The Ruthless Greek's Return. Sharon Kendrick

had been longer than hers and she remembered the wind whipping her ponytail as they’d stared down into the dark hollow. He’d told her that it reminded him of the diamond mine owned by his Russian boss, but she hadn’t been particularly interested in hearing about diamonds. All she’d wanted was for him to kiss her, and he must have known that, because mid-sentence he’d stopped and and said, ‘Oh, so that’s what you want, is it, little Miss Tennis?’ And he had caught her in his arms and his dark head had moved slowly towards hers and she had been lost.

      The kiss had sealed a deal she hadn’t realised they were making. Jessica had wanted to have sex with him instantly, but something had made her pull back. Because even though she’d wanted him very badly, instinct had told her that he was a man used to women falling at his feet and she should take it slowly. And somehow she had.

      Two weeks had felt like an eternity before she’d let him take her virginity, and if part of her had wondered if all that sensual promise could possibly be met, she’d discovered that it could. Oh, it had. For someone who’d spent her life relying on her body to help her win, who had worked through all the pain and injuries, she had now discovered a completely different use for it. An intense pleasure which had made the rest of the world fade away. He had made her gasp. He had made her heart want to burst with joy. She had been hooked on sex and hooked on him.

      They had snatched what moments they could and maybe the subterfuge had only added to the excitement. He’d told her his boss wouldn’t approve of their relationship and Jessica had known her father would have hit the roof if he’d known. But that hadn’t stopped her falling in love with Loukas, even though she would sooner have flown to the moon than showed it. Until the night when she’d blurted it out to him. She could remember even now the slow way he had smiled at her...

      And then her father had found her contraceptive pills. Even now she cringed at the humiliating scene which had followed. She should have told him it was none of his business, but she had been barely eighteen and had spent her life being told what to do by someone for whom ambition had been everything. He had confronted Loukas. Told him he had taken advantage of his daughter, and had threatened to go to his boss. And what had Loukas done? She bit her lip, because even now it hurt to remember him squaring up his shoulders, as if he’d been just about to step into the fray. In a gruff and unfamiliar voice he had offered to marry her.

      And her response? She had said no, because what else could she have said? She’d known he had only been asking her because he’d felt it was the right thing to do and she couldn’t bear to trap this proud man in a relationship he’d never intended. Had she been able to see the two of them together—even ten years down the line? No, she hadn’t. And if she was being honest, her career had been too important for her to want to risk it on the random throw of an emotional dice. She’d been working towards being a champion since she’d been four years old. Had she really been prepared to throw all that away because Loukas had been offering something out of a misplaced sense of duty?

      But her heart had been breaking as she’d ended their affair, even though she’d known it was the right thing to do. She remembered the way he had looked at her, an expression of slowly dawning comprehension hardening his black eyes, before he had laughed. A low, bitter laugh—as if she had just confirmed something he’d already known.

      She remembered the way she’d felt as he had turned his back on her and walked away—a clear bright pain which had seemed to consume her. That was the last time she’d seen him, until the moment she’d walked into the penthouse office at Lulu’s—a bodyguard no longer but an international tycoon. Jessica shook her head in slight disbelief. How on earth had he managed that?

      The slowing pace of the traffic made her realise that they’d hit central London and that the limousine was drawing up outside the Vinoly Hotel, a place she’d never stayed in before. The company usually put her up in the infinitely larger Granchester whenever she was in London and she wondered why they’d sent her here.

      The driver opened the door. ‘Mr Sarantos says to inform you that a suite has been booked in your name and that you are to order anything you need.’

      Jessica nodded and walked into the interior of the plush hotel, whose foyer was dominated by a red velvet sofa in the shape of a giant pair of lips. A Perspex chair on a gilt chain was suspended from the ceiling and impossibly cool-looking young people in jeans and expensive jackets were sprawled around, drinking coffee and tapping away furiously on their laptops.

      The receptionist smiled as she handed her a key card and an envelope. ‘This was delivered for you earlier,’ she said. ‘We hope you have a pleasant stay with us, Miss Cartwright. The valet will show you to your suite.’

      Jessica didn’t have to look at the envelope to know who it was from. Her heart was racing as she recognised Loukas’s handwriting—bold and flowing and unlike any other she’d ever seen. She knew his education had been patchy. He’d taught himself to read and write, but had ended up at the age of seventeen without a single qualification, other than a driving licence. But that was pretty much all she knew because he had been notoriously tight-lipped about his childhood. A sombre look used to darken his face whenever she dared ask, so that in the end she gave up trying—because wasn’t it easier to grab at rainbows rather than chase after storms?

      She waited until she was in her suite before opening the envelope, so intent on reading it that she barely noticed the stark decor of the room. Loukas’s message was fairly stark, too.

       I trust you had a good journey. Meet me in the dining room downstairs at eight. In the wardrobe you will find a black dress. Wear it.

      Jessica’s mouth dried. It was an explicit request which sounded almost sexual. Had that been his intention? Did he plan to make her skin prickle with excitement the moment she read it, or to make her feel the molten pull of desire? Walking over to the line of wardrobe doors, she pulled open the first to find a dress hanging there—noting without any sense of surprise that it was made by a renowned designer. It was deceptively simple—a masterpiece fashioned from heavy silk and Jessica could instantly see how exquisitely it was cut. She thought how beautifully it would hang, and wasn’t there a tiny part of her which longed to wear it? Because it was a sexy dress. A woman’s dress. The kind of garment which would be worn in the knowledge that later a man would remove it.