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CHAPTER ONE
“GET IN.”
At first, the noise of paparazzi, snapping their enormous cameras in her face, throwing questions at her with startling speed, made it impossible for Claudia to hear the tersely worded command. She pushed further along the footpath, folding her arms to block the chill that she could feel even through her jeans and leather jacket. She was immediately regretting her decision to leave the safety and privacy of her apartment, especially just to pick up a coffee.
“Get in the car.” Now, there was something in the words that cut through her distractions. She looked toward the direction from which it had come and saw a dark Range Rover with a window half rolled down.
She couldn’t have said why, but something compelled her to move towards the car. She had the strangest sense of recognition, despite the fact she’d never seen the car before. She wrenched the door open and had a moment of startling recognition when her eyes met his – and felt the full force of his condemnation.
It was familiar.
Claudia was pretty sure it was the only way Stavros Aresteides had ever looked at her in his life, his angular face harsh with its cynical, scathing judgement whenever he looked her way.
“What are you doing here?”
Click – click – click. Camera lenses created a frenzy of activity, reaching around her to capture the mysterious driver of the car.
Stavros winced at the invasion – he was fiercely private.
“Get in the car and shut the door.” The words were thrown at her from between clenched teeth, but they had the desired effect, spurring her to action. She pulled herself up into the car – no mean feat given her height or lack thereof, and did as he’d said, slamming the door shut and pressing back against the soft, black leather seat.
Inside the car, beside her unwilling guardian, she was thrown back in time, through the years, to their first meeting, their second, their third – to the handful of times they’d met, each of which had left her feeling at a distinct disadvantage. This was no different.
And not just because she was cringingly aware of his physical perfections as ever before, with his darkly handsome face, dominant features, eyes that seemed to glow. Not just because she couldn’t help but feel his immense size, his strength, his undisguised power. Not just because she could feel anger emanating off him in waves.
“I asked you why you’re here.”
He threw her a look of mocking frustration and pulled the car out into the quiet London street, pressing the accelerator and moving them both away from the scrum of paparazzi.
Claudia’s heart was racing – she couldn’t have said if it was the fear and adrenalin that accompanied her whenever the photographers trailed her, or if it was this – sitting beside Stavros, so close she was aware of every single movement of his.
And the effect on her.
Memories she had tried hard to repress shredded through her. Memories from years earlier, when she’d been eighteen and naïve, and so in love with her handsome guardian that she’d forgotten to listen to common sense.
Her mouth went dry, her lips more so, as she remembered the way she’d cleaved her teenage body to his, the effects of too much champagne making her act like an absolute fool. She’d thrown herself at him that night, and he’d cruelly rejected her, making it very apparent that he had no matching desire for his troublesome ward.
He was perfectly clean-shaven now, his square, chiseled jaw on display to eyes that were hungry to roam his features. On the night she’d kissed him, he’d been stubbled; she could still remember exactly how it had felt against her chin and cheek.
The memory burned through her, and she blinked to clear it.
“You have been front page news for the past fortnight and you ask why I’m here? That is a stupid question, even for you.”
The insult hurt. So much more than it should have. She felt the sting of his derision, and her throat was instantly sore, aching with unshed tears and strong emotions.
“It will die down,” she muttered, angling her head out of the window so that she missed the way Stavros regarded her with a muttered curse before staring straight ahead.
“You stole your best friend’s fiancé,” he drawled. “This is not the kind of story that the press easily tires of.”
Claudia sucked in a sharp breath. “I did no such thing!”
His expression showed disbelief. “He left your apartment minutes before you. The truth is obvious.”
“It’s not what you think,” she said quietly. “I’m not involved with Artie.”
He shot her a look of barbed amusement. “I don’t care one way or the other,” he said with a softness that belied the strength of his intent. “You are disgracing your father’s memory – yet again. I won’t have it.”
Shame rolled through Claudia. “He’s just a friend,” she said, unable to say why it was suddenly so important that he should believe her.
“I don’t care,” Stavros repeated, his accent thick, spiced with the mysteries of the Mediterranean from which he heralded. In fact, he was so full of Greece. He seemed to have captured with his being the essence of the sun, sand and salty tang of the sea, and he exuded them just by breathing. “You can do what you want, Claudia. You can sleep with Arthur Pennington, you can sleep with his brother and cousin and father and best friend for all I care.” He pulled up at traffic lights and turned to face her, and his eyes were so full of scorn and distaste that something inside of her froze to death.
“But you need to learn to employ more discretion.”
Outrage at the injustice of his accusation overtook any other emotion. “You have no business telling me what I need,” she snapped.
“We both know that’s not true.” The lights changed and he sped off, moving them further and further away from her Knightsbridge apartment.
Claudia rolled her eyes. “Because you’re my guardian,” she said the word with obvious sarcasm.
“Yes, Claudia. Because I’m your guardian. Because your existence depends on my generosity.”
She arched a brow. “I beg your pardon, but it is my trust fund you administer.”
He pierced her with a scathing look of cont
empt. “True. But it is I who gets to decide just what you receive each year. I have been generous, to this point. More generous than I should have been, obviously.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
