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Ella breathed in slow and deep and got up to put the document down on the table. ‘I’ll sign,’ she said.
He summoned two lawyers and their signatures were duly witnessed. She couldn’t look either man in the eye, for Aristandros had made her feel like a whore who was selling not only her body to him but also her self-will. She found it hard to credit that the same male had once treated her with pronounced respect and courtesy. She was convinced that rejection had made him hate her.
‘What now?’ she breathed when they were alone again.
‘This…’ His hands enclosed her firmly to pull her to him. Long fingers curved to her cheekbone, tipping up her mouth, and suddenly he was kissing her and instant explosions of reaction were fizzing through her bloodstream. His masculine urgency was incredibly exciting. A savage rush of sexual hunger engulfed her. With a helpless shiver she pressed herself to the hard muscular wall of his chest, impelled by the straining sensitivity of her breasts and the liquid heat between her thighs to seek closer contact. She wanted, needed, craved more than that connection. He closed a hand to her hips, tilting her against him, and a low sound of response broke low in her throat as she felt the force of his erection even through their clothing, and her own body leapt with instant answering need.
Aristandros lifted his handsome dark head and dealt her a smile that was pure-bred predator. ‘Frozen on the outside, meltingly hot within, koukla mou. How many other guys have there been?’
Ella hated him with so much passion at that instant for daring to voice that insolent question that she could barely vocalize, and her voice emerged with a husky edge. ‘A few,’ she lied without hesitation, determined to hide the fact that, to date, only he could extract that mad inferno of response from her. ‘I’m a passionate woman.’
A tiny muscle pulled tight at the corner of his expressive mouth. His eyes were as ice-cold as a mountain stream. ‘Evidently. But from here on in, all that passion is mine. Is that understood?’
Not averse to taking on the guise of a femme fatale, Ella looked up at him from beneath the long, silky lashes that gave her blue eyes such definition against her fair skin and pale hair. ‘Of course.’
There was a moment’s silence while Ella gathered her wits and her courage. ‘Will you tell me what Callie’s like?’ she asked tautly.
Aristandros stilled in apparent surprise at the request. ‘She’s a baby. What can you say about a baby? She’s pretty—’ He hesitated, as if recognising that more than that superficial comment was required. ‘She’s, er, quiet, good; you would hardly know she was there.’
Ella lowered her lashes to conceal her dismay and concern at that description. A toddler of eighteen months should be lively, inquisitive and chattering, almost anything other than quiet and unobtrusive. Evidently her niece was still suffering the effects of losing her parents. ‘Do you have a close relationship with her?’ she queried, reluctant to say anything that he might translate as criticism of his guardianship of the little girl.
‘Of course I do.’ Aristandros frowned. ‘Now, if that is all, the limo’s waiting for you. You have appointments to keep.’
‘Where?’
‘I’m taking you to a gallery opening tonight. You’ll need clothes.’
‘I have clothes.’
‘Not to suit my social life you don’t,’ he parried, drily enough to rouse colour to her cheeks. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Clutching her copy of the legal agreement, Ella got back into the car. She was deeply shaken by the encounter, which had imposed a challenging dose of hard reality on her. The chauffeur delivered her to a designer salon. Her arrival had clearly been pre-arranged. She was ushered from the door straight into a changing room, where detailed measurements of her figure were noted down. Within minutes a selection of garments was being brought for her to try on.
‘And for the event this evening,’ the senior sales-assistant murmured, fanning an elegant black cocktail-frock out in front of Ella like a bait to hook a fish, ‘Mr Xenakis particularly liked this one.’
Ella breathed in deep to hold in an instant desire to state that the dress wasn’t her style at all. In fact, she was stunned by the awareness that Aristandros had taken so personal an interest in what she was to wear. He had actually torn himself from the world of business to consider her appearance? Was that the true definition of a womanizer—a guy so tuned in to the female body that even choosing clothing could become a prelude to sex? She focused her anxious thoughts on Callie and achieved a state of grace equal to the task of donning the dress without comment. She was equally tolerant of every other piece of apparel presented to her, even the absurd collection of silky, frivolous lingerie. The new wardrobe was only a prop to enable her to play a part, she told herself soothingly. Unfortunately, the prospect of slipping into flimsy provocative underwear for Aristandros’s benefit put Ella into a mood close to panic. Suddenly she was wishing she hadn’t claimed a level of experience she didn’t have.
