Captivated by the Greek

‘No,’ said Nikos, and turned back to the server, who was now wiping the sandwich preparation surface clean.

The old man shuffled out.

The server’s voice followed him. ‘Stay off the booze, Joe—it’s killing you.’

‘Any day now, luv, any day...’ the man assured her.

He shuffled out and was gone, lunch provided. Presumably for free, Nikos supposed, having seen no money change hands for the transaction. But his interest in the matter was zero, and with the server finally free to pay him attention, he repeated his original question about the availability of ready-made sandwiches—this time most definitely impatiently.

‘No,’ replied the server, turning around and busying herself with the tea urn.

Her tone of voice had changed. If Nikos could have been bothered to care—which he didn’t, in the slightest—he might have said she sounded annoyed.

‘Then whatever’s quickest.’

He glanced at his watch again, and frowned. This was ridiculous—he was wasting time instead of saving it!

‘What would you like?’

The server’s pointless question made his frown deepen.

‘I said whatever’s quickest,’ he repeated.

‘That,’ came the reply, ‘would be bread and butter.’

Nikos dropped his wrist and levelled his gaze right at her. There was no mistaking the antagonism in her tone. Or the open irritation in his as he answered.

‘Ham,’ he bit out.

‘On white or brown? Baguette or sliced?’

‘Whatever’s quickest.’ How many times did he have to say that?

‘That would be white sliced.’

‘White sliced, then.’

‘Just ham?’

‘Yes.’ Anything more complicated and he’d be there all day.

She turned away and busied herself at the preparation surface behind her. Nikos drummed his fingers on the counter. Realising he was thirsty, he twisted round to help himself to a bottle of mineral water from the chilled drinks cabinet against the wall.

As he put it on the counter the server turned round, sandwich prepared and wrapped in a paper serviette. She glanced at the bottle and Nikos could see she was mentally calculating the combined price.

‘Three pounds forty-five,’ she said.

He had his wallet out already, taking out a note.

‘That’s a fifty,’ she said, as if she’d never seen one before.

Perhaps she never had, thought Nikos acidly. He said nothing, just went on holding it out for her.

‘Haven’t you anything smaller?’ she demanded.

‘No.’

With a rasp of irritation she snatched it from him and opened the till. There was some audible clinking and rustling, and a moment later she was clunking his change down on the countertop. It consisted of silver to make it up to a fiver, a single twenty-pound note and twenty-five individual pound coins.

Then she raised her gaze to Nikos and glared at him.

And for the first time Nikos looked at her.

Looked at her—and saw her.

He stilled completely. Somewhere inside his head a voice was telling him to stop staring, to pick up the ludicrous heap of coins and pocket the note and get the hell out of there. Get a taxi, get to his meeting, get on with the rest of his life and forget he’d ever been hungry enough to step into some two-bit sandwich bar patronised by alcoholic down-and-outs.

But the voice went totally and entirely unheeded.

Right now only one part of his brain was functioning. The part that was firing in instant, total intensity with the most visceral masculine response he had ever experienced in his life.

Thee mou, but she was absolutely beautiful.

There was no other word for her. In an instant Nikos took in a face that was sculpted to perfection: high cheekbones, contoured jawline, straight nose not a millimetre too long or too short, wide-set eyes of startling blue, and a mouth... Ah, a mouth whose natural lushness was as inviting as a honey-drenched dessert...

How the hell didn’t I notice her straight away?

But the question searing through him was irrelevant. Everything right now was irrelevant except his desire—his need—to keep drinking her in. Taking in the incredible impact her stunning looks were having on him. His eyes narrowed in their instinctive, potent perusal of her features, and he felt his response course through him.

He was not a man who had been deprived of the company of beautiful women in his thirty-odd years. As the heir to the Parakis banking dynasty he’d become accustomed to having the hottest girls making a beeline for him. And he knew that it wasn’t just the Parakis millions that drew them in. Nature, for whatever capricious reason, had bestowed upon him a six-foot frame—which he kept in peak condition with rigorous and ruthless physical exercise—and looks that, without vanity, he knew women liked. Liked a lot.

The combination had proved highly successful, and his private life was plentifully supplied by any number of keen and eager females only too happy to be seen on his arm, or to keep him company in bed. Given that, therefore, it would have been perverse of him not to have chosen those females who were of the very highest calibre when it came to their appearance.

And this woman, who had drawn his attention so rivetingly, was most definitely of that elite calibre.

His gaze worked over her, and as it did so another realisation struck him. She wasn’t wearing a trace of make-up and her hair—blonde, from what little he could see of it—was concealed under some kind of baseball cap. As for her figure—although she appeared to be tall—she was clad in a baggy T-shirt that bore the legend ‘Sarrie’s Sarnies’ and did less than nothing for her.

Hell, if she looked this good stuck in this dump, dressed in grunge, what would she look like dressed in designer labels?

For a moment—just a moment—he felt an overriding desire to put that to the test.

Then, in the next second, he crashed and burned.

‘If you want a piece of meat, try a butcher’s shop!’

The server’s harsh voice cut right through Nikos’s riveted attention to her physical attributes.

A frown of incomprehension—and annoyance—pulled his brows together.