for some reason, and he would have to manage for even one more day with yet another temp, cast a dark cloud over his mood.
His rapier glance skimmed over the woman’s hair that fell in loose waves around her shoulders and seemed to encompass every shade of brown from caramel to latte. Her delightfully curvaceous figure was packaged in a dusky pink blouse and a cream pencil skirt that was a good two inches shorter than knee length.
Moving his gaze lower, Alekos felt a jolt of masculine appreciation at her shapely legs, which were enhanced by her high-heeled shoes with cut-out sections at the front that revealed her bare toes. He noticed her toenails were varnished a flirty shade of hot pink that was more suited to a beach than to Gionakis Enterprises’ prestigious offices in Piccadilly.
‘Good morning, Alekos.’
He frowned at the sound of the familiar voice. Low-toned and melodious, for some reason it made him think of a cool, clear mountain stream.
‘Sara?’ Her voice was recognisable, but everything about his PA’s appearance was definitely not. His brain was not playing tricks on him, Alekos realised when she turned her head. Even though she was standing several feet away from him, he was struck by the intense green of her eyes. They were her only remarkable features—or at least that had been true when Sara’s style of workwear for the past two years had been a navy blue skirt and jacket, which she’d teamed with a plain white shirt, buttoned primly all the way up to her throat in the summer, or a black roll-neck sweater in colder weather.
Smart, practical and frankly unnoticeable was how Alekos would have described his PA’s appearance before she had inconveniently decided to take a month’s holiday in Spain. When he’d objected, she had reminded him that she hadn’t used any of her annual leave since she’d started working for him, apart from one day to attend her mother’s funeral. Sara had looked even more washed out than she usually did. Alekos was not renowned for his sensitivity, but he’d acknowledged that caring for her terminally ill mother must have been a strain and he’d reluctantly agreed to her taking an extended holiday.
He had vaguely imagined her on a scenic coach tour of Spain to visit places of historical and architectural interest. He knew she liked history. No doubt the majority of the other people on the tour would be pensioners and she would strike up a friendship with a spinster, or perhaps a widow who was travelling alone and who would be grateful for Sara’s innately kind nature.
Alekos’s rather cosy picture of his PA’s holiday plans had been disrupted when she’d told him that she was going away on a YFS trip—which stood for Young, Free and Single. As their name suggested, the tour operator specialised in holidays for people in the twenty-something age bracket who wanted to spend every night clubbing, or partying on a beach. The media often reported scenes of drunken debauchery by Brits in Benidorm. When he had pointed out that a better name for the holiday company would be AFS—Available For Sex—Sara had laughed and, to Alekos’s astonishment, told him she was looking forward to letting her hair down in Spain.
His eyes were drawn back to her hair. He visualised her as she had looked every weekday for the past two years. She had always worn her nondescript brown hair scraped back from her face and piled on top of her head in a no-nonsense bun that defied gravity with the aid of an arsenal of metal hairpins.
‘You’re wearing your hair in a new style,’ he said abruptly. ‘I was trying to work out why you look different.’
‘Mmm, I had it cut while I was away. It was so long, almost waist length, and I was fed up of having to tie it up all the time.’ She ran her fingers through the silky layers of her new hairstyle. In the sunshine streaming through the window, her hair seemed to shimmer like gold in places and Alekos felt an unexpected tightening sensation in his groin.
‘And I finally ditched my glasses for contact lenses. Although I must admit they’re taking a while to get used to.’ Sara sounded rueful. ‘My new contacts make my eyes water sometimes.’
Alekos was relieved that she wasn’t fluttering her eyelashes at him seductively, but she was blinking presumably because her contact lenses felt strange. Without the thick-rimmed glasses he was used to seeing her wearing, her cheekbones were more noticeable and her face was prettier than his memory served him.
He wondered if she’d had some sort of surgical procedure to her lips. Surely he would have remembered the fullness of her lips—and, Theos, that faint pout of her lower lip that tempted him to test its softness with his own mouth. He forced his mind away from such a ridiculous idea and reminded himself that this was Miss Mouse, the name that one of his legion of leggy blonde mistresses had unkindly christened Sara.
The nickname had suited her plain looks but not her dry wit that frequently amused Alekos, or her sharp mind and even sharper tongue that he had come to respect, because Sara Lovejoy was the only woman he had ever met who wasn’t afraid to state her opinion—even if it was different to his.
‘I’ll put your coffee on your desk, shall I?’ Without waiting for him to reply, Sara walked across the room and placed a cup of coffee on the desk in front of Alekos’s chair. He could not help himself from focusing on the sensual undulation of her hips as she walked, and when she leaned across the desk her skirt pulled tighter across the curves of her buttocks.
Alekos cleared his throat audibly and tightened his fingers on the handle of his briefcase as he moved it in front of him to hide the evidence that he was aroused. What the blazes was the matter with him? For the first time in a month he had woken in a good mood this morning, knowing that Sara would be back and between them they would clear the backlog of work that had built up while she’d been away.
But work was the last thing on his mind when she turned to face him and he noticed how her pink silk shirt lovingly moulded the firm swell of her breasts. The top two buttons on her blouse were undone, not enough to reveal any cleavage but more than enough to quicken his pulse as he visualised himself removing her shirt and her lace-edged bra that he could see outlined beneath the silky material of her top.
He forced his gaze away from her breasts down to her surprisingly slim waist and cleared his throat again. ‘You...er...appear to have lost some weight.’
‘A few pounds, as a matter of fact. I expect it was down to all the exercise I did while I was on holiday.’
What sort of exercise had she done on a young, free and single’s holiday? Alekos was not usually prone to flights of imagination but his mind was bombarded with pictures of his new-look PA discarding her inhibitions and enjoying energetic nights with a Spanish Lothario.
‘Ah, yes, your holiday. I hope you enjoyed yourself?’
‘I certainly did.’
Her grin made him think of a satisfied cat that had drunk a bowlful of cream. ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ he said tersely. ‘But you are not on holiday now, so I’m wondering why you’ve come to work wearing clothes that are more suitable for the beach than the office.’
When Alekos spoke in that coldly disapproving tone, people tended to immediately take notice and respond with the respect he commanded. But Sara simply shrugged and smoothed her hand over her skirt.
‘Oh, I wore a lot less than this on the beach. It’s perfectly acceptable for women to go topless on the beaches in the French Riviera.’
Had Sara gone topless? He tried to banish the vision of his prim PA displaying her bare breasts in public. ‘I thought you went to Spain for your holiday?’
‘I changed my plans at the last minute.’
