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Glancing up at him, Effie felt her stomach flip over in a totally uncontrollable response. There could be no man alive more suited to the clean elegance of a classic tuxedo than Achileas Kane. He looked stupidly handsome—as if an artist had drawn him, each mark, each line perfectly capturing every hard plane.
It had been hard to look away before. Now it was beyond her.
‘Are you ready?’
She felt his gaze move over her, the blue gleam against the gold of his skin reminding her of Ancient Egyptian artefacts.
She nodded.
‘Then let’s go to the ball,’ he said softly.
Hand in hand, they walked up a flamboyantly wide staircase, and then they were inside the huge galleried room.
Looking down, she felt her breathing jolt. There were at least twenty white-clothed tables, glittering with silverware, and milling around between them were the guests. The men in dark suits and white shirts and the women in every shade of blue from sky to sapphire and deeper still, to indigo and midnight.
And flanking them on either side of the room was a line of statues. Not of stone or marble, but of cream-coloured flowers.
She breathed in. Roses, to be precise.
The smell was intoxicating.
His hand still locked tightly with hers, Achileas led her downstairs. She had thought this would be the easy part, but outside with the cameras flashing she had been unable to see anything. Now she could see everyone—and they could see her.
But as they moved between the groups of guests she started to relax. Everyone was friendly and there was so much to enjoy and take in. And not just with her eyes. As well as the statues there were ruins created out of jasmine and gardenias, and their scent filled the room so that she felt almost drugged.
Or perhaps that was Achileas, she thought helplessly, because right now everything about him, from his precision-tooled bone structure to his teasing, tempting smile, was making her head spin.
And she was not the only one feeling that way.
All around her she could sense women shifting to look furtively over their partners’ shoulders, drawn by the magnetic north of Achileas’s masculine beauty.
‘Let’s grab a drink,’ he whispered in her ear.
It was such a normal thing to say, but the drinks here were anything but. Like everything else, the cocktails were colour-coordinated to the ball, so there were white margaritas and sapphire martinis. They looked so pretty Effie could hardly bear to drink hers, and she had only taken a few sips when dinner was announced.
The food was delicious. An astonishing granita using the ingredients of a Greek salad, a pairing of white chocolate and cured fish roe, an amazing lamb and shallot stifado, and to finish a lemon and basil mousse with a vanilla biscuit and olive oil ice cream.
‘Thank you. Dimitris,’ Achileas said as the waiter deftly cleared away their plates. ‘It was all wonderful. Could you pass on my compliments to the chef?’
The waiter nodded. ‘Yes, sir. I’ll be sure to tell him, Mr Kane.’
Effie blinked. It was the first time she had heard Achileas speak in that way—at least to someone like a waiter. Probably he was on his best behaviour because they were here at the ball. Although most of the other guests at their table were talking too loudly to notice.
‘What?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nothing.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s just that it was nice of you. To say that to the waiter.’
‘You mean Dimitris?’ His glittering blue gaze moved over her face. ‘I poached Yiannis from this event a couple of years back, so I thought I’d just lay down a marker. Oh, and a wise woman once told me that waiters were people too. And that they have names.’
She felt as if a hand had reached into her chest and squeezed it. He had done it for her. It wasn’t a big deal, or anything, but she could feel it tingling inside her.
At some point an orchestra had arrived and discreetly set up. Now they were playing Gershwin show tunes, and maybe it was the wine and the roses, but she felt like dancing.
‘Can you dance?’ She looked over at Achileas. ‘Or do you just stop, smile, wave and turn?’
‘Of course I can dance.’ He shifted back in his seat. ‘Why? Are you asking me?’
The teasing gleam in his blue eyes made her heart quiver. ‘Yes, I’m asking.’ Her palms were itching to touch him properly. To feel his hands on her body.
