to turn them into high-end luxury river cruisers, but it was cheaper to upgrade existing ships than to commission a new fleet of vessels.
To Giannis’s intense frustration, Stefanos had rejected his very generous financial offer. That was to say—Stefanos had not actually turned him down but he kept adding new conditions before he would sell. Giannis had already agreed to employ the entire Markou Shipping workforce and retrain the staff so that they could work on his cruise ships. Far more problematic was Stefanos’s insistence that he wanted to sell his company to a married man.
‘Markou Shipping’s ethos is family first,’ Stefanos had told Giannis. ‘Many of the current staff are second or even third generation employees and they share the company’s values of loyalty and propriety. How do you think they would feel if I sold the company to you—a notorious playboy who regards women only as pleasurable diversions? But if you were to choose a wife and settle down it would show that you believe in the high ideals which my great-grandfather, who started Markou Shipping one hundred years ago, held dear.’
Giannis had no desire to marry, but a rival potential buyer had shown interest in purchasing the Markou fleet of vessels. Norwegian businessman Anders Tromska was married and the father of two children. Stefanos approved of Tromska for being a dedicated family man who had never been involved in any kind of scandal or photographed by the paparazzi with a different blonde on his arm every week.
Giannis was prepared to increase his financial offer for the fleet of ships. But for once he had discovered that money could not solve a problem. It seemed that the only way he might persuade Stefanos to sell to him was if he magically conjured himself a wife.
He slipped his arms into his jacket and pushed the Markou problem to the back of his mind for now, turning his thoughts instead to a happier situation. His beloved Nerissa—a classic motor yacht which had been his father’s first boat—had been repaired and restored after it had been vandalised.
Giannis had kept the boat moored at St Katharine Dock and he stayed on it whenever he visited London. He had been furious when he’d heard that a gang of youths had boarded the boat one night and held a party. A fire had somehow started in the main cabin and quickly ripped through the boat. It turned out that a cleaner who worked for the valeting company employed to maintain the boat had stolen the keys and taken his thuggish friends aboard Nerissa. The gang had escaped before the police arrived, apart from the cleaner, who had been arrested and charged with criminal damage.
The manager of the boat valeting company had been deeply apologetic. ‘The youth who took the keys to your boat has a police record for various petty crimes. His social worker persuaded me to give him a job. To be honest he seemed like a nice lad, and his sister who accompanied him to his interview was anxious for me to give him a chance. But they say that bad blood will out in the end,’ the manager had said sagely.
In Giannis’s opinion, the cleaner who he held responsible for wrecking his boat deserved to be locked up in jail and the keys thrown away. Nerissa was special to him and he had wonderful memories of idyllic days spent on her with his father. Now that the boat had been repaired he had arranged for her to be taken back to Greece, to his home on the island of Spetses.
The sound of movement from the bed compelled Giannis to turn his head and look across the room. Ava rolled onto her back and the sheet slipped down to reveal one perfect round breast, creamy pale against the black silk sheet and adorned with a dusky pink nipple that Giannis had delighted in tormenting with his mouth the previous night.
One night with the golden-haired temptress was not enough to sate his desire for her, he acknowledged. His arousal was uncomfortably hard beneath his close-fitting trousers. He would take her phone number and call her on his next trip to London, he decided. Maybe he would instruct his PA to clear his diary for a few days so that he could fly up to Scotland with Ava. His imagination ran riot as he pictured them staying at a castle and having hot sex in front of a blazing log fire. He had heard that it often rained in the Highlands, and they would have to pass the time somehow.
But that was for the future. Right now he had a busy day ahead of him. He glanced at his watch and strode over to the bed to wake Sleeping Beauty. He had asked for his car to be brought to the front of the hotel ready for him to drive to Hertfordshire and he was keen to be on his way. But his conscience—which was frankly underused—insisted on this occasion that he could not simply disappear and leave Ava asleep.
‘Good morning.’ He leaned over the bed and watched her long eyelashes flutter and settle back on her cheeks. ‘It’s time to get up, angel-face.’ Impatience edged into his voice, and he put his hand on her shoulder to give her a gentle shake.
Long hazel-coloured lashes swept upwards. Her grey eyes were dazed with sleep before she blinked and focused on his face.
‘Oh. My. God.’ Her appalled expression was almost comical. ‘I thought you were a dream.’
Giannis grinned. ‘I aim to please. You were pretty amazing last night too.’ His gaze lingered on her bare breast and she made a choked sound as she dragged the sheet up to her chin. ‘But it is now morning,’ he told her. ‘Nine o’clock, to be precise. And incredibly tempting though you are, I have a busy schedule and you need to get dressed.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Ava said again. She sat up and pushed her tangled blonde hair out of her eyes. The faint quiver of her lower lip made her seem oddly vulnerable. Giannis was surprised by the inexplicable urge that came over him to hold her in his arms and comfort her. But why did he think she needed to be comforted when he was certain she had enjoyed the passionate night they had spent together as much as he had? Just as pertinently, what qualified him to offer comfort to anyone? He destroyed things, and Ava, with her curiously innocent air, would do well to stay away from him, he reminded himself.
He was used to being instantly obeyed and he frowned when, instead of jumping out of bed, Ava slumped back against the pillows and covered her face with her hands. Giannis struggled to hide his irritation. ‘You were not so shy last night,’ he drawled.
‘Last night was a mistake.’ Her voice was muffled behind her hands. ‘I must have had too much to drink.’
His jaw hardened. ‘You drank a small glass of wine during dinner. Don’t try to make out that you were unaware of what you were doing when you undressed in front of me, or suggest that I took advantage of you. When I asked if you were sure you wanted to have sex, you more or less begged me to take you.’
She jerked upright and dropped her hands away from her face, shaking her head so that her hair swirled around her shoulders like a curtain of gold silk. ‘I did not beg.’ There was outrage in her voice but she continued in a low tone, ‘I know what I did. I was responsible for my behaviour and I’m not blaming you. But I shouldn’t have slept with you. What I mean is that I should have spoken to you...asked you... Oh, this is so awkward.’ Her eyes widened even more. ‘Did you say that it’s nine o’clock? Oh, my God.’
She scrambled off the bed and tugged the sheet around her, but not before Giannis had glimpsed her naked body. At some point during the night he had removed her stockings using his teeth to tug them down her legs. He watched Ava struggle to put her bra on while she clutched the sheet to her like a security blanket. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little late for modesty?’ he said sardonically.
She picked up her torn thong from the floor and looked as though she was about to burst into tears. ‘I have to go,’ she said wildly. ‘Sam will be going mad wondering where I am. I was supposed to have an important conversation with you last night.’
‘About what?’
She
