Never had she been around a man who wielded his sensuality like an extension of himself. She couldn’t deny the effect he had on her. But that didn’t mean she needed to succumb to it.
The last time she had, it had proved devastating when she had realised it was not her but her father’s money, her father’s approval that had been her ex’s end goal. She had vowed not to make the same mistake again and hadn’t yet.
With that last determined cry ringing in her mind, she ate the first, second and third mouthfuls without acknowledging Loukis at all. She had focused her gaze on the plate before her and knew that the delicious meal was utterly wasted on her as her thoughts blocked the pleasure of taste.
Célia was so focused on getting to the end of the meal that, when she laid her fork down, she realised that Loukis had not only finished but was placing an alarmingly large number of euros onto the table.
‘I will take you home,’ he said, without sparing her a glance. Given where her thoughts had been it was hardly surprising that Célia momentarily thought he intended something else.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ she claimed, having absolutely no intention of letting Loukis Liordis anywhere near her apartment.
He pierced her with a look that she was sure would have wilted many a woman throughout the years. ‘That is not how I was raised.’
‘And that has nothing to do with me. I can find my own way home, but thank you for the offer.’
He followed so close behind her as they wound their way out of the restaurant that Célia was sure that she could feel the heat of his body pressing against her, speeding her departure from Comte Croix.
He waited until she had arranged for the valet to call her a cab, spinning his keys around his forefinger not with impatience, but habit, she supposed. When the car arrived, he opened the door for her, and left it open as she settled into the sleek town car.
‘I look forward to hearing from you as the plans develop for the event. In the meantime, Ms d’Argent, do yourself and the world a favour and burn that T-shirt.’
He closed the door before she could even respond and disappeared into the night.
The absolute gall of the man!
CHAPTER TWO
TWENTY-FIVE DAYS, four hundred and thirty-three emails, one hundred and twenty-eight hours of meetings, one hundred and nineteen invitations, and two flights later, Célia found herself in a stunning white-walled exhibition space overlooking the Acropolis in Athens.
If she had been tired the evening she had gone for dinner with Loukis, she was exhausted tonight. But in just a few hours, the event Liordis had demanded, negotiated, tweaked, argued and begrudgingly agreed to, would be over. And she could sleep. Finally. Perhaps even have one day where she didn’t have to have a single tense conversation with the Greek billionaire.
Still, she could argue that what they had managed to achieve together in such an impossibly brief time was nothing short of miraculous. She might have managed to sound confident back in the Comte Croix in Paris, but the panic that had beset her once the anger from his comment about her clothing had receded along with the image of him standing there watching the car turn the corner had been swift and intense. And certainly enough to distract her from the devastating effect he’d had on her in person.
She passed between the two large stone columns that would greet their guests and onwards into the open white-walled space, contrasting against the dark granite flooring and rough concrete ceiling that lined the repurposed warehouse. It was a fairly new gallery, but absolutely perfect for the event.
The clean tones offset the collection of admittedly impressive pieces Loukis had managed to get his hands on, either from his own collection or donated from equally wealthy contributors. Bright colours screamed from the canvases of some of the world’s most famous modern artists. Muted tones soothed from older masterpieces, and shadows were cast from inconceivable sculptures from throughout the last century.
For a moment, Célia was lost in the sheer beauty of what surrounded her until the click of high heels made their way towards her. She turned to find Sia Keating, the art valuer from the privately owned international auction house Bonnaire. As always, Célia found herself unable to look away from the glorious titian hair that haloed her face and neck.
‘Célia, I’m so pleased I got to see you before I left,’ Sia said as she took Célia into a warm embrace.
‘Me too,’ she replied. ‘I can’t thank you enough for doing this at such short notice.’
‘It’s my pleasure, and for a very good cause. Is everything in place?’
‘Yes, each piece’s documentation is present and correct and, if I may say so, very impressive.’
Célia smiled. That final check meant that the event could go ahead as planned. ‘And having Bonnaire as backers for it is a real coup.’
Sia’s smile dimmed a little. ‘Well, they were happy to do so, provided I took the valuation on my own time.’
Célia frowned. ‘On your own time?’
‘I had lots of holiday to use anyway. And it’s almost on the way to the Emirates.’
‘I’m sure we could—’
‘No,’ Sia said with a genuine smile this time. ‘Really, it’s fine. It’s nice to be part of something like this. And frankly I was lucky enough to get a job with them anyway.’