Claiming His Hidden Heir. Carol Marinelli

      He was right.

      Gordon wouldn’t consider it.

      ‘Do you speak Greek?’ he asked.

      ‘No,’ Cecelia said, suddenly hoping it was a prerequisite for the role and that this torture would therefore come to an end. It was torture because her stomach seemed to be folding in on itself and she all of a sudden could feel the weight of her breasts. She had never had such a violent reaction to another person, though of course it was one-sided.

      Luka Kargas looked thoroughly bored.

      ‘Do you speak any other languages?’ he asked.

      ‘Some French,’ Cecelia said, even though she spoke it very well and had both lived and worked in France for a year.

      Anyway, he didn’t want her French, whether a little or a lot of it, for he screwed up his nose.

      Good, because Cecelia had now decided that she did not want this job.

      She liked safe, and for very good reasons.

      Cecelia liked her world ordered, and ten minutes alone with Luka Kargas had just rocked hers.

      His black eyes were mesmerising and his brusque indifference had her re-crossing her legs.

      Until this moment, sex had been a perfectly pleasant experience, if sometimes a bit of a chore.

      Now, though, she sat across from a man who made her think of it.

      Actually sit and think about torrid, impromptu sex at two p.m. on a Monday afternoon, and that could never do.

      ‘Ms Andrews...’

      ‘Cecelia,’ she corrected, but only because she didn’t want to sound like some uptight spinster.

      And she wasn’t.

      She was engaged to be married, and right now she found herself desperately trying to hold onto that thought.

      Oh, this really would never do!

      ‘Cecelia.’ He nodded. ‘I see that you don’t have any real experience in the hospitality industry.’

      ‘No, I don’t,’ Cecelia said. ‘Not a jot.’

      ‘A jot?’ His black eyes looked up and met her green ones and she saw that his were not actually black but the deepest of browns.

      ‘I don’t have any experience in the hospitality industry, none at all.’

      ‘And I note that you wear an engagement ring.’

      ‘Excuse me...’ Cecelia frowned ‘...but you can’t comment on that.’

      He waved his hand dismissively.

      Luka read her emergency contact and saw that it wasn’t her fiancé but, in fact, her aunt.

      And she intrigued him a touch. ‘Are you engaged?’

      ‘Yes.’ Cecelia bristled. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’

      ‘Cecelia, if you are considering working for me, then you might as well know from the outset that I am not known for my political correctness. I’ll tell it to you straight—I don’t want a PA who is in the throes of planning a big wedding, neither I don’t want someone who is going to have to dash off at six because her fiancé is sulking.’

      Cecelia’s jaw tightened because at times Gordon did just that.

      ‘Mr Kargas, my personal life is not your concern and, let me assure you, it never will be.’

      Never, because she was not taking the job!

      He heard the double meaning behind her words and almost smiled but then checked himself.

      ‘Come over here,’ he said, and stood up and headed to the floor-to-ceiling windows.

      It was like no interview she had ever experienced before, Cecelia thought as she stood and walked over to join him.

      Gosh, he was tall.

      And he smelt as if he had bathed in bergamot with a testosterone undertone.

      ‘See the view,’ Luka said.

      ‘It’s amazing.’ Cecelia nodded, looking out across a gleaming, wet and shiny London. The grey skies were starting to clear and black clouds were lined with silver but there was no rainbow that she could see.

      ‘It’s all yours,’ Luka said, and Cecelia frowned. ‘When you finish on a Friday, right up to Monday morning the world out there is your oyster.’ Then he looked over at her. ‘But when you’re here...’

      He expected devotion. Cecelia got his meaning.

      ‘When can you start?’ Luka asked.

      Before she declined, Cecelia took a deep breath and thought of the perks of this job—a salary that was almost twice her current one, endless travel and the Kargas name on her résumé for ever.

      And then she thought of the pitfalls.

      Sixty-hour weeks spent beside this stunning man.

      Her attraction to him was as unexpected as it was unsettling.

      She actually didn’t know what to do.

      ‘I’d like some time to think about it,’ Cecelia said in response to his offer.

      ‘Well, I’m looking for someone who trusts their own instincts and can make prompt decisions.’

      Luka now wanted her working for him.

      She had impressed him when he had not expected to be impressed, yet something told him that if she walked out of the door Cecelia Andrews would not be coming back.

      He could feel her hesitation.

      And because he was Luka Kargas he knew when to push, and how. ‘So, I’ll ask again, when can you start, Cecelia?’

      Never! Her instincts screamed.

      Yet she had so badly wanted this job and the challenge it would bring and, though he was undoubtedly attractive, Cecelia knew herself well enough to be certain she would never get involved with anyone at work.

      ‘Now,’ Cecelia said, shocked at her own decision. ‘I can start now.’

      ‘Then welcome aboard.’

      And as he shook her hand, Cecelia told herself she could handle it.

       CHAPTER ONE

      LUKA, AFTER CAREFUL consideration I’ve decided...

      Waking just before her alarm went off, Cecelia lay listening to the hiss of bus doors opening on the street outside her London flat and working out how best to resign.

      And when to do it?

      Did she get it over and done with in the morning? Or wait until the end of the day to tell him that she would not be renewing her contract?

      Most people would say she was mad to quit.

      The pay was amazing, the travel wonderful, if exhausting, but in the eleven months she had worked for Luka, Cecelia had hit the limit on her primness radar.

      He was a playboy in the extreme.

      And that wasn’t some vague, unsourced opinion.

      It was fact.

      Cecelia ran his diary after all!

      Quite simply, she couldn’t do it any more and so on Friday, as Luka had headed to the rooftop to swan off in his chopper for a debauched weekend in France, Cecelia had reached for her phone and accepted a six-month contract as personal assistant to an esteemed and elderly foreign diplomat.

      While the money and