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Yes, Drakon had read Max’s daily reports with interest, noting that Gemini spent her days in her shop and her evenings and nights alone in her apartment. ‘You are correct. I do pay them very well,’ he said. ‘And I believe you very kindly offered Max some variation in your routine when you closed the shop yesterday afternoon.’
She gave a mischievous grin. ‘He told you about that?’
Even in reading Max’s e-mailed report Drakon had been able to pick up on the older man’s discomfort at having to follow Gemini into a large beauty salon, where she had proceeded to have her hair styled, then a manicure and a pedicure, before disappearing into a private room in order to have various parts of her delectable body waxed.
‘He may never recover from the experience,’ Drakon commented.
Gemini had actually come to like and respect Max Stanford during the past few days—had even invited him into the shop a couple of times for coffee when she’d thought he might be in need of a drink. She just hadn’t been able to resist teasing him a little when it came to the usual relaxing way she spent her Thursday afternoons off. Besides which, she had been fully aware of the fact that, as with everything else she had done the past three days, he would report her movements to his employer.
She eyed Drakon quizzically. ‘And not you?’
He shrugged those broad shoulders. ‘My mother usually spends her Saturday afternoons in the same way, I believe.’
His widowed mother, Gemini knew, had lived alone in Athens since the death of her husband ten years ago. In fact, she knew quite a lot more about Drakon now than she had three days ago; the internet was a marvelous although potentially dangerous thing, offering any amount of information on someone as famous as him.
Such as the extent of his business interests around the world, as well as his extreme wealth. He owned homes in New York, London, Hong Kong, Toronto and Paris, as well as a private island in
the Greek Aegean—although how he ever found the time to live in most of those homes was a mystery to her when he obviously worked so hard adding to the Lyonedes millions.
She also knew that he was thirty-six years old. And single. With not so much as a hint of an engagement in his past…
She eyed him curiously now. ‘Are you and your mother close?’
‘Very,’ he said economically.
‘And you and Markos are close too?’
‘Like brothers,’ he confirmed.
‘I noticed that.’
Drakon raised dark brows. ‘You find it strange that I not only feel affection for my family but also engender a return of that affection?’
‘Not in the least,’ she dismissed lightly. ‘Why would I? I’m sure you’re a very attentive son, and the closeness between you and Markos was all too obvious when I saw you together last week.’
The slightly wistful note in Gemini’s voice reminded Drakon that her twin brother had died before she’d even had a chance to know him, and that with the death of both of her parents she now had no family of her own that she might call on for affection. Or protection.
‘Try your ravioli before it goes cold,’ she encouraged, as if she were aware of his thoughts and felt uncomfortable with them. ‘Benito’s father is the chef, and his spinach ravioli is to die for.’
Drakon, guessing that she was deliberately changing the subject, forked up some of the ravioli and found it to be every bit as excellent as she said it was. ‘This is good.’ He nodded his approval, not having realised how hungry he was until he bit into the succulent food.
‘Would I lie to you?’ Gemini grinned her satisfaction at his obvious enjoyment.
Drakon stilled, not quite sure how to answer that comment. Or if he should answer it at all. It had been his experience over the years that most women did indeed lie, and usually for the same reason.
Initially to pique his interest, and afterwards to hold that interest.
Gemini had been honest—brutally so on occasion—from the very beginning of their acquaintance. Something else that made her so different from any other woman he had ever known.
In fact, the whole evening turned out to be something of a surprise to Drakon as they ate more delicious food prepared and cooked by Benito’s father. They discussed such far-ranging subjects as films they had both seen—in his own case privately, because he hated to go to noisy and overcrowded public cinemas—agreed the merits or otherwise of books they had both read, and discovered that they both had a love of opera.
‘When Daddy was alive he and I would attend the opera together once a month,’ Gemini told him wistfully.
‘But not your stepmother?’
‘The only thing Angela liked about the opera was being able to dress up and show off the latest piece of jewellery my father had bought her,’ Gemini said. ‘Luckily even that wore off after the first couple of times, so my father and I were able to go alone together after that. Our monthly visit to the opera was the one thing he flatly refused to give up, even though Angela was so demanding of his attention.’
A stubbornness her father had no doubt paid a high price for, Drakon recognised with a frown, once again wondering what sort of woman Angela was that she had wanted to possess and own Miles to the exclusion of his only child. Certainly she was a woman he knew he wanted nothing more to do with than was absolutely necessary.
