it’s right and natural to slide along the seat towards him and–
Stop! Check yourself Charley. This isn’t like you. Angling myself so the door handle digs into my left kidney, I use the discomfort to refocus, fixing on one of Alex’s defined cheekbones to avoid getting lost in his deep-blue eyes. ‘Apology accepted,’ I reply at last. He seems genuine enough. ‘However, I’d ask you not to judge me by other people’s actions. You don’t know me.’ Do you?
‘You’re right.’ He sits straighter, eyebrows folding together. ‘And I know it must sound like I’m making a generalisation, but I have my reasons—’
‘I’m sure you do, but you don’t have to explain them to me.’ I interrupt. Better to keep my distance.
‘Thank you.’
I nod rather than get caught in further conversation but am aware of him studying me as I turn to the tinted car window. The dual carriageway and metal barriers slide by outside but I don’t see them, too distracted by irritation and confusion. At him. At myself.
Yeah, I’ve got to keep my distance.
However, it doesn’t take much for my attention to boomerang back to Alex. When he pulls out a computer tablet and starts flicking things across the screen with a long-tanned finger, my gaze lands on his muscular thighs, superbly shown off by expensively tailored trousers. The idea of being flung over his shoulder and carried off to his cave and ravished pops into my head. It doesn’t make sense at all; I can’t stand male chauvinists. Which is surely what he is if he thinks no woman can make it in the corporate world without surrendering to romance. I mean, what about men? They’re just as guilty as getting involved in workplace relationships.
Added to which, growing up with three older brothers who delighted in winding me up at every opportunity means I hate chauvinist behaviour. In my teens they always taunted me about kitchen sinks and ironing boards and how real women should have dinner on the table when their husbands got home. I lost count of the number of times they provoked me into losing my temper or embarrassed me in front of my latest crush.
Now we’re all adults I’ve forgiven them their comments. They only made them to get a reaction. Still, I learnt from the older generation in my home village that some men really do view women like that. Outdated attitudes I was keen to escape. So it’s easygoing, supportive guys I date, not alpha males who have liquid testosterone running through their veins. Men like Alex.
No, it can’t be genuine attraction. It’s a hormonal thing, I’ve been sex-starved for too long. Perhaps it’s time to change that. Just not with Mr Standoffish.
Stamping hard on the brakes, the driver gives a muffled curse as the car skids to a stop with a squeal of tyres. I’m wrenched out of my thoughts and, despite my seatbelt, fly sideways with a lurch, ending half-sprawled across Alex’s lap, my boobs against his shoulder and my hand on his upper thigh.
It’s very hard, and very hot.
‘Oops, sorry.’ Straightening, I gaze into his eyes, cheeks scalding, heart racing again. It takes enormous willpower not to squeeze his thigh to test exactly how firm it is.
‘No problem,’ he replies, ‘it was an accident.’ He lifts my hand off his leg. ‘But if you don’t mind, you can have this back.’
‘Thanks.’ I can’t help noticing how big and warm his hand is, the palm rough against my fingers, which flex automatically, fingertips brushing his wrist. His touch transmits a basic message to my ultra-aware body and my unruly hormones go into party mode again. ‘Mr Demetrio,’ I breathe.
‘Yes?’
‘I … um.’ Hot and extremely bothered, my skin tingles with waves of sexual awareness. My toes are curling, no, practically corkscrewing in my boots. Bet he’s phenomenal in bed. Not that it matters. Snap out of it. Clearing my throat. ‘Nothing.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ the driver calls through. ‘Someone cut across me to get to the exit. I don’t think he saw me.’
‘No problem,’ Alex replies. ‘The main thing is we’re all okay.’ He looks down at our joined hands and frowns.
I snatch mine away, sliding across the back seat as the car starts moving again. With a small shake of his head, Alex retrieves his tablet and resumes work.
Rubbing my shoulder where the belt burnt into it, I cast around for a distraction. ‘How far to the airport?’ Fresh air and a change of scenery may do me good.
He glances at his expensive gold watch. ‘Another twenty minutes or so.’
‘Right, thank you.’
‘Is there a problem?’
Shifting on the leather beneath me, I open my jacket, needing to cool down. ‘No, not at all, I was just wondering.’ The seatbelt tightens across my chest as the car purrs up a slip road and comes to a roundabout. I need to get a grip. Back to the task at hand. What would a new employee with little knowledge of his business ask?
‘Can you brief me on the arrangements for this weekend please? And provide some background information about you and the organisation?’ I know the casino chain inside out and can list the types of companies sitting alongside it under the umbrella organisation, but if I show that knowledge off he might get suspicious.
He turns to face me. ‘Didn’t you do any research? Or ask the agency to brief you?’
I take a deep breath, refusing to react to the implied criticism. ‘There wasn’t enough time. The agency gave me the broad outline, but once I accepted the assignment, it was a rush to pack and get across the city. Plus my phone died, so I couldn’t look it up online.’ Liar. I switched to a pay-as-you-go mobile months ago and only have enough credit to make emergency calls to Jess whilst abroad. Raising my eyebrows, I inject gratitude into my tone. ‘So if you wouldn’t mind?’
‘Fair enough.’ He stretches his arms out then drops them, the movement making me aware of how big and broad he is. ‘This weekend is for the AGM,’ annual general meeting I translate silently, ‘of Demetrio International. The organisation has Greek roots but we trade worldwide.’ The car rocks slightly as an articulated lorry roars past.
‘You don’t sound very Greek.’ It pops out.
‘What do you want? Dios and agape mou in darkly accented muttered tones?’
My stomach squelches. That actually sounds quite nice. But it appears to be a sore point. ‘No, of course not. Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.’
‘No,’ he sighs, ‘I’m sorry for snapping. Anyway, I came to the UK as a child from Corfu, went to boarding school and then on to study at Oxford.’ Which explains his unaccented English. ‘I can speak some Greek. German and French too.’
‘Right.’
‘My grandfather built the original companies, primarily based on shipping, oil and transport.’ As he speaks a crooked smile curves his mouth, making my knickers twang. ‘When he met my grandmother, who’s British, she was a high-ranking army officer. After they married she left the army and had my father and younger sister within a few years but wanted to do something as well as raise children. Together they set up and managed a number of vineyards across Europe, olive farms and some restaurants and bars throughout the Greek islands. That was the start of it.’
‘She was an officer,’ I echo, impressed. The corporate induction information mentions the organisation’s humble beginnings, but I didn’t know his grandmother was in the army. She must have been a tough lady.
‘Yes, but it’s not well known. Pretend you didn’t hear that.’
‘No problem.’ I mime zipping my lips. So