the Marina Picasso family and Mr. Kostopoulos.
In the broad light of day, the room’s clean yet exquisite Hellenic accoutrements deserved a second glance. But her curious gaze fell on the powerfully built male dominating the room. He was structured along the lines of a classic Greek god, and she couldn’t look anywhere else. He was definitely numero uno.
His taut stance and tightened facial muscles led her to believe some very fierce thoughts were running through his mind. She shivered at the possibility those thoughts had anything to do with her.
He stood at the window, totally oblivious to the luxury surrounding him. His right profile was in evidence while he stared at some invisible spot only he could see.
Living in an artist’s world of color as she did, Sam was immediately intrigued by his overly-long black hair. It put her in mind of an inky void no ray of sunlight dared penetrate. She imagined this was the color of darkness before God made the light.
Aquiline features and brows like eagle’s wings made him an arresting figure. But to Sam’s mind, it was the savage two-inch scar along his right jawline which quickened her interest. It appeared to be an old wound which had healed a long time ago, but stood out because he was a man who probably had to shave twice a day.
He didn’t look like a person who feared anything. Quite the opposite in fact. Since he made more money than even most wealthy people probably found decent, why hadn’t the scar been removed through plastic surgery?
Though perfectly groomed and wearing an expensive, hand-tailored gray silk suit, there was a primitive quality about him that hinted at untamed fires burning beneath.
She could well imagine anyone meeting him for the first time would speculate on the scenario which would have marred such an unforgettable male face—the kind of face she would love to sculpt if sculpting were her best medium.
“Come all the way in, Ms. Telford.”
Suddenly Sam became the focus of his unsettling scrutiny. In one sweeping glance his inky black eyes took inventory of her form and feminine attributes, then he scowled. Apparently he found her attire as distasteful as her person.
Her five feet four inches felt very tiny and pathetic standing there in her sopping wet outfit which consisted of nothing more than scruffy jeans and an old denim shirt she hadn’t bothered to tuck in. Decorated with a print from her own handmade blocks, the pattern looked more like black cat’s paws than odd-size circles, but Sam hadn’t been displeased with the result.
Maybe it was her hair the imperious-looking man didn’t seem to like. That morning she’d been in such a hurry to get her final art project to the university on time, she hadn’t been able to find her favorite scarf.
For want of anything else, she’d been reduced to improvise, and had come up with a remnant from one of her originally designed, fishnet chains normally meant to hold hanging flowerpots. She had used it to tie back her thick, yellow-gold hair at the nape. If left unconfined, it flounced like an oversize mop.
“I’m in,” she couldn’t resist commenting because he was obviously trying to intimidate her.
The air crackled with tension. “My secretary said you were the person who cleaned this office last night.”
He spoke impeccable English in the deepest voice she’d ever heard. Yet in spite of his less than friendly demeanor, she caught traces of his attractive Greek accent. Let’s face it, Sam. He’s the most gorgeous male you’ve ever seen in your life, let alone your dreams.
“That’s right.”
“What happened to the man who usually cleans this suite?”
“Jack went home ill, and asked if I would finish up.”
He continued to stand motionless, feet apart. With her fanciful imagination, he could be the god Zeus, astride Olympus, issuing his latest decree. Sam thought he was closer to forty than thirty, yet she considered him young to run such a vast empire. If rumor among the night crew could be believed, legions of world-famous singers, models and movie stars had tried to become the wife of the mysterious Greek tycoon, but all had failed.
Of course it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a special woman somewhere in the cosmos who had a softening effect on him. Since Sam heard that he flew to Greece on a regular basis, she assumed he had a love interest in a beautiful woman from his own country and race. Someone who kept a low profile away from the public eye, and the paparazzi.
The woman would have to be incredibly brave to take him on... And very lucky, a tiny voice whispered.
“I’ll get straight to the point Last night, while in midflight between Athens and New York, a vitally important telephone call came in to this office. My secretary attempted to route it through to me, but there was too much static on the line, so she left the phone number on my desk. I drove here straight from the airport, only to discover that the note was gone.”
He hadn’t accused Sam yet, but the inference couldn’t have been more clear.
She smoothed a damp tendril away from her forehead, all the while conscious of his inquisitive eyes following the movement of her hand whose broken nails and calloused, oil-stained fingers were a far cry from those of his immaculate secretary.
Sam had never been the kind of person to envy another woman. But for once in her life, she wished she had the kind of remarkable looks and polish to attract a man like him.
“I’ve been cleaning the offices in this building for the last six months, and know better than to touch anything. All I did was dust, vacuum, and scour the bathrooms.”
His brows became a black bar of intimidation. “You saw nothing on this desk?”
Her eyes darted to the mirrorlike finish. Only a telephone was on display. For a man of Mr. Kostopoulos’s legendary business acumen, she wondered how he ran his megacorporation with everything out of sight.
“No. It looked exactly as it does right now, as if you’d just had it delivered from the furniture store.”
She shouldn’t have said that last bit. She knew she shouldn’t have said it. Speaking her mind was just one of her many flaws.
“If it isn’t in my head, it’s not important,” he stated bluntly, reading her thoughts with humiliating accuracy. “The clutter I leave to my secretary’s discretion.” His low voice rumbled through her body.
If the truth be known, clutter was Sam’s middle name. She’d lived with it all her life. In an office like this, where everything was in perfect order and spotless, she’d go crazy. In fact, she would have said so if he’d been anyone else except the man who could get her fired.
“Do you recall emptying the wastebasket?” he demanded in a decidedly chilly tone.
She lifted her rounded chin a little higher. “I would have done, but there was nothing in it.”
His lips twisted unpleasantly. No doubt he thought she was being impudent again. Clearly not satisfied with her answers, he buzzed his secretary. “Please come inside, Mrs. Athas, and bring your notepad with you.”
Seconds later, the woman who dealt on a daily basis with his billion-dollar clutter, entered his inner sanctum. She was carrying the small notepad
