A Passionate Night with the Greek

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘From what you say she seems pretty well able to protect herself,’ Zach inserted drily.

  ‘Oh, she’s clearly got spirit, but it takes more than spirit. She needs to be taught how things operate,’ her grandfather continued. ‘And I’m stuck in here, which is why I’m—’

  Zach, who had listened with growing unease at the direction of this, cut in quickly. ‘I’d love to help but that sounds pretty much like a full-time job to me.’

  His mentor gave a deep sigh that made Zach’s teeth clench; the smile that accompanied it was a nice blend of understanding and sadness. ‘And you have every right to refuse.’ Another sigh. ‘You owe me nothing. Please don’t run away with the idea I’m calling in a debt. I will discharge myself and—’

  Zach lowered his shoulders. He knew when he was beaten.

  ‘You know, sometimes I forget it was me that saved your life.’

  The first lesson you learnt on the streets was to look after number one, the second was walk, or preferably run, away from trouble. Zach’s problem was bullies. He hated them, and seeing those knife-wielding thugs surrounding the foolish old guy who was refusing to hand over his wallet had produced a red-mist moment that had led him to run towards danger and not away from it.

  Zach believed nothing positive could be achieved by reflecting on the past, but if he had, his objective view would have been that there hadn’t been anything remotely brave about his actions. Though stupid had flashed through his head at the first cut that had slipped between his ribs.

  He might have saved the older man’s life, but Alekis had given him a life and until this point asked for very little in return.

  He watched, an expression of wry resignation twisting his lips, as the man’s air of weary defeat melted away in a beat of his damaged heart.

  The elderly Greek’s smile oozed smug satisfaction. ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘Don’t push it,’ Zach growled out, torn between exasperation that he had been so expertly manipulated and amusement.

  ‘It is important to control the flow of information when the news does leak. I know I can rely on you for that. The media will be all over her like a rash. We must be ready; she must be ready. Go away!’

  The loud addition was directed to an unwary nurse who, to give her her due, stood her ground.

  ‘I’ll leave him to you. Good luck,’ Zach added as he rose to his feet. ‘You can email me the necessary,’ he added before the exhausted-looking patient could react to his intention. ‘Just give me her details and I’ll do the rest, and in the meantime you get some rest.’

  * * *

  Kat danced around her small office and punched the air in triumph, before controlling the fizz of excitement still bubbling in her veins enough to retrieve the letter that she had tossed in the air after she had read it.

  She read it again now, anxious that she hadn’t misinterpreted it. That really would be awful. The tension that had slipped into her shoulders fell away as she came to the end.

  It really did say what she’d thought, but what puckered her smooth brow into a slight frown was what it didn’t say. There was a time she was expected to be there, at the address of the law firm, but no clue as to who was looking forward to meeting her.

  She shrugged. Presumably a representative of one of the individuals or businesses known for their philanthropy to whom she had pitched her appeal—or wasted her time with, as some of her less optimistic-minded colleagues and volunteers had put it. Fighting against the negativity, she’d pointed out that she wasn’t expecting any one person or organisation to step into the breach, but if she could persuade a handful to make some sort of donation it could mean a stay of execution for the refuge once the local authority funding was pulled the coming month.

  Who knew? This could be the first of many.

  There was a short tap on the door before Sue, with her nose stud, stuck her orange-streaked head around the door. ‘Oh, God!’ She sighed when she saw Kat’s face. ‘I know that look.’

  ‘What look?’

  The older woman stepped inside the room and, after closing the door, said, ‘Your “campaign for a good cause” face.’

  Kat blinked. ‘Do I have a...?’

  ‘Oh, you sure do, and I love—we all love—that you’re a fighter, but there comes a time...’ She sighed again, her skinny shoulders lifting before they fell. ‘You’ve got to be a realist, love,’ she told Kat earnestly. ‘This place...’ Her expansive gesture took in the small office with its cardboard-box system of filing—there always seemed to be something better to spend the limited resources on than office furniture. ‘It’s a lost cause. I’ve got an interview Monday. Just giving you the heads-up that I’ll need the morning off.’

  Kat was unable to hide her shock; her face fell. ‘You’re looking for another job?’ If Sue, who was as upbeat as she was hard-working, had already given in... Am I the only one who hasn’t?

  ‘Too right I am, and I suggest you do too. There’s always bills to pay and in my case mouths to feed. I care about this place too, you know, Kat.’

  Kat felt a stab of contrition that her reaction might be read as judgement. ‘I know that.’ But the point was she didn’t know what it was to be like Sue, a single parent bringing up five children and holding down two jobs.

  On the brink of sharing the good news, she pulled back and moderated her response. She didn’t want to raise hopes if nothing came of this.

  ‘I know you think I’m mad, but I really think there’s a realistic prospect someone out there cares.’

  The other woman grinned. ‘I know you do, and I really hope life never knocks that starry-eyed optimism out of you.’

  ‘It hasn’t so far,’ Kat retorted. ‘And Monday’s fine. I’ll cover... Good luck.’

  She waited until the other woman had left before she sat down at her desk—actually, it was a table with one wobbly leg—and thought about who she might be meeting. Whoever it was didn’t hang around. The meeting was scheduled for the following morning and the letter had been sent recorded delivery.

  Well, she could cross the two off her list who had already sent a sympathetic but negative response, so who did that leave?

  But then, did the identity of the potential donor actually matter? What mattered was that someone out there was interested enough for a meeting. So there was no beacon of light at the end of a tunnel but there was a definite flicker. Her small chin lifted in an attitude of determination. Whoever it turned out to be, she would sell her cause to them. Because the alternative was not something she wanted to contemplate—failure.

  So for the rest of the day she resisted the temptation to share her news with the rest of her gloomy-looking colleagues. Not until she knew what was on offer, or maybe she just didn’t want to have anyone dampen her enthusiasm with a bucket of cold-water realism? Either way there was no one to turn to for advice when she searched her wardrobe for something appropriate that evening.

  There wasn’t a lot to search. Her wardrobe was what designers called capsule, though maybe capsule was being generous.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t love clothes and fashion, it was just that her budget was tight and in the past used up by impulse bargain buys, which inevitably sat in her wardrobe untouched and were eventually donated to a charity chop.

  After a mega charity shop clear-out at the beginning of the summer and an unseasonal resolution to avoid sale racks, she had adopted a pared-down wardrobe. There had been the one slip. She looked at it now, hanging beside the eminently practical items. She rubbed the deep midnight-blue soft cashmere silk fabric between her fingers and gave a tiny nod; it was perfect for tomorrow’s ‘dress to impress’.

  Smiling because her moment of weakness had been vindicated, she extracted the dress that stood out among the white shirts, T-shirts, black trousers and jeans, and hung it on the hook at the back of the bedroom door. Smoothing down th
e fabric, she checked it for creases, but everything about the dress managed to combine fluid draping with classic tailoring and the look screamed designer. The only fault she’d been able to find that had caused it to be downgraded to a second was the belt loop that needed a few stitches.

  It had fitted so perfectly when she’d tried it on and had been marked down so much that, even though her practical head had told her there would never be an occasion in her life where the beautifully cut dress would come into it, she had bought it.

  If she’d believed in fate—well, actually she did; the problem, in her experience, was not always recognising the door left ajar by fate as a golden opportunity.

  It took her a little longer to dig out the heels buried among the piles in the back of the wardrobe, and she was ready. All she needed now was to go through her plan of attack. If she wanted to sell her case, make it stand out amongst the many deserving cases, she needed facts at her fingertips and a winning smile and someone with a heart to direct it at. The smile that flashed out was genuine as she caught sight of her face in the mirror...her eyes narrowed and her forehead creased in a frown of fierce determination.

  So her winning smile could do with some work!

  CHAPTER TWO

  ZACH WAS EXPECTED. The moment he strode into the foyer his reception committee materialised. He was shown up to the empty boardroom by the senior partner—the only Asquith left in the law firm of Asquith, Lowe and Urquhart—and three underlings of the senior variety.

  If Zach had thought about it—which he hadn’t, because he’d had other things on his mind—he would have expected no less, considering that the amount of business Alekis sent this firm’s way had to be worth enough to keep the Englishman’s Caribbean tan topped up for the next millennium and then some, not to mention add a few more inches to his expanding girth.

  ‘I will bring Miss Parvati up when she arrives. How is Mr Alekis? There have been rumours...’

  Zach responded to this carefully casual addition with a fluid shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘There are always rumours.’

  The older man tilted his head and gave a can’t blame a man for trying nod as he backed towards the door, an action mirrored by the three underlings, who had tagged along at a respectful distance.

  Zach unfastened the button on his tailored grey jacket and, smoothing his silk tie, called after the other man before he exited the room. ‘Inform me when she arrives. I’ll let you know when to show her up.’

  ‘Of course. Shall I have coffee brought in?’

  His gesture took in the long table, empty but for the water and glasses at the end where Zach had pulled out a chair. Watching him, the older man found himself, hand on his ample middle, breathing in. The sharp intake of stomach-fluttering breath came with an unaccustomed pang of wistful envy that he recognised as totally irrational—you couldn’t be wistful about something you had never had, and he had never had the sort of lean, hard, toned physique this man possessed. His own physical presence had a lot more to do with expensive tailoring, which permitted him to indulge his love of good food and fine wine.

  ‘The water will be fine.’ Zach reached for one of the iced bottles of designer water to illustrate the point and tipped it into a glass before he took his seat.

  The door closed, and Zach glanced around the room without much interest. The room had a gentlemen’s club vibe with high ceilings and dark wooden panelled walls—not really his usual sort of environment. He had never been in a position to utilise the old-school-tie network, but he had never been intimidated by it and, more importantly, not belonging to this world had not ultimately hindered his progress. If he was viewed in some quarters as an outsider, it didn’t keep him awake nights, and even if it had he could function pretty well on four hours’ sleep.

  He opened his tablet and scrolled onto the file that Alekis’s office had forwarded. It was not lengthy, presumably an edited version of the full warts and all document. Zach had no problem with that; he didn’t need the dirt to make a judgement. The details he did have were sufficient to give him a pretty good idea of the sort of childhood the young woman he was about to meet had had.

  The fact that, like him, she had not had an easy childhood did not make him feel any connection, any more than he would have felt connected to someone who shared a physical characteristic with him. But he did feel it gave him an insight others might lack, the same way he knew that the innocence that had seemed to shine out from her eyes in the snapshot had been an illusion. Innocence was one of the first casualties of the sort of childhood she had had.

  She had been abandoned and passed through the care system; he could see why Alekis thought he had a lot to make up for—he did. Zach was not shocked by what the mother had done—he was rarely shocked by the depths to which humans could sink—but he was mildly surprised that Alekis, who presumably had had ways of keeping tabs on his estranged daughter, had not chosen to intervene, a decision he was clearly trying to make up for now.

  While many might say never too late, Zach would not. He believed there was definitely too late to undo the damage. He supposed in this instance it depended on how much damage had been done. What was not in question was the fact that the woman he was about to meet would know how to look after herself.

  She was a survivor, he could admire that, but he was a realist. He knew you didn’t survive the sort of childhood she’d had without learning how to put your own interests first, and he should know.

  The indent between his dark brows deepened. It concerned him that Alekis, who would normally have been the first to realise this, seemed to be in denial. The grandfather in him was putting sentiment ahead of facts, and the fact was anyone who had experienced what this woman had was never going to fit into her grandfather’s world without being a magnet for scandal.

  As Zach knew, you didn’t escape your past; you carried it with you and learnt to look after number one. When had he last put someone else’s needs ahead of his own?

  There was no occasion to remember.

  The acknowledgement didn’t cause him any qualms of conscience. You didn’t get to be one of life’s survivors by not prioritising your own interests.

  And Zach was a survivor. In his book it was preferable to be considered selfish than a victim, and rather than feel bitter about his past he was in some ways grateful for it and the mental toughness it had gifted him, without which he would not have enjoyed the success he had today.

  He responded to the message on his phone, his fingers flying as he texted back. He looked down at the screen of his tablet. The vividness of the woman’s golden eyes, even more intense against the rest of the picture that seemed washed of colour, stared out at him before he closed it with a decisive click.

  Maybe he was painting a bleaker picture. He might be pleasantly surprised—unless Alekis had deliberately hidden them, it seemed the granddaughter hadn’t had any brushes with the law. Of course, that might simply mean she had stayed under the radar of the authorities, but she did seem to hold down a steady job. Perhaps the best thing the mother had ever done for her child was to abandon her.

  There was the lightest of taps on the door before Asquith stepped inside the room, his hand hovering in a paternal way an inch away from the small of the back of the woman who walked in beside him.

  This wasn’t the fey creature from the misty graveyard, neither was it a woman prematurely hardened by life and experience.

  Theos! This was possibly the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on.

  For a full ten seconds after she walked in, Zach’s entire nervous system went into shutdown and when it flickered back into life, he had no control over the heat that scorched through his body. The sexual afterglow of the blast leaving his every nerve ending taut.

  He studied her, his eyes shielded by his half-lowered eyelids and the veil of his sooty eyelashes. He felt himself resenting that it was a struggle to access
even a fraction of the objectivity he took for granted as he studied her. He expected his self-control to be his for the asking, irrespective of a bloodstream with hormone levels that were off the scale.

  He forced the tension from his spine, only to have it settle in his jaw, finding release in the ticcing muscle that clenched and unclenched spasmodically as he studied her. She was wearing heels, which made her almost as tall as the lawyer, who was just under six feet. She was dressed with the sort of simplicity that didn’t come cheap, but to be fair the long, supple lines of her slim body would have looked just as good dressed in generic jeans and a T-shirt.

  He categorised the immediate impression she projected as elegance, poise and sex...

  Her attention was on the man speaking to her, so Zach had the opportunity to prolong his study of her. She stood sideways on, presenting him with her profile as she nodded gravely at something the other man was saying, eyelashes that made him think of butterfly wings fluttering against her soft, rounded, slightly flushed cheeks. It was a pretty whimsical analogy for him.

  Stick to the facts, Zach, suggested the voice in his head.

  He did, silently describing what he saw.

  Her profile was clear cut, almost delicate. There was the suggestion of a tilt on the end of her nose, her brow high and wide. The fey creature in the snapshot had a face framed by a cloud of ebony hair; this elegant young woman’s hair was drawn smoothly back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck to fall like a slither of silk between her shoulder blades almost to waist level. Dark and cloud-like in the photos, in real life it was a rich warm brown, interspersed with warm toffee streaks.

  The slight tilt of her head emphasised the slender length of her swan-like dancer’s neck; the same grace was echoed in her slim curves and long limbs, beautifully framed by the simplicity of the figure-skimming calf-length dress. The length of her shapely legs was further emphasised by a pair of high, spiky heels.