tuxedo and crisp white shirt.
“Yes?” she said as blandly as possible.
He walked in and closed the door and her heart ticked up another notch. “You left rather abruptly. Is everything all right?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You tell me.”
She sighed and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “It’s been a long day, Christos. I’m tired and I have a lot of work to do. I don’t stay for every event. Jessie knows where to find me if I’m needed.”
“You are upset with me.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not everything is about you, difficult as that may be to believe. No, I don’t like you, but I don’t spend every waking moment thinking about you.” Well, she did, but much of it was about how to get rid of him. She waved a hand airily. “I forgot about it as soon as I started talking to the auction director.”
Not quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.
He sprawled in the chair in front of her desk, gloriously loose-limbed and casual when she had the impression he was anything but. “This is good, Lucilla mou. Because we have things to talk about.”
She tried not to let the way he said her name slip down her spine and start drumming a beat in her deepest core, but it was damn near impossible. Plague the man for making her think of sex, anyway!
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I have no idea what it means, but it irritates me.”
His grin was too sexy for comfort. “I know this. It’s why I do it. And it means ‘my Lucilla.’”
Her stomach clenched. “I am most certainly not your Lucilla. I’m not anyone’s Lucilla.”
She could have bitten her tongue for admitting that last part. It was as if she’d just come out and said she couldn’t interest a man to save her life.
“This is a shame. You should be someone’s Lucilla. You should be taken to bed often and made to scream your lover’s name many times a night.”
Her throat was tight. “You really shouldn’t talk to me like this. It’s inappropriate.”
He ran his fingers along the edge of the chair’s arm. “Is it? You have informed me more than once that you don’t work for me, that you are a Chatsfield and these hotels are yours by birthright. How am I being inappropriate?”
She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pulsing of her blood in her veins. “My father hired you and gave you control over the Chatsfield Family Trust. I’d say that’s incentive enough for me to need to do what you say. And that makes this conversation inappropriate.”
“And here I thought we were finally being truthful with each other.” He made it sound as if he was disappointed in her, and that only irritated her further.
“What did you wish to talk to me about, Christos? If it’s not business, then please go away.”
He laughed. “It is definitely business, Lucilla mou. But I cannot help but rib you now that I know you are not immune to my charm.”
“Oh, for God’s sake—you have no charm! This is not about you or your nonexistent charm. It’s about business and what’s best for the hotels, so stop irritating me and get on with it.”
He leaned forward then and put his elbows on her desk. “After the shareholders’ meeting in August, I plan to make a tour of several Chatsfield locations. You will accompany me.”
Lucilla blinked. “Me? Why? Don’t you have an assistant for that?”
He rubbed a finger over his bottom lip and she found herself following the motion of that finger. “If you wish to run this company someday, I suggest you do what I tell you.”
She felt herself growling. “Sometimes it’s easier to get flies with honey, you know.” She tapped a key on her computer, purposely ignoring him. “And maybe I’ve decided I don’t want the company, after all. Maybe I’ll start my own business.”
“You can try. Or you can come with me and help fix what is wrong.”
She blinked. His tone hadn’t changed at all, but he was now looking at her expectantly. As if he just knew what her answer would be. And, damn him, he did. But she wasn’t going to make it easy on him.
“You cannot possibly mean for me to really help you. I’m spoiled and useless, remember?”
“You are indeed. And yet I am pleased with tonight’s event, and pleased with how things have gone in your office in general. It’s time to step up, Lucilla. Prove your mettle or get out of my way.”
She gripped the pen she’d picked up just a little tighter. He was so damn smug. “I can handle anything you throw at me, baby.”
He blinked. “Baby?”
“Annoying, right?” She shrugged, though her heart raced with adrenaline. “I’ve decided to start giving as good as I get. If I’m your Lucilla, you can be my baby.”
He lifted an eyebrow, and she had the impression she’d just wakened a sleeping tiger. Perhaps she shouldn’t bait him, but God, he deserved it. It made her feel reckless, which was certainly not how she usually behaved. But she rather liked it.
“I look forward to the inevitable clash of wills, Lucilla. You have no idea how much.”
She dropped the pen. “Because you like discord in your work environment? Well, I don’t. But I won’t be bullied, either. So get ready, baby, because I will not back down.”
He stood then and looked down at her from a great height. Because she didn’t like him towering over her, she stood, too. They faced each other across her desk. Her body felt rubbery, liquid, as their gazes held. There was no denying that Christos Giatrakos was powerfully, sinfully attractive.
If only he wasn’t such an arrogant jerk.
“I feel as if we must seal this deal somehow,” he murmured, and her stomach fluttered.
She came around her desk and thrust her hand out. She would not cower from him like a mouse. “I believe a handshake is how it’s usually done.”
His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand. “Indeed.” His hand slipped into hers, engulfing it. They were palm to palm and it somehow felt like the most intimate touch imaginable. She tried not to gasp, tried not to shiver or make any response that let him know how intense this feeling was.
But she didn’t need to. He tugged her hand softly and she moved forward until their bodies pressed together. His arm slipped behind her, his fingers spreading over the small of her back, burning her through the fabric of her dress.
His other hand tilted her chin up. His eyes, those beautiful, icy eyes, searched hers. She could not, for the life of her, imagine what she was supposed to say.
“I think this requires something a bit more personal,” he murmured. And then his mouth came down on
