she has been educated to a very high standard.’
‘Then she’s probably perfectly capable of taking care of herself,’ said Paige, thinking of her own sister. Sophie would die if anyone suggested she needed a chaperon. ‘Besides, as you’ve just mentioned, I have a sister, who—who—’ Had been quite a handful since Paige had had to remove her from the expensive boarding school she’d been attending. ‘Who I couldn’t possibly leave on her own.’
Or with Aunt Ingrid, she appended ruefully. Ever since their father died, they’d been staying with their mother’s sister in her ‘bijou’ cottage, as she described it, in Islington. And it was only because Paige was there to keep the peace between them that Sophie and her aunt remained on speaking terms…
‘Then bring her with you,’ said Nikolas carelessly. ‘She will be on holiday, too, will she not? And I would prefer Ariadne to stay at my house on Skiapolis for the summer.’ He shrugged. ‘There is plenty of room, as you know, and your sister may befriend Ariadne. They are of a similar age.’
They were, but Paige could imagine Sophie’s reaction were she to drop this particular bombshell in her lap. Although her sister resented the circumstances in which they were now being forced to live, blaming their father for not making adequate provision for them during his lifetime, she would find the idea of leaving London for some unsophisticated island in the Aegean even more unacceptable. Besides, she’d just settled down at the local comprehensive; she’d made friends; and although Paige wasn’t altogether enthusiastic about the crowd Sophie was mixing with she had no desire to uproot her again.
‘I don’t think so,’ she said now, bestowing a slightly warmer smile on the waiter when he came to remove her barely touched plate. ‘No, it was fine,’ she assured him when he expressed his concern. Then, looking at Nikolas again, she said, ‘I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time.’
‘No time is ever wasted,’ he responded, his brooding expression giving the lie to his words. ‘At least think about it, Paige. I shall be in London for a few more days and you can always contact me via this number.’ He drew out a card and scrawled some figures on the back before pushing it across the table towards her. ‘Take it.’
Somewhat against her better judgement, Paige reached for the card, but as she did so Nikolas covered her hand with his, successfully imprisoning her fingers within his cool grasp. And, although she made a futile attempt to free herself, she knew she had no real chance of competing with his strength.
‘Think about it. Please,’ he begged softly, and Paige was overwhelmed by the sensual appeal in his voice.
Dear God, she thought, dragging her eyes away from his to gaze unsteadily at the powerful fist encasing hers. A fiery warmth was spreading up her arm and invading every quivering pore of her slender frame, and no matter how she tried to rationalise her reaction she knew her body hadn’t forgotten anything about this man. It remembered; her skin remembered; and that was something she had never expected.
Eventually, he was obliged to let her draw her hand away and she cradled it in her lap, as if it had been abused. That was what it felt like, she thought shakily, the vibration his touch had evoked still rippling through her veins. She just prayed he wasn’t aware of her upheaval.
Somehow she got through the next few minutes. Although she didn’t want it, she agreed to coffee in lieu of a pudding, and endeavoured to come to terms with the fact that she had more than one reason for refusing his offer. Even if it was the only offer that came her way, she couldn’t work for him. Apart from anything else, she didn’t want to be hurt again, and Nikolas Petronides would have no qualms about recovering what he saw as his pound of flesh…
PAIGE caught the Underground back to Islington. At this time of the afternoon, the trains weren’t busy, and after finding herself a seat she reflected how quickly she’d adapted to using the Tube instead of taking taxis everywhere.
All the same, it had been raining when she’d left the restaurant, and she’d had to resist Nikolas’s offer to get a taxi for her. Although it was June, the weather was still unseasonably cold, and the pretty cream Chanel suit she’d worn to impress Martin was now dotted with damp patches.
She just hoped it didn’t pick up any dirt on the way home. She and Sophie were having to conserve what clothes they had, and it had been quite a drain on their meagre resources outfitting her sister with clothes for her new school.
She sighed. If only their father were still alive, she thought wistfully, but Parker Tennant had died as he’d lived: without making any provision for the future. He’d left his daughters with a mountain of debt besides, and the unhappy task of having to salvage what little they could from his possessions. Not that there had been much. The beautiful home they’d had in Surrey had been mortgaged twice over, and even their mother’s jewels had had to be sold to satisfy their creditors.
Paige thought it was just as well their mother hadn’t lived to see it. Annabel Tennant had died of an obscure form of cancer when Paige was seventeen and Sophie only ten, and she’d sometimes wondered whether that was when her father had started taking such enormous risks with his clients’ money. It was as if his wife’s death had persuaded him that there was no point in planning for a future that might never happen, and there was no doubt that losing her mother had affected him badly.
It was why Paige had left school without finishing her education; why she’d appointed herself his protector. She’d been there when he needed her, taking care of him when he didn’t, and somehow getting him through those first awful months after Annabel died.
It had taken a toll on her, too, but she’d never considered herself. She’d been happy making him happy, and until