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With the news of his loss, no one would dare offer him even a benign greeting. For all intents and purposes, Christos Drakakis was an island—much like the one his grandfather was dangling frustratingly out of his reach—and not the most welcoming one at that. He didn’t regret that reputation. After all, it had seen him rise through the ranks of marital law to make partner by twenty-six, and, shortly thereafter, paved the way for him to establish one of the most successful law firms in the world.
The notion that he’d been off his game because he’d come within a whisker of bedding his assistant—an incident that should’ve remained in his rear-view mirror—stuck in his craw like the sharpest tack.
The doors to the lift parted.
At the last moment, he bypassed the button to his office and stabbed the one for his penthouse. Only then did he reach for his phone. But it wasn’t to answer the frantic messages from his client. That would come later, when he had a definitive answer as to what had gone wrong.
Instead, he sent a short, sharp message to his executive assistant, the woman who was taking up far too much real estate in his mind.
Alexis Sutton’s response was equally brief. And as expected, she turned up at his penthouse door five minutes later.
‘A shot of espresso or two fingers of Macallan?’ She held up the choice of offerings when he opened to her knock.
Christos pulled his fisted hands from his pockets, strolling forward until he was a couple of feet from Alexis. ‘If I want a drink, I’ll make it myself. Did you bring the list I wanted?’ he demanded. The growl in his voice was unmistakable, but the woman before him barely blinked.
Christos knew he wasn’t an easy man to work for. Alexis’s ability to remain unflustered was why she’d lasted this long as his assistant. It was why he’d made that proposition to her a year ago when his grandfather’s subtle hints had grown into real threats.
‘I won’t be around forever, Christos.’
‘Show me you’re the right heir to Drakonisos or I’ll make other arrangements.’
Costas Drakakis had forced his hand, and Christos had implemented a plan that’d proceeded smoothly for ten whole months.
Until an uncharacteristically pleasant dinner with clients and a nightcap with his assistant had lowered his inhibitions, blurring the stark professional lines he’d sworn never to cross.
‘I did,’ Alexis replied in that nuanced voice he’d spent far too long analysing over the past few weeks. Sometimes crisp, sometimes sharp. Always intelligent. And always with that huskiness that lately triggered a need to hear it wrapped in lust, moaning his name. Again. ‘But I still think you should have a drink. You haven’t had your shot of caffeine since this morning, and the whisky will mellow you out. After that, I’ll give you exactly five minutes to lose your cool. Then we’ll get back to business.’
Christos took another half step, his teeth clenching hard enough to make his jaw hurt. As much as he appreciated her no-nonsense approach, she was verging on insubordination. ‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’
She lifted her head, met his gaze with unflinching chocolate-brown eyes shot through with threads of gold that always made him think they were gathering momentum to flash pure fire at him. She didn’t answer immediately, giving him an unwanted few moments to notice the silken mass of her chestnut hair, the glistening gloss of her lip balm, the pulse beating at her throat, the thin leather belt cinching her narrow waist and the floral undertones of her favourite scent.
He’d held that trim waist in his hands, knew he could span it, easily...as he had when he’d pulled her close that night...
‘I’m talking to the great Christos Drakakis, lawyer extraordinaire, the man who leaves opponents and judges alike quaking in their shoes.’
‘Then you’ll know that I’m in no mood to be messed around right now.’
‘Yes, I know you want someone to pay for what’s happened, hence the request for the list. And you’re in the mood for another one of your let’s-test-Alexis games today. Well, I’m not playing. So...now that we’ve exhausted all areas of concern, which is it to be?’ She raised the coffee cup and the tumbler of whisky higher until the smell of roasted beans and aged single malt trailed into his nostrils. ‘One is getting cold and the ice is melting in the other.’
Her little speech triggered equal parts vexation and calming reassurance inside him. Not everything had gone to hell. ‘I want neither. The list, if you please.’
Her arms lowered. She regarded him for a resigned moment. ‘I sent it to your phone before I came up. I also have several files to put together for you downstairs. Just let me know wh
ich ones you want to work on next and I’ll have them ready.’ She swivelled on expensive heels and started walking away, her navy pencil skirt twitching in the prim little way he’d have once laid hefty bets on fully complimenting her character.
Until he’d had a taste of the gorge-deep passion that lurked beneath the deceptively cool exterior. Christos hadn’t quite made up his mind whether he resented her for that unconscious subterfuge yet.
She’d mastered the art of walking away from him before he was done with her. Increasingly in the last several weeks. Today, it was especially aggravating.
‘Alexis.’ The warning in his voice was enough to make her falter.
Christos was almost sure her shoulders stiffened momentarily before she relaxed them. An instant later she was walking away again, her curvy hips swaying as she headed for the coffee table in the middle of his living room. He waited until she reached it and started to bend down to place the whisky and coffee on it.
‘Stop.’
She straightened, still holding the drinks. Their gazes locked. Held. After a moment he saw the merest flicker of apprehension, which absurdly pleased him. He enjoyed not being the only one unsettled before noon on what should’ve been a routine Monday morning.
He took his time approaching her, each step a small battle to rein in his fraying control. The unnerving sensation he’d experienced in the pit of his stomach after his phone call with his grandfather last night.
