away,’ she said. Her voice was tight. ‘Just...go away!’
He gave a low laugh. Game, set and match—thank you very much. He didn’t need any further confirmation to know that he’d just effortlessly breached her defences...got right past that bolshie anger barrier and hit home, sweet home.
With a sweeping gesture he scooped the pile of coins into his pocket, together with the solitary twenty-pound note, then picked up his ham sandwich and the bottle of water.
‘Have a nice day,’ he said flippantly, and strolled out of the sandwich shop.
His irritation was gone completely.
As he emerged he saw the down-and-out, Joe, leaning against a nearby lamppost, wolfing down the sandwich he had been given. On impulse, Nikos reached into his jacket pocket, jingling with all the pound coins she’d landed him with.
He scooped up a handful and proffered them. ‘You asked about spare change,’ he said to the man, who was eyeing him.
‘Ta, guv,’ said the man, and took the handful eagerly, his bloodshot eyes gleaming.
His grimy hands were shaking, and Nikos felt a pang of pity go through him.
‘She’s right, you know,’ he heard himself telling the man. ‘The booze is killing you.’
The bloodshot eyes met his. They were not gleaming now. There was desolation in them.
‘I know, mate...’
He pulled his gaze away and then he was off again, shuffling down the street, pocketing the money, shoulders hunched in defeat. For a moment Nikos’s eyes stayed on him. Then he saw a taxi cab approaching along the High Street, with its ‘For Hire’ sign illuminated. He flagged it down and flung himself into the back seat, starting to wolf down his ham sandwich.
His own words to the down-and-out echoed in his head. ‘She’s right, you know...’
His jaw tightened. Damn—she was, too. And not just about that wretched alcoholic.
Finishing his sandwich, he lifted his mobile phone from his inside pocket and pressed the speed-dial key for his London PA. She answered immediately, and Nikos gave her his instructions.
‘Janine, I need to have some flowers delivered...’
* * *
Mel stood, palms still pressed into the surface of the counter, and glared after the tall retreating figure. She was mad—totally hopping mad. She hadn’t been this angry since she couldn’t remember when.
Damn the arrogance of the man!
She could feel her jaw still clenching. She hadn’t liked him the moment he’d walked into the shop. The way he’d spoken—not even waiting for her to turn around to him, just making his demands as if she was some kind of servant. Underling. Minion. Lackey. The insulting words marched through her head.
She’d tried for her customary politeness while she was finishing Joe’s sandwich, but then she’d caught the way the damn man had looked at Joe—as if he was a bad smell. Well, yes, he was—but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Joe was in a bad way, and for heaven’s sake anyone would have felt pity for the guy, surely? Especially—and now her jaw clenched even more—especially a man whom life had so obviously not treated anything like as grimly as it had poor old Joe.
That had put her back up straight away. And from then on it had just got worse.
The whole monosyllabic exchange about what kind of sandwich he’d wanted replayed itself in her head, followed by—oh yes—his dropping a fifty-pound note down in payment. Mel’s mouth tightened in satisfaction. Well, it had given her particular pleasure to dump all those pound coins on him by way of change.
Boy, it had riled him—she had seen that immediately. Trouble was...and now her expression changed yet again, to a mix of anger and something else quite entirely...he had had that comeback on her...
Right through her body she could feel the heat flush. It was running right through her—through every vein, right out to the tips of her fingers—as though someone has tipped hot water into her. And to her own mortification she even felt glorious heat pooling in her core, felt her breasts start to tingle with traitorous reaction.
Oh, damn! Damn, damn, damn!
Yet she couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t stop the memory—instant, vivid and overpowering—of the way he’d looked at her. Looked right at her. Looked her over...
Meat, she said desperately to herself. As if you were a piece of meat—that’s how he looked at you. Just as you told him.
She fought to call back the burst of satisfaction she’d felt when she’d rapped that out at him, but it was impossible. All that was possible now was to go on feeling the wonderful flush of heat coursing through her. She fought it down as best she could, willing it to leave her—to leave her alone—just as she’d told him to go, just go away...
She shut her eyes, sighing heavily—hopelessly. OK—OK, she reasoned, so face it. However rude, arrogant and obnoxious he was, he was also—yup, she had to admit it—absolutely, totally and completely drop-dead devastating.
She’d registered it instantly—it would have been impossible not to—the minute she’d turned round with Joe’s sandwich to see just who it was who’d spoken to her in such a brusque, demanding fashion. Registered it, but had promptly busied herself in making Joe’s tea, pinning her eyes on pouring it out and ladling sugar into it the way Joe needed it.
But she’d been conscious of that first glimpse of Mr Drop-dead Devastating burning a hole in her retina—burning its way into her brain—so that all she’d wanted to do was lift her gaze and let it do what it had been trying to do with an urgency she still bewailed and berated.
Which was simply to stare and stare and stare...
At everything about him.
His height...his lean, fit body, sheathed in that hand-tailored suit that had fitted him like a glove, reaching across wide shoulders and moulding his broad chest just as the expanse of pristine white shirt had.
But it wasn’t his designer suit or even his lean physique that was dominating her senses now.
It was his eyes. Eyes that were night-dark and like tempered steel in a face that was constructed in some particular way that outdid every male she’d ever seen—on-screen or off. Chiselled jaw, strong nose, tough-looking cheekbones, winged brows and always, always, those ludicrously long-lashed, gold-flecked eyes that were lethal weapons entirely on their own.
That was what she’d wanted to gaze at, and that was what had been searing through her head all through their snarling exchange.
And then, as if a switch had been thrown, he’d suddenly changed the subject...
More heat coursed through her as the physical memory of how he’d looked at her hit her again. Turning the blatant focus of his male reaction on her like a laser beam. One that had burned right through her.
The slow wash of his gaze had poured over her like warm, molten honey—like a silken touch to her skin. It had felt as though he were caressing her, as if she could actually feel his hands shaping her body, his mouth lowering to hers to taste, to tease...to arouse.
All that in a single sensual glance...
And then, when she’d been helpless—pathetically, abjectly helpless—to do anything other than tell him—beg him—to leave, what had he done? He’d laughed! Laughed at her—knowing perfectly well how he’d got the better of her, how he’d made a cringing mockery of her defiance.
The colour in her cheeks turned to hectic spots as anger burned out that shaming blush he’d conjured in her.