Chapter Three #2
There was that word again. Surprising. Fotis didn’t like surprises. He preferred answers.
He’d spent much of the afternoon searching for more information on the woman he’d been blackmailed into minding. But there’d been nothing new, no startling revelations.
There were inevitable photos of her as a cute child, looking docile at grand events.
A touching photo of her as a slender young girl at her mother’s funeral.
Then, when she was seventeen, a slew of behind-the-scenes snaps.
Draped in the arms of a good-looking boy a few years older.
Being helped out of a sports car, laughing in a barely-there dress, long legs on full display, wearing a smile that hinted at inebriation.
Some that were more scandalous. Persistent stories of wild parties and decadent behaviour.
After that she’d been more circumspect. But always in the background were reports of her busy love life, her penchant for sophisticated parties and refusal to settle down. She had no job other than as a royal presence at various events and she lived off the royal purse.
Princess Rosamund seemed to have no aspirations to do anything to further herself.
She was another addicted to the privileges of wealth.
Memory conjured a woman with flashing dark eyes. His mother had a siren’s ability to make you feel special. For as long as you had something she wanted. But behind the beauty was a corroded soul, interested only in her own pleasure.
With brutal efficiency Fotis shoved aside thoughts of his mother. He shrugged his shoulders into his dinner jacket and knocked on his charge’s door. ‘It’s time.’
The sound of footsteps and the door opening startled him. He hadn’t expected her to be punctual. Yet she was clearly ready, carrying a beaded purse and a transparent wrap of silver blue that matched her long dress.
He stepped back, giving her space, and himself time to acclimatise.
She was stunning.
Delectable, growled a husky inner voice. Not just husky but hungry. Ravenous.
Every male hormone hummed and Fotis registered a heavy awareness pooling in his groin.
Her reddish-blond hair was caught up with a few wisps artfully loose around her neck, drawing attention to its slim length and her bare shoulders.
Miniscule straps held up a simple dress that skimmed her from breasts to toes.
It wasn’t tight, yet the way the light played across shimmering, shifting material revealed a body that made his mouth dry.
Want rose with a sharpness that left him short of air.
She turned to close the door and his gaze fastened on the smooth, golden flesh of her upper back.
Fotis felt the hard punch of response reverberate from his ribs to his belly, and lower.
He’d felt something similar last night, seeing her asleep. And before that, on the plane, when she’d looked so supercilious that he’d wanted to silence her sass with his mouth on hers.
Not. Going. To. Happen.
She was a client, even if an unwanted one.
He had too much self-respect to fall for the wiles of a woman so like his self-absorbed mother. She used men to get what she wanted. To her they were disposable. Even her innocent sons.
His voice grated over the bones of ancient hurt. ‘We need to leave now if you want to arrive on time.’
Blue-grey eyes lifted and he caught Rosamund’s curiosity. Unblinking, he met her stare, wishing she’d object to his brusqueness and break their deal in a fit of pique.
Disappointingly, she simply nodded and moved to the stairs.
Which meant he had to spend the evening at her side, smiling and pretending to enjoy himself. But not touching. Not even skimming his knuckle down her bare arm or testing the softness of those teasing strawberry-blond tendrils.
Fotis glowered as he accompanied her downstairs and into the waiting limousine. Bad enough to waste his time looking after a spoiled princess but to have his body quicken whenever she was around… It was the ultimate betrayal.
Fortunately keeping his mind on potential threats would give him no time to think about his sudden unaccountably bad taste in women.
Rosamund reminded herself she was used to discomfort. Royal duty was often tedious if not downright trying. But tonight she wished she could run away.
Impossible! She wanted to attend. This was important to her. She’d known it would be tough, but today’s events at the couturier had thrown her more than she wanted to admit.
The idea of wearing that dress… It brought memories of the secret pain her mother had hidden behind optimism and a determination to look forward, not back. She wouldn’t betray her mother’s memory by wearing it.
She shuddered and bit her lip, turning to look at the passing view of Paris in the street lights, not wanting the man beside her to see—
‘Are you cold? Do you want the air-conditioning changed?’
Silently she cursed his perspicacity. Fotis Mavridis saw too much. Whereas most men looked at her and saw what they wanted to see, she had the uncomfortable notion he was different.
Keeping her real self private had been the key to her survival.
The thought of anyone breaching that barrier unnerved her.
Usually she was confident about hiding her feelings and vulnerabilities.
But today, anticipating tonight’s event, she felt too raw, as if someone had scrubbed her skin with a steel brush until it bled.
Stop being a drama queen. You can do this! Think of all those years when your mother hid her feelings so successfully that the public had no inkling of her hurt.
But thinking of her mother only made everything worse. She’d been her rock. Rosamund missed her love, her guidance, her company. Sometimes she felt so terribly alone.
She dreaded tonight as much as she longed for it.
Rosamund sensed the big man beside her on the back seat shift his weight. ‘Princess?’
‘No, thank you. The temperature is fine.’
Schooling her features, she turned to look at him, but avoided his eyes. He’d make a stir tonight. Not handsome yet brutally attractive with severe features that had their own stark beauty. A superb body that looked just as good in a tuxedo as it did in a leather jacket and jeans.
What would he look like, naked?
She felt her eyes widen at the wayward thought and almost welcomed the distraction.
The press would have a field day when she arrived with him. It would fuel a whole new round of rumours and speculation. By tomorrow there’d be stories that she’d torn him away from his long-term love. Or that they were part of a scandalous love triangle. The options were endless.
After the press shredded her reputation, there’d been a stage when she’d frequented parties that veered towards the scandalous.
No amount of effort had convinced her father or anyone else that she’d been an innocent, wronged by a vengeful lover.
So in a fit of indignation she’d decided to live up to her party girl reputation.
That phase had been short. It wasn’t the life she wanted. But though that was years ago, the press still typecast her as a shallow fun-seeker. No doubt tomorrow’s stories about her and Mavridis would be salacious or full of innuendo.
At least Mavridis wouldn’t look out of place at the formal event, or as her supposed lover.
Imagine the reaction if she’d turned up with the podgy, balding bureaucrat she’d first imagined him.
‘Something amuses you?’
His low voice was a deep purr, brushing her skin and making her nipples bud. Instinctively she folded her arms across her body.
‘I was just imagining how popular you’ll be tonight. You could well have talent scouts approaching you. The place will be full of casting agents, among others.’
He didn’t look impressed. She doubted much impressed this man. Certainly not her. ‘I already have a job.’
‘Just what does your business do, Kyrie Mavridis?’
‘Fotis. We’ll need to use first names in public.’
Silently, she formed the word in her head, wondering how it would taste on her tongue. Inexplicably she wished she could keep calling him by his surname. It felt safer.
‘Of course. And your company?’
Unreadable eyes held hers. ‘We provide confidential advice on complex matters to a range of clients.’
She raised her eyebrows. He made it sound like a state secret. Or did he think she was too dim-witted to understand whatever technicalities were involved?
Before she could ask anything else, the car halted and she became aware of the crowd thronging the pavement. At least he’d distracted her for a short time from the ordeal to come.
And, because of him, she wouldn’t be walking into the gala with a full complement of security agents hemming her in and making her into even more of a spectacle.
Without thinking, she gave him a quick smile as he opened his door. ‘Thank you for doing this for Leon.’
Minutes later they stood together on the red carpet, surrounded by camera flashes and demanding voices.
Her arm was through his, her hand resting on his forearm, the fine weave of his jacket soft beneath her fingertips.
He was so solid, so steady that for the first time she wondered what it would be like to attend such events with a real partner.
Not a stranger protecting her for commercial benefit, but someone who cared about her.
She thrust the idea aside and smiled for their audience.
It was an exclusive event, full of VIPs, but there were others here, hoping to catch a glimpse of the attendees. Many waved photos and some called her name.
They were about to climb the stairs into the imposing building when Rosamund halted. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
She moved to slip her arm free but he stopped her. ‘Where you go, I go.’
It was a statement of fact. He was being paid to keep her safe, yet his words resonated powerfully.
She jerked her head up to meet that ocean-bright stare and felt a longing so powerful, so unexpected that for a second she forgot all about the crowd and the photographers.