with him? Even with the off-balance tie, he looked so darkly handsome in his evening suit. The beautiful cloth was so well cut, it enhanced his wide-shouldered, lean-hipped six-three to perfection. It was hard to imagine he was anything but what he appeared. Civilised, straight, honourable, decent…
Unfortunately, Thea’s information about his company’s need for a cash injection was still lodged in her oesophagus like a spike. The hurt pride and shame surrounding the notion of herself as a prize in a transaction welled inside her again.
‘No, thanks,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I think I’d prefer to go to bed early and read up on Australia.’
Sebastian felt a spurt of good-humoured frustration. How far did a man have to grovel to lighten the mood of this difficult and, the more he saw of her, really quite desirable woman?
He drank her in, admiring her black dress. Wasn’t it the classic dinner garb women wore? That feathery affair she’d added couldn’t conceal the shape of her breasts, the pretty valley dividing them. It was hardly a dress to be lounging in.
Unless of course it was lounging on a man’s bed, prior to being unzipped.
He had a sudden hot flash of smooth, satin breasts spilling into his hands, meltingly tender raspberries aching to be tasted, but he banished it. Still, the thought of them stayed there just below his awareness, like a wicked temptation, dreamed of but forbidden.
He cursed himself for having alienated her and making his situation more complicated than it needed to be. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He was the one who was reluctant to be married. Who’d have thought he’d have to end up fighting to win his unwanted bride for even the smallest dinner engagement?
In every corner of his being, instincts of determination and masculine self-respect gathered in momentum and roused his red blood cells to the challenge. He was reminded of one of his more complex satellite projects. The harder it had been to resolve, the more fired up he’d been to conquer it.
Added to that, he had a vested interest here. If he didn’t marry her, where did that leave his contract with Peri Giorgias? Now faced with the real danger of her slipping from his grasp, with a galvanising immediacy he suddenly realised how crucial it was for him to keep her. He could hardly expect to persuade her against her will, but his entire being grew charged with an urgency to win. This little tussle, at least.
‘Read up on Australia?’ he echoed, appealing to her with the rueful charm he’d known never to fail with women. ‘You’d prefer that to sharing an excellent dinner with a guy whose only desire is to make amends?’
Her glittering blue gaze met his without wavering. ‘Depends on the guy.’
Touché. The thrust was as unexpected as a punch in the gut.
‘Oh,’ he said, his insides reeling. ‘Right.’
Ariadne sensed the impact of her words and knew they’d hit home. She tensed, waiting for some blistering response. To give the barracuda his due, he controlled whatever it might have been.
He merely nodded. ‘Fine,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It’s your call.’ His eyes gleamed and his mouth hardened to a straight, determined line, but he raised his hand in a cool farewell gesture, ‘Enjoy your holiday, then, Miss Giorgias,’ and walked away.
As Ariadne watched his rigid, retreating back the sudden relief from tension made her knees feel wobbly. She let out the breath she hadn’t even realised she’d been holding. Spying a nearby ladies’ room, she made for it, and pushed her way into the blessed sanctuary for a moment of private self-congratulation.
Her first triumph of the day. She leaned up against the wash-basin console until her breathing calmed. In the mirror her eyes had a dark glitter, as though she’d been in a fight. In a way she had, she recognised, and she’d come off victorious.
He’d looked so shocked, as if he’d been savaged by a sheep. Serve him right for conniving with her uncle to snare her like a helpless little lamb. A fleeting image of the sincerity in his eyes when he apologised flashed into her mind, but she dismissed that.
Let him be sorry. Let him suffer.
For once she hadn’t succumbed to a man’s wiles. She’d carried out her plan, and felt better for it. Empowered. With relish, she watched herself in the mirror make a symbolic gesture of dusting off her hands.
Let Sebastian Nikosto know how it felt to be scorned.
Empowerment must have been good for the soul, because it no longer seemed necessary for her to spend the evening cowering in her room. In fact, her appetite came roaring back and she felt ravenous enough to eat a lion.
She swept from the washroom and sashayed in search of the restaurant. Guided by the chink of china and the unmistakable hum of a large number of people tucking in, she found the entrance without much trouble. She could hear the smoky voice of a singer performing some bluesy old love song, and delicious cooking smells wafted to her. Garlic, herbs and exotic spices mingled with the savoury aromas of char-grilling meats to taunt her empty stomach. All at once she felt nearly faint with hunger.
She approached the entrance, feeling glaringly conscious of not having an escort. At the host’s desk she paused. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, lowering her voice to avoid attracting too much attention. ‘A table for one, please.’
The portly head waiter raised close-set brown eyes to regard her, and arched his supercilious brows. ‘Name?’
‘Ariadne Giorgias.’
A subtle and strangely smug expression came over the man’s face. ‘Do you have a reservation, Miss Giorgias?’
‘Well, no.’ She smiled, and almost whispered, ‘I’m a guest in the hotel. I didn’t think a reservation would be required.’
‘I think you will find, madam,’ he said in crushing tones, making no effort to lower his voice to spare her embarrassment, ‘that in the finer hotels with restaurants of renown, a reservation is required.’
She flushed. ‘Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realise. The finer hotels I’ve stayed in before haven’t expected a reservation in their dining rooms.’
The man’s sceptical gaze clashed with hers. ‘And which hotels might they be, madam?’
‘Well…’ She thought back. ‘There was the Ritz in Paris. And the one in London. And the Dorchester. I’m sure The Waldorf in New York was very welcoming…’ Although, her uncle and aunt had been with her on those occasions. She supposed there wouldn’t be many head waiters who would refuse Peri Giorgias a table. ‘Oh, and there was the Gritti in Venice. Though I’m not so sure about that one now. Maybe we did have a reservation there.’
The man drew in a long breath and seemed to swell, while at the same time his lips thinned.
‘Madam,’ he stated, with austere emphasis, ‘this is the Park Hyatt in Sydney. Our rules may differ from those of the less moderne northern hemisphere establishments, but they are crucial if our guests wish to experience the continuing superbness of our cuisine.’ He gave her a moment to digest the information, then lowered his gaze and darted his plump fingers across the screen of his little computer, frowning and pursing his lips. ‘As it happens, madam is fortunate in that we do have one remaining table.’ He picked up a menu, tucked it under his capacious arm,
