The formerly pallid, blotchy skin was now clear and glowing, the lines of ingrained fatigue vanished, and there were no dark hollows underneath her distinctive grey-green eyes any more—eyes that were wide-set and luminous under finely arched brows. Her hair had obviously been washed, cut and styled, and was pinned up loosely, with delicate tendrils framing her face. She’d had a manicure, too. He could see the now smooth, long-fingered hand holding together the edges of her towelling robe, which was doing nothing to conceal the deep vee of smooth, pale flesh and the long line of her slender throat...
Without the slightest effort on his part, Xandros felt the start of a low, purring reaction stirring in him that came out of pure, unadulterated, raw masculine instinct.
Because there was something about talking at this late hour of the night to a woman standing in a hotel doorway wearing only a towelling robe and looking the way she was looking now. He had spent the evening dining well and drinking some very tolerable wines, with vintage port to follow, and something about the moment was really very...
Tempting.
Tempting, indeed...
The low purr intensified and he almost—almost—reached out his hand to draw a slow, exploring finger down that deep vee of her robe...almost let his other hand lift to her face, cup the delicate line of her jaw, tilt up her chin so that he could close in on her and lower his mouth to hers...to touch and taste those silken parted lips...
Thee mou! Am I insane?
He hauled his wayward thoughts away.
It’s out of the question—totally out of the question!
Having anything to do with Stavros’s English daughter other than the barest minimum was unthinkable.
‘Good,’ he said briskly, and continued in the same manner. ‘I stopped by to tell you that we’ll need to head for the airport after lunch. So you can have the morning for shopping. The concierge will book a personal shopper for you at one of the department stores to speed things up. Don’t worry about how to pay. I’ll cover it with the store directly for now and sort it with your father later.’
He would take a particular pleasure in sending a hefty bill to Stavros—and not just because the man owed his shamefully neglected daughter big-time. He was pretty damn sure that Stavros had known he’d be dismayed to see how unlike Ariadne his older daughter was. Ariadne—cultured and couture-clad—had been eminently suitable as a Lakaris bride...unlike her ill-dressed, downtrodden, impoverished London-born half-sister.
It would have amused Stavros, Xandros strongly suspected, envisaging Xandros’s predicted discomfiture at the prospect of taking so unlikely a bride in order to achieve the merger he wanted.
His mouth tightened. Yes, well, not only had he no intention whatsoever of matrimony now—with either sister!—but he could also play games of his own. It would amuse him to deliver Rosalie Jones to Stavros looking the way the daughter of one of Greece’s richest men should look. Deliver her—and walk away.
Because Stavros Coustakis was not going to game-play with him one single time more. He was done with it. Done.
He snapped his mind back to the present moment, keeping his voice and manner businesslike. ‘When you’ve finished shopping I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby and we’ll head to the airport.’ He gave her another brisk nod, keeping everything neutrally impersonal. ‘So, until tomorrow, goodnight.’
He turned away, heading back to his own room.
Best not to think of Stavros Coustakis’s English daughter.
However radiant her smile...
CHAPTER THREE
ROSALIE SANK INTO the hotel car that had been sent to collect her—and her treasure trove of purchases—from the very upmarket department store in Knightsbridge where she had just spent three fabulous hours in the hands of a personal shopper.
It had been heaven—a fantasy come to life!—to try on garment after garment, each and every one
of them so incredibly beyond her normal clothes budget, which had been focussed all her life on the cheapest of chain stores and charity shops.
It had been beyond her wildest dreams. And it was all thanks to her father! The father she had never known—who had never known about her!
And now they were to meet—this very evening!
Excitement and happiness filled her to the core.
Back at the hotel, the myriad bags full of her purchases were whisked away to be packed into the new suitcases she’d also bought. Her battered old case, full of her battered old clothes, would be held in storage for the time being. It was all being taken care of.
Now all she had to do was have lunch in the hotel restaurant and be ready, as instructed, for departure for the airport at two thirty.
Her expression changed. Alexandros Lakaris had made it crystal clear that she was nothing more than a chore to him. It was just as well she’d resolved to treat him as nothing more than her father’s messenger boy. Even if last night, when he’d turned up at her room door in that tailored tux of his, looking even more incredibly drop-dead fantastic than he had in a zillion-dollar business suit, she’d had to physically stop herself gawping at him and remember that he was nothing and nobody to her...
Well, it was obvious, wasn’t it? She was equally nothing and nobody to him. So she would match his manner with hers—brisk and impersonal.