He looked at the waxy white flowers which were woven into her hair and he wanted to reach out and crush them between his fingers. He wanted to press his lips on hers. He wanted to undress her and feast his eyes on that soft, creamy body. In a world where he had managed to achieve every single one of his objectives, he suddenly recognised that Alannah Collins had been a residual thorn in his flesh. A faint but lingering memory of a pleasure which had eluded him.
But not for much longer.
He smiled. ‘You said you were an interior designer and suggested I have a look at your website, which I did. And you are good. In fact, you are very good. Which means that you have a skill and I have a need,’ he said.
Her mouth thinned into a prudish line. ‘I don’t think that your needs are the kind I necessarily cater for.’
‘I think we’re talking at cross purposes, Alannah. This has nothing to do with sex.’ He slanted her a thoughtful look. ‘Does the name Park View ring any bells?’
‘You mean that enormous new apartment block overlooking Hyde Park which has been disrupting the Knightsbridge traffic for months?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s mine. I own it. I built it.’
Alannah blinked. ‘But it’s the most…’
‘Don’t be shy, Alannah,’ he said softly as her voice tailed off. ‘One should never be shy when talking about money. It’s the most expensive building of its kind in the world—isn’t that what you were going to say?’
She shrugged. ‘I fail to see how your property portfolio could possibly interest me.’
‘Then hear me out. A friend of mine—a brilliant Greek named Alekto Sarantos—is about to complete one of the penthouse apartments.’
She lifted her hand to adjust a stray petal on her headdress. ‘And is there a problem?’
‘Sì. Or at least—he certainly seems to think there is.’ A note of irritation entered his voice. ‘The problem is that Alekto doesn’t like the décor, even though it has been overseen by one of the most popular designers in the city.’
‘Let me guess.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Cream walls? Bowls of big pebbles lying around the place? Lots of glass and neutral-coloured blinds?’
He frowned. ‘You must have seen photos.’
‘I don’t need to, but I’d recognise a bandwagon anywhere—and every interior designer in the business seems to be jumping on it. Presumably this friend of yours doesn’t do bland and that’s why he doesn’t like it.’
‘No, Alekto doesn’t do bland—in fact, he is the antithesis of bland. He described the décor to my assistant as a “tsunami of beige” and unless I can transform the place to his satisfaction before the Greek new year, then he says he’ll pull out of the deal and go to Paris instead. It has become a matter of pride for me that he chooses London.’ He gave a hard smile. ‘And maybe that’s where you could come in.’
‘Me?’
‘You want a break, don’t you? I don’t imagine they get much bigger than this.’
‘But…’ Somehow she managed to keep the tremble of excitement from her voice. ‘Why me? There must be a million other designers itching to accept a job like this.’
His gaze swept over her like an icy black searchlight—objective, speculative and entirely without emotion.
‘Because I like your style,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I like the way you dress and the way you look. I always have. And if you can satisfy my exacting friend with your designs—then the job is yours.’
Alannah felt ridiculously thrilled by his praise, yet she didn’t want to be thrilled. She wanted to feel nothing. To give nothing and take nothing. She met his dark gaze. ‘And the fact that you want to go to bed with me has nothing to do with your offer, I suppose?’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, but it has everything to do with it, mia sirena,’ he said. ‘As you said yourself, there are a million interior designers out there, but your desirability gives you a distinctive edge over your competitors. I cannot deny that I want you or that I intend to have you.’ His black eyes gleamed. ‘But I wouldn’t dream of offering you the job unless I thought you were capable of delivering.’
‘NICCOLÒ WILL SEE you in just a moment, Alannah.’ The redhead sitting outside Niccolò’s office wore a silk blouse the colour of the lilies on her desk and when she smiled her lips were a neat coral curve. ‘My name’s Kirsty, by the way—and I’m one of Niccolò’s assistants. Take a seat over there. Can I get you a coffee? Some tea perhaps?’
‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’ Carefully putting down her mood-boards, Alannah sank onto a seat, wondering if any of her reservations showed in her face. Whether her nerves or sick dread were visible to the impartial observer.
Ever since she’d left New York, she had listed all the reasons why she should say no to Niccolò’s offer of work and during the cramped flight she had checked them off on her fingers. He was arrogant. Tick. He was dangerous. Double tick. He was also completely unapologetic about wanting to take her to bed. Only he hadn’t even said that in a flattering way. He’d made it sound as if she was just something he needed to get out of his system. Like an itch. Or a fever. She bit her lip because his attitude brought too many memories flooding back. She hated men who regarded a woman as some kind of object, so surely self-respect and pride should have made her turn his offer down, no matter how lucrative?
But he was offering her work—legitimate work. His proposition had been like a cool drink when your throat was parched. Like finding a crumpled ten-pound note in your jeans before you washed them. She thought about the scarcity of jobs in her highly competitive field, and the ridiculously high mortgage on her tiny bedsit. She couldn’t afford to turn him down—which was why she’d spent all weekend coming up with ideas she thought might appeal to a Greek billionaire who didn’t like beige. And through it all she had realised that this was the vital springboard her career needed and she was going to grab at it with both hands.
She stared at the cream lilies on Kirsty’s desk, trying to concentrate on their stark beauty, but all she could think about was the way Niccolò had stroked his finger over her when they’d been dancing at the wedding. Her heart began to pound. It had been an almost innocent touch and yet her response had been anything but innocent. The intensity of her feelings had shocked her. She had wanted him to peel the bridesmaid dress from her body and touch her properly. She had wanted him to kiss her the way he’d done all those years before—only this time not to stop.
And that was the problem.
She still wanted him.
She had done her best to quash that thought when she’d emailed him some suggestions. And had attempted to ignore her spiralling feeling of excitement when his reply came winging into her inbox late last night.
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