The Millionaire's Virgin. Sophie Weston

of good burgundy on the side table next to her, and a new book just started. She had read the first page three times, and still didn’t have a clue what it said.

      Zagorakis’s chauffeur would call round, she knew that, but still she flinched and dragged her robe a little closer when the doorbell rang. Thankfully Vera would take care of it. Vera, confidante and housekeeper, knew exactly what she had to do.

      Just as Lisa had anticipated, the exchange between Vera and Zagorakis’s chauffeur lasted no more than a few seconds. With a sigh of relief, she turned back to her book. But she couldn’t relax… She tried changing the music. She could always find something to suit her mood amongst her vast collection of CD’s… Tonight was different, tonight she had to force her fingers past the boxed sets devoted to the heavenly voice of La Divina Callas. The impassioned Greek-American voice of Maria Anna Sophie Cecilia Kalogeropoulos was the last thing she needed to hear. Right now anything remotely Greek was off limits. Finally, she settled for some low, smoochy jazz. The plangent wail of Miles Davis’ trumpet seemed appropriate somehow.

      Returning to her book, Lisa turned the pages dutifully, all the time trying to ignore the keen dark eyes and mocking smile occupying her thoughts. When the doorbell rang again she was surprised and then angry. Zagorakis had some nerve sending his chauffeur round twice in one evening. Couldn’t he take a hint?

      Vera answered the door, but Lisa’s curiosity got the better of her. Padding barefoot across the room, she froze. The man’s audacity was unbelievable. His unannounced visit to her office building had been bad enough, but this was outrageous— and Vera was having trouble getting rid of him.

      ‘Thank you, Vera, I’ll see to this.’

      Lisa couldn’t pretend she wasn’t thankful that Vera remained hovering in the background. ‘Yes?’ She stared up at him. Tino Zagorakis was more casually dressed, and even more brazenly male. Without a jacket she could see how toned he was beneath his black shirt. His assessing stare was every bit as hard as she remembered.

      ‘We arranged to have dinner tonight.’

      ‘You arranged to have dinner tonight, Mr Zagorakis.’

      ‘It’s time you called me Tino.’

      Oh, really? ‘It’s late—’

      ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘And as you pointed out, Lisa, we still have things to talk about.’

      Lisa? When did she give him permission to use her first name? Jack Bond’s first law of survival: keep everyone at a distance. Everyone… She relaxed minutely. He was carrying a briefcase. Of course, Zagorakis was a man who would far rather trade than indulge his carnal appetites, but she had already set up their next meeting for the following morning. She had no intention of being railroaded by him twice in one day. ‘Business will have to wait until our respective teams are present.’

      ‘If you insist.’

      ‘I do insist. Our next meeting will be held tomorrow morning.’

      ‘Thank you for reminding me… but we still have to eat.’

      His casual shrug and the smile that accompanied it threw her, and while she was trying to figure out his angle he walked past her into the apartment.

      ‘Like I said, Mr Zagorakis—’ she went after him ‘—it’s late—’

      ‘And so I took the trouble of ordering in.’ He paused mid-step to turn round and look at her. ‘I didn’t want to put your housekeeper to any trouble.’

      And now Vera was sharing a flirtatious smile with him! What was this? A conspiracy?

      In fairness, she couldn’t blame Vera; the man was hot. His shirt was open far enough to show some hard, tanned chest, and his blue jeans appeared pressure-moulded to thighs of iron. And there were certain other impressive bulges below the heavy-duty belt…

      ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me coming inside?’

      Lisa quickly adjusted her gaze. The only thing sure about this was that her face was heating up. ‘I don’t wish to appear ungrateful.’

      ‘But?’ he pressed.

      ‘I’m tired. It’s late. And I’m ready for bed.’

      ‘So I see.’

      His lips tugged up at one corner in a way that made her painfully aware that she was naked beneath her robe. The split second it took to look down to check that the robe was securely fastened was enough for his chauffeur to march past her carrying a hamper. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

      Zagorakis stepped forward and barred her way. ‘In here?’ he said, protecting his man’s back by resting one arm against the doorframe of her den.

      Lisa’s mouth dropped open. The only thing left for her to confirm, apparently, was the venue for the picnic he had brought with him. ‘You have some incredible nerve—’

      ‘Please… no more compliments.’ He held up his hands in mock defeat and she had to be prodded twice before Vera could make her presence felt.

      ‘Hadn’t you better get changed?’ Vera suggested discreetly. ‘You don’t want him guessing you’re naked under there.’

      Lisa could see the sense in that. ‘Stay with them, will you, Vera? I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’

      Jeans and a T-shirt might have been a practical choice, but smart navy trousers and a tailored white blouse made Lisa feel more in control. The sex-stripping pop socks and boring flat shoes were an inspiration, and, with her hair scraped back into a pony-tail, she was satisfied that she had done everything possible to strip anything lightweight from her appearance. A slick of clear lip-gloss was her only concession— but then she sucked it off again. No point in playing Zagorakis’s game—she’d stick to her own.

      The angry words she had been rehearsing all the way down from her bedroom died the moment she entered her den. The room had been transformed. Candles had been lit, and were flickering on every surface. Champagne was cooling in a bucket… and on a low table between the two sofas a platter of fresh seafood emitted a faint, salty tang. Another mouth-watering aroma said the bread in the wicker basket was still warm, and, inside a crystal bowl nestling in a dish of ice, yellow butter pats were asking to be slathered over one of the crisp, golden crusts. And she was hungry—starving, in fact, Lisa realised, praying her stomach wouldn’t rumble.

      ‘Can I tempt you?’

      Transferring her gaze to Constantine Zagorakis’s dark, slanting eyes, Lisa stared at him coldly.

      ‘A few prawns, perhaps?’ he murmured, reaching for a plate.

      He was baiting his hook with a lot more than seafood, Lisa suspected, seeing the smile hovering around his mouth.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ He put the plate down again.

      Lisa had been distracted momentarily. She was sure she had just heard two sets of footsteps leaving the apartment; two voices mingling as the front door closed.

      ‘Where are you going now?’ he said.

      Lisa looked down at the hand on her arm. Zagorakis released her at once. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I must have been mistaken—’

      ‘Mistaken?’

      ‘I thought I heard Vera leaving.’

      ‘Your housekeeper? You did.’

      ‘No.’ Lisa shook her head. ‘Vera would have come to say goodnight to me before she left.’

      ‘Not if she was being discreet.’

      ‘Discreet?’

      His shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘It’s no trouble for my chauffeur to take her home. He passes her door—’

      Raising one hand, Lisa silenced him. ‘Let me get this straight.