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Alexandros lifted a brow and ordered a whiskey for himself. ‘No alcohol tonight, Kallie?’
An immediate blush stained her cheeks as the meaning of his loaded question cut through her. He was referring to that night, the way she’d grabbed the bottle from his hand. Again she was aghast at his memory. Had he forgotten nothing? She shook her head tightly.
She wasn’t going to tell him that ever since that night she’d never touched a drop of alcohol. She’d had plenty of opportunity but somehow, when it came to it, she just couldn’t. Something would flash back into her head, and she’d find that even the smell turned her stomach. She had the very uncomfortable suspicion that her bizarre reaction was somehow tied in to the fear that something out of her control would happen. Like it had that night.
‘Look, I’m sure you’re busy. We really don’t have to do this whole dinner thing. Do you want to just tell me—?’
‘All in good time, Kallie.’ He bent forward and Kallie fought against arching back into the chair. She felt very keenly as though she were involved in something huge, but something she had no clue about. Like a fly caught in a web. And she didn’t like it. Not when Alexandros smiled at her like the hungry spider.
‘Tell me,’ he asked equably when her water arrived, ‘how have you ended up here in Paris? Didn’t you go to college in the UK?’
She nodded slowly, determined not to show her fear, her sense of being intimidated. But despite her wariness, she found it surprisingly easy to talk.
‘After my mother and father died, I wanted to get away from London. I’ve always loved Paris. I had spent a year here during my business degree, taking French…’ She shrugged, awkward under his intense gaze. ‘It seemed like an obvious choice. I had money from my inheritance and set up our small firm. We got busy quickly as we seemed to corner the niche in doing PR for English companies setting up here and vice versa for French ones in London…’
Alexandros thought of the rapid research he’d done on Kallie that day. The countless pictures he’d unearthed of her at various parties, looking like the life and soul of each one. Although her appearance opposite him begged to differ, as she sat there in her plain skirt and blouse, which did little to disguise the curves he’d seen on display the other night.
And despite her abstinence from alcohol so far, he didn’t doubt that she used it and maybe more to enhance her partying. He felt inarticulate rage start to rise, some inde
finable sense of disappointment, and forced himself to be civil. For now.
‘You’ve done more than corner the niche. I read about your company in the financial press—you were awarded best new small business last year. That’s some achievement.’
Kallie was too surprised at his praise and it was given in far too much of a backhand manner for her to feel a glow of pride. She shrugged again modestly. ‘Like I said, we just got in at a good time. Britain has never been so close to France with the tunnel, and plenty of people are capitalising on it. I’m one of many.’
‘Yes, but not everyone makes a success of it. You obviously have the Demarchis genes.’
‘Which are nothing compared to the Kouros genes,’ she pointed out with a wry smile, feeling herself start to relax slightly. The smile surprised her and she pursed her lips immediately. She knew that to feel relaxed was entering very dangerous territory.
‘Maybe so.’ Alexandros’s eyes dropped to her mouth and rested on her full bottom lip. Her sudden smile had caught him off guard. His head felt uncharacteristically hazy as all he could imagine was how it might feel to take that bottom lip between his, explore its lush cushiony softness, parting them softly with his tongue…
With relief, he saw the head waiter from the restaurant approach the table. ‘Mr Kouros, I’m sorry to bother you. Will you be having another drink here or taking your table now?’
He stood with the grace of a huge jungle cat, making Kallie shiver. ‘Now, Pierre. Thank you for waiting.’
He waited for Kallie to stand and precede him from the bar, curling his hands into fists when an urge struck him to reach out and place a hand on the curve of her hip, feel it sway against his hand, explore how the silky fabric of her shirt played across her skin. He took in the sheen of glossy hair, longer at the back than he’d thought, the soft waves tamed from the unruly curls of her youth.
The crippling ennui was definitely fading, and he had to admit that he was looking forward to the future for the first time in a very long time.
‘Good?’ Alexandros’s soft question came across the table. Kallie looked at him warily. He lounged back in his own chair. At obvious ease in the sumptuous, gilded surroundings, the famous restaurant, Les Ambassadeurs. She’d heard that this was the hotel that hosted every year an exclusive ball for debutantes, where twenty-four privileged young women from all over the world, aged from fifteen to nineteen, would have their introduction into society. Kallie’s insides clenched when she thought of herself at seventeen.
She dragged her attention back, nodded and set her knife and fork on her cleared plate. A slight flush of colour entered her cheeks. Why couldn’t she have just ignored the plate of food? He must be disgusted by the way she’d tucked in. Stress for her meant eating more, not less, and she hated to be reminded of the fact. It wasn’t so long ago that she’d still carried around her puppy fat.
‘Amazing,’ she said tightly with a bright smile. ‘My appetite has never been a problem, as I’m sure you remember.’
His eyes ran down her body, what he could see of it. To where her waist curved in before swelling out again to her hips in a way that was fast becoming a provocative invitation to him.
Kallie felt her insides heat up under his look. Why had she drawn attention to herself? She remembered his nasty jibe that she must have had work done. His eyes thankfully rose to meet hers again.
‘You seem to still be self-conscious. You were a little chubby maybe, but what teenager doesn’t go through that?’
Chubby…!
Humiliation flooded Kallie when she thought of how impassioned she’d been that night on the patio. How her body had burned for him, how for once she’d been unaware of anything other than the sensations that had overwhelmed her, her untutored, gauche advances. And how she’d ever imagined for a second that he might be turned on by her. But, of course, he hadn’t been. It hadn’t taken long for him to come to his senses. She wanted to close her eyes, block out the potent sight of him.
‘Alexandros, surely it’s time to tell me—’
He ignored her plea, butting in. ‘No. It’s not.’
