you speaking from experience?’ Ava’s gentle tone pulled Giannis’s mind from the past and he stiffened when he saw something that looked worryingly like compassion in her grey eyes. If she knew the truth about him he was sure that her sympathy would fade as quickly as Caroline had fallen out of love with him.
For a fraction of a second he felt a crazy impulse to admit to Ava that sometimes when he saw a child of about four years old he felt an ache in his heart for the child he might have had. If Caroline hadn’t... No. He would not think of what she might have done. There was no point in torturing himself with the idea that Caroline had ended her inconvenient pregnancy after he had told her he’d been to prison. The possibility that his crass irresponsibility when he was nineteen had ultimately resulted in the loss of two lives was unbearable.
Ignoring Ava’s question, he walked across the room and opened the door. ‘We need to go,’ he told her curtly, and to his relief she preceded him out of the suite without saying another word.
* * *
Ava applauded the models as they sashayed down the runway in the magnificent Sculpture Hall of the Musée du Louvre. The venue of the fashion show was breathtaking, and the clothes worn by the impossibly slender models ranged from exquisite to frankly extraordinary. The collection by the Greek designer Kris Antoniadis brought delighted murmurs from the audience, and the fashion journalist sitting in the front row next to Ava endorsed Giannis’s prediction that Kris, as he was simply known, was the next big thing in the fashion world.
‘Of course Kris could not have got this far in his career without a wealthy sponsor,’ Diane Duberry, fashion editor of a women’s magazine, explained to Ava. ‘Giannis Gekas is regarded as a great philanthropist for his support of the Greek people during the country’s recent problems. He set up a charity which awards bursaries to young entrepreneurs trying to establish businesses in Greece. But I don’t know why I am telling you about Giannis when you must know everything about him.’
Diane looked at Giannis’s hand resting possessively on Ava’s knee, and then at the pink sapphire ring on Ava’s finger, and speculation gleamed in her eyes. ‘You succeeded where legions of other women have failed and tamed the tiger. Where did the two of you meet?’
‘Um...we were seated next to each other at a dinner party.’ Ava felt herself flush guiltily even though technically it was the truth.
‘Lucky you.’ Diane winked at her. ‘Who needs a dessert from the sweet trolley when a gorgeous Greek hunk is on the menu?’
Ava was saved from having to think of a reply when the compère of the fashion show came onto the stage and announced that the Young Designer award had been won by the Greek designer, Kris Antoniadis. Kris then appeared on the runway accompanied by models wearing dresses from his bridal collection.
Giannis stood up and drew Ava to her feet. ‘Showtime,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘Just smile and follow my lead.’
Without giving her a chance to protest, he slid his arm around her waist and whisked her up the steps and onto the runway, just as Kris was explaining to the audience how grateful he was to Giannis Gekas for supporting his career. There was more applause and brilliant flashes of light from camera flashes when Giannis stepped forwards, tugging Ava with him.
‘I cannot think of a better place to announce my engagement to my beautiful fiancée than in Paris, the world’s most romantic city,’ he told the audience. With a flourish he lifted Ava’s hand up to his mouth and pressed his lips to the pink sapphire heart on her finger.
He was a brilliant actor, she thought caustically. Her skin burned where his lips had brushed and she wanted to snatch her hand back and denounce their engagement as a lie. The idea of deceiving people went against her personal moral code of honesty and integrity. But she must abide by her promise to be Giannis’s fake fiancée because he had honoured his word and halted criminal proceedings against her brother.
And so she obediently showed her engagement ring to the press photographers and looked adoringly into Giannis’s eyes for the cameras.
At the after-show party she remained by his side, smiling up at him as if she was besotted with him. For his part he kept his arm around her while they strolled around the room, stopping frequently so that he could introduce her to people he knew.
Waiters threaded through the crowded room carrying trays of canapés and drinks. Ava sipped champagne and felt the bubbles explode on her tongue. Her senses seemed sharper, and she was intensely aware of Giannis’s hand resting on her waist and the brush of his thigh against hers. He was holding a flute of champagne but she noted that he never drank from it.
‘Do you ever drink alcohol?’ she asked him curiously. ‘You didn’t have any wine at the fundraising dinner, and I noticed that you are not drinking tonight.’
‘How very perceptive of you, glykiá mou.’ He spoke lightly, but Ava felt him stiffen. ‘I avoid drinking alcohol because I like to keep a clear head.’
Something told her there was more to him being teetotal than he had admitted. But, before she could pursue the subject, he took her glass out of her fingers and gave it and his own glass to a passing waiter. Catching hold of her hand, he led her onto the dance floor and swept her into his arms.
Her head swam, not from the effects of the few sips of champagne she’d had, but from the intoxicating heat of Giannis’s body pressed up against hers and the divine fragrance of his aftershave mixed with his own unique male scent. He was a good dancer and moved with a natural rhythm as he steered them around the dance floor, hip to hip, her breasts crushed against the hard wall of his chest. He slid one hand down to the base of her spine and spread his fingers over her bottom. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt the solid ridge of his arousal through their clothes.
Ava closed her eyes and reminded herself that Giannis’s attentiveness was an act to promote the deception that they were engaged. But there was nothing pretend about the sexual chemistry that sizzled between them. She had never been more aware of a man, or of her own femininity, in her life. Her traitorous mind pictured the big bed in the hotel suite they were sharing. Of course she had no intention of also sharing the bed with him, she assured herself. She had agreed to be his fake fiancée in public only.
But, to keep up the pretence, when the disco music changed to a romantic ballad and Giannis pulled her closer, she slid her hands up to his shoulders. And when he bent his head and brushed his mouth over hers, she parted her lips and kissed him with a fervour that drew a low groan from him.
‘We have to get out of here,’ he said hoarsely.
Her legs felt unsteady when he abruptly dropped his arms away from her. ‘Come,’ he growled, clamping his arm around her waist and practically lifting her off her feet as he hurried them out of the museum. The car was waiting for them and, once he had bundled her onto the back seat and closed the privacy screen between them and the driver, he lifted her onto his lap, thrust one hand into her hair and dragged her mouth beneath his.
His kiss was hot and urgent, a ravishment of her senses, as passion exploded between them. Ava sensed a wildness in Giannis that made her shake with need. She remembered Diane Duberry, the fashion journalist at the show, had congratulated her for having tamed the tiger. But the truth was that Giannis would never allow any woman to control him.
Her head was spinning when he finally tore his mouth from hers to allow them to drag oxygen into their lungs. His chest heaved, and when she placed her hand over his heart she felt its thudding, erratic beat. The car sped smoothly through the dark Paris
