claim then she’d have to explain herself. And she had no intention of doing that. He already knew far too much about her.
His dark eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t want your money.’
‘Take it,’ she said fiercely. ‘Or I’m going home right now.’
He studied her in silence, his expression unreadable. ‘All right. If it makes you happy.’ With economy of movement he reached for the roll of notes and slipped it into his pocket. ‘So, now that problem is solved you can unpack your suitcase. My father is waiting for us on the terrace. Why don’t you change and then join us?’
It was only after he’d strode from the room that Chantal realised they still hadn’t discussed what had happened in the pool.
‘I’m not that hungry,’ Costas protested as Chantal spooned a small helping of roasted peppers onto his plate.
‘They’re delicious,’ she enthused. ‘You just have to try them. Just a mouthful.’
‘Women.’ Costas sighed and picked up his fork. ‘They never let a man rest.’
‘You can rest later.’ She helped herself to a different dish, examining the contents closely. ‘What’s this?’
‘Fasoláda—kidney beans baked in the oven with vegetables, herbs and olive oil. It’s delicious. Try it.’
‘Only if you try some, too.’ Her smile engaging, she spooned a small amount onto his plate and watched while he ate. ‘Well?’
‘It’s good.’
Feeling like a spare part, Angelos watched as she cleverly coaxed his father to eat, selecting small quantities of healthy food for him to try.
Only when she was satisfied that he’d eaten something did she turn her attentions to her own plate. After several mouthfuls she smiled at his father. ‘You’re right, it is delicious. I’d swim through a shark-infested pond to eat this again.’
His father laughed with delight and reached for another dish. ‘If you think that’s good, then you should try this one—’
The two of them were like excited children and Angelos watched as his father flirted outrageously with Chantal.
Now that he knew she wasn’t Isabelle Ducat, he was noticing things he should have noticed before. Like the fact that she didn’t actually flirt. No simpering, no hair tossing, no lowered lashes. Nothing, in fact, that could be described as flirtatious. She just had an open, friendly attitude.
He remembered that night of the ball, and recalled that one of the things about her he’d found so attractive was that she’d been so different from everyone around her.
She’d shown a cheeky sense of humour, a playfulness that was quite different from flirting.
It was no wonder his father had liked her.
And no wonder that she was having such a powerful effect on him.
He’d never been so aware of a woman. The curve of her mouth when she smiled; the slight dimple at the corner of her mouth, the light that appeared in her eyes when she laughed.
And then there was her body…At that point he found his descriptive powers severely challenged. All he knew was that she appeared to have been designed specifically to distract a man from whatever path he was taking.
Suddenly he couldn’t wait for dinner to end so that he could finish what they’d started in the pool.
Trying not to dwell on the fact that Angelos had barely spoken to her over dinner, Chantal stepped into the shower. In the end she’d left him on the terrace with his father, both of them engrossed in an unintelligible conversation about the Far Eastern money markets.
And now she stood under the sharp jets of water, satisfied that Costas had at least eaten something. She just needed to make sure that he did that at every mealtime.
Reaching for one of the fluffy towels that were piled in uniform rows, Chantal walked out of the shower and into the bedroom.
Angelos was sprawled on the bed, talking in rapid Greek into his mobile phone.
Shocked to see him there, she was about to retreat into the bathroom when he noticed her and ended the call with a decisive stab of one long finger. ‘You were so long I was about to join you in the shower.’
‘What are you doing in my bedroom?’
‘Our bedroom, agape mou,’ he drawled softly, extending a hand in her direction. ‘Come to bed.’
She clutched the towel. ‘What for?’
His eyes shimmered with amusement. ‘I understand that you’re inexperienced, but surely not that inexperienced.’
Chantal didn’t move. ‘You’re suggesting that we share a bed?’
‘Generally that’s what happens.’ Dark lashes veiled his expression and she felt her tummy jump like a grasshopper.
‘But you—I—’ She broke off. ‘It was a one off.’
‘I don’t do “one-offs”. I’ve already told you, casual affairs are not my style.’
‘But that’s ridiculous—we hardly know each other.’
‘On the contrary. We know each other in the most literal and intimate sense of the word,’ he drawled, and she felt the colour flood into her cheeks.
‘That’s different. Neither of us was thinking.’
‘Sex doesn’t generally require a great deal of intellectual input.’
Her heart was pounding against her chest. ‘But you didn’t even enjoy it,’ she blurted out impulsively. ‘You were really bored.’
‘Bored?’ Incredulous dark eyes swept her flushed cheeks. ‘At what point, precisely, did I appear to be bored?’
‘Afterwards—when you didn’t once mention it.’
‘I’ve always considered sex to be more of a practical than an academic subject. More about doing than talking.’ His voice was deep and impossibly sexy. ‘And at the time we had rather more pressing topics to discuss—such as your identity. Call me old-fashioned, but my preference is always to at least know the name of the person with whom I’ve been intimate.’ He sprang off the bed and strolled towards her, a look of intent on his handsome face.
As his hand slid decisively around her wrist, her bones melted away like chocolate over a flame. ‘Angelos—’
‘I like the way you say my name,’ he purred, sliding his other hand behind her neck and drawing her towards him. ‘And for the next few hours that’s the only word I want to hear from you. I’m tired of talking.’
She opened her mouth to give him all the reasons why she had no intention of doing this, but he was standing so close that a helpless rush of excitement engulfed her. It was like being in
