The Greek Bridegroom. Helen Bianchin
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sleep.
Nothing on television held her interest for long, and after utilising the remote to flick through every channel she simply switched off the set, collected a magazine and flipped through the pages with equal uninterest before discarding it in disgust.
A derisive sound emerged from her throat as she doused the lights and made for her bedroom.
She could still feel Jace Dimitriades’ touch when she began removing her clothes. As she cleansed her face of make-up she was positive she could still taste him, and she took up her toothbrush and cleaned her teeth, twice.
So vivid was his powerful image, she was prepared to swear he was there with her as she lay in bed staring into the room’s darkness.
Over and over the evening replayed itself, and the memory of his kiss taunted her, awakening her imagination to such a level it became impossible to sleep.
Jace Dimitriades drained the last of his coffee, reached for his suit jacket and shrugged it on, collected his wallet and cellphone, then he exited his hotel suite, took the lift down to ground level and walked out into the sunshine.
He had an hour before he was due to join Luc at a business meeting in the city. Time enough to achieve his objective, he determined as he crossed the street and walked the block and a half to his intended destination.
Blooms and Bouquets was ideally sited, the window display colourful with expertly arranged blooms in numerous vases on stands of varying heights. A background wall held a similar display, and the overall look from outside was a mass of floor-to-ceiling flowers.
The result was visually stunning, and a testament to the two sisters who owned the boutique.
He pushed open the door, registered the electronic buzzer, and offered a greeting to Ana, swivelled his head to include Rebekah, who was deftly assembling a bouquet of orchids at the work table.
‘Jace, how wonderful to see you.’ Ana slid off her chair behind the computer and joined him. ‘Is this a social call?’
He leant down and brushed his lips to her temple. ‘How are you?’ His smile held affectionate warmth. ‘In answer to your question…social and business.’
‘Then let’s get business out of the way first.’
The phone rang, providing a convenient interruption. Not that he really needed one, but it helped. ‘Answer that. Rebekah can organise the order.’
Could she, indeed? From the moment he stepped into the boutique all her senses had snapped into full alert. It was crazy the way her body reacted to the sight of him. Amend that to just thinking about him, she admitted wryly. Hadn’t that very thing kept her awake last night?
Any hope of having Ana deal with him was shot, leaving her with little option but to place the bouquet taking shape onto the work table and move forward to assist him.
He looked…incredible, the dark grey business suit fashioned by a master tailor, fine cotton shirt, impeccably knotted silk tie. But it was the man himself who took hold of her composure and tore it to shreds.
She didn’t like the feeling at all. It had taken two years to repair the damage Brad had wrought and restore a measure of confidence. To have it undermined in any way was something she’d defend to the death.
Rebekah slipped into the polite, professional role with practised ease. ‘Do you have anything particular in mind?’
Good, his presence rattled her. He’d caught the faint tremble in those capable hands, sighted a glimpse of her inner struggle as she geared herself to deal with him. Signs she wasn’t anywhere near as calm as she’d have him believe.
‘A journey is but a series of many steps.’ The quote teased his brain, although he couldn’t be sure of its accuracy or its origin, only that the words were pertinent.
Rebekah Stanford intrigued him. He admired the look of her, the strength of character apparent. The exigent sexual chemistry. But it was more than mere physical attraction. There was mystery surrounding her, something he couldn’t quite pin down.
During the past year he hadn’t been able to dismiss her from his mind. Her features teased his subconscious, the scent and feel of her. The way she’d responded to his touch haunted him…and destroyed anything he thought he could feel for another woman. Plural, he amended ruefully, aware of the few women he’d sought to fill a void.
Now he was back, intent on combining business with pleasure…or was it the other way round? Intent on determining if memory of an emotion still existed, and if it did, just what he intended to do about it.
‘Roses.’ Their velvety texture, exotic perfume, the exquisite petals so tightly budded just waiting to unfold.
‘What colour do you have in mind?’
Rebekah moved towards the temperature-controlled cabinet and indicated several vases holding a variety of colours.
There was the perfection of white, glorious pinks and corals in their various shadings, and deep, dark red.
He didn’t hesitate. ‘The red.’
She opened the glass door, removed the vase and carried it to the work table. ‘How many would you like? The cost—’
‘Is immaterial,’ Jace concluded. ‘Three dozen.’
‘Would you like them delivered? An extra charge applies.’
‘I’ll handle delivery.’
A woman undoubtedly. Hostess, friend, or lover?
If it was a lover, he must possess all the right moves. He’d only been in the country two days.
Rebekah gestured towards a stand containing cards for every occasion. ‘Perhaps you’d like to choose a card and write on it while I fix these.’ She was already reaching for Cellophane, and mentally selecting ribbon.
Within minutes the bouquet was ready, and she attached the card, accepted payment, then handed him the roses.
Jace took time to admire their assembled artistry, then he presented her with them. ‘For you.’ He observed a gamut of emotions chase across her expressive features, and saw her struggle with each and every one of them.
‘Excuse me?’
‘The roses are for you. I suggest you read the card.’
Rebekah read the words with a sense of mounting disbelief. ‘Dinner tonight. Seven.’
‘I’ll collect you.’
‘You don’t know where I live.’ What was she saying? She had no intention of sharing dinner with him.
‘Ana will give me the address.’
‘No.’
One eyebrow slanted in mocking humour. ‘No, Ana won’t give me the address?’
‘No, I won’t accept your invitation.’ The thought of spending time with him wasn’t a good idea.
‘I promise not to bite.’
‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’ She held out the magnificent sheaf of roses. ‘Please take these. I can’t accept them.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ His New York-accented drawl held humour, and something else she couldn’t define.
Ana? Where was her sister when she needed her?
It took only a glance to determine Ana was still on the phone. ‘I don’t date.’
The stark admission appeared to have no effect at all. ‘Seven, Rebekah.’ He turned and walked from the shop, and her reiterated no fell on deaf ears.
She swore, and followed it with a husky litany that damned the male species in general and one of them in particular.
‘Oh, my,’ Ana declared as she replaced the receiver. ‘What