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  ‘Please, call me Tino.’

  ‘Won’t you sit across from me?’ Lisa indicated a place at the table, ignoring his attempt at informality. She didn’t want to sit facing him, but it was better, safer to keep him in sight at all times—that way she could detect any little asides he might send to his people.

  It provided her with a perfect chance to study him. His choice of outfit was nothing short of an insult: casual jacket, blue jeans, and a black, open-necked shirt—though everything was designer, she’d give him that. Still, he looked more like a buccaneer home from a raid than a suave Greek tycoon. His thick, wavy black hair was too long, and there was at least a day’s worth of stubble on his face.

  Her stomach gave a kick as their eyes briefly met. She didn’t like his expression. Aesthetically his eyes were pleasing enough, glorious in fact, black as pitch, with lashes so long he could almost shield what he was thinking…but not quite. This was a scouting trip for Tino Zagorakis. He wasn’t interested in her small engineering works. He was testing the vulnerability of the parent company, Bond Steel. He was testing her vulnerability.

  Lisa was used to corporate raiders sniffing around. They all thought the same thing: a woman at the helm was easy pickings—their mistake. Zagorakis was no more of a threat than the rest—other than in the hot-sexual-tug department.

  Businessmen she normally encountered had boardroom pallor with blubber to match, and so she had imagined him shorter, dumpier, uglier—a younger model of the grizzled old shipping tycoons. Tino Zagorakis was none of those things.

  But she had to forget the man’s impressive casing, and focus on the brain beneath. Bond Steel’s reputation was on the firing line—not to mention her own, and from his casual approach she assumed Zagorakis thought the deal a foregone conclusion. He hadn’t even troubled to shave or dress appropriately, and that showed contempt in her book.

  The meeting between Bond Steel and Zagorakis Inc evolved like a polite game of tennis, with the tactical ball being passed with exaggerated politeness between the two sides. Meanwhile, Lisa concentrated her mind on the subtext: Zagorakis had identified a company he thought a good match with his own; the small portion she was prepared to sell didn’t interest him; he wanted it all.

  When a lull came in their discussions, he stood up. It was barely noon. ‘Are you leaving so soon? I’ve arranged for a buffet to be laid out next door. I thought we could discuss some of the finer details.’ He wasn’t interested in making small talk over canapés—and it was time to lose the charm. ‘We haven’t finished, Mr Zagorakis—’

  ‘I have.’

  Lisa felt the blood drain out of her face. She wasn’t used to being looked at the way Zagorakis was looking at her. She wasn’t used to anyone going against her wishes. She made the rules; everyone else lived by them—that way they all stayed safe. But Tino Zagorakis had made it clear that as far as he was concerned she had no rank. He would do exactly as he pleased, and she could go hang. Bond Steel was just a tasty snack…the company, the people who worked there, counted for nothing.

  ‘I regret I have another appointment.’ He held her gaze.

  Regret? Lisa didn’t think so. That deep, husky voice was pitched to make it sound as if there were some type of understanding between them, an intimacy almost. It unsettled her, and must have unsettled her team—they had to be wondering what was going on. Without raising his voice Zagorakis had scored a telling point by subtly undermining her authority. And then she saw that his eyes were hard and calculating, and even slightly mockingly amused.

  Scraping back her chair, she stood to face him. She wasn’t about to let Bond Steel be gobbled down by some ravenous tycoon—a tycoon who thought her company was just a set of numbers. Bond Steel wasn’t a counter to be risked. And if Zagorakis had come down from his ivory tower to measure her, and judged her no threat, he had miscalculated. She would defend Bond Steel to the last.

  After her experience in the commune Bond Steel had been her salvation. While other teenagers had longed for freedom, she had craved discipline and boundaries so she could sleep safe at night. Jack Bond had given her that. Before she’d started to work for him he had sent her to a school where even the rigid order had been welcome. It had provided her with a framework within which she had felt safe, and she had excelled. When she had returned home she hadn’t cared that her father had shown her no favouritism; she had never expected any. Jack Bond had only ever wanted a son, and she accepted that too. She had worked her way up her father’s company from the bottom. When he’d died, she’d taken his place thanks to sheer dint of effort. By then she had discovered the key to his success. It was nothing more than hard work and focus. Jack Bond had never allowed anything as time-wasting as emotion to stand in his way.

  ‘Why, Ms Bond, you seem distracted.’

  Those eyes—those incredible black-gold eyes—were dancing with laughter. Sucking in an angry gulp of air, Lisa felt her hands ball into fists. ‘Not a bit of it, Mr Zagorakis.’ Her gaze flicked over him dismissively. ‘As your decision to attend this meeting was clearly last-minute, I won’t keep you. I’m sure our people can arrange another time for us to meet if there are any outstanding details—’

  ‘Shall we say dinner at nine to discuss those outstanding details?’

  Lisa’s cheeks flamed red. She was sure the double entendre was intended. In spite of her slender frame her breasts had always been regarded as her most ‘outstanding’ feature. And now her nipples had hardened into bullets, which, from the expression in Zagorakis’s eyes, she guessed he knew.

  ‘I’ll have my chauffeur pick you up around nine at your apartment—’

  ‘No—’ Before she could say more Lisa found herself staring at an open door. ‘Gentlemen, this meeting is over,’ she said, quickly recovering her self-possession. ‘Tomorrow morning at ten would suit me for the follow up. Arrange it for me, will you, Mike?’

  By nine o’ clock that evening Lisa was curled up tensely on the sofa at the penthouse she called home. Warm and pink after her bath, she was anything but relaxed. Wearing her favourite plush robe, she had the music turned down low, a crystal goblet of good burgundy on the side table next to her, and a new book just started. She had read the first page three times, and still didn’t have a clue what it said.

  Zagorakis’s chauffeur would call round, she knew that, but still she flinched and dragged her robe a little closer when the doorbell rang. Thankfully Vera would take care of it. Vera, confidante and housekeeper, knew exactly what she had to do.

  Just as Lisa had anticipated, the exchange between Vera and Zagorakis’s chauffeur lasted no more than a few seconds. With a sigh of relief, she turned back to her book. But she couldn’t relax… She tried changing the music. She could always find something to suit her mood amongst her vast collection of CD’s… Tonight was different, tonight she had to force her fingers past the boxed sets devoted to the heavenly voice of La Divina Callas. The impassioned Greek-American voice of Maria Anna Sophie Cecilia Kalogeropoulos was the last thing she needed to hear. Right now anything remotely Greek was off limits. Finally, she settled for some low, smoochy jazz. The plangent wail of Miles Davis’ trumpet seemed appropriate somehow.

  Returning to her book, Lisa turned the pages dutifully, all the time trying to ignore the keen dark eyes and mocking smile occupying her thoughts. When the doorbell rang again she was surprised and then angry. Zagorakis had some nerve sending his chauffeur round twice in one evening. Couldn’t he take a hint?

  Vera answered the door, but Lisa’s curiosity got the better of her. Padding barefoot across the room, she froze. The man’s audacity was unbelievable. His unannounced visit to her office building had been bad enough, but this was outrageous—and Vera was having trouble getting rid of him.

  ‘Thank you, Vera, I’ll see to this.’

  Lisa couldn’t pretend she wasn’t thankful that Vera remained hovering in the background. ‘Yes?’ She stared up at him. Tino Zagorakis was more casually dressed, and even more b
razenly male. Without a jacket she could see how toned he was beneath his black shirt. His assessing stare was every bit as hard as she remembered.

  ‘We arranged to have dinner tonight.’

  ‘You arranged to have dinner tonight, Mr Zagorakis.’

  ‘It’s time you called me Tino.’

  Oh, really? ‘It’s late—’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And as you pointed out, Lisa, we still have things to talk about.’

  Lisa? When did she give him permission to use her first name? Jack Bond’s first law of survival: keep everyone at a distance. Everyone… She relaxed minutely. He was carrying a briefcase. Of course, Zagorakis was a man who would far rather trade than indulge his carnal appetites, but she had already set up their next meeting for the following morning. She had no intention of being railroaded by him twice in one day. ‘Business will have to wait until our respective teams are present.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do insist. Our next meeting will be held tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me…but we still have to eat.’

  His casual shrug and the smile that accompanied it threw her, and while she was trying to figure out his angle he walked past her into the apartment.

  ‘Like I said, Mr Zagorakis—’ she went after him ‘—it’s late—’

  ‘And so I took the trouble of ordering in.’ He paused mid-step to turn round and look at her. ‘I didn’t want to put your housekeeper to any trouble.’

  And now Vera was sharing a flirtatious smile with him! What was this? A conspiracy?

  In fairness, she couldn’t blame Vera; the man was hot. His shirt was open far enough to show some hard, tanned chest, and his blue jeans appeared pressure-moulded to thighs of iron. And there were certain other impressive bulges below the heavy-duty belt…

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me coming inside?’

  Lisa quickly adjusted her gaze. The only thing sure about this was that her face was heating up. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful.’

  ‘But?’ he pressed.

  ‘I’m tired. It’s late. And I’m ready for bed.’

  ‘So I see.’

  His lips tugged up at one corner in a way that made her painfully aware that she was naked beneath her robe. The split second it took to look down to check that the robe was securely fastened was enough for his chauffeur to march past her carrying a hamper. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

  Zagorakis stepped forward and barred her way. ‘In here?’ he said, protecting his man’s back by resting one arm against the doorframe of her den.

  Lisa’s mouth dropped open. The only thing left for her to confirm, apparently, was the venue for the picnic he had brought with him. ‘You have some incredible nerve—’

  ‘Please…no more compliments.’ He held up his hands in mock defeat and she had to be prodded twice before Vera could make her presence felt.

  ‘Hadn’t you better get changed?’ Vera suggested discreetly. ‘You don’t want him guessing you’re naked under there.’

  Lisa could see the sense in that. ‘Stay with them, will you, Vera? I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’

  Jeans and a T-shirt might have been a practical choice, but smart navy trousers and a tailored white blouse made Lisa feel more in control. The sex-stripping pop socks and boring flat shoes were an inspiration, and, with her hair scraped back into a pony-tail, she was satisfied that she had done everything possible to strip anything lightweight from her appearance. A slick of clear lip-gloss was her only concession—but then she sucked it off again. No point in playing Zagorakis’s game—she’d stick to her own.

  The angry words she had been rehearsing all the way down from her bedroom died the moment she entered her den. The room had been transformed. Candles had been lit, and were flickering on every surface. Champagne was cooling in a bucket…and on a low table between the two sofas a platter of fresh seafood emitted a faint, salty tang. Another mouth-watering aroma said the bread in the wicker basket was still warm, and, inside a crystal bowl nestling in a dish of ice, yellow butter pats were asking to be slathered over one of the crisp, golden crusts. And she was hungry—starving, in fact, Lisa realised, praying her stomach wouldn’t rumble.

  ‘Can I tempt you?’

  Transferring her gaze to Constantine Zagorakis’s dark, slanting eyes, Lisa stared at him coldly.

  ‘A few prawns, perhaps?’ he murmured, reaching for a plate.

  He was baiting his hook with a lot more than seafood, Lisa suspected, seeing the smile hovering around his mouth.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ He put the plate down again.

  Lisa had been distracted momentarily. She was sure she had just heard two sets of footsteps leaving the apartment; two voices mingling as the front door closed.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ he said.

  Lisa looked down at the hand on her arm. Zagorakis released her at once. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I must have been mistaken—’

  ‘Mistaken?’

  ‘I thought I heard Vera leaving.’

  ‘Your housekeeper? You did.’

  ‘No.’ Lisa shook her head. ‘Vera would have come to say goodnight to me before she left.’

  ‘Not if she was being discreet.’

  ‘Discreet?’

  His shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘It’s no trouble for my chauffeur to take her home. He passes her door—’

  Raising one hand, Lisa silenced him. ‘Let me get this straight. You sent my housekeeper home?’

  ‘It’s getting late.’

  ‘I would have called a taxi.’

  ‘I thought I’d save you the trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’ Trouble had come through her door at nine o’ clock that morning and she hadn’t got rid of him yet.

  ‘That’s all right with you, isn’t it Lisa?’

  Lisa? She wasn’t going to let him get to her, even though he was asking one thing while his eyes were suggesting something else. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her shrink from the prospect of being alone with him either. ‘Yes, Tino, that’s absolutely fine with me—’

  ‘Good.’

  He seemed pleased to have got that out of the way, and then her guard must have dropped because he raised her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss on the back of it.

  ‘I realise it’s late.’ He tried for contrite. ‘Do you forgive me?’

  Lisa snatched her hand away. ‘Do you always march uninvited into other people’s homes?’

  His lips pressed down ruefully, attractively…

  ‘I’m sorry, Lisa, I thought we had both earned some down-time.’

  He was sorry? She didn’t think so. But since when could someone brush a hand with his lips and set a whole body on fire?

  ‘Don’t you ever relax?’ he pressed, his perceptive gaze refusing to release her.

  ‘When I’m given the opportunity.’

  ‘Surely you must get out of this starchy uniform of yours, and kick back once in a while?’

  ‘Surprisingly, I tried to do that very thing this evening. I took a long, warm bath, slipped into a comfy robe, and came down here…to relax.’

  ‘Touché,’ he murmured softly.

  Lisa sighed with frustration. Technically, Zagorakis was her guest—and she couldn’t forget that his money could rescue her company. She couldn’t afford to be too rude to him—and the food did look delicious…

  ‘Why don’t you let me choose something for you?’ he suggested, picking up the plate again.

  ‘I can manage, thank you. Really, you don’t need to—’ Raising her voice, she was forced to insist, ‘Give me that plate.’

  ‘Certainly.’

  By the time she went to take it from him it was loaded with delicacies—but he kept his grip on it, so that she was bound to him by a too-small china plate…and when he stubbornly resisted her attempt to pull it free she could feel her cheeks start to burn. ‘You really didn’t need to go to a
ll this trouble.’ She tugged a little harder, refusing to give him the upper hand.

  ‘It was my pleasure, I assure you.’

  ‘Why exactly?’

  ‘Perhaps you deserve a little spoiling. Perhaps we both do.’

  It was hardly the answer she had been anticipating—and certainly not when it was delivered in that frank and engaging way. His eyes were so deep she was in danger of drowning in them, and they were standing far too close. The warmth of his body was curling round her like a seductive cloak and she could almost forget that, as far as Bond Steel was concerned, Constantine Zagorakis was arch enemy number one—