The Greek Boss's Bride. Chantelle Shaw

warned, and Kezia’s heart sank as she envisaged Nik’s reaction when she failed to join him for dinner.

      ‘He doesn’t have a lot of choice,’ she muttered grimly. ‘The catering company would have sent a master of ceremonies as well as a team of waiters and without them the evening is in danger of being disastrous. We’ll just have to manage. We can’t do more than our best. But I don’t know what I’m going to do about my skirt.’

      ‘Becky has some spare clothes with her,’ Mrs Jessop said. ‘I’ll ask her if she’s got anything you can borrow, you’re about the same size. But you’d better get a move on if you’re going to join them upstairs for cocktails.’

      In the shower, Kezia scrubbed her skin until it tingled and she was sure she no longer smelled of ditchwater. She couldn’t forget the expression of distaste on Nik’s face, and she was determined that when they next met she would be clean and fragrant.

      She discovered Becky waiting for her in Mrs Jessop’s bedroom.

      ‘My aunt explained about you falling in the ditch. Luckily I’ve got a spare skirt with me, and shoes. You’re welcome to borrow them if they fit,’ the young girl offered.

      ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ Kezia replied gratefully. ‘Thanks, Becky. I’ll be ready in five minutes.’

      The shoes were black stilettos with three-inch heels. Not the style of footwear she would have chosen, Kezia thought grimly, especially when she was going to be on her feet for most of the evening. Mercifully the skirt was a reasonable length—not one of Becky’s mini-skirt numbers—but it fitted Kezia like a second skin, the shiny black satin clinging lovingly to her hips and bottom. Teamed with sheer black tights and the high-heels, she looked very different from her usual image of discreet elegance, and she groaned as she imagined Nik’s reaction.

      A glance at the clock warned her she was running out of time. Taking a deep breath, she headed for the kitchen to see Mrs Jessop, but stopped abruptly at the unexpected sight of Nik chatting to this housekeeper.

      ‘I thought they’d fit,’ Mrs Jessop murmured when she entered the steam-filled kitchen. ‘Doesn’t Kezia look nice, Mr Niarchou?’

      ‘Very…eye-catching.’ Nik was leaning against the Aga, his arms folded across his chest.

      His eyes narrowed as he focused on her, and Kezia blushed and nervously smoothed an imaginary crease from the skirt. She felt strangely vulnerable without the protection of her formal work suit, especially when Nik’s gaze trawled down to her legs and the killer heels.

      ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ she faltered, and his brows shot up.

      ‘I sincerely hope you don’t,’ he drawled. ‘I could be arrested.’

      ‘My skirt and shoes are ruined. Becky kindly lent me these. I appreciate they’re not ideal…’

      ‘It depends what you’re planning to do in them. Lap dancing, perhaps?’ he queried sarcastically. ‘That should certainly liven up the evening.’

      ‘Look, if you think for one minute that I’m enjoying wearing these clothes, think again,’ she snapped furiously.

      The glint of amusement and another, indefinable emotion in Nik’s eyes was the final straw, and Kezia glared at him. The frisson of sexual awareness between them existed in her mind only, she was sure. He had made it clear that she was just a member of his staff. She must have imagined the flare of heat in his eyes before his lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.

      It didn’t help that he looked so gorgeous, she thought dismally. He had changed into a superbly tailored black dinner suit and a white shirt that emphasised the golden hue of his skin. A lock of black hair fell forward onto his brow, and flecks of amber warmed his dark eyes. She was acutely conscious of him as he strolled towards her. For a man of well over six feet tall, he moved with the lithe grace of a panther—lean, dark and inherently powerful.

      She would be able to detect his presence anywhere. He possessed a charisma that alerted her senses and made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The house had seemed dead without him these past weeks, but now the atmosphere crackled with a surfeit of static electricity that exacerbated her tension.

      ‘How’s the head?’ he queried, towering over her so that she took a step backwards and banged into the table.

      ‘It’s fine; I told you there was nothing to worry about. Contrary to belief, my brain is in perfect working order,’ she added coolly and was awarded a look that did strange things to her insides.

      Nik laughed, throwing back his head so that her eyes were drawn to the tanned column of his throat. ‘I’m glad to hear it, pedhaki mou.’

      His earlier anger seemed to have disappeared and she quivered beneath the full onslaught of his charm. In many ways he was easier to deal with when he was angry—at least then she could tell herself that she disliked him.

      ‘I called my doctor about signs of possible concussion. Do you feel dizzy?’

      She certainly did—but not because she was concussed, Kezia acknowledged ruefully. Standing this close to Nik was making her head spin.

      ‘No,’ she answered firmly.

      ‘Nauseous?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Do you have a headache?’

      She hesitated a fraction too long and his eyes narrowed. ‘Do you think you were knocked out? Even for a few seconds? And what about your neck? There’s a danger you’ve suffered whiplash.’

      ‘Nik…for heaven’s sake!’ Kezia stifled a gasp as he caught hold of her chin and tilted her face so that she was forced to stare up at him. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘Checking your pupils,’ he murmured, in a low, gravelly voice that brought her flesh out in goosebumps.

      She felt as though time ceased to exist. The sounds and smells of the kitchen faded as her senses focused on the man in front of her.

      ‘Curious,’ he mused softly, after he had spent what seemed like a lifetime staring down at her.

      Kezia fidgeted restlessly, wishing she could break free of the spell that seemed to have frozen her muscles. She wanted to turn her head, but found herself transfixed by his eyes that were the colour of rich sherry.

      ‘What is?’ she whispered breathlessly. His description of her as curious made her feel as though he was inspecting a specimen in a jar, and brought her hurtling back to earth.

      ‘I can’t decide if your eyes are green or grey, they’re an unusual mixture of both. Your pupils are slightly dilated. Why is that, do you suppose?’ His breath fanned her cheek, and she swallowed and tried to pull free of his grasp, but he merely tightened his hold.

      ‘I really don’t know. But I do know that I feel perfectly all right. It’s almost seven, Nik,’ she said on a note of desperation. ‘We should be upstairs, preparing to greet your guests.’

      ‘In a minute—I want a word with you first.’

      A sudden nuance in his voice disturbed her, and she felt a flicker of apprehension. What had she done now? ‘I’m sorry about the caterers,’ she said quickly. ‘But it wasn’t my fault—and Mrs Jessop has dinner under control.’

      ‘I’m not concerned with domestic arrangements,’ he told her coolly. ‘My concern is of a personal nature—our relationship, to be specific, and your apparent desire to be involved in my intimate affairs.’

      ‘What?’ The room swayed so alarmingly that Kezia was forced to grip the edge of the table, and she wondered briefly whether she was suffering the effects of concussion after all. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she mumbled, her face flaming.

      How had he guessed her feelings for him? Had she inadvertently given some sign that revealed her awareness of his brooding sexuality? She