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Authors: Anna Cleary
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the divine chocolate by that searing gaze, Ariadne looked at him. ‘Do you ever accept a no?’
The sensual flicker in the dark depths of his eyes triggered an answering response deep in her insides. ‘Depends who it’s from. And how much I want to get to know them.’
‘You didn’t want to get to know me this morning. Or this afternoon.’
‘That was before I met you.’
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’
He considered her. ‘Not flattered. Just alive to the possibilities. ’
What possibilities? The word floated in her mind like a scintillating mist. Truth to tell, part of her had been alive to some possibilities since the moment she’d rounded that pillar and seen him occupying the table. Or maybe even before then. Perhaps from the first time his eyes had connected with hers across the lobby this evening and started her heart hammering.
She risked a gulp of her champagne, knowing very well it could be a mistake. The stuff was already effervescing in her veins, and she needed to keep her head.
But it was magic, frothing away her misery and easing her anxiety, or at least changing its flavour. Now she felt like a beautiful, desirable woman riding a wild and fantastic whirlwind, and if it wasn’t the champagne making her feel that way, what was it?
As if to heighten her turmoil, the singer wrapped them in a smoky embrace with a nostalgic lament for a lost past in some shining place.
She was used to good-looking men with dark eyes and gleaming white smiles, but Sebastian had another dimensionthat could cut straight through her defences if she didn’t take care. Though tonight he was subtly flirtatious, every so often that serious, steel quality shone through. Like her first impression, but without the anger and the ice.
She risked another glance at him. Definitely, the ice had melted, but he was a different species from Demetri and friends, strutting the playgrounds of the world with their lazy, sophisticated boredom. If she hadn’t known the truth, she couldn’t have imagined he’d have accepted a bribe to marry her.
What had he been offered? she wondered. Shares in the Giorgias line, with the expectation of his wife being heiress to the lot?
She pushed the horrid thought away and concentrated on the positives. She was, in fact, feeling better after the bruschetta, the sliver of tart, the two delicious serves of linguini, the fish—not that she’d eaten very much of anything. She was in far too much of an uproar. The chocolate pudding had been certainly beneficial, although there was also that glass of champagne. Or had it been two? There was the one she’d had before she’d moved…
She peered over at the ice bucket and tried to see how much was left in the bottle. Whatever the level, it had shored up her spirits and helped her to feel warm and glowing and alive, even a bit reckless.
‘So what are you doing here with me?’ she challenged, fluttering her lashes. ‘Is there a shortage of women in Sydney?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. What’s your excuse?’ he retorted. ‘Are the guys in Greece all doddery and near-sighted?’
She hesitated, evading his smiling, but still penetrating glance, regretting laying herself open to that painful subject. This was a murky alleyway she didn’t want to venture down. The last thing she wanted to admit to him was that she’d exhausted her options in Greece. She didn’t doubt her uncle’s declaration for a minute. No Greek man would risk engaging himself to her now. Not after Demetri’s experience and all the publicity.
She said huskily, ‘I don’t plan to get married. Ever. In Greece or anywhere else.’
‘What if you meet someone you fall in love with?’
She shot him a sardonic look. The sheer irony of him, of all people, talking about love. ‘Are you kidding?’
His brows lifted and she said, waving her fork, ‘Let me try to explain, though like all men I expect you’ll scoff.’ Ignoring his blink, she wrinkled her brow in
The sensual flicker in the dark depths of his eyes triggered an answering response deep in her insides. ‘Depends who it’s from. And how much I want to get to know them.’
‘You didn’t want to get to know me this morning. Or this afternoon.’
‘That was before I met you.’
‘Am I supposed to be flattered?’
He considered her. ‘Not flattered. Just alive to the possibilities. ’
What possibilities? The word floated in her mind like a scintillating mist. Truth to tell, part of her had been alive to some possibilities since the moment she’d rounded that pillar and seen him occupying the table. Or maybe even before then. Perhaps from the first time his eyes had connected with hers across the lobby this evening and started her heart hammering.
She risked a gulp of her champagne, knowing very well it could be a mistake. The stuff was already effervescing in her veins, and she needed to keep her head.
But it was magic, frothing away her misery and easing her anxiety, or at least changing its flavour. Now she felt like a beautiful, desirable woman riding a wild and fantastic whirlwind, and if it wasn’t the champagne making her feel that way, what was it?
As if to heighten her turmoil, the singer wrapped them in a smoky embrace with a nostalgic lament for a lost past in some shining place.
She was used to good-looking men with dark eyes and gleaming white smiles, but Sebastian had another dimensionthat could cut straight through her defences if she didn’t take care. Though tonight he was subtly flirtatious, every so often that serious, steel quality shone through. Like her first impression, but without the anger and the ice.
She risked another glance at him. Definitely, the ice had melted, but he was a different species from Demetri and friends, strutting the playgrounds of the world with their lazy, sophisticated boredom. If she hadn’t known the truth, she couldn’t have imagined he’d have accepted a bribe to marry her.
What had he been offered? she wondered. Shares in the Giorgias line, with the expectation of his wife being heiress to the lot?
She pushed the horrid thought away and concentrated on the positives. She was, in fact, feeling better after the bruschetta, the sliver of tart, the two delicious serves of linguini, the fish—not that she’d eaten very much of anything. She was in far too much of an uproar. The chocolate pudding had been certainly beneficial, although there was also that glass of champagne. Or had it been two? There was the one she’d had before she’d moved…
She peered over at the ice bucket and tried to see how much was left in the bottle. Whatever the level, it had shored up her spirits and helped her to feel warm and glowing and alive, even a bit reckless.
‘So what are you doing here with me?’ she challenged, fluttering her lashes. ‘Is there a shortage of women in Sydney?’
‘Not that I’ve noticed. What’s your excuse?’ he retorted. ‘Are the guys in Greece all doddery and near-sighted?’
She hesitated, evading his smiling, but still penetrating glance, regretting laying herself open to that painful subject. This was a murky alleyway she didn’t want to venture down. The last thing she wanted to admit to him was that she’d exhausted her options in Greece. She didn’t doubt her uncle’s declaration for a minute. No Greek man would risk engaging himself to her now. Not after Demetri’s experience and all the publicity.
She said huskily, ‘I don’t plan to get married. Ever. In Greece or anywhere else.’
‘What if you meet someone you fall in love with?’
She shot him a sardonic look. The sheer irony of him, of all people, talking about love. ‘Are you kidding?’
His brows lifted and she said, waving her fork, ‘Let me try to explain, though like all men I expect you’ll scoff.’ Ignoring his blink, she wrinkled her brow in
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