The Greek's Virgin Temptation. Susan Stephens

regretted sharing as much as he had. He would think it a sign of weakness to show off his scars. Just as Kimmie felt hers had never really healed, Kris didn’t like to admit to the same.

      ‘I love your house,’ she said, hoping to ease the tension that had grown between them. She wasn’t completely naïve, and had expected a billionaire’s roost to be off-the-scale fabulous, but this was something else. The sheer size and splendour of the building, enhanced by various add-ons like a line of tennis courts and a swish pavilion. There was the competition-sized pool and, of course, the indispensable helipad. All of it made the gulf between them even more unbridgeable. Painter and subject didn’t require parity between them, she reminded herself; all that was required was a steady hand and, in the case of painting Kristof Kaimos, an even steadier nerve.

      ‘Painting your estate could be my life’s work,’ she said carelessly as thoughts of holding a paintbrush in her hand again took hold.

      ‘It’s always lovely here at sunset,’ Kris observed with what was almost a dismissive gesture as he strode on.

      He was missing so much, Kimmie thought, longing to make Kris linger so he could see things as she did with her artist’s eyes. Everything was subtly lit so the gardens glowed lush green, while glittering water features competed with ancient statuary. Beyond these, seemingly endless miles of ocean stretched to unseen horizons. What a place to make the imagination fly. It was glorious.

      She turned to look at Kris, who’d stopped walking to wait for her, and wondered what she was doing here with this man. A more relevant question might be—what was Kris doing here with her? What did he want with her? If he wanted the obvious he could have made his move on the beach, but he’d behaved like a gentleman. Because he knew her emotions were churning, she reasoned, and Kris was too big a man to take advantage of a woman in distress.

      ‘What?’ he prompted, seeing she was distracted.

      ‘Oh, a helipad,’ she said as if she’d never seen such a thing before. Let him think her naïve and unworldly. Better that than he read some of her thoughts.

      ‘And over there,’ he said with humour in his voice, pointing, ‘is a runway for my private jet.’

      ‘Only one?’ she queried, tongue in cheek.

      Kris’s lips twitched and he almost smiled, but she had to be careful. She liked him a lot. Too much, maybe, and that was dangerous for her bruised and battered heart.

      ‘Do you play?’ he asked as they passed the tennis courts.

      ‘I like to lob a few balls back into court,’ she admitted dryly, but when he smiled she told the truth. ‘My hand–eye coordination is lousy.’

      ‘I’m surprised,’ he said. ‘You being an artist...’

      ‘I don’t like running.’

      ‘Away from anything,’ he guessed. ‘How about swimming? That would cool you down.’

      If only it was that easy. Her temperature rose just looking at Kris.

      ‘You could stay over,’ he offered. ‘Guest accommodation,’ he said before her heart could start pounding with alarm.

      ‘That’s a kind offer, but no, thank you. I’d better get back.’

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘you’d better.’

      She couldn’t read anything into the tone of his voice and, even if she had, she would probably be guilty of overreacting. Her emotional foundations were still rocking, and her decision-making processes were shot to hell. But why ask her to stay over? Was Kris just curious about her, as she was about him, or did he want to take a closer look at her like a scientist with an interesting project in mind? With his uncle’s interesting project in mind, she amended. Or was that reading too much into this?