Page 14 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

“Emma?”

She was acting ridiculously. Worse, she was doing it in front of Vasilios.

Tilting her chin, she met his eyes, determined to seem unaffected, but the truth was, sometimes the pain and ache were so visceral she almost fell to her knees.

“Where are we going?”

A small frown tilted his lips as he looked behind her before gesturing with a wave of his hand towards the restaurant.

She pulled on her handbag strap, flashed a tight smile in his general direction then nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.”

What had spooked her? True, he didn’t know Emma that well, but Vasilios understood people, and something on the street had made Emma’s skin paler than the moonlight. What was it?

Keeping his curiosity carefully to himself, he guided them towards the doors of Gianni’s. The trattoria was one of his favourites: a simple, reliably good family-run restaurant with a small menu of daily specials and décor that was neither pretentious nor ever-changing. The tables on the footpath were set with red and white checked cloths, and in the centre of each table there was a candle, a salt and pepper grinder and a small glass jar of finely crumbled parmesan cheese. Inside, the walls were painted to look like a colosseum, and the tables were a light timber colour, the chairs designed to match. Despite the fact it was the middle of the afternoon, it was filled with people—at the tables, at the bar, jostling in between.

“Wow,” Emma said, turning to face him, momentarily forgetting whatever had thrown her off kilter outside and offering a single raised brow, as though she was surprised that Vasilios might know of such a place.

He wasn’t sure if he was offended or amused, probably a bit of both.

Offended?

It wasn’t at all like Vasilios to let the opinions of others shape his mood—why should he care what Emma thought of him? This was all about getting under her defences, not letting his own down.

It was a salient reminder to stay on his game, to keep his guard up, to listen as she talked without giving too much of himself away. The point of this was to find out what he could about this woman, to ensure she was as innocent as Costa believed. And to enjoy himself?

With himself, he was entirely honest: yes. He relished the prospect of flirting with her, or seeing the way her body responded to his, of fulfilling the promise their first interaction had given. Desire had sparked between them, and it hadn’t died down since. Vasilios felt it, and he was sure she did too.

But if she had set her sights on Costa, she’d be too clever to act on it.

Or perhaps she might decide that Vasilios was a bigger fish, more worth her effort?

Or maybe Costa was right, and she was just a nice young woman who’d taken a job for the old man and was doing it very well?

He dismissed the final thought. It was possible, and if that was the case, then no harm would come from this. He’d see that she was everything she claimed to be, and leave them alone again.

But Costa was vulnerable.

He’d always had a blind spot where beautiful women were concerned—the same blind spot as Vasilios’s father Ricardo, that had almost ruined their company’s finances for good. At least Costa had generally kept his business brain engaged, refusing to sign away the family fortune just because his desire had been aroused. Whereas Vasilios’s father was a man driven entirely by impulse, who’d recklessly married, divorced, each time allowing his ex to take a large share of his wealth, until the business was in dire straits, the coffers almost completely drained.

Not to mention the scandals in the papers.

No wonder Vasilios had chosen a different lifestyle. Low key, focussed on corporate interests, and always on living with a maximum of control in all things. He was the man least likely to be beholden to his impulses.

Which was why he had no doubts he could enter into a harmless flirtation with Emma and walk away when he was satisfied he understood her, when he knew Costa was in no danger.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t find her incredibly tempting.

As Emma took the seat opposite him, she pulled her blonde hair over one shoulder, drawing his attention unconsciously to her elegant neck and décolletage, and the hint of cleavage exposed by the neckline of her shirt. She had a beautiful figure—slim yet rounded, the kind of body a man could very happily lose himself in, worshipping curves and planes, gentle undulations, the kind of body that could, if he didn’t have such legendary control, dominate his dreams.

Vasilios allowed his gaze to linger for just a moment on the swell of her breasts before taking his own seat with the appearance of total relaxation, elbows propped on the table, eyes now boring into hers.

Emma met his gaze with the appearance of serenity but he wondered what was behind it.

“Where do we start?” She asked with a tight smile, her act of calm slightly undone by the way she was pleating her napkin between her fingertips, almost frantically.

“Generally, we consult a menu, then place an order when asked,” he responded with an arched brow.

Emma lifted a brow. “I mean with our new leaf. Isn’t that the point of this lunch? To turn over a new leaf? To start fresh?”

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