Disturbing. He’d never felt such an instant physical attraction to a woman before. He preferred conversation first before anything else, because it was always the mind that drew him, not the body.

But this woman’s body...

He forced the thought away, hard. She was lying unconscious in the rain and he should be thinking about getting her warm, not noting her lack of undergarments.

Since moving her would be a mistake, he shrugged out of his handmade black cashmere overcoat instead, and laid it carefully over the top of her. She was so small the coat covered her.

‘Ambulance is on its way, sir,’ his driver said.

‘Good.’ Aristophanes didn’t move from where he crouched beside the woman. ‘Get an umbrella to shield her from the rain.’

The driver did so and, rather to his own surprise, Aristophanes found himself grabbing the umbrella from him, and holding it over the unconscious woman himself.

She was breathing, which was good, though she was very pale.

He checked his watch again. Time ticked by. The ambulance was coming. He could hear the siren. He should probably finish that text to Angelina to let her know he’d be delayed, yet he made no move to get his phone out. He kept holding the umbrella, crouched beside the woman, keeping the rain off her.

As the siren got louder, the woman made a soft sound and Aristophanes glanced down. Her eyelashes glowed reddish in the streetlights and were fluttering as she gave a moan. Instinctively, he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her still. Moving wasn’t a good idea when the ambulance hadn’t even arrived.

He’d never been a gentle man, never been one for kindness, but with an unconscious stranger on his hands, he made an attempt at both.

‘Keep still,’ he murmured. ‘You have fallen and hit your head. An ambulance is coming.’

Her lashes fluttered again, then rose, revealing liquid dark eyes that met his unerringly. They were full of confusion and shock, and he wasn’t sure what happened then, only it felt as if something large and solid had hit him squarely in the chest.

The ambulance sirens echoed.

He shook off the strange sensation and made as if to get to his feet—the paramedics would need room to work—but at that moment, a small hand crept out from under his coat and gripped his with surprising strength.

He froze.

Her eyes had closed again, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

A long time ago, when he’d been on his fifth—or maybe his sixth?—foster family, he’d discovered a stray kitten underneath some stairs in the dusty concrete apartment block in Athens where he’d been living at the time. He’d been about twelve, or thirteen, and at that stage had still been bothering trying to make a connection with his current foster family. But his foster parents hadn’t been interested, not when they’d had five other kids they were also fostering. So Aristophanes had been left to his own devices. Out of boredom and loneliness, he’d decided to adopt the kitten himself.

It had been wild, but he’d been patient, and eventually, using pilfered pieces of fish and crumbs of cheese, and little saucers of milk when he could get them, he’d got the kitten to begin to trust him. And the moment the kitten had allowed him to pick it up, he’d felt such a sense of achievement, as if there was something good about him after all.

It felt like that moment now, with this unknown woman clinging tightly to his hand. As if he were all that stood between her and destruction.

Aristophanes Katsaros was known as one of the brightest and best financial geniuses on the planet, and the financial algorithm he’d created had sent his fortunes into the stratosphere. He was a shark when it came to money, and numbers were his playground, his happy place. People, however, were far down on his list of priorities.

So he should have shaken her hand off, risen to his feet, and let the paramedics do their thing. Then he should have got into his limo and driven away to meet Angelina, and had the night of pleasure he’d allowed himself.

Except he didn’t.

For no apparent reason that he could see, he stayed where he was, reluctant to pull his hand away from the small, slender fingers clutching his own. He couldn’t recall a time anyone had reached for him, let alone some complete stranger in considerable distress.

Five minutes earlier, if anyone had told him that he’d be kneeling in the rain next to an unconscious woman and unable to pull away because she was holding his hand, he would have laughed.

Well, he might have laughed. If laughter were something he indulged in, which it wasn’t. At the very least he would have ridiculed the idea.

Now, though, as the ambulance pulled up and the paramedics leapt out, he found himself staying exactly where he was, keeping hold of her hand. Eventually, he had to move though, so he eased his fingers from hers and stepped back to give the paramedics room to work.

It was time to go. Time send that text to Angelina and let her know that he was on his way.

But he didn’t. He stood there, watching as the paramedics checked her over, shone a light into her eyes and murmured reassuringly to her.

She was awake again, her gaze darting around as if she was looking for someone.