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Frankly, it was a damn nuisance that she’d decided not to play the game. Alexander Zaphirides was a man who did not like his plans interfered with.
When Isobella opened the door to Alex promptly at seven he knew instantly he’d been wrong. It hadn’t been about her work, or about keeping her close so he could chip away at her shell. He was in love with her. It was as simple as that. She was fresh-faced and lovely and he wanted to fall into her eyes and drown in them for ever.
‘Come in,’ she invited stiffly, clenching her fists to stop herself from reaching for the broad expanse of his magnificent chest in his exquisitely cut suit jacket. Dear God, she had missed him. ‘I’ll just get my purse,’ she said, turning on her heel.
Alex wandered into the apartment in a daze, his revelation making him dizzy. He noticed nothing about where she lived, or the things she surrounded herself with. He was too busy castigating himself for his blindness. How could he not have seen he’d fallen in love with her?
Maybe because it wasn’t an emotion with which he was overly acquainted. He’d certainly never felt this overwhelming sense of rightness with Sonya. He’d felt lust and possession and pride, but never this buzz energising every cell with a delicious ache to have her by his side always.
He turned to face her as he heard her approaching. She strode towards him and he blinked. In his tailspin he hadn’t noticed her attire. She was wearing a dress. A magnificent dress.
The shapeliness of her long coltish legs was clearly evident as the clingy burgundy fabric hugged their outline. As was everything else. Her breasts were outlined in all their pert, perfect glory. And the material clung to the flatness of her stomach before flaring gently from thigh level down to the hem that swung around her knees.
The dress was sleeveless, baring her beautiful shoulders and nicely toned arms to his view. The V neckline rested on the generous rise of her cleavage. Her neck was bare, her trachey scar exposed.
Sansglasses, her face was classically beautiful. Her glossed lips so very, very kissable. His ugly duckling had become a beautiful swan.
‘Isobella.’
She could hear the hiss of his breath, and the way her name was torn raggedly from his damaged cords. What had possessed her to wear the dress she wasn’t sure. In fact she hadn’t been sure about wearing it at all. Still wasn’t.
It had gone to Cairns and back with her unworn—why had she felt the urge to change her mind at the last minute tonight and slip it over her head? Maybe it had been Sonya’s voice on Alex’s phone last night, goading her. Maybe at this, their last hurrah, she wanted to show him she could compete with his ex.
But the way he was looking—no, gaping—made her nervous, and she squirmed beneath his silent scrutiny, her hand nervously stroking her very exposed neck. She wanted to flee back to the safety of her bedroom and seek solace in her standard clothes. Remove her contacts, push her glasses on. Climb into the baggy trousers and shapeless top she’d laid out on her bed.
She wasn’t used to men staring at her any more. What on earth had possessed her to wear this dress? ‘It’s…it’s not appropriate,’ she stuttered into the growing silence. She swallowed against a throat that felt as if it had been lined with cement. ‘I’ll go and change.’ And she whirled on her heel and bolted for her bedroom.
Alex blinked at the apparition that had disappeared as rapidly as it had appeared. What the—? ‘Isobella? Wait!’ he called after her, following her escape.
Isobella shut and locked her door, sagging against it. What had she been thinking? It didn’t matter how much she dressed up the outside, he’d already seen what she really looked like. Tears welled in her eyes and she blinked hard, refusing to let them fall. Who had she been trying to kid? Yes, he’d told her she was sexy, but he’d been with Sonya since then.
Beautiful.
Greek.
Unblemished.
Perfect.
She moved away from the door, pulling the dress up over her head and hurling it on the ground in disgust. The door handle twisted suddenly, startling her. It was followed by a loud thumping and she grabbed her robe. ‘Go away, Alex,’ she choked, the tears fighting to get past her determination not to cry.
Her voice was muffled, but he could hear the emotion straining it. ‘Let me in.’
Isobella secured the tie around her waist and pulled the lapels tight against her throat. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Alex. I never want to see you again,’ she called.
‘I swear to God, Isobella, I’m going to kick it down if you don’t open it.’
