Greek Bachelors: Buying His Bride. Julia James

they hadn’t even exchanged names, but then decided that it would be embarrassing to admit that she’d danced like that with a total stranger.

      What had Marianne called him? Angelos?

      So she’d been right about one thing; he definitely wasn’t English.

      What would it be like, she mused dreamily, to be loved by a man like that?

      ‘And even now you can’t stop thinking about him, can you?’ The man sounded pleased. ‘You share something deep. He cares. I can see with my own eyes. The way he looked at you. The way you looked at him. The way you moved together, as if there was no one else in the room. The body says more than words. I can see from watching you that your relationship is serious.’

      His observation shocked her out of her dreams. ‘Oh. Well, no, it isn’t exactly—’

      ‘You don’t have to be secretive with me. I may be old enough to be your father, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in love. I want to know how you felt the first time you saw him. Tell me!’

      Chantal hesitated and then smiled, drawn by the kindness in his eyes. It was strange, she mused. She didn’t make friends easily, and yet after only five minutes in his company she would have died for this man. ‘I thought he was amazing,’ she said honestly. ‘He was charming, clever and surprisingly easy to talk to.’

      ‘And sexy?’

      ‘Oh, yes. Incredible.’ She lowered her voice, afraid that the people around them might overhear. ‘I’ve never been so attracted to anyone in my life before.’

      The man nodded with satisfaction. ‘I knew it. And you’re crazy about him, aren’t you?’

      ‘Well—’ Chantal gave a helpless shrug. ‘Yes. But we haven’t exactly known each other for—’

      ‘It’s either right or it’s wrong! All these long engagements—all nonsense. If a man and woman are right together, they’re right straight away—not in six months or six years.’

      Slightly disturbed by that comment, Chantal thought for a moment. Right together? Hardly. If he was as rich as she suspected, then she couldn’t think of two people less suited.

      She would never be comfortable in his world. And he wouldn’t want her in his.

      If he knew who she was then he’d join the crowd at the edge of the playground.

      Dismissing that thought, she glanced at the man next to her. He really did remind her of someone. ‘So, if you’re such an expert on body language, why do you think he looked so angry?’ She wondered why she was asking the advice of a total stranger. But he didn’t feel like a stranger, and talking to him seemed like the most natural thing in the world.

      ‘That’s easy enough to answer. A man never likes to admit that he’s well and truly fallen for a woman. I was the same when I met my wife. I struggled for weeks. Loving a woman makes a man vulnerable, and a strong man doesn’t like to be vulnerable. I resisted her.’

      ‘So what did your wife do to win you over?’

      ‘She did what women always do when they want something. Talk, talk, talk until a man’s resistance is ground into the dust.’

      Chantal laughed. ‘Are you still together?’

      ‘We had forty years.’ The man’s smile faded. ‘She died fifteen years ago and I’ve never met anyone else to touch her. But I haven’t given up trying. And I can still remember how it feels to move around a dance floor.’

      Moved by the emotion in his voice, Chantal stood up impulsively and held out her hands. ‘Show me.’ She angled her head and listened to the music. ‘It’s a waltz. Do you waltz?’

      He laughed with delight. ‘You want me to waltz with you?’

      ‘Why is that funny?’

      ‘I’m seventy three.’

      ‘There’s no man in the room I’d rather dance with.’

      ‘Then you are a brave woman, because Angelos is an extremely possessive man. He would not be amused if I took you onto the dance floor. But I can see now why you’ve succeeded where so many have failed. I’m sure it’s that wonderful spirit of yours that has made you different from all the others.’

      ‘All the others?’ Chantal frowned. ‘All what others?’

      ‘All the other women who have aspired to be where you are tonight. By his side. In his heart.’ The man’s eyes misted and Chantal felt her stomach lurch.

      ‘You know him well?’ Who exactly was this man? Desperately she tried to rerun the conversation. Exactly what had she said? ‘You didn’t mention that you knew him well.’

      ‘If I’d done that you might not have talked so freely, and that would have been a pity. It was a most illuminating conversation.’ The older man was still smiling, and at that moment Chantal saw her dance partner approach, the expression on his handsome face dark and forbidding.

      He stopped in front of them, broad shouldered and powerful, an ominous frown touching his dark brows as he saw their clasped hands.

      Chantal instantly withdrew her hands, her heart starting to thud. Why was he looking at her like that? The man she was sitting with was clearly a man of mature years. What possible reason was there for the shimmering anger she saw in the eyes of her handsome dance partner?

      He couldn’t possibly be jealous. That would be too ridiculous for words.

      She didn’t know what to say, so she just sat holding her breath, waiting for him to speak.

      An expression of grim disapproval settled on his face as he glanced between the two of them and finally, after what seemed like an age, straightened his shoulders and spoke.

      ‘I see you’ve met my father.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      CHANTAL served the group of tourists seated at the table and then sank into a chair at an adjacent table, staring blankly at an empty coffee cup.

      It didn’t matter how much time passed, she still felt horribly, miserably embarrassed. And sad. Really, really sad. As if she’d lost something special that she’d never be able to get back.

      What was the matter with her?

      Two weeks had passed since the ball. Two weeks since she’d gate-crashed the most prestigious social event of the year—

      Why couldn’t she just forget it and move on?

      Why couldn’t she just forget him?

      Without thinking, she slipped a hand into the pocket of her skirt and touched the piece of torn newspaper she’d been carrying around for the past two weeks. She’d touched and stared at the picture so many times that it was crumpled and thin, and in immediate danger of falling apart. Now she wished that she’d bought a hundred copies of the newspaper and stored them safely, so that when she was old and grey she could remind herself of that one perfect night.

      That one perfect man.

      The memory of that dance still made her nerve-endings tingle. The chemistry that had sizzled between them had been the most exciting, astonishing experience of her life. Even now, as she remembered the seductive, intoxicating feel of his body against hers, her heart-rate increased.

      But it hadn’t just been the chemistry that had kept her by his side long after she should have made her escape. She’d liked him. She’d liked his sharp observations, his intelligence and his dry sense of humour.

      Angelos Zouvelekis.

      Thanks to the article in her pocket, she now knew exactly who he was.

      Billionaire and philanthropist. Greek billionaire