Bride by Day. Rebecca Winters

world of color as she did, Sam was immediately intrigued by his overly-long black hair. It put her in mind of an inky void no ray of sunlight dared penetrate. She imagined this was the color of darkness before God made the light.

      Aquiline features and brows like eagle’s wings made him an arresting figure. But to Sam’s mind, it was the savage two-inch scar along his right jawline which quickened her interest. It appeared to be an old wound which had healed a long time ago, but stood out because he was a man who probably had to shave twice a day.

      He didn’t look like a person who feared anything. Quite the opposite in fact. Since he made more money than even most wealthy people probably found decent, why hadn’t the scar been removed through plastic surgery?

      Though perfectly groomed and wearing an expensive, hand-tailored gray silk suit, there was a primitive quality about him that hinted at untamed fires burning beneath.

      She could well imagine anyone meeting him for the first time would speculate on the scenario which would have marred such an unforgettable male face—the kind of face she would love to sculpt if sculpting were her best medium.

      “Come all the way in, Ms. Telford.”

      Suddenly Sam became the focus of his unsettling scrutiny. In one sweeping glance his inky black eyes took inventory of her form and feminine attributes, then he scowled. Apparently he found her attire as distasteful as her person.

      Her five feet four inches felt very tiny and pathetic standing there in her sopping wet outfit which consisted of nothing more than scruffy jeans and an old denim shirt she hadn’t bothered to tuck in. Decorated with a print from her own handmade blocks, the pattern looked more like black cat’s paws than odd-size circles, but Sam hadn’t been displeased with the result.

      Maybe it was her hair the imperious-looking man didn’t seem to like. That morning she’d been in such a hurry to get her final art project to the university on time, she hadn’t been able to find her favorite scarf.

      For want of anything else, she’d been reduced to improvise, and had come up with a remnant from one of her originally designed, fishnet chains normally meant to hold hanging flowerpots. She had used it to tie back her thick, yellow-gold hair at the nape. If left unconfined, it flounced like an oversize mop.

      “I’m in,” she couldn’t resist commenting because he was obviously trying to intimidate her.

      The air crackled with tension. “My secretary said you were the person who cleaned this office last night.”

      He spoke impeccable English in the deepest voice she’d ever heard. Yet in spite of his less than friendly demeanor, she caught traces of his attractive Greek accent. Let’s face it, Sam. He’s the most gorgeous male you’ve ever seen in your life, let alone your dreams.

      “That’s right.”

      “What happened to the man who usually cleans this suite?”

      “Jack went home ill, and asked if I would finish up.”

      He continued to stand motionless, feet apart. With her fanciful imagination, he could be the god Zeus, astride Olympus, issuing his latest decree. Sam thought he was closer to forty than thirty, yet she considered him young to run such a vast empire. If rumor among the night crew could be believed, legions of world-famous singers, models and movie stars had tried to become the wife of the mysterious Greek tycoon, but all had failed.

      Of course it didn’t mean that there wasn’t a special woman somewhere in the cosmos who had a softening effect on him. Since Sam heard that he flew to Greece on a regular basis, she assumed he had a love interest in a beautiful woman from his own country and race. Someone who kept a low profile away from the public eye, and the paparazzi.

      The woman would have to be incredibly brave to take him on... And very lucky, a tiny voice whispered.

      “I’ll get straight to the point Last night, while in midflight between Athens and New York, a vitally important telephone call came in to this office. My secretary attempted to route it through to me, but there was too much static on the line, so she left the phone number on my desk. I drove here straight from the airport, only to discover that the note was gone.”

      He hadn’t accused Sam yet, but the inference couldn’t have been more clear.

      She smoothed a damp tendril away from her forehead, all the while conscious of his inquisitive eyes following the movement of her hand whose broken nails and calloused, oil-stained fingers were a far cry from those of his immaculate secretary.

      Sam had never been the kind of person to envy another woman. But for once in her life, she wished she had the kind of remarkable looks and polish to attract a man like him.

      “I’ve been cleaning the offices in this building for the last six months, and know better than to touch anything. All I did was dust, vacuum, and scour the bathrooms.”

      His brows became a black bar of intimidation. “You saw nothing on this desk?”

      Her eyes darted to the mirrorlike finish. Only a telephone was on display. For a man of Mr. Kostopoulos’s legendary business acumen, she wondered how he ran his megacorporation with everything out of sight.

      “No. It looked exactly as it does right now, as if you’d just had it delivered from the furniture store.”

      She shouldn’t have said that last bit. She knew she shouldn’t have said it. Speaking her mind was just one of her many flaws.

      “If it isn’t in my head, it’s not important,” he stated bluntly, reading her thoughts with humiliating accuracy. “The clutter I leave to my secretary’s discretion.” His low voice rumbled through her body.

      If the truth be known, clutter was Sam’s middle name. She’d lived with it all her life. In an office like this, where everything was in perfect order and spotless, she’d go crazy. In fact, she would have said so if he’d been anyone else except the man who could get her fired.

      “Do you recall emptying the wastebasket?” he demanded in a decidedly chilly tone.

      She lifted her rounded chin a little higher. “I would have done, but there was nothing in it.”

      His lips twisted unpleasantly. No doubt he thought she was being impudent again. Clearly not satisfied with her answers, he buzzed his secretary. “Please come inside, Mrs. Athas, and bring your notepad with you.”

      Seconds later, the woman who dealt on a daily basis with his billion-dollar clutter, entered his inner sanctum. She was carrying the small notepad in her hand. It’s yellow color triggered a memory.

      Sam groaned, alerting her interrogator.

      “You were about to say something?” he prodded, a merciless gleam entering those black depths.

      “I—I remember now,” she stammered. “I did see a yellow piece of notepaper, but it was on the floor next to the wastebasket. I assumed someone had aimed for it, but had missed...”

      The inference didn’t escape him and his lips thinned, making her quiver inwardly. “Since it was exactly what I needed, I—” She looked everywhere except at him. “I put it in my pocket.”

      By now his hands were on his hips. To her consternation, his secretary had conveniently disappeared. Sam took this as the worst of omens.

      He muttered several epithets not worthy of repeating before he demanded, “Explain to me why you would have confiscated a supposed piece of refuse from my private office.”

      His arrogance was too much!

      “Actually, there’s a perfectly good reason,” she fired back, cognizant of heat building in her cheeks.

      “For your sake, there’d better be,” he stated with more than a hint of underlying menace.

      Sam didn’t like to be threatened. Staring him down she began, “I was vacuuming the carpet beneath your desk when I saw the exact piece of paper I needed to finish my collage.”