Tyros, she’d have to do it on her own. Refusing to admit the bitter taste in her mouth sprang from a disappointment that had to do with more than thwarted ambition, she made her way unimpeded to the head table, only to suffer another setback. There was no sign of the Greek billionaire.
“Excuse me, do you speak English?” she asked a woman still seated there.
“A little, yes.”
“Then can you tell me where I might find Mr. Tyros? I was hoping he’d grant me an interview.”
The woman’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You’re too late, Kyria! Even if he’d have agreed to speak to you, which is doubtful, Angelo left some time ago. He is eighty, after all!”
Oh, great! Just wonderful!
No denying her letdown this time. It burned her throat raw.
She’d started out on such a high note. Been greeted on her arrival at the Grande Bretagne by a cloaked doorman who’d ushered her into the lobby as if she were royalty. Somehow caught the eye of the most attractive man in the room, who’d singled her out for his undivided attention, only to dump her as soon as he realized she wasn’t up for a quick grope between the potted palms. And matters had gone steadily downhill ever since. All in all, the evening had been a complete bust.
Discouraged and exhausted suddenly, she circled back to the ballroom’s exit, grateful to see that although the faithful four continued to stand guard against gatecrashers, Mikos was nowhere in sight.
At least, that was her assumption until, when she was halfway across the Persian carpet adorning the lobby, a hand closed over her shoulder and that dark, rich voice that had so nearly seduced her on the roof, murmured in her ear, “And just where do you think you’re going, Ms. Hudson?”
CHAPTER TWO
SHE’D thought she was tired, that falling into bed and sleeping without fear of what she might wake up to was exactly what she both needed and wanted. But the sun was well-risen and already flushing the tall buildings of downtown Athens with color when she finally arrived back at her hotel room, just after eight o-clock the next morning.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” she’d told Mikos, pushing aside yet another pesky photographer and making her determined way through the rotating doors of the Grande Bretagne to the street outside, “but I’m heading back to my hotel.”
Undeterred, he’d followed her. “We decided you’d let me know when you were ready to do that.”
“No,” she corrected him stonily. “You decided, not I.”
He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers imperiously. That, it seemed, was all it took for a small black Mercedes limousine to materialize from the shadows and cruise to a stop at the curb. “Just as well one of us has some sense then, isn’t it?” he said, and held open the rear door in refuse-me-at-your-peril invitation.
Although she’d have loved to defy him and stalk haughtily off into the night under her own steam, in truth she was glad of the excuse to be off her feet. Strappy rhinestone sandals might exemplify the ultimate in elegant evening accessories, but they didn’t lend themselves to hiking. Not only that, she hadn’t worn three inch heels in years, and her feet were aching unmercifully. So she swallowed her pride and slithered into the back seat in a flurry of violet silk chiffon. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate your consideration.”
“Parakalo! Don’t mention it,” he returned.
Assuming she’d seen the last of him, she leaned forward to give the uniformed chauffeur the name of her hotel, then realized that Mikos had also climbed into the car with every sign of remaining there.
Rattled, she gasped, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Putting an end to this nonsense,” he replied, then switched to Greek in a brief conversation with the driver, at the conclusion of which the man nodded compliantly, raised the smoked-glass panel between him and his passengers and eased the car into the traffic still clogging the road.
Gina wasn’t familiar with the layout of Athens, but one glance out of the dark-tinted side window was enough to tell her they weren’t headed toward her hotel. “In case you’re not aware, your driver’s going the wrong way,” she informed Mikos.
“He’s going precisely the right way,” he drawled, unbuttoning his dinner jacket and stretching out his long legs. “I suggest you relax and enjoy the ride.”
For a moment, she was tempted. What woman wouldn’t be, especially one who’d been deprived of the so-called “finer things in life” for far too long? She was ensconced in black leather upholstery as plush and soft as polished marshmallows, in a limousine that purred like a well-bred cat and traveled over the surface of the road as smoothly as a sleek length of satin floating on air.
The neck of a bottle of champagne—Bollinger, she noticed—poked out of a silver ice bucket in the built-in bar. Crystal flutes sparkled in the subdued glow of the rear interior lights. The man seated next to her was sexy and gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. Worldly, sophisticated and charming.
Then it occurred to her that she was headed toward an unknown destination, in a car with a comparative stranger, and could be in very serious trouble. Women traveling alone in foreign lands had been known to disappear without trace, never to be seen again, precisely because they’d behaved as rashly as she just had.
“If you’re thinking of kidnapping me,” she said, sounding distressingly terrified, “you should know that you won’t be able to raise a ransom worth spit. I have no value, monetary or otherwise, to a living soul.” Except, she added silently, to my mother who hasn’t a clue where I am, or what sort of trouble I might be facing. And if even if she had, she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.
“Kidnap you?” He stifled a grin, though not quite soon enough for it to pass unnoticed. Teeth like his, she thought sourly, were a dentist’s worst nightmare. Straight, white and flawless, they’d push the poor man to the brink of bankruptcy before he’d find reason to tamper with them. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, it might not be such a bad idea.”
“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing!” she spat.
He angled a long, assessing glance her way. “I find you many things. Amusing, certainly, agapiti mou, but also intriguing, ingenuous—”
“I find you insufferable!”
This time, he laughed out loud, an eruption of sound rumbling rich and low as an earthquake from deep inside his chest. “At least I’ve made some sort of impression,” he said dryly, removing the champagne from the ice bucket.
His hands, darkly tanned against the white cuffs of his dress shirt, were well-shaped, with long, capable fingers. Spellbound, she watched as they stripped the foil from the neck of the bottle and removed the cork with the kind of negligent ease that suggested he was no stranger to the task. The wine foamed in the flutes, tiny volcanoes of bubbles exploding to the surface in effervescent glee.
“What shall we drink to, Gina?” he asked, offering a glass to her.
Exercising a mind of their own that was completely at odds with how common sense dictated they should respond, her fingers reached out and circled the slender
