A Ring to Secure His Heir. LYNNE GRAHAM

cynicism and objectivity. He had learned too young that to many people his immense wealth marked him out only as a potential source of profit, a literal target to be impressed, flattered, ultimately used and deceived by the ambitious and the greedy.

      It was close to the end of her shift when Rosie finally found the occupied office empty. It was true that the light still burned and the laptop still sat open on the desk, but she was tired and she knew she wouldn’t get a better opportunity to finish on time. She was engaged in swiftly whisking a duster over what she could reach of the desk when he reappeared and she froze, intimidated by the size of him filling the doorway. So tall, so dark, so very handsome. And those astonishingly light eyes of his gleamed like polished silver in his strong face.

      ‘I’ll move this out of your way,’ Alexius breathed, scooping up the laptop, standing so close for an instant that the scent of him enveloped her: the smell of clean, warm male laced with a mouth-watering hint of some exotic cologne.

      ‘No need … I can work around you if you’ll just put up with me for another f-five minutes,’ Rosie replied a little shakily, her cheeks hot with the awareness of her recent thoughts.

      Struggling to run through a mental checklist of small tasks to be done before she could consider her work complete, Rosie noticed the photo on the desk of a pretty blonde woman hugging two young children. ‘Nice kids,’ she muttered into the awkward silence.

      ‘Not mine. I share this office,’ he informed her abruptly, his slight but definable foreign accent obvious as she unfurled the vacuum cleaner for action.

      Rosie glanced at him in surprise, for he didn’t look the type of male likely to take to sharing anything, although she had no idea where she had got that impression from. Perhaps it was something to do with the fact that he had as much physical presence as a ruddy great rock set in her path, not to mention an aura of command and arrogance that had suggested to her that he could be more than just another office drone, earning his daily bread by whatever means were within his power. Hot desking, wasn’t that what the practice of sharing desk space was called?

      ‘I’m Alex, by the way,’ he murmured smoothly. ‘Alex Kolovos …’

      ‘Nice to meet you,’ Rosie responded in even greater discomfiture, wondering why he was speaking to her in the first place, because it was certainly not the norm. Men usually only spoke if the cleaner was old enough to remind them of their mother or granny or if they were making a play for you. Zoe, christened by her fellow cleaners ‘the Bombshell’, had enjoyed several such approaches from men attracted by her pretty face and stunning curves, but no man had yet come on to Rosie during working hours. Was it the fact that her hair was loose? Irritated by the sudden wash of stupid thoughts that had taken over her normally logical brain and ill at ease in his company, she switched on the vacuum, engulfing them both in noise. With secret amusement she watched him wince as if she had scraped a chalk down a blackboard.

      ‘Thanks,’ she breezed as she gratefully switched the vacuum off again and sped from the room without a backward glance.

      Alexius reflected that it was a humbling experience to chat to a woman without the aura of his billions enhancing him with a wondrous golden glow of magnetic attraction. It had not escaped his notice either that she couldn’t wait to get away from him. Was she shy? Or simply wary? Alexius had no experience whatsoever of either female trait and no desire to remedy his ignorance in that field either. He checked his watch: he had a business dinner to attend. Flipping shut his laptop with relief, he stood up to leave. She was extraordinarily sexy, he reflected grimly, hot enough to make him hard as a rock, not at all what he had expected.

      Rosie went home that night to be greeted by Baskerville’s ecstatic barks and leaps in the tiny lounge off the kitchen that all the women used. Bas was a four-year-old chihuahua. He had belonged to Rosie’s foster mother, Beryl, and since Rosie had moved in he had become the house pet, moving freely between the occupants, being spoiled and looked after by whoever was at home. That was a relief for Rosie, who had worried about him getting lonely when she was out and about. Bas tucked securely under one arm, Rosie made herself a plate of cheese on toast and sat down to watch TV and chat with her housemates while she ate and Bas snacked on the crusts and anything else on offer.

      At some stage of the night she wakened with pains in her stomach and she was violently ill. In the morning she felt better but washed out.

      That evening when she started her cleaning shift, she was tired. Alex Kolovos’s office was lit up but he wasn’t there. Assuming he would return and stifling a totally pathetic pang of disappointment over his absence, she headed for the conference room instead. The instant she stepped into the room, however, she realised it was occupied because the first thing she heard was his unforgettable drawl. Instantly, she fell still to glance across the long meeting table and butterflies kicked off in her tummy in the most schoolgirlish way as her gaze locked to his powerful figure, where he stood by the window. Her eyes travelled up to his handsome face and a jolt of recognition and pleasure ran through her like an electric shock, her heart rate speeding up, every cell in her body awakening to awareness. In the midst of questioning why the precise arrangement of his features should have that astonishing effect on her, she stopped wondering and just found herself staring while heat and breathlessness assailed her. He was talking on the phone in a foreign language. A couple of familiar words caught her attention as she began automatically to withdraw from the room again: unless she was very much mistaken he was talking in Greek.

      Moving an imperious hand to halt her retreat, Alexius studied her, noting that the gorgeous hair was tied circumspectly back and that she still wore no makeup that he could see. The mystery of her appeal, however, was utterly overpowered by the stirring reaction at his groin. One look at that vibrant little face and he wanted to taste that luscious pink mouth, to touch that delicate little body and discover its every secret. He wanted to sink deep into her, watch her eyes widen in sensual shock and ride her into oblivion. He hadn’t felt as hot for a woman since he was a teenager and just as suddenly he was done questioning and was instead enjoying the novelty of the sensation. Last night he had dreamt about her, had actually wakened sweating and hard, and any woman capable of rousing him to that extent was worthy of his full attention. It didn’t matter who or what she was any more, it was more a matter of what she could make him feel. When it came to women Alexius’s biggest problem was boredom.

      ‘I’m done here,’ he said succinctly, putting away his mobile phone and striding towards her.

      ‘If you’re s-sure,’ Rosie heard herself stammer slightly, her mouth dry, her eyes pools of deep green, awareness fingering up and down her spine in an embarrassing wave that burned into her cheeks.

      ‘Of course, I’m sure,’ Alexius fielded a touch drily, moving past her, noting that her eyes were starry bright and catching a faint whiff of a floral scent that flared his nostrils. He knew at that moment with a triumph he could taste that the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Socrates had set him a challenge and he intended to deliver in record time. He would get to know Rosie Gray in every way there was and hopefully he wouldn’t have to waste much more time hanging about the office after hours.

      Still all of a quiver, Rosie cleaned the conference room and got her breathing back under control. Alex Kolovos hit her a little like a wave, knocking her off her feet and leaving her to struggle for normality in the aftermath. It was schoolgirlish to react that powerfully to a man, she told herself in exasperation, but possibly she was overdue for the experience. After all, she was twenty-three years old and still a virgin. When she had been a teenager, her social life had been severely restricted by the fact that she had had to leave school to become her foster mother’s carer during Beryl’s terminal illness. Opportunities to explore her sexuality had been non-existent and by the time she had regained her freedom, she had become much more cautious and sensible. Until now, though, no man had ever made Rosie’s heart pound. Times without number her mother had told her about such wildfire attractions and now, finally feeling what her wayward, self-destructive mother had described, Rosie was torn between fear that she was being very foolish and satisfaction that she could feel what other women felt.

      ‘I’ve met a man …’ Jenny Gray used