frowned again. The problem was, even if he didn’t go to this charity bash she’d somehow put into his diary, Fiona would probably find another way to pursue him. Plague him with yet more invitations and excuses to meet up with him. What he needed was to put her off completely. Convince her he was unavailable romantically.
What he needed was a handy, convenient female he could take along with him on Friday to keep Fiona at bay. But just who would fit that bill? For a moment his mind was totally, absolutely blank. Then, in the proverbial light-bulb moment, he knew exactly who he wanted to take. And the knowledge made him sit back abruptly and hear the question shaping itself inside his head.
Well, after all, why not? You did want to know just how much more beautiful she could look if she were dressed for the evening...
This would be a chance to find out—why not take it?
A slow smile started to curve his mouth.
* * *
Mel was staring at the cluttered table in the back room behind the sandwich bar. She didn’t see the clutter—all she saw was the huge bouquet that sat in its own cellophane container of water, its opulent blooms as large as her fists. A bouquet that was so over-the-top it was ridiculous. Her eyes were stormy.
Who the hell did he think he was?
Except that she knew the answer to that, because his name came at the end of the message on the card in the envelope pinned to the cellophane.
Hope these make amends and improve your mood.
It was signed ‘Nikos Parakis.’
Her brows lowered. So he was Greek. It made sense, now she thought about it, because although his English accent had been perfect, his clipped public-school vowels a perfect match with the rest of his ‘Mr Rich’ look, nevertheless his complexion had a distinctly Mediterranean hue to it, and his hair was as dark as a raven’s wing.
Even as she thought about it his image sprang into her vision again—and with it the expression in those dark, long-lashed eyes that had looked her over, assessing her, clearly liking what he saw...
As if he was finding me worthy of his attentions!
She bristled all over again, fulminating as she glared at the hapless bouquet of lilies. Their heady scent filled the small space, obliterating the smell of food that always permeated the room from the sandwich bar beyond. The scent made her feel light-headed. Its strength was almost overpowering, sending coils of fragrance into her lungs. Exotic, perfumed...sensuous.
As sensuous as his gaze had been.
That betraying heat started to flush up inside her again, and with a growl of anger at her own imbecility she wheeled about. She had no idea where she was going to put the ridiculously over-the-top bouquet, but right now she had work to do.
She was manning the sandwich bar on her own because Sarrie himself was on holiday. She didn’t mind because he was paying her extra, and every penny was bankable.
As she returned to her post behind the counter, checking what was left of the day’s ingredients and lifting out a tub of sliced tomatoes from the fridge, she deliberately busied herself running over her mental accounts. It stopped her thinking about that ridiculous bouquet—and the infuriating man who’d sent it to her.
OK, so where was she in her savings? She ran the figures through her head, feeling a familiar sense of satisfaction and reassurance as she did so. She’d worked flat-out these last twelve months, and now she was almost, almost at the point of setting off on her dream.
To travel. To leave the UK and see the world! To make a reality of all the places she’d only ever read about. Europe, the Med, even the USA—and maybe even further...South America, the Far East and Australia.
She’d never been abroad in her life.
A sigh escaped her. She shouldn’t feel deprived because she hadn’t travelled abroad. Gramps hadn’t liked ‘abroad.’ He hadn’t liked foreign travel. The south coast had been about as far as he’d been prepared to go.
‘Nothing wrong with Bognor,’ he’d used to tell her. ‘Or Brighton. Or Bournemouth.’
So that was where they’d gone for their annual summer holiday every year until she was a teenager. And for many years it had been fine—she’d loved the beach, even on her own with no brothers or sisters to play with. She’d had her grandfather, who’d raised her ever since his daughter and son-in-law had been killed in the same motorway pile-up that had killed his wife.
Looking back with adult eyes, she knew that having his five-year-old granddaughter to care for after the wholesale slaughter of the rest of his family had been her grandfather’s salvation. And he, in return, had become her rock—the centre of her world, the only person in the entire universe who loved her.
When she’d finished with school and started a Business Studies degree course at a nearby college, she’d opted to continue to live at home, in the familiar semi-detached house in the north London suburb she’d grown up in.
‘I’d be daft to move out, Gramps. Student accommodation costs a fortune, and most of the flats are complete dumps.’
Though she’d meant it, she’d also known that her grandfather had been relieved that she’d stayed at home with him.
It hadn’t cramped her social life to be living at home still, and she’d revelled in student life like any eighteen-year-old, enjoying her fair share of dating. It hadn’t been until she’d met Jak in her second year that things had become serious. He’d taken her seriously, too, seeing past her dazzling looks to the person within, and soon they’d become an item.
Had she been in love with him? She’d discovered the answer to that at the end of their studies. Not enough to dedicate her life to him the way he’d wanted her to.
‘I’ve got a job with the charity I applied for—out in Africa. I’m going to be teaching English, building schools, digging wells. It’s what I’ve always dreamed of.’ He’d paused, looking at Mel straight on. ‘Will you come with me? Support me in my work? Make your life with me?’
It had been the question she’d known was coming—the question she’d only been able to answer one way. Whether or not she’d wanted to join Jak in his life’s work, it had been impossible anyway.
‘I can’t,’ she’d said. ‘I can’t leave Gramps.’
Because by then that was what it had come down to. In the three years of her being a student her grandfather had aged—had crossed that invisible but irreversible boundary from being the person who had raised her and looked after her to being someone who now looked to her to look after him. The years had brought heart problems—angina and mini-strokes—but far worse than his growing physical frailty had been the mental frailty that had come with it. Mel had known with sadness and a sinking heart that he had become more and more dependent on her.
She hadn’t been able to leave him. How could she have deserted him, the grandfather she loved so much? How could she have abandoned him when he’d needed her? She had only been able to wait, putting her own life on hold and devoting herself to the one relative she’d possessed: the grandfather who loved her.
The
