Page 8 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

The first thing that had taken Willow’s breath away the moment she’d entered the hall was the enormous sparkling chandelier that looked suitable for high jinks of the glamorous socialite kind. The second was the sheer splendour of the space—the lavishly painted ceiling, the old masters on the walls, the marble, the gilt, the silk. Shortly after that, it was Leo.

Fortified by half a glass of bone-dry champagne, she’d been enjoying the conversation she’d been having with two Milanese countesses and one Puglian landowner while discreetly jotting down their names and email addresses in the small notebook she’d stashed in the hidden pocket of her dress.

But then, quite suddenly, she’d tensed. A shiver had raced down her spine and her skin had broken out in goose bumps. She’d glanced up and around and a second later her eyes had locked with Leo’s, as if his were a magnet and hers iron filings. She’d managed to muster up a smile in acknowledgement, as planned, but, very muchnotas planned, she’d been so rocked by the immediate impact of his smouldering good looks that she’d lost track of the conversation.

Fortunately for her dignity, Leo had then disappeared from view. Willow had snapped out of her trance and recalled what she was meant to be doing, which was ignoring distractions and working the room.

Dinner had been delicious, her table companions interesting and engaging and, happily, very keen on having themselves committed to paper. Leo’s speech, which had switched seamlessly between Greek, English, French, Spanish and Italian had been loudly and enthusiastically applauded. She hadn’t understood much more than a quarter of what he said, but that might have been because, despite her best efforts to prevent it, all she could really focus on was his mouth and the way it moved.

Now she’d been persuaded to the dance floor by his brother, who apparently had been up on the balcony with Leo earlier, not that she’d noticed. He was handsome and charming but in a hard, hollow kind of a way that left her strangely unmoved even though over coffee and chocolates he’d made her laugh until her sides ached.

‘How about we take this somewhere more private?’ Zander murmured in her ear as he drew her closer and continued to manoeuvre her skilfully around the floor.

At the sensual promise she could hear in his voice, nerves fluttered in her stomach and alarm skittered through her. Flirting was one thing—and she enjoyed that as much as anyone—but she’d never taken anything anywhere and didn’t particularly want to now. She was way out of her depth. She had no idea how to handle a man like Zander. He oozed experience and sexuality. All she had was honesty, which would just have to do, so she put her hands on his chest to stop any further advance and said rather abruptly, ‘No, thanks.’

In response, Zander jerked back, and his eyebrows shot up in a way that suggested arrogance ran in the family. ‘Seriously?’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need to apologise.’

‘Quite right,’ said a deep voice behind her, a voice that brought back the memory of being clamped against him as he towed her to the side of the pool, a voice that had murmured not so sweet nothings in her ear in her dreams night after night and now sent shivers down her spine. ‘Zander, I heard the Duke of Clervaux is unhappy with his current banking provision and is seeking a change.’

Zander must have felt the tremor that ran through her for she caught a spark of curiosity in his gaze as he shifted it from her to the man standing behind her and then back again.

‘Is he?’ he said with a wry arch of an eyebrow.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, why didn’t you say?’ he said, releasing her and taking a step back, hands open and up. ‘The lovely Willow is all yours.’

‘Actually,’ said Willow, not really understanding the undercurrents swirling between them but instinctively feeling the need to remind both men of her existence, lovely or not. ‘I’m not anyone’s.’

‘Interesting,’ said Zander with a grin, and off he sauntered.

CHAPTER THREE

WHATINTHEname of Zeus was he doing? Leo wondered, his blood thrumming like an outboard motor as his brother disappeared from sight and Willow slowly turned to face him. Why was he standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor in front of a woman he’d had no intention of ever talking to again?

Over the course of the evening he’d caught regular glimpses of her, and her name had kept coming up in conversation, but he hadn’t responded. He’d merely averted his gaze and changed topic. Sheer willpower had prevented him from reacting to the discovery that her dress was backless and she couldn’t therefore be wearing a bra. Years of experience at containing his emotions had kept a lid on the simmering desire that threatened to boil over and consume him. But all that resolve, all that strength of character had evaporated at the sight of Willow in his brother’s arms.

So much for not being bothered. One brief glance in her direction, then another when what he was witnessing sank in, and the wordshell nohad flashed through his head in bright green neon. A strange sort of red mist had descended and the urgent need to put a stop to the proceedings had flared into life. Instinct had kicked in and obliterated the cool consideration and calm objectivity with which he usually acted.

He could barely recall excusing himself from the people he’d been talking to. How many apologies had he had to mutter as he’d stalked across the dance floor? How much interest had he attracted? Why did he not care?

Whatever was going on, whatever had driven him to challenge the situation, here he was now. In front of her. Unanchored. Adrift in uncharted waters and standing beneath a giant glitter ball like an idiot with no clue how to proceed. For the first time in his life.

‘Did you want something?’ Willow asked with admirable composure, although the faint flush on her cheeks and the fluttering pulse at the base of her neck suggested she was anything but composed.

Her. He wanted her. And there was no rhyme or reason to it. Just unfathomable yet clamouring need that he was struggling to subdue and a thrilling rush of adrenalin he hadn’t felt since scything through the waves at twenty knots and a forty-five-degree angle over a decade ago. ‘Dance with me.’

She looked him, her darkening gaze dipping to his mouth and lingering, as if she’d imagined kissing him as much as he’d imagined kissing her. After a beat, she gave a nod, a faint smile and then, to his unaccountable relief, said a little breathlessly, ‘All right.’

Agreeing to dance with Leo had been a mistake.

Willow realised this the instant he wrapped one of his large warm hands around hers and planted the other on her bare back and she nearly went up in flames. Contact with his brother had left her unmoved. Contact with him was electric. Why? She had no idea.

She should have said no to his demand that she dance and walked away. Their one and only encounter had hardly been cordial. No doubt he wanted to discuss the portrait’s future with her now the wedding was over and any further delay was unnecessary, and she’d moved on. She shouldn’t have succumbed to curiosity. She didn’t need to know whether her dreams in any way represented reality. She was here to network and that was all that mattered.

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