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Whoever it was clearly had no intention of coming back another time.
The ringing continued, now accompanied by the banging of fists.
Cursing in English and French, she scrambled out of bed, shrugged a thick robe over her pyjama-clad body and, still cursing, hurried down the stairs to open the front door.
‘Good morning, despinis.’
And with those words Talos Kalliakis brushed past her and entered her home.
‘What the...? Excuse me—you can’t just let yourself in,’ she said, rushing after him while he swept through her narrow house as if he owned it.
‘I told you I would be speaking with you today.’
His tone was neutral, as if he were oblivious to her natural shock and anger.
‘And I told you this is my day off. I would like you to leave.’
He stepped into the kitchen. ‘After we have spoken.’
To reiterate his point he set his briefcase on the floor, removed his long black trench coat, which he placed on the back of a chair at her small kitchen table, and sat himself down.
‘What are you doing? I didn’t invite you in—if you want to speak to me you will have to wait until tomorrow.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘I will take ten minutes of your time and then I will leave. What we need to discuss will not take long.’
Amalie bit into her cheek and forced her mind to calm. Panicked thinking would not help. ‘This is my home and you are trespassing. Leave now or I will call the police.’
He didn’t need to know that her mobile phone was currently atop her bedside table.
‘Call them.’ He shrugged his huge shoulders, the linen of his black shirt rippling with the movement. ‘By the time they get here we will have concluded our conversation.’
She eyed him warily, afraid to blink, and rubbed her hands up her arms, backing away, trapping herself against the wall. What could she use as a weapon?
This man was a stranger and the most physically imposing man she had met in her life. The scar that slashed through his eyebrow only compounded the danger he oozed. If he were to...
She wouldn’t be able to defend herself using her own strength. It would be like a field mouse fighting a panther.
His top lip curved with distaste. ‘You have no need to worry for your safety—I am not an animal. I am here to talk, not to assault you.’
Would the panther tell the field mouse he intended to eat her? Of course not. He would insist it was the last thing on his mind and then, when the little field mouse got close enough...snap!
Staring into his striking eyes, she saw that, although cold, they contained no threat. A tiny fraction of her fear vanished.
This man would not harm her. Not physically, at any rate.
She dropped her gaze and rubbed her eyes, which had become sore from all that non-blinking.
‘Okay. Ten minutes. But you should have called first. You didn’t have to barge your way into my home when I was still sleeping.’
An awareness crept through her bones. While he was freshly showered, shaved—minimal stubble today—and dressed, she was in old cotton pyjamas and a dressing gown, and suffering from a severe case of bed hair. Talk about putting her at an immediate disadvantage.
He looked at his watch. ‘It is ten a.m. A reasonable time to call on someone on a Monday morning.’
To her utter mortification, she could feel her skin heat. It might not be his problem that she’d had hardly any sleep, but it was certainly his fault.
No matter how hard she’d tried to block him from her mind, every time she’d closed her eyes his face had swum into her vision. Two nights of his arrogant face—there, right behind her eyelids. His arrogant, handsome face. Shockingly, devilishly handsome.
‘This is my day off, monsieur. How I choose to spend it is my business.’ Her mouth had run so dry her words came out as a croak. ‘I need a coffee.’
‘I take mine black.’
She didn’t answer, just stepped to the other side of the kitchen and pressed the button on the coffee machine she had set before she went to bed. It kicked into action.
‘Have you thought any more about the solo?’ he asked as she removed two mugs from the mug tree.
‘I told you—there’s nothing for me to think about. I’m busy that weekend.’ She heaped a spoonful of sugar into one of the mugs.
‘I was afraid that would be your answer.’
His tone was akin to a teacher disappointed with his star pupil’s exam results. Something about his tone made the hairs on her arms rise in warning.
