LITMIR.BIZ

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      She also realised what Aristotle had realised way before her: they had stopped, obviously at their destination, and the driver was patiently knocking on the privacy window. They hadn’t heard him because—

       Oh God.

      More shame and mortification and self-disgust than she could ever remember feeling coursed through Lucy in a tidal wave of heat so intense she felt feverish. She scrambled to sit up, hands shaking as she pulled her dress down to cover her thighs.

      A large brown hand came over hers, and she had to stop herself flinching back.

      ‘OK?’

      The huskily asked question surprised her. It was almost as if he really cared. But she couldn’t look at him, just nodded jerkily, a curtain of hair hiding her face from view. She could give thanks for once that it was down. She didn’t think she could ever look at him ever again. In the split seconds they had as they gathered themselves and she heard Aristotle—Ari—speak to the driver, Lucy tried to assimilate what had just happened.

      The fact that she’d all but drowned in an instantaneous pool of lust in his arms was evident enough. She’d deal with that in a darkened room on her own later. But it was the fact that it had happened without hesitation, with not even a flicker of rejection or desire to draw back. Was it simply because after weeks of denying this to herself, weeks of this desire building and building, the merest touch had sent her up in flames and she’d been unable to draw up even the flimsiest of defences? She’d turned into a complete wanton.

      When Aristotle climbed out of the car, and Lucy readied herself to step out too, she realised that any vulnerability she’d felt before had paled into pathetic insignificance. The truth swirled sickeningly in her breast. She truly was her mother’s daughter, and that knowledge jeered her for all her efforts to deny it for so long.

      There was no going back now, not after that little performance, and she quaked when she saw the huge looming shape materialise on the other side of the door. That everything she feared most lay outside that door right now was obvious, and also the fact that she’d just kissed goodbye to any pretence of a defence she might dream up to excuse her behaviour. The door opened abruptly and Lucy was compelled to step out, taking the hand that was offered and forcing down the frisson of electricity at even that innocuous touch. She felt as though the entire world had changed, and suddenly her place in it.

      It was while they were standing alone for a moment, in the luxurious salon of the palatial Parnassus villa on the outskirts of Athens, that Lucy felt Aristotle turn towards her. She closed her eyes momentarily and pleaded silently, Please don’t look at me ... please don’t say anything. But since when were her prayers answered? She opened her eyes and gritted her jaw.

      Aristotle looked down at Lucy and felt completely out of his depth. He still couldn’t quite believe what had happened in the back of his car. He’d never, ever been so consumed with lust like that—that he’d laid a woman down in the back seat and all but made love to her there and then. When he thought of it now, of how close he’d been to unzipping his fly—his hand clenched around his drink and he had to force it to unclench.

      Lucy hadn’t looked at him since she’d stepped out of the car and he couldn’t blame her. What was it he’d said? That he wouldn’t be a lecherous boss? And then within seconds of getting into an enclosed space … But she’d been so responsive, dammit. Like his most potent dream, his hottest fantasy. She’d been hot, willing, passionate … wet for him. His body tightened again. She’d shown him the woman she was hiding under all that primness.

      It was hard to equate the woman who’d paled at seeing her bra strap hanging out of a bag earlier to the woman who’d almost come apart in his arms less than a couple of hours ago.

      ‘Lucy?’

      He could see her grit her jaw, and it was only then that he noticed the faint pink mark on her neck. Shock coursed through him—and self-disgust. He’d given her a love bite? The last time he’d given a woman a love bite it had been a girl, and in a boarding school in England, probably at the age of thirteen. All of a sudden Aristotle felt anger for what this woman was reducing him to.

      He took her arm and tried to ignore the way her skin felt, tried to ignore the way he wanted to caress it, tried to ignore the way she looked almost green.

      ‘Lucy, look at me.’

      With the utmost reluctance Lucy turned her head and looked up, willing her reaction far down. She even pasted a smile on her face. ‘Yes?’

      Aristotle looked angry. ‘Lucy …’ He sighed with exasperation and ran his other hand through his hair, leaving it to flop back in such sexy disarray that Lucy felt her knees tremble.

      ‘I had no intention of kissing you like that, and I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have happened—’

      ‘No, it shouldn’t.’

      His eyes narrowed dangerously. He turned so that the room was blocked out and it was just the two of them facing each other.

      ‘That’s not what I meant. I was going to say it shouldn’t have happened like that.’

      ‘Well, it shouldn’t have happened at all.’

      Aristotle’s brow went up. Lucy hated that brow.

      ‘Are you going to try and tell me that you didn’t like it? Or that I was mauling you again? What was it you called me? Ari?’

      ‘Stop it,’ Lucy hissed, a crimson tide washing into her face when she remembered that passionate entreaty, how easily it had fallen from her lips. ‘Of course I’m not going to say … that. But it shouldn’t have happened, and it’s not going to happen again.’

      Aristotle moved closer, and Lucy realised that she couldn’t move back as there was a plant behind her. His heat and that innately musky scent came and wrapped itself around her, binding her into the memory of what had happened, making longing rush through her. And she hated it.

      Aristotle’s face was a harsh mask of self-recrimination as he said, ‘It will be happening again, Lucy—just not in the back seat of a car. Somewhere infinitely more comfortable, where we won’t be constricted by space and hampered by clothes.’

      Just then someone approached, and Aristotle smoothly turned to deal with the newcomer, stunning Lucy with his ability to morph from intensely demanding alpha male to urbane businessman. And for the rest of the evening, as she accompanied him around the room, meeting and greeting the people involved in the Parnassus side of the merger, she could almost be forgiven for thinking she’d imagined the whole thing.

      While they were in Athens Lucy was to be Aristotle’s executive assistant. She’d met Martha, his Greek PA, a pleasant older lady who she’d spoken to on the phone before. She met them at the hotel earlier. She was going to deal with the day-to-day office stuff. Martha wasn’t aware of the merger. In fact none of his family seemed to be—something which had perplexed Lucy.

      Mr Parnassus approached them now, distracting her from her thoughts. He and Aristotle had already gone to his study for a private meeting as soon as they’d arrived. Now this old and stooped man, who walked with a cane, looked Lucy up and down with a wink. They’d been introduced earlier.

      He said to Aristotle, ‘Well, Ari, do you think we can trust her?’

      Aristotle’s voice was deep and authoritative. ‘Absolutely. She’s been with my firm for over two years now.’

      As they continued to converse, Lucy decided that she liked Parnassus. He had a friendly twinkle in his eye. Suddenly he declared that Aristotle should go and mingle so that he could ‘take this beautiful young woman outside for a turn around the patio’.

      At a pointed look from her boss that Lucy couldn’t really fathom, she gave her arm to Parnassus and led the way outside. It was night and the sky was clear, stars twinkling over a commanding view down into Athens. Momentarily relieved to be out of Aristotle’s

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