Mistress By Arrangement. HELEN BIANCHIN

feathering its way down her spine at the intensity of that look. She felt as if it stripped away the conventional bamer of clothes, lingerie, and stroked her skin.

      It took considerable effort to match his appraisal, but she was damned if she’d concede him any sort of victory by glancing away.

      Dark hair, well-groomed. Broad shoulders beneath expensive tailoring, and his shoes were hand-tooled leather. In his mid-thirties, he was the antithesis of the middle-aged paunchy balding man Michelle had envisaged.

      She watched as he worked the room during an introductory circuit, noting the undoubted charm, the easy smile, an easy grace of movement that implied a high level of physical fitness.

      ‘Michelle Gerard,’ Antonia announced by way of introduction, reaching their side. ‘Jeremy’s girlfriend.’

      Nikos Alessandros reached forward, took hold of her hand, and raised it to his lips.

      Michelle’s eyes flew wide with shock as he placed a brief open-mouthed kiss to her palm, then he curled her fingers as if to seal in the flagrant action. Heat flooded her veins, coursing through her body as each nerve-end sprang into vibrant life.

      ‘Michelle.’ His voice held a faint inflection, an accent that was more international than indicative of his own nationality.

      Primitive alchemy, potent and incredibly lethal, was a compelling force, and her skin burned where his lips had touched.

      ‘We meet again.’

      Again? She’d never met him in this lifetime. If she had, she’d remember. No woman alive could possibly forget someone of Nikos Alessandros’ calibre!

      Michelle was at once conscious of Antonia’s surprised gaze coupled with Jeremy’s sharp attention.

      ‘You’ve already met?’

      ‘While Michelle was studying at the Sorbonne in Paris,’ Nikos declared with knowledgeable ease.

      A calculated guess? Somehow she doubted it. Which immediately drew the question as to how he came by the information.

      ‘Really?’ Antonia queried lightly after a few seconds silence.

      Michelle watched in fascination as he directed her a blatantly sensual smile. ‘How could I forget?’

      She should refute they’d ever set eyes on each other, and accuse him of being a sexist opportunist.

      ‘Your capacity to remember surprises me.’ That much was true, yet as soon as the words left her lips she wondered at the wisdom of playing his game.

      Midsummer madness? An attempt to alleviate the matchmaking techniques employed by two sets of parents? Or just plain devilry.

      Nikos’ eyes never left her own, and she experienced the uncanny sensation he could read her mind. Worse, that he could dissect the conventional barriers she’d learnt to erect and divine the path to her soul.

      It wasn’t a comfortable feeling. But then, she doubted there was anything comfortable about this man.

      Dangerous, occasionally merciless, powerful. And rarely predictable. A tiny imp added, incredibly sexual. An earthy, uninhibited lover who would seek every liberty, and encourage a similar response. Demand, she amended with instinctive knowledge.

      Just the thought of what he could do to a woman, and how he would do it was enough to raise all her fine body hairs in a gesture of...what? Self-preservation? Anticipation?

      Her eyes dilated at a highly erotic image, one that was so evocative she was unable to subdue the flare of heat from her innermost core.

      ‘Indeed?’ That deep drawl held a wealth of meaning she didn’t even want to explore.

      Antonia sensed it, and immediately launched into an attempt at damage control. ‘Nikos, you must allow Emerson to get you a drink.’ She placed a hand on his sleeve, and for a moment Michelle held her breath at the possibility he might detach Antonia’s hand and opt to stay where he was.

      Something moved in his expression, then he smiled, inclining his head in mocking acquiescence as he allowed his hostess to steer him away.

      The electric force-field evident didn’t diminish, and it took considerable effort to lift the glass to her lips and take a sip of wine.

      ‘You know him.’

      Michelle’s lips parted to deny it, only to pause fractionally too long.

      ‘And to think I’ve been playing the gentleman,’ Jeremy drawled silkily, raising his glass in a silent mocking salute as he conducted a slow encompassing survey from the top of her head to the tip of her toes and back again.

      Indignation heightened the dark golden sparks in her green eyes, and anyone who knew her well would have heeded the silent warning.

      ‘One has only to look at Nikos to know his friendship with women is inevitably of an intimate nature.’

      ‘Really?’ Michelle tempered the query with a deceptive smile. She wanted to hit him. ‘You’d dare to accuse me on the strength of another man’s reputation? ’

      Antonia Bateson-Burrows’ announcement that dinner was ready proved opportune.

      ‘Can you blame me for being jealous?’ Jeremy offered as they crossed to the dining room.

      Nikos Alessandros had a lot to answer for, she determined wryly.

      Unbidden, her gaze shifted to the tall male Greek a few feet distant, and she watched in fascinated surprise as he turned briefly towards her.

      Those dark slate-grey eyes held an expression she couldn’t fathom, and for one infinitesimal second everything faded to the periphery of her vision. There was only him. The subdued chatter, the other guests, were no longer apparent.

      A slight smile curved his lips, but his eyes remained steady, almost as if he withheld a knowledge of something she couldn’t even begin to presume.

      The breath caught in her throat, and she deliberately broke the silent spell by transferring her attention to the proposed seating arrangements.

      With any luck, Nikos Alessandros would be at the opposite end of the table, precluding the necessity to indulge in polite conversation.

      An accomplished hostess, Antonia skilfully manoeuvred her guests into chairs, shuffling them so there were six on one side with five on the other, while she and Emerson took their position at the head of the table.

      Oh hell. Thirteen at the dinner table on Friday the thirteenth. Could it get any worse?

      Don’t tempt Fate by even thinking about it, a tiny voice taunted, only to discover she faced Nikos across a decorative floral centrepiece.

      Emerson poured the wine while Antonia organised the serving of the first course.

      ‘Salute.’ Nikos’ accent was flawless as he lifted his glass, and although his smile encompassed everyone seated at the table, his eyes remained fixed on Michelle.

      The soup was delicious vichyssoise, although after the first spoonful Michelle’s tastebuds seemed to go on strike.

      Succulent prawns in a piquant sauce were served on a bed of mesclan lettuce, and she sipped the excellent white wine, then opted for chilled water in the need for a clear head.

      The conversation encompassed a broad spectrum as it touched briefly on the state of the country’s financial budget, the possibility of tax reform and its effect on the economy.

      ‘What is your view, Michelle?’

      The sound of that faintly accented drawl stirred her senses. Her hand paused midway in its passage from the table to her lips, and her fingers tightened fractionally on the goblet’s slim stem.

      ‘Inconsequential, I imagine. Given that whatever my opinion, it will have little effect in the scheme of things.’

      Jeremy’s silent offer