restaurant was cheap, the meat tough and badly cooked and Angie prodded the food on her plate, trying to show interest in Cyril’s earnest summary of the lecture they’d just attended.
Why was she finding it so hard to concentrate? And why, all of a sudden, was she noticing things about him that she’d never noticed before? Things that she’d never considered to be important. Like the fact that his hair was slightly too long and untidy, his beard decidedly goaty and his checked shirt a painful clash with the ancient herringbone jacket that was probably a throwback to his university days. And, as for the way he ate—
She looked away from his open mouth, slightly revolted that his desire to talk appeared to be in no way impeded by his appetite. Suddenly she found herself comparing Cyril’s complete lack of social grace with Nikos Kyriacou’s smooth sophistication. An image of glossy dark hair and an arrogant stare filled her brain and she caught herself with a faint frown of annoyance. Why was she wasting a single thought on the man? Appearance didn’t matter to her. She didn’t judge people on such shallow terms. All right, so she couldn’t imagine Nikos Kyriacou eating with his mouth open and he certainly was astonishingly handsome but he was also a nasty person.
Possibly aware that he was losing her attention, Cyril leaned towards her as he talked, spraying food over the tablecloth, stabbing with a fork to illustrate the point he was making, and she shrank away slightly, reminding herself that he had an amazing intellect. It was only when Cyril stuttered to a halt in mid sentence and stared in astonishment at a point behind her left shoulder that she turned and saw Nikos Kyriacou standing by their table.
In a restaurant full of students and academic types watching their budget, he looked entirely out of place in his immaculate dark suit and silk shirt. Like a dish of caviare placed among plates of mass produced frozen pizza, she reflected absently, or a bottle of vintage champagne lined up alongside jugs of pond water. Just in a completely different class. Not that he was paying any attention to those around him. The focus of that hard, cold stare was her.
She shifted slightly under his unflinching scrutiny, aware that they were suddenly the subject of intense speculation by other diners.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘Twenty-four hours are up,’ he reminded her in silky tones, enviably indifferent to the interest of those around him. On the tables closest to them, people had actually stopped eating, obviously aware that this was something worth watching.
‘I’m on a date.’
His gaze flickered to Cyril and there was sympathy and amusement in his eyes. ‘You find her company pleasurable?’
Cyril’s cheeks turned a mottled puce colour. ‘Dr Littlewood has the keenest brain I’ve ever encountered,’ he stuttered, dropping his fork and paper napkin simultaneously. ‘Her research into the methods used by—’
‘I’m sure her conversation can be very stimulating,’ Nikos drawled in a bored tone, silencing him with a lift of his bronzed hand, ‘although, speaking personally, the ability to converse about ancient pots isn’t at the top of the list of qualities I demand in a woman. In fact, when I’m on a “date” I don’t care if we don’t talk at all.’
The implication of his words wasn’t lost on Cyril and the mottled puce colour deepened and spread into his hair.
Completely mortified, Angie half rose to her feet. ‘Fortunately not everyone is like you.’ She kept her voice low, determined not to be overheard by the people at the next table. ‘You’re disgusting, do you know that?’
His features were impassive. ‘That’s no way to speak to your husband, agape mou. You need to learn some respect.’
She stilled. ‘You’re not my—’
‘No, I’m not.’ A faint smile touched his hard mouth. ‘But I will be.’
Her heart stumbled. ‘I didn’t think—’
‘No—’ The smile widened. ‘You definitely didn’t think and it’s entirely possible that you’ll come to regret that fact very shortly. But it’s too late for regret, because I’ve decided to accept your offer. The answer is yes, I will marry you.’
Cyril gave a strangled gasp and knocked his glass over. Cheap red wine poured over the tablecloth and dripped slowly on to the floor. ‘Angie? You asked this man to marry you?’
‘Very enlightened, don’t you think?’ His tone casual, Nikos reached out and closed strong fingers round Angie’s wrist, jerking her to her feet. ‘Some men might be put off by such brazen behaviour but I get very turned on by a woman who knows her own mind. In my experience they’re usually complete animals in bed.’
Deeply humiliated by his words and the fact that he hadn’t made the slightest effort to lower his voice, Angie tugged at her wrist, aware that Cyril was gaping at her along with just about every other person in the restaurant. ‘Let me go.’
Nikos tightened his grip and tugged her against him. ‘To have and to hold,’ he reminded her in smooth tones. ‘At the moment I’m doing the holding bit, but later on we’ll get to the “having” part of the arrangement and I predict that it will be extremely interesting.’
Unbelievably shocked and wishing she could just melt through the floor, Angie yanked at her wrist but failed to free herself. She couldn’t remember a moment in her life when she’d felt so completely humiliated. ‘I think we should continue this conversation outside.’
‘I entirely agree. I’ve never really been into the whole group thing.’ Nikos summoned a waiter with an imperious lift of his free hand. ‘And, speaking of which, you ought to know that I don’t actually allow my future wife to dine with another man, so if you want to say goodbye then do it now while I settle the bill. But no physical contact, please, especially no kissing.’ He handed a card to the waiter and Angie took a step backwards, feeling physically sick at the thought of actually kissing Cyril.
‘It’s typical of you to reduce everything to the physical. My relationship with Cyril is on a much higher level than anything you can possibly understand,’ she said tightly and Nikos gave a careless shrug of his broad shoulders.
‘I don’t really care what level my relationships are on providing they’re conducted in the horizontal plane.’
Angie enjoyed a brief but satisfying mental image of Cyril standing up and thumping Nikos hard but in reality he sat frozen in his chair, a look of stupefied disbelief on his face. And anyway, she thought gloomily, there was no doubting who the winner would be in any physical encounter. A man like Cyril, with his slightly bony hairless wrists sticking out from beyond a jacket that was much too small for him, was absolutely no match for Nikos, who was a prime specimen of athletic, muscled Greek manhood.
She gave a frown and a slight shake of her head, horrified by the direction of her thoughts. Cyril was a respected academic. A civilised person. He wouldn’t ever stoop so low as to indulge in physical confrontation and she wouldn’t want him to. She didn’t approve of such behaviour. On the other hand, she would have at least expected him to use some of his intellectual skills to deliver an appropriate verbal put-down.
She turned to him, frustrated that he would allow himself to be treated so badly. ‘Cyril—say something.’
‘Yes, please do feel free to contribute to the discussion.’ Nikos raised an eyebrow in mocking
