Sold to the Enemy. Sarah Morgan

slid her arms into a jacket that matched the skirt, scooped up her hair and pinned it with brisk efficiency. ‘When you met me five years ago I had spots and braces. I was hideous.’

      She wasn’t hideous now. ‘Does your father know you’re here?’

      ‘What do you think?’

      The corner of her mouth dimpled into a naughty smile and Stefan stared at that smile, hypnotised by her lips, trying to clear his mind of wicked thoughts.

      ‘I think your father must be having a few sleepless nights.’ The wicked thoughts still very much in play, he tried desperately to see her as she’d been that night on the boat. Young and vulnerable. ‘I should offer you a drink. Would you like a—’ he groped for something suitable ‘—a glass of milk or something?’

      She pushed some loose strands of her hair away from her face in a gesture that somehow managed to be both self-conscious and seductive. ‘I’m not six. Do you often offer your visitors milk?’

      ‘No, but I don’t usually entertain minors in my office.’

      ‘I’m not a minor. I’m all grown up.’

      ‘Yes. I can see that.’ Stefan loosened his collar and discovered it was already undone. He wondered if the air-conditioning in his office was failing. ‘So—why don’t you tell me why you’re here?’

      If she wanted him to ruin her father, they might yet find themselves with a common goal.

      ‘I’m here about business, of course. I have a business proposition.’

      Huge eyes were fixed hopefully on his face and Stefan felt an instant pull of lust. The explosion of attraction was instant, unmistakable—and entirely inappropriate given the circumstances.

      Apart from the obvious physical changes she still looked as innocent as she had that night on the boat. It would be asking for trouble. Even he wasn’t going to stoop that low.

      ‘I’m not known for doing favours for people.’

      ‘I know. And I’m not expecting a favour. I know a lot about you. I know you date different women all the time because you don’t want a relationship. I know that in business they call you all sorts of things, including ruthless and uncaring.’

      ‘Those are generally good traits to have in business.’

      ‘And you never deny any of those awful things they write about you. You’re happy to be portrayed as the big bad wolf.’

      ‘And yet still you’re here.’

      ‘I’m not afraid of you. You sat with me for seven hours and talked to me when no one else could be bothered.’ Folding the nun’s habit carefully, she leaned forward to stuff it into her bag, oblivious to the fact that the movement gave him a perfect view of the curve of her breasts above a hint of lacy bra.

      Stefan made a valiant attempt to avert his eyes and failed. ‘You were sweet.’

      He emphasised the word for his own benefit. If there was one thing designed to kill his libido it was ‘sweet’, so why the hell was he painfully aroused? And why was she looking at him with big trusting eyes when what he should have been seeing was an appropriate degree of caution?

      Come into my house, Little Red Riding Hood, and close the door behind you.

      Caution nowhere in sight, she gave him a warm smile. ‘It’s a bit embarrassing to remember it, to be honest. I was so upset I would have done anything just to make my father mad, but you refused to take advantage of me even though you hate him. You didn’t laugh at me when I told you I wanted to set up my own business and you didn’t laugh when I flirted with you. You told me to come and find you in five years, which I thought was very tactful.’

      She spoke quickly, almost breathless as she got the words out, and Stefan stared at her for a long moment, all his instincts telling him that something wasn’t quite right.

      Was he seeing desperation or enthusiasm?

      Stefan bought himself some time. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like something cold to drink?’

      ‘I’d love some champagne.’

      ‘It’s ten in the morning.’

      ‘I know. It’s just that I’ve never tasted it and I thought this would be the perfect opportunity. According to the internet you live a champagne lifestyle.’ There was a wistful note in her tone that didn’t make sense. He’d assumed the Antaxos family bathed in champagne. They were certainly rich enough.

      ‘Believe it or not I try and restrict my champagne consumption until the end of my working day.’ Clenching his jaw, Stefan hit a button on his phone. ‘Maria? Bring us a jug of water, or lemonade, or—’ he racked his brains for a suitable soft drink ‘—or something soft and refreshing. With ice,’ he added as an afterthought. ‘Lots of ice. And some pastries.’

      ‘That’s thoughtful of you. I’m starving.’

      Stefan leaned against his desk, maintaining a safe distance. ‘So—you say you have a business proposition. Tell me about it and I’ll tell you if I can help.’ Those words felt alien on his tongue. When did he ever help anyone but himself? He’d learned at an early age to take care of himself and he’d been doing it ever since.

      ‘I want to set up my own business just like you did. That night on the yacht, you inspired me. You talked about how you’d done it all yourself and about how great it felt to be independent and not rely on anyone. I want that.’ She dug her hand into her bag again and pulled out a file. ‘This is my business plan. I’ve worked hard on it. I think you’ll be impressed.’

      Stefan, who was rarely impressed by other people’s business plans, gingerly took the pink file from her outstretched hand. ‘Is there an electronic version?’

      ‘I didn’t want to save it on the computer in case my father found it. It’s the figures that count, not the presentation.’

      So her father knew nothing about it. Perhaps that explained the hint of nerves he detected beneath all that bounce and optimism.

      No doubt this was her summer project, designed to fill the long boring hours that came with being an overprotected heiress, and he was the lucky recipient of her endeavours.

      Shaking off the feeling that something wasn’t quite right about the whole situation, Stefan flipped open the file and scanned the first page. It was surprisingly professional. ‘Candles? That’s your business idea?’

      ‘Not just candles. Scented candles.’ Her voice vibrated with enthusiasm. ‘I went to school in a convent. I started making candles in craft lessons and I experimented with different scents. I have three different ones.’

      Candles, Stefan thought. The most boring, pointless product on planet earth.

      How the hell was he going to let her down gently? He had no experience of letting people down gently. He just dropped them from a great height and stepped over their broken remains.

      Clearing his throat, he cultivated what he hoped was an interested expression. ‘Why don’t you tell me a bit more about what makes them special? Top line? I don’t need detail.’ Please, God, no detail. As far as he was concerned talking about candles would be one step down from talking about the weather.

      ‘I’ve called one Relax, one Energise and one—’ her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink ‘—Seduction.’

      Something in the way she hesitated over the word made him glance up from the file. She was trembling with anticipation, and all it took was one glance to know that his first assumption had been correct.

      She was a bored heiress, playing at business.

      And now she’d prompted him he could clearly remember the night they’d met.

      She’d been a teenager—miserable, confused and self-conscious. An