CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
The next evening Flora found herself standing in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom of the eighteenth-century Constantinides mansion in Paris’s Marais district.
They’d arrived from London a couple of hours earlier. Apollo upsetting Flora’s usual organisational routine whenever they arrived anywhere by ordering her to stop fussing, that Madame Choubert, the housekeeper, would be taking over her duties for the remainder of the visit.
She hadn’t known what to do then, but a minute after that an officious French designer arrived with a rack full of gowns and Flora was hustled into the bedroom to try them all on, in a quest to find something suitable for the event that evening.
Flora tried to tell Apollo that she’d brought one of the plain black gowns that she customarily wore when she accompanied him to events as his PA, but he flatly refused to even look at it. It wasn’t suitable, he told her shortly. She needed to wear something more befitting her new role as his fiancée.
He was right, of course, but as the hour of the event drew closer, all her insides were tying themselves in knots, her palms sweaty.
She only just managed to stop herself from wiping them on the gown’s midnight-blue silk as she stared at herself in the mirror. The gown had small cap sleeves, and a fitted bodice, but the drama came from the skirt, all swathed and gathered on one side at her hip, leaving her pretty stilettos in the same midnight-blue on display, with the rest of it falling away into a dramatic train behind her.
It really was the most beautiful gown. Discreetly sexy, showing a flash of one thigh where the fabric gathered, and highlighting her bare shoulders, neck and cleavage.
She didn’t recognise herself wearing it. She looked like a different person. Not the hardworking, colourless PA, who’d dedicated her life to taking her boss’s orders and resolutely staying in the background, but a glamorous, beautiful woman, fully worthy of the title of Apollo Constantinides’s fiancée.
But you’re not worthy. You’re lying to him.
Flora ignored the thought as the designer paced around her, twitching fabric here and there, and murmuring ‘magnifique’ at intervals.
Yes, she absolutely was lying to him, but she didn’t care. He hadn’t cared when he’d talked her father into investing every cent of her family’s savings into that awful scheme, so why should she?
In fact, now she thought about it, she could see where her mother was coming from when she’d refused to accept Apollo’s compensation money. Blood money, Laura had called it, and at the time, Flora hadn’t understood her refusal since they’d needed it.
Now, as an adult, she understood. No amount of money could ever make up for the loss of a husband and father, so what did a few little lies matter?
They didn’t. Just like Apollo didn’t. And so, she was going to break his heart the way hers and her mother’s had been broken, and she wouldn’t feel any regret, not a shred.
That will never bring your father or your mother back, you know this.
It wouldn’t, but she hadn’t spent the last few years of her life working to get close enough to him to put her plans in motion to stop now, not over one little lie.
She’d only be satisfied once he’d felt the same grief and pain she had.
Anyway, she couldn’t start second-guessing herself, especially not when she was going to be the centre of attention tonight. She had to be brave, not let the nerves get to her, no matter that she was more used to staying out of the spotlight rather than standing in its centre.
That morning had already been chaotic, with the photos hitting the media overnight, and now global news platforms were full of sensational headlines complete with those grainy shots she’d leaked. Apollo had approved the press release she’d drafted, which had then gone to Violet for approval also, before being sent out to various media organisations in response.
Violet’s people had put out a press release of their own, and it had been measured and gracious, with a little white lie detailing how Apollo had been to see her personally and how they’d worked things out. She wished him all the best with his engagement.
Really, Flora couldn’t fault Apollo’s handling of the situation. He’d controlled things masterfully. He wouldn’t allow a dignified silence where other rumours could take root and grow, ordering all requests for interviews to go directly to him. He refused none of them, answering every question with his usual blunt honesty, as well as very real regret, admitting to his love affair with Flora, and acknowledging that this was a bad look given his stance on employer/employee relations and general business ethics.
He did not charm. He did not manipulate. And, as per usual, people liked it, they found it refreshing in a world full of spin, and she just knew he was going to get the entire world on his side again. And as for her…
Flora swallowed, staring sightlessly at herself in the mirror as the nerves returned.
She’d woken that morning to hundreds of text messages and voicemails from the media, all asking for interviews. Which she’d expected. But she’d also hoped that most of the attention would be directed towards Apollo rather than her.
However, given the spin the Helios PR department was putting on the situation—that she was supposedly the love of Apollo’s life—she was every bit an object of interest as he was.
Tonight would be difficult, she was under no illusion. Because tonight everyone’s eyes would be on her, studying her, whispering about her, wondering about her.
Tonight might be the start of all her secrets being uncovered.
The few flimsy smokescreens she’d put in place to hide her family history hadn’t been designed to withstand concentrated scrutiny by journalists, or the internet at large, and it wouldn’t take a lot of research to discover that McIntyre was her mother’s maiden name. That her real name was Florence, not Flora. That she was the daughter of David Hunt, one of Stavros Constantinides’s victims, who’d killed himself after hearing rumours that the Constantinides scheme was a Ponzi scheme, prompting the police to investigate Helios.
She couldn’t risk that happening, not when her quest for justice had only just started.
You’re an idiot. Another thing you should have anticipated.
She hadn’t though. She hadn’t anticipated that Apollo would take her ruination plan and turn it into a triumph, while leaving her at the mercy of the press. Oh, he’d said he’d protect her, but how could he, when he didn’t know the secrets she was hiding from him?
She moistened her dry mouth, a headache starting to throb behind her eyes, which she ignored as she glanced at Apollo, standing by the windows.
He wasn’t looking at her, his attention was on his phone. He’d wanted to approve the gown, and so far had vetoed all the ones she’d tried on. She didn’t know what exactly he wanted, but he hadn’t said yes to anything yet.
Light from the setting sun shone through the windows of the bedroom, glossing his black hair and limning his profile in gold. He was already dressed for the evening, all in black, the perfect contrast to his olive skin.
Tall, dark and dangerous.
God, he really was the most outrageously handsome man.
She resented it. Or, more specifically, she resented the way everything female in her was aware of everything male in him, on the most basic level.
It had been that kiss, that was the trouble. That kiss and her reaction to it.
She’d thought she’d be able to kiss him and feel nothing, to use that glint of hunger she’d seen in his eyes to her own advantage. Perhaps unsettle him as badly as he’d unsettled her, and yet, the moment her lips had touched his, she’d been lost.
Heat had consumed her, a hunger rising inside her that she didn’t understand. She’d been powerless against it, and then, when he’d started kissing her back, she’d forgotten everything. She’d forgotten that she hated him. Forgotten all her plans for his ruin. Forgotten that her identity was a secret and he could never find out.
Forgotten her own name.
All there had been was the heat of his mouth and the taste of him, wild and dark and raw. The feeling of his fingers pressing into her hair, the heat of his body, and his scent that stole all the breath from her lungs.
It had been a long time since anyone had touched her, not since her mother had held on to her hand the day she’d died in hospital years earlier, and Flora hadn’t known how starved she was for someone’s touch until Apollo had threaded his fingers into her hair.
She’d wanted his arms around her. She’d wanted his hands on her, stroking her, caressing her. She wanted more than one kiss. And when he’d lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, all she could think was, Again, please. Kiss me again.
But he hadn’t. And, worse, he’d seen the desire she hadn’t been able to hide. He knew exactly how hungry she was for him physically.
She hated herself for it, but there was nothing to be done. She couldn’t take it back now.
As if he’d felt her gaze on him, Apollo looked up from his phone suddenly, and their eyes met, and for a second it was like that moment back in his office, after she’d kissed him, the air around them thick with sexual tension.
Then his eyes widened slightly as he took in the gown, and the breath rushed out of her as that dark, predator’s gleam caught in his gaze.
He liked the gown, it was obvious.
Unexpected heat washed through her, and while it made the nerves fluttering around inside her worse, it also gave her a measure of reassurance.
Yes, she could do this seduction thing. He’d seemed so unaffected by that kiss, yet was that really true? He’d been very firm when he’d told that there would be no more kisses, but she could change his mind. She would have to. Her revised quest for justice depended on it, after all.
The designer said something in French to Apollo, then disappeared through the door, shutting it firmly behind him.
Flora took a steadying, silent breath as Apollo strode to where she stood, then walked a slow circle around her, scanning her from every angle.
‘Yes,’ he murmured to himself, his voice a low rumble. ‘This is the one. Jacques has really outdone himself this time.’
Flora tried to resist the blush that crept into her cheeks, but there was no stopping it as he lifted his dark green gaze to hers. ‘This is much better than the gown you brought,’ he said. ‘The press will not be disappointed either.’
He sounded cool, yet the look in his eyes was anything but. She wanted desperately to rip her gaze from his, but being coy wasn’t going to help her plan, so she ignored the butterflies and stared back at him instead. ‘I hope so,’ she said, wishing she sounded as cool as he did, not sick with nerves.
‘You’ll be fine.’ He gazed at her a moment longer, then put his hand in his pocket, pulling out a black velvet box. ‘I want you to wear this.’ Flipping open the lid, he held it out to her.
Flora’s heart beat faster, though she had no idea why. It was an engagement ring, and of course it was an engagement ring. She was supposed to be his fiancée, and fiancées generally wore rings.
The ring comprised a single large blue diamond on a platinum band, bright and costly looking as it glittered against the black velvet.
Flora stared at it, the tension inside her pulling tighter and tighter. It wasn’t the same as the ring he’d given Violet, and she should know, since she’d organised the purchase of it. He’d chosen it, though, and had spent a good deal of time over the choice, eventually settling on an emerald the same colour as his eyes.
Had he spent time choosing this one? Had it mattered to him which one he bought? Or had he ordered someone to purchase it for him?
But no, thinking about the stupid ring was ridiculous. Of course it hadn’t mattered to him, none of this did. The ring was for show, just like the gown, and her attendance at the gala this evening. None of it was real, not even a little bit.
‘Please tell me you didn’t spend a lot on this,’ she said, trying to cover her nerves.
He lifted a shoulder in an elegant shrug. ‘I spent enough for it to look like an engagement ring. People will be noting it, so it wouldn’t do for it to look like I spent nothing.’ When she didn’t move, still staring at it, he made an impatient sound and took the ring out, discarding the box on a small side table nearby. ‘Here,’ he said peremptorily. ‘Give me your hand.’
She didn’t want to. She didn’t want him to touch her, especially given how badly she’d betrayed herself with that kiss the day before. Then again, refusing him now would betray something else, and she couldn’t do that either.
Steeling herself, Flora extended her hand and tried to ignore the inevitable pulse of electricity that bolted through her as he took her fingers in his. He remained impassive as he pushed the ring onto her finger, then held her hand a moment, looking down at the ring glittering there.
His fingers were warm, his grip firm. She could feel her skin tightening in response, her breath getting short.
No, this was madness. She couldn’t allow him to get to her like this. What she wanted was for him to be affected by her, not the other way around. She hated him. She couldn’t want him, she just couldn’t. He’d ruined her family, destroyed them completely, and she should not be getting breathless just because he was holding her hand.
He looked up, his green gaze capturing hers. ‘Do you like it?’
‘Like what?’ God, she sounded like a teenage girl with her first crush. ‘Oh, the ring? Yes. It’s very pretty.’
Unexpectedly, he enclosed her hand in his, the warmth of his palm surrounding her, and it was such a shock that she couldn’t move. Every part of her seemed to zero in on his large hand holding hers. Long, blunt fingers, his knuckles dotted with a few white long-healed scars. A strong, masculine hand.
No one had ever held her hand the way he was doing so now. Oh, maybe long ago, in the mists of childhood, her parents might have, but not that she remembered. Since her mother had died, all there’d been in her life was rigid determination. She’d allowed herself nothing that wasn’t in pursuit of her goal—to get as close as she could to Apollo Constantinides. Now, she was close and, in a way she’d never imagined, all she could think about was how good it was to feel someone’s hand gripping hers. As if there was not only warmth there, but support too.
Apollo frowned slightly. ‘Your fingertips are cold. Are you nervous?’
Briefly, she debated lying to him, but he was looking intently at her now, his focus narrow and sharp, and she knew she couldn’t. He’d realise, which would then prompt more questions, and she couldn’t face that, not now. So all she said was, ‘Maybe a little.’
Strangely, his gaze softened just a bit, as if it mattered to him that she was nervous. ‘Don’t be,’ he said, his voice shaded with an edge of something unfamiliar. ‘Yes, the press will likely be in our faces all night, but I’ll keep you from the worst of them, understand?’
Another little shock of surprise rippled through her. In the year she’d spent working for him, all she’d seen of him was the cold, ruthless businessman, who was blunt to the point of offensiveness. She’d never seen him be reassuring, not to anyone.
She’d never seen the faint concern in his eyes as he looked at her, or felt the warmth of his grip. She’d never experienced the strange rush of relief that accompanied it either, as if a part of her wanted to believe that, yes, he would protect her.
It had been a very long time since anyone had cared for her or worried for her. Since her mother had died, she’d thrown herself into her quest for justice, and because she’d had to hide her background, she’d allowed no one to get too close.
Bizarrely, the person she spent the most time with was the man standing in front of her now. The man she hated, who was holding her hand, giving her reassurance.
The man you’ll be betraying.
Flora pulled her hand from his abruptly, the warmth of his touch lingering on her skin. ‘Thank you,’ she said quickly, hoping he wouldn’t notice how sharp the movement had been. ‘As you said, I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
* * *
Flora was not fine. Apollo was certain of it.
He’d been momentarily robbed of speech just before, as he’d looked up from his phone and seen her standing there, all those delicious feminine curves wrapped in midnight-blue silk. He was so used to her in her PA uniform of white shirt, black skirt and plain black pumps, it had never occurred to him how she might look in a ballgown.
Well, now he had the answer. She looked beautiful. Glorious. Stunning.
He was noticing all kinds of other things about her too, aspects he couldn’t remember seeing before. Such as how the deep charcoal of her eyes reminded him of grey diamonds, silvery and dark at the same time. Her full mouth and its gentle pout. The tender skin of her throat, the pale vulnerability of her bare shoulders. The glossy fall of her curly black hair.
They were all physical things, and he shouldn’t be noticing them, yet somehow that switch she’d flipped in him the day before was resolutely set to ‘on’, and he couldn’t seem to ignore it.
Perhaps it was merely that for the past three months he’d been celibate and it was wearing on him. He had, after all, been waiting for his wedding night with Violet, and that was now no longer going to happen.
Perhaps you could have one with Flora…
The thought wound through his head, prompting an immediate physical response, though he crushed it before it could fully take hold.
No, he would not be having anything with Flora. He would not cross that line. He was supposed to be protecting her, not taking advantage of her. Yes, after tonight, the world would think that they were already sleeping together, so it wouldn’t be as if he was risking anything publicly. But he would know.
He’d crossed lines before thinking they didn’t matter, and the end result had been a man’s death. He wasn’t going to do it again. Some of the press might call him rigid, inflexible and lacking in empathy, but he didn’t care. His supposed lack of empathy was simply him being too blunt and too honest, and he wasn’t going to apologise for that. He wasn’t like his father, full of smiles and empty charm. Oh, once he had been. Once he’d been as well known for it as his father had. He’d enjoyed it too, using that charm and his good looks to get people on his side, manipulating them with ease. That had always given him such an adrenaline rush.
But that had been then, before David Hunt had killed himself.
Apollo had been twenty when that happened, which had been far too young for such a harsh lesson. He’d learned it just the same, though. The recklessness that his father had was in him too. They were both gamblers, enjoying the rush and the thrill when the bets paid off, giving no heed to the consequences.
He had to guard against it, not let anything go to his head, and the problem with Flora was that she did. She was a slippery slope, and he couldn’t risk falling down it.
This would merely be a business arrangement between them, nothing more.
Violet had been very gracious about the photos, and he’d even suggested that perhaps, after an appropriate interval of time had passed, they could resume their engagement. She hadn’t refused, so maybe the option was still available.
The reaction of the media to the photos had been predictable, but he wasn’t concerned. Not now that Flora had agreed to their little sham affair.
What he was concerned about was the pale look on Flora’s face and that, when he’d held her hand, her fingertips had been cold. He’d wanted to keep holding that hand, keep it enclosed in his to warm her, but then she’d pulled it away, and quite abruptly.
He studied her, noting the faint wash of colour on her cheeks and the way she was fussily smoothing her skirt, thick dark lashes veiling her gaze. The diamond on the ring he’d bought the night before glittered on her finger. A blue diamond, because it was the biggest and most expensive ring he could get on such short notice. It suited her.
That flush in her cheeks suited her too. Was that him? Because he’d touched her? It was, he was sure. Especially given her reaction to the kiss the day before.
Not that you’ll be doing anything about it.
Of course he wouldn’t, but still… Had she always felt that way about him? Or was this a new attraction she’d suddenly discovered, ignited by that kiss?
Whatever, they weren’t questions he was going to get answers to, so why he kept thinking about them was anyone’s guess. What he should be thinking about was the gala they were attending tonight, and how she was going to cope with it. He was used to the public eye, but Flora wasn’t. Normally she was his adjunct, not the centre of attention, so this would be a new experience for her.
‘You are not fine,’ he said. ‘And if you pull away from me tonight the way you did just then, you will cause unwanted gossip that we both can ill afford.’
Her gaze flickered. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’
‘I know it wasn’t.’ He frowned, searching her face. ‘Just what about this evening is upsetting you? Is it the attention? Because I already told you, I’ll protect you from that.’
She gave him a smile that looked so forced it was as if she’d cut it out of a magazine and pasted it on. ‘Perhaps I’m…a little concerned, but I’m sure I’ll be fine.’
She was lying. He could always tell a lie. But there wasn’t much point in pushing her now. They didn’t have long before they needed to leave.
‘In that case.’ He held out his hand once more. ‘Come, we should practice a few poses, so we look as relaxed and as natural as possible with each other.’
It was very subtle, but he saw the instant she stiffened, as if she was bracing herself for a blow. This was upsetting for her, he could see the apprehension in her eyes.
Apollo had never been a man who offered comfort to people, or at least not after he and his father had ruined people’s lives. Elena had blamed him for the ruination of their family, too, even though it had been his father who’d conceived and carried out the entire scheme. Apollo couldn’t argue with her, not when he’d been complicit. But after Stavros had gone to jail, his mother had refused all Apollo’s offers of comfort and reassurance. She’d carried her pain and anger alone, even after Stavros had died, and sometimes Apollo wondered if she’d held on to it simply so that she could throw it in his face. He was, after all, the reason his father had gone to jail.
However, it was clear that Flora needed more than brusquely worded orders. Throwing her into the deep end of the shark-infested waters of the world’s press, and expecting her to swim, wasn’t exactly kind, especially when none of this had been her fault.
‘Flora,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘It will be all right. I’ve already told you that I won’t allow your reputation to suffer and I won’t. I won’t permit the press to be rude to you, either, I promise.’
She stared at him for a moment, and he was sure he saw surprise cross her face. Then she reached for his hand and he took it, drawing her closer. ‘That’s it,’ he murmured, staring down into her eyes. ‘Keep looking at me like that.’
Colour had risen once again beneath her skin, the soft rose making her eyes glimmer, the grey river stones revealing chips of mica that sparkled, catching the light.
She really was very pretty.
The flush in her cheeks crept down her neck and he could track its path, the midnight-blue silk of her neckline leaving her shoulders bare, offering a tantalising glimpse of the shadow between her full breasts.
‘I was wrong,’ he heard himself say. ‘You are not just suitable, Flora. You are exquisite.’
Should you really have said that?
Her eyes widened. ‘Sir… I…’
Oh, he shouldn’t have said it, he definitely shouldn’t. But it was too late to take it back. He had to commit to it now.
‘Not sir,’ he said. ‘Not tonight. Tonight, you will have to get used to calling me Apollo. And yes, you should absolutely keep blushing like that.’
He thought she might look away then, but she didn’t. She kept on looking up at him, even as he put one hand on her silken hip and brought her nearer, so her body was drawn gently against his. As if they were dancing or merely being close to each other. Enjoying each other’s company. Desperately in love…
She felt soft and very warm, and for some reason he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had stood this close to him. Ridiculous, when it was probably Violet, and not too long ago either, but still, he couldn’t recall the moment. All he could think about was Flora pressed against him, and he hadn’t known until now what a revelation that would be. Because that’s what she was. A revelation.
The silvery grey glitter of her eyes seemed to brighten as she lifted her hands the way she had the day before and laid them both on his chest. She only pressed lightly, and yet it was as if he could feel every whorl and twist of her fingerprints through the cotton of his shirt. As if he was a lock, keyed to her, and all he needed was her touch to open.
This is madness. What are you doing?
It was madness, and yet he made no move to pull away. Because the dark, devious part of his mind, the manipulative part that had led all those investors to their ruin, was already ticking over, noting her response to him, how the chemistry between them was excellent, thinking of ways to make it even more pronounced, so that no one would doubt the story he’d concocted. Wanting to feel once again the rush of seeing people dance to his tune…
He should stop. He should let her go and move away.
But his hand on her hip tightened, the other lifting slowly to cradle her cheek, the way he had the day before, the softness of her skin against his palm. And somehow his heart missed a beat as she leaned into it, looking up at him from beneath thick, black lashes.
How had he never seen her loveliness? How had he missed the tension in the air between them, which he was sure hadn’t been there before? Had he been blind? Or maybe he’d deliberately not seen it, because he’d known what a temptation she’d be?
‘I’m sorry I kissed you yesterday,’ she said unexpectedly, a slight husk in her voice. ‘I crossed a line, and I shouldn’t have. I should have apologised then, but I…didn’t.’
For a second his brain was so fogged trying to discern what delicious perfume she was wearing that he didn’t understand what she was saying.
Then he did, and yet it still didn’t make any sense. Apologise for that astonishing kiss? Was she mad?
Your sexual harassment policy? That you were very firm about afterwards? Remember that?
Yes. God. And that should be front and centre in his mind right now. So why was he thinking about her perfume and the softness of her body against his? Why was he thinking about the colour of her eyes?
This was madness and taking it any further was wrong. He’d always thought his control was perfect, but maybe it wasn’t as perfect as he’d assumed it to be.
Or maybe it’s because it’s Flora.
No, he couldn’t countenance that. She was his PA. They were going to enter into a sham relationship and marriage, but the operative word was ‘sham’. It wouldn’t be real. None of this was.
You’re really going to endure six months of celibacy for the sake of a sham marriage?
He didn’t want to, no, but what other choice was there? He couldn’t risk an affair with anyone else, not after those photos had come to light. He had to be on his best behaviour and usually that wasn’t a problem, so why it was hard now—in all sense of the word— he had no idea.
‘It’s all right,’ he said coolly. ‘I understood that you were trying to prove a point. Now…’ With as much calm as he could muster, he took his hand away from her cheek, and released her hip before stepping back. ‘Are you ready for our public debut?’
Her hands fluttered a little as he moved away, as if now they weren’t resting on his chest she didn’t know quite what to do with them. But her expression held its customary impassiveness, the apprehension that had been in her eyes gone.
‘Yes,’ she said calmly. ‘I am. Apollo.’