Page 3 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

Calanthe’s face set, but Georgia wasn’t done yet.

‘Well, I fancy him rotten too—the voice alone, with that to-die-for accent...let alone the rest of him! But I’m honest enough to admit it. And...’ she gave an exaggerated sigh ‘...also honest enough to know that I don’t stand a chance. He’s way out of my league.’

Calanthe snorted. ‘Don’t do yourself down!’

‘I’m not,’ said Georgia. ‘I’m just being honest. Besides, I came out here hoping me and Dave might get it together—I’ve been after him for ever! On the other hand,’ she mused as they gained the harbour area, glancing at Calanthe, who was looking a lot less dusty and work-worn now, in a loose-fitting cotton shift dress that skimmed her slender figure very nicely, her hair caught back in a ponytail that gleamed like mahogany, ‘you, my girl, definitely are in Nik the Greek’s league! Nik the Gorgeous Greek...’ She sighed extravagantly.

Calanthe snorted again. ‘I have absolutely no interest, thank you—’

‘Well, he’d be interested in you, I’ll bet, with your looks! Greeks always fall for cool English girls! Of course, you’re half-Greek yourself—I keep forgetting.’

‘Georgia, please don’t mention my Greek side to your precious Nik the Greek—’

Calanthe threw her friend a seriously warning look. She didn’t want any questions about just who her father was. The surname was well known—and the wealth that went with it.

‘Yeah, yeah... OK, I promise,’ Georgia assured her airily. ‘Now, come on—let’s find the others and get some food. I’m starving.’

They quickened their pace, catching up with the others as they reached the quayside taverna which they frequented every night.

Joining the group of students—their professor and his deputy dined elsewhere, knowing their presence would only be restraining—Calanthe settled into the cheerful crowd, ordering a beer with the rest of them. Soon carafes of local wine and the usual local fare of gyros and souvlakis were all demolished. Conversation was lively, irreverent and familiar—discussing the day’s dig and other archaeological matters, then segueing into universal topics of interest to their generation, from bands to politics to averting catastrophic climate change.

Their long table was outdoors, in the evening’s cooler air, and everyone was relaxed and convivial. Calanthe sat back, glass in hand, wondering if she had room for one more of the sweet, sticky pastries that were the traditional dessert at tavernas such as this. She made a slight moue. Her father would be astounded to think of her dining in such humble surroundings. When she was with him in Athens fine dining was the order of the day, without exception, whether that was at home, courtesy of his in-house chef, or at the city’s most expensive restaurants.

A wry smile tugged at her mouth as she took another mouthful of the wine, letting its rough but rich warmth fill her, enjoying the light breeze picking up and the sound of the sea lapping at the small boats in the harbour. She dipped her neck, rolling her shoulders slightly to release the muscles that had been hunched most of the day as she’d worked beside her fellow excavators.

‘Need a massage?’

The low, deep voice spoke behind her. Laconic and accented. And familiar.

She jerked her head round, her expression altering immediately.

He might not be in his work clothes any more—he’d changed them for jeans and a fresh tee—but there was no mistaking who stood there. Tall, dark and devastating...

She felt a gulp form in her throat and suppressed it. No, she would not respond to the ridiculous impact this wretched man seemed to have on her—and every other female too. She was aware that Georgia had suddenly looked up from what had seemed to be a more-than-friendly tête-à-tête with Dave across the table, not to mention several other women further along, who were suddenly craning their necks to look at the tall figure now standing at the far end of the table.

‘Nik—hi. Take a seat!’ Ken called out from a few chairs along, waving in welcome.

To Calanthe’s annoyance—and just why she was annoyed she didn’t particularly want to think about—Nik casually swung a spare chair from a nearby table, and sat himself down, happy to let Ken reach for an unused glass and pour him a glassful of wine from the carafe.

‘Yammas...’ Nik said in the same casual fashion as he helped himself to the glass.

He glanced around the table, and then his gaze settled on her—again to Calanthe’s annoyance, and this time she was more aware of the reason for it.

He tilted his glass at her. ‘To finding treasure,’ he said.

There was a glint in his dark eyes—eyes she would have preferred to still be shaded by sunglasses. Because unshaded they were...

She gave a silent gulp.

Dark and devastating, just like the rest of him...

Then he was saying something else. Not in English this time, but a murmur in Greek. She stilled.

‘But I think I’ve just found it. Golden treasure...’

With an effort of intense will she kept her expression blank, as though she had not understood what he’d just said.

Or what he’d meant.

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