Greek Tycoon, Waitress Wife. Julia James

of Bond Street will be fine. Thank you very much.’

      The man didn’t say anything, just instructed the driver to go, and the car moved forward. Carrie sank back into the leather seat. It was deep and luxurious, as was the rest of the car. Carrie had never been inside a car so upmarket, and she couldn’t help looking around. The man was leaning forward, depressing a button, and a recessed shelf slid forward into the spacious leg-well between them. Carrie’s eyes widened. There was a bottle of champagne and several flutes. Before she could say or do anything, she was watching with disbelieving fascination as the man lifted the champagne bottle, eased it expertly open, and with equal expertise took up a flute, tilted it, and filled it with foaming liquid. Then he handed it to her.

      ‘Um—’ said Carrie. But she found she had taken the flute anyway.

      The smallest semblance of a smile seemed to flicker momentarily at the man’s mouth, before he filled his own glass and replaced the bottle in its holder. He eased back in his seat again and turned towards Carrie, who was just sitting there, disbelievingly.

      ‘It’s very good champagne, I do assure you,’ the man said. Again, that smile flickered briefly on his mouth, as if he found her reaction amusing. He took a considering mouthful of the gently effervescing liquid. ‘Yes, perfectly drinkable,’ he said. ‘Try it.’

      Carrie lifted the glass to her mouth, and sipped. The chilled pale gold champagne slipped into her mouth, tasting delicious. Her eyes widened. She knew almost nothing about champagne, but she could tell that this was, indeed, a superior potation.

      ‘What do you think of it?’ the man asked. The smoothness was in his voice again, and it seemed to glide over Carrie, doing strange things to her. Like getting her to drink a glass of champagne with a man who was a complete stranger.

      But we’re in the middle of Bond Street! It might be bizarre, but it’s not dangerous or anything!

      And it was also—irresistible. The word was the right one, she knew, because it summed up what seemed to be going on in her—an inability to resist.

      ‘It’s lovely,’ she said. She didn’t know what else to say, and it was the truth. Gingerly, she took another sip.

      I’m drinking champagne with a tall, dark, handsome stranger. It’s something that will never happen to me twice in my life, so I might as well make the most of the experience!

      ‘I’m glad you like it,’ said the man, as he took another mouthful himself. He eased his long legs forward. His eyes were resting on her, and Carrie felt intensely self-conscious.

      Oh, God, he really is gorgeous, she thought helplessly. Beneath his disturbing regard, she felt her nerve-ends jitter. Instinctively, she took another mouthful of the champagne. It fizzed down her throat, its native effervescence seeming to infect her blood.

      ‘So, where would you like to eat tonight?’ said the man. The voice was again as smooth as ever.

      Carrie stared. ‘Eat?’

      The man gestured loosely with his half-empty flute. ‘Of course,’ he said, as if it had been the most logical thing in the world to say to her. The most obvious.

      An edge of caution cut into Carrie’s mind. Carrie looked at him. Really looked at him.

      He met her eyes.

      ‘But…I don’t know who you are,’ she said, in a low, strained voice. ‘You could be anyone.’

      Alexeis had never been told he ‘could be anyone’ before. The novelty intrigued him. But then the entire novelty of what he’d just done—what he was still doing and what he fully intended to do—was intriguing him. It was an experience he’d never had, and it had charms he had not anticipated. His identity had never been in question before.

      Yet he could understand her caution and be pleased for it—for it only helped to recommend her to him. Half of his mind was telling him he was behaving with a rashness he would inevitably regret. The other half was determined to continue on the path his impulsiveness had started. After all, what real risk was there? There was nothing about the girl that was off-putting. Just the reverse. His original opinion of her had not changed—she was, indeed, very, very lovely.

      So why not indulge his inexplicable whim and continue the evening with her? Besides, there had been something else that had made him so impulsively order his driver to stop. It was something to do with the way she had been walking—rapidly, but hunched up, head bowed. She’d looked—dejected. Down.

      Clearly she needed something to divert her. Take her mind off her woes. So the whim he was following would be good for her, too, he reasoned. He would expect nothing of her she did not wish, and he would relinquish her at any point in the proceedings. But it would be a pity to do so now, so soon. Time to set her mind at rest. She was right, after all, to be cautious. Cities such as London could be dangerous for vulnerable and beautiful young women.

      He slipped a hand inside his inner breast pocket and drew out a slim silver card case, flicking it open and offering her a card from within.

      ‘This will reassure you, I trust,’ he said.

      She took the card and looked at it.

      ‘Alexe-is Ni-Nicol-ai-des,’ she read, hesitating over the foreign syllables.

      ‘You may have heard of the Nicolaides Group of companies?’ said Alexeis, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

      The girl shook her head.

      The sense of novelty struck Alexeis again. He had never encountered anyone who had not heard the name of Nicolaides. But then, of course, he moved in circles where everyone knew who had money and what that money derived from. Why should he expect a simple waitress to know such things?

      ‘It is listed on several stock exchanges, and is capitalised at just under a billion euros. I am the chief executive, and my father the chairman. So you can see, I am sure, that I am quite respectable, and that you are, accordingly, perfectly safe.’

      Carrie looked at Alexeis Nicolaides. The surname was a mouthful, but his first name seemed to quiver inside her, as if a vibration had been struck, very deep in her body. There was an uncertain expression on her face.

      She ought to go. She ought to ask him to stop the car and let her out. So that she could walk briskly away. Back to her poky bedsit in the run-down house where she didn’t know anyone, to eat toasted cheese for supper as she always did.

      The prospect seemed bleak, uninviting, and into her mind crept another thought.

      Would it be so very wrong to have dinner with him? This Alexeis Nicolaides, or whatever his name is. Do you think drinking champagne in a luxury car with a man who’s obviously a millionaire and then having dinner with him is going to happen twice in your life? Do you?

      But it wasn’t his obvious wealth, or the luxury car and the brimming flutes of champagne that tempted her.

      It was the man. The man who had made her breath catch when she’d first set eyes on him. The man she’d been unable not to stare at, to register as the most amazing-looking creature she’d ever seen.

      She could feel part of her brain cut out. The part that was sensible and cautious. And sane.

      Another part seemed to be pushing its way forward. Telling her something. Something that was getting more insistent. More persuasive.

      More tempting to listen to.

      Why not? Honestly, why not? You don’t exactly have a packed social life, do you? You don’t exactly have a million people you know in London to go and see. You don’t exactly have anything else desperately urgent to do this evening, do you? So why not? Why not? What have you got to lose?

      ‘So,’ Alexeis said, interrupting her thoughts. His voice was still smooth, and again made her feel strange and fluttery inside. ‘You will have dinner with me?’

      The