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She’d noticed Xan Constantinides from the moment he’d walked into the twinkly cocktail bar. To be fair, everyone had noticed him—he was that kind of man. Charismatic and radiating power, he seemed oblivious to the stir of interest his appearance had created. Ellie, one of the other waitresses and Tamsyn’s best friend, had confided that he was a mega-rich property tycoon who had recently been voted Greece’s most eligible bachelor.
But Tamsyn hadn’t really been listening to the breathless account of his bank balance or his record of bedding beautiful women before callously disposing of them. His physical presence made his wealth seem almost insignificant and she surprised herself by staring at him for longer than was strictly professional, because she wasn’t usually the sort of cocktail waitress who ogled the better-looking male customers. And there had never been a customer quite as good looking as this one. She remembered blinking as she registered a physique which suggested he could easily go several rounds in the boxing ring and emerge looking as if he’d done nothing more strenuous than get out of bed. When you teamed a body like that with sinfully dark hair, dark-fringed eyes the colour of cobalt and a pair of lips which were both sensual and cruel—you ended up with a man who exuded a particular type of danger. And Tamsyn had always been very sensitive to danger. It was a quality which had hovered in the background during her troubled childhood like an invisible cosh—just waiting to bang you over the head if you weren’t careful. Which was why she avoided it like the plague.
She remembered feeling slightly wobbly on her high-heeled shoes as she’d walked over to where the Greek tycoon had been sitting with the most beautiful blonde Tamsyn had ever seen, when she heard the woman give an unmistakable sniff.
‘Please, Xan,’ she was saying softly, her voice trembling. ‘Don’t do this. You must know how much I love you.’
‘But I don’t do love. I told you that right from the start,’ he’d drawled unequivocally. ‘I explained what my terms were. I said I wouldn’t change my mind and I haven’t. Why do women refuse to accept what is staring them in the face?’
Tamsyn found the interchange infuriating. Terms? He was talking as if he was discussing some kind of business deal, rather than a relationship—as if his lovely companion was an object rather than a person. All she could think was that a woman didn’t just come out and tell a man they loved them, not without a certain degree of encouragement. Her irritation had intensified while she’d waited for the barman to mix two Old-fashioned cocktails and when she’d returned she had noticed Xan Constantinides watching her. She wasn’t sure which had annoyed her more—the fact that he was regarding her with the lazy assessment of someone who’d just been shown a shiny car and was deciding whether or not he’d like to give it a spin—or the fact that her body had responded to that arrogant scrutiny in ways which she didn’t like.
She remembered the peculiar melting sensation low in her belly and the distracting tingle of her breasts pushing against the too-skimpy top of her uniform. She remembered being acutely aware of those cobalt eyes being trained on her, uncaring of the woman beside him who was trying very hard not to cry. And Tamsyn had felt a kick of anger. Men. They were all the same. They took and they took and they never gave back—not unless they were forced into a corner. Even then they usually found some way of getting out of it. No wonder she deliberately kept them at arm’s length. With an encouraging smile she’d handed the woman her drink, but as she lifted the Greek’s cocktail from the tray, Tamsyn had met a gaze full of sensual mockery.
She told herself afterwards that she hadn’t deliberately angled the glass so that it sloshed all over the table and started to seep onto one taut thigh, but she couldn’t deny her satisfaction when he recoiled slightly, before the blonde leapt into action with her napkin.
She was sacked soon afterwards. The bar manager told her it was a culmination of things, and spilling a drink over one of their most valued customers had been the final straw. Apparently she wasn’t suited to work which required a level of sustained calm, and she reacted in a way which was inappropriate. Secretly she’d wondered whether Xan Constantinides had got her fired. Whether he was yet another powerful man throwing his weight around and getting the world to jump when he ordered it to. Just like she wondered if he would remember her now.
Please don’t let him remember her now.
‘Would all passengers please begin boarding? The royal aircraft will be departing for Zahristan in approximately thirty minutes.’
Obeying the honeyed instruction sounding over the Tannoy, Tamsyn bent to pick up her rucksack as she rose to her feet. Didn’t matter if he remembered her because he was nothing to her. She was on this trip for one reason and that was to support Hannah on her wedding day, no matter how big her misgivings about her choice of groom. Because, despite having tried to persuade her big sister not to go through with such a fundamentally unsuitable marriage—her words had fallen on deaf ears. Either Hannah hadn’t wanted to listen, or she hadn’t dared—probably because she was carrying the desert King’s baby and there was all that stuff about him needing a legitimate heir. Tamsyn sighed as she rose to her feet. She had done everything she could to influence her sister but now she must accept the inevitable. She would pick up the pieces if necessary and be there for her—just as Hannah had always been there for her.
Hooking her bag over her shoulder, she trooped behind the other passengers—many of whom seemed to know each other—thinking this was like no journey she’d ever been on, with none of that pre-flight tension which usually made everyone so uptight. But then she’d always flown budget before—with that feeling of being herded onto the aircraft like wildebeest on the Serengeti, followed by a futile attempt to claim a few inches of space in the overhead locker. Not so on this flight. The glossy attendants looked like models and were unfailingly polite to all the passengers, as they gestured them forward.
And suddenly Tamsyn heard the sound of a deeply accented voice behind her. Rich and resonant, it sounded like grit being stirred into a bowlful of molasses. She felt her throat dry. She’d heard it once when it had cursed aloud in Greek before asking her what the hell she was playing at. It had made her spine tingle then and it was making it tingle now as the powerful Greek tycoon moved to stand beside her.
Tamsyn stared up into a pair of cold blue eyes and wished her heart would stop crashing against her ribcage. Just like she wished her nipples would cease from hardening so conspicuously against her cheap T-shirt. But her senses were refusing to obey her as Xan Constantinides dominated her field of vision, his presence imprinting itself on her consciousness in a way she could have done without.
She noticed how softly his olive skin gleamed beneath the pristine cuffs of his snowy shirt. And that he carried with him a faint scent of sandalwood, underpinned with the much more potent scent of raw masculinity. Somehow he seemed to suck in all the available oxygen around them, leaving her feeling distinctly short of breath. He was the epitome of vibrancy and life, and yet there was a darkness about him too. Something unsettling and strangely perceptive in the depths of those amazing cobalt eyes. Suddenly Tamsyn felt vulnerable as she looked up at him and that scared her. Because she didn’t do vulnerability. Just like she didn’t react to men—especially men like this. It was her trademark. Her USP. Beneath her fiery exterior beat a heart of pure ice, and that was the way she intended to stay.
She told herself not to panic. People were slowly filing forward and in a few minutes she’d be safely on the plane and hopefully sitting as far away from him as possible. If it had been a commercial flight she would have been perfectly entitled to ignore him, but this was not a commercial flight. They were all guests at the same exclusive royal wedding and even Tamsyn’s shaky grasp on protocol warned her that she mustn’t be rude.
But she could certainly be cool. She didn’t have to gush or be super-friendly. She didn’t owe him anything. She was no longer in the subservient role of waitress and could say exactly what she wanted.
‘Well, well, well,’ he murmured, his English faultless as he pulled his passport from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Tamsyn fixed her face into a mildly questioning expression. ‘I’m sorry? Have we met?’
Cobalt eyes narrowed. ‘Well, unless you have a doppelganger,’ he drawled. ‘You’re the waitress who hurled a drink into my lap last summer. Surely you can’t have forgotten?’
For a moment Tamsyn was tempted to tell him that yes, she had forgotten. She thought about pretending she’d never seen him before, but suspected he would see through her. Because nobody would ever forget crossing paths with a man like Xan Constantinides, would they? Not unless they were devoid of all their senses. She gave him a steady look. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t forgotten.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I was thinking about it afterwards and wondering if you made a habit of throwing drinks all over your customers.’
She shook her head. ‘Actually, no. It’s never happened before.’
‘Just with me?’
‘Just with you,’ she agreed.
There was a pause. ‘So was it deliberate?’
She considered his silky question and answered it as honestly as she could. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘You don’t think so?’ he exploded. ‘What kind of an answer is that?’
She heard his incredulity and as Tamsyn met his piercing gaze she suddenly wanted him to know. Because maybe nobody had ever told him before. Maybe nobody had ever pointed out that the opposite sex were not something you could just dispose of, as if you were throwing an unwanted item of clothing into the recycling bin. ‘I’m not going to deny that I felt sorry for the woman you were dumping.’
