lashes swept down suddenly over his dark eyes, and she felt her breath catch again. Then her father was talking once more.
‘My daughter is a student, Mr Kazandros, but I’m fortunate enough that she chooses to live here, not in some student dive.’ He gave a brief social laugh.
The dark eyes were on her once more, and she felt their impact with another whoosh in her lungs.
‘What do you study?’ he asked, addressing her direct.
Again, the deep, slightly accented voice did things to her.
And the eyes, those eyes resting on her, so dark, so very dark…
‘Music,’ she answered, her voice slightly breathless.
‘Indeed? Which instrument do you specialise in?’ It was a polite query, nothing more than the circumstances warranted, mere small talk between a guest and the daughter of his host. But there seemed to her to be something deeply profound about the question. Something that made her pulse flutter.
‘Piano,’ she answered. One-word answers seemed all that she was capable of.
‘I’m sure Sophie will play for us after dinner,’ said Edward Granton. His daughter’s eyes flew to his.
‘Is Mr Kazandros staying for dinner?’
‘Your father has been so kind as to invite me,’ murmured their guest. There was smoothness in his voice now, and the dark lashes were veiling his eyes. ‘I hope that does not inconvenience you?’
‘Oh, no! No—not at all,’ she said, her voice still breathy. Then a smile broke across her face. ‘It would be lovely!’
His eyes stilled, rested on her. She saw, deep in those dark, long-lashed orbs, something that once more seemed to hit that strange, evocative frequency that she’d felt when she’d heard his voice. For one long, incredible moment she could not tear her eyes away. She seemed to be falling into their depths, and she could feel her eyes widening, widening…
Her father’s voice brought her back. ‘Sophie, I’ve let Mrs T know, but it would be good if you popped in to ask if she needs a hand. Now, very tediously for you, I must speak business to Mr Kazandros, so—’
She took her cue. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll…um…I’ll see you later.’ She nodded briefly, courteously, at the man who was taking her breath away, then turned to go to the door, knowing that what she really wanted to do was go on standing there, gazing at him, drinking him in…
He was before her at the door, opening it for her. Then, as she paused, he smiled down at her suddenly.
‘Almond blossom,’ he murmured, and his fingers brushed with absolute lightness at a couple of stray petals still caught in her hair. Her eyes flared again, and she felt quivery. Breathless.
‘Thank you,’ she husked, and suddenly she was too shy to look at him any more.
She all but scurried out of the room. As she gained the landing, she realised her heart was thudding. Forgetting her father’s suggestion to go and see the housekeeper, instead Sophie ran upstairs, panting at little by the time she was up in her attic quarters. She threw herself bouncingly down on the bed, feeling her heart give a little thrill.
Nikos Kazandros. His name flared in her brain, and she said it out loud, just to hear the syllables roll around in all their exotic foreignness. What on earth was he doing here? When her father invited business colleagues and associates they were all middle-aged men and dead boring. But this man—oh, wow! He could be a film star, not a businessman.
She gave an exuberant little laugh. She didn’t care what he was—he was here, in the house, and in just a little while she’d be seeing him again.
She leapt to her feet, horror-struck. What time was it? She and her father usually dined at eight, so how much time did that leave her? She seized her bedside clock and gave an anguished cry. Could she be ready in time?
Not ready for dinner. Ready for Nikos Kazandros.
Nikos Kazandros, Nikos Kazandros…
The syllables went round and round in her head while she dived into the bathroom and the shower, dragging off her clothes. She had some serious, serious ablutions to make!
Nikos was listening to Edward Granton, but his attention was not on what the older man was saying. He knew what it would be about, anyway, and he knew exactly what to expect, and exactly what to do.
But what he had not expected was what had happened ten minutes ago in the drawing room.
Thee mou, the girl was a peach! The clearest, most delicately scented honey possible. Even now, with time to compose himself, he could still feel the resonance of the moment the doors had flung open and she’d sailed in. He’d had a moment’s vision of flying golden locks, a swirl of colour around her hips and legs, and then every last gram of his focus had gone to her face. He’d recognised it instantly—the girl he’d seen in his rearview mirror, framed like a picture.
An exquisite picture. Stopping him in his tracks.
But she was young. Too young. She didn’t look more than eighteen, and Edward Granton had said she was a student. Pity. Pity she was so young. Pity she was his host’s daughter. Pity that he was here on business, not pleasure.
Nikos turned his attention back fully on Edward Granton and the figures the older man was presenting, the argument he was making, the proposal he was constructing. Speaking convincingly, persuasively, fluently—and completely failing, all the same, to conceal the fact that he was hovering on the brink of financial ruin. The complete collapse of Granton plc.
Would Kazandros Corp throw Granton the lifeline he was desperate for? Maybe. There was value in the company, no doubt about that, but it was haemorrhaging cash. Granton had made some rash calls, and then had done what so many men under pressure went on to do—made even rasher ones, trying to claw back safety. But safety was gone. Granton was running out of options, running out of room to manoeuvre. Running out, worst of all, of time. In just under a month he’d have to make a hefty payment due on a loan, and right now his cashflow couldn’t meet it. After that, things were just going to get worse. Edward Granton could start to cash in assets, to try and get back on an even keel, but he would be risking not just failing to make a profit on his original investment but taking a loss, as well.
No, all that could keep Granton plc—and Granton himself—afloat was a white knight.
Was Kazandros Corp going to be that white knight? He would know soon enough, thought Nikos. But it would be on his terms, not Edward Granton’s.
This was his baby. His father had handed it to him, had trusted him to make the right call, the one that would pay off in the long term. If the figures performed on the bottom line it might just be a shrewd investment, giving Kazandros Corp a good foothold in the London commercial property market—but even if the figures stacked, there was still substantial risk.
Definitely time to crunch the numbers. Eyes focussed entirely on the printouts Edward Granton was putting in front of him, Nikos blanked out the rest of the world.
Including the peach of a girl who was Edward Granton’s too-young daughter.
Sophie
