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Her eyes were drawn back to his tense jawline, strong enough to demand attention, despite thekeep awayaura that seemed to fill the car. The powerful angle of his cheekbones highlighted the bridge of his nose—the slight kink there hinting towards a years-old break, perhaps. But it was his lips that really got to her. They appeared ever so slightly pursed, as if intentionally drawing her gaze to the centre of his upper lip, where it swept downwards at the same point as his lower lip lent upwards just a little.
And then those lips moved. Quirking into a side-angled smile as he caught her openly staring at him.
Kill me now. Please.
She pressed even further back into the seat, trying to make herself invisible.
‘If you want to move the seat back—’
‘Non, merci.’
He simply nodded in response, never once having taken his eyes off the road, nor loosening the smile that quirked his lips.
She hated the painful blush that stole over her cheeks. Hated dealing with the rich clients Ella sourced, and wished for the hundredth time that day her best friend and business partner weren’t on maternity leave. But no matter how much she did, Célia would never begrudge the happiness Ella had found with Roman. Despite a deeply rocky start, they had found their happy-ever-after. One that she couldn’t ever imagine for herself. Not after...
Her thoughts were cut off as the car pulled off the road towards the large sprawling entrance of the famous Parisian restaurant. Taking a deep breath, she forced her mind into a semblance of order. ‘So what did you—’
‘We’re here,’ he announced, either purposely or unnecessarily interrupting her.
She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath in through her nose. He might be the most attractive man she’d ever seen, but he was also the most infuriating. As he exited the car, she grabbed her bag from the footwell, making sure she hadn’t marked or scuffed any of the furnishings, wishing she could erase her presence from the car as much as the evening. She was about to reach for the handle when the car door swung open, to reveal Loukis standing there, offering her his hand.
Social etiquette did not compensate for rudeness, however it would be churlish to refuse, so she placed her hand in his, trying to disguise the momentary shock she felt as his fingers wrapped around hers. Tingles zipped up her hand to her wrist and forearm, raising the fine hairs as if she were in the midst of an electrical storm. A storm that held them both at the centre in a moment of complete calm. From where she sat looking up at him, he appeared to loom over her. His eyes intent, one brow slightly furrowed as if he was confused about something—a confusion she felt too as her heartbeat picked up speed to match his where she felt his pulse against her wrist.
She watched him carelessly toss the keys to a car worth more than she could dream of to the valet, and gesture for her to enter the restaurant. It was a move that even her obscenely rich father would never have made. No, there had never been anything careless about her exacting father’s actions.
She felt Loukis’s presence at her back as she made her way to the maître d’, adopting a mask she hadn’t used for years. One that implied that she was used to eating in restaurants like this for breakfast, lunch and dinner, no matter what she looked like. Even if, inside, she was experiencing an excruciating humiliation.
Over the hum in her ears she barely heard Loukis state his reservation, but she didn’t miss the way the black-and-white-suited maître d’ cast her a no-less-than-she-deserved disparaging look and a sudden wave of Loukis-focused resentment sliced through her. Of course she was not dressed appropriately for a restaurant of this calibre. Ten minutes ago she hadn’t even known she would be here. She waited for Loukis to make some apology for her state of dress, but was surprised to find a steely glint in Loukis’s eyes as if daring the man to object or find fault. Instantly his manner transformed to obsequiousness.
She followed behind the two men weaving between tables where hushed conversations, romantic assignations and even a few business deals appeared to be taking place and smiled thankfully at the now chastised man who pulled a chair out for her as if she were royal.
‘May I offer you thecarte des vins?’
‘That will not be necessary. A bottle of the Pouilly-Fuissé and whatever fish main you have today.’
‘Bien sûr.’
‘Merci,’Célia added just before the man could beat a hasty retreat with the unseen menus. After all, she knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of Loukis’s abruptness. Choosing to ignore the fact that he had not even thought to ask her wine preferences, let alone food wishes, or even possible allergies, she attempted to take at least some control back of her hijacked evening. Attempted to pull around her some of the confidence and self-assurance she felt when dealing with the charities that were her much preferred interaction.
‘So, Mr Liordis, what is it that you wish to discuss?’
‘I need another event.’
‘Okay, did you have something in mind?’
He shook his head, his lips pulling into another moue of carelessness. ‘Not particularly. Only that it must be within the next few weeks.’
Loukis watched Célia take in his directive, silently, but mind clearly racing. He had expected outrage, immediate dismissal, and certainly a great deal of objection, but no.
‘It would not be realistic to expect to do so again with the Erythra Foundation.’
‘Why not?’ he asked, not to be petulant, but genuinely curious.
‘In order to ensure that there was no oversaturation or fatigue with donations and press. Do you have another charity in mind?’
‘No. But ideally it would be Greek.’
Célia nodded, pressing her hand to her rosebud lips and looking off to the side. At this angle, the length and curve of her neck were on exquisite display and he found himself almost thankful that she was wearing the horrid beige round-necked T-shirt.
