Page 29 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

Yet even as she made the vow to herself she felt her eyes slipping sideways as she reached again for her champagne glass...slipping across the array of candlelit tables to the one where Nikos was seated.

She didn’t want to look, yet some kind of compulsion made her do it all the same, and he was sitting so that she could see his profile...see him lean a little towards the woman at his side...see him smile at her.

A needle slid into her heart. Once it had been her he’d smiled at and her alone. A private smile, warm and intimate, full of promise and fulfilment.

She felt an ache arise inside her, a longing...

Her fingers convulsed over the slender stem of her champagne flute. Dear God, she must not allow such memories! So painful, so aching... So dangerous.

She felt a hand touch her bare forearm and started.

‘If I were the jealous type...’ Bastian trailed off, an eyebrow lifting, his eyes slanting to where she had been looking.

She gave a sharp shake of her head. Dismissing the insinuation. She took another mouthful of champagne and set down the glass, resuming her meal. Doggedly, for the rest of supper, she refused to let her eyes go anywhere near the one man in all the world she must not look at.

Must not have anything to do with ever again.

Must not crave...

Nikos smiled at the woman beside him. He wished her no ill, but she was wasting her time. She’d already told him she was newly divorced, her unfaithful ex-husband set aside, and that all she wanted right now was to feel good about herself again in the aftermath by reminding herself that she could still draw male attention.

Well, he had a solution to her predicament—but it was not going to be himself.

His eyes narrowed. Watching—or rather not watching Calanthe devote herself to a man who all of Athens knew to be a notorious playboy was not an enjoyable process. His only comfort was that he knew why she was doing it. And he knew what he was going to do about it.

But he must pick his time carefully. Get it just right. And then—

He cut his thoughts off. He must not rush ahead of himself—must not make assumptions or take it for granted that he would achieve what he was set upon.

A wry expression formed in his eyes. Eight years ago he had known that Calanthe’s initial prickly attitude to him had been a disguise for her response to him. Known that once he got past that—as he had so very easily in the end—she would yield to her response to him...yield to his desire for her. The desire with which he’d kindled hers, set it aflame...

But she was fighting him now every centimetre of the way—he could take nothing for granted.

I only know that she is fighting not just me, but herself as well...

Well, he would not give up on her.

Not this time.

This time he would make it all come right between them.

Calanthe was dancing with Bastian. She’d lingered at the supper table, not wanting to exert herself in the upbeat dance numbers that the live band had struck up with, waiting for something slower. Now she was wishing she hadn’t. She’d made it clear to Bastian that she only wanted him as a decoy, nothing else, but he’d been knocking back the champagne, and now he was making every effort to get up close and personal with her, however often she drew herself away from him.

The moment the number ended she’d make her excuses and leave.

She didn’t get the chance.

‘Time to trade partners,’ said a cool, deep voice behind her.

She froze, but it was too late. Nikos had simply disengaged Bastian’s hands from around her waist and blatantly put them around the waist of his own partner—the bleached blonde, Calanthe saw instantly. She also saw that both the blonde and Bastian were taken aback, but then, as they eyed each other up, were swiftly reconciled to the exchange. She heard Bastian pay his new partner an extravagant compliment, saw her toss her head and smile encouragingly, and then they were away.

As for herself...

‘Finally,’ said Nikos, in the same cool, deep voice.

And took her into his arms.

She was as rigid as the marble statute she resembled. Yet the hands that had come to rest automatically on his shoulders were trembling—he could feel it through the linen of his white tuxedo jacket. Just as he could feel the warmth of her body through the delicate plissé material of her dress as his hands rested at her waist.

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