* * *
Nikos Marchetti looked at the woman in front of him and felt not a little shock and surprise running through his system. Along with something much more potent—the biggest jolt of insta-lust he’d ever felt in his life.
He’d just come from a black-tie event at Dublin Castle—leaving behind a room heaving with some of the most beautiful women in the world. And not one of them had turned his head like this...this fiery sprite.
Except she was too tall to be a sprite. She was strong. Supple. The full breasts evident under her thin T-shirt left little to the imagination, and she had wide hips and long pale legs that went on for ever. She was like a Viking queen—all woman and perfectly, generously proportioned—and Nikos’s brain was melting into a heat haze.
Which was probably why he was still standing there, long past the time he would normally have indulged such impertinence.
It wasn’t just her body, though. Unruly-looking red-gold hair was pulled up into a bun on top of her head and her bone structure was exquisite—high cheekbones, firm jaw, straight nose. Her face was dominated by huge blue eyes and a wide, generous mouth. Currently tight. Like the arms across her chest, blocking him from entering his own property.
‘You’ve never even been here before, have you?’
Nikos arched a brow. ‘I wasn’t aware I had to account to you for my movements—but, no, I haven’t been here before.’
‘Why now? Tonight? No one warned me you were coming.’
‘As I own the property, and it should be in a state of readiness for my arrival at any time, I didn’t see the need to forewarn or inform anyone,’ Nikos drawled.
‘It’s late... I could have been in bed.’
Nikos was rewarded with a very unhelpful image of this woman lying back on a bed naked, hair spread around her head, welcoming him to explore her sensual body. Blood rushed to his already heated groin, making him hard—something he was usually much more in control of.
Now irritation prickled. ‘Seriously? You’re denying me entry?’
‘I am until you show me some identification. If you are who you say you are, then surely you can appreciate the fact that I’m not going to let a stranger into your property?’
Nikos wanted to growl. There were very few instances when he wasn’t automatically obeyed. Except she had a point. The fact that she apparently didn’t recognise him was also a novelty that had an unexpected appeal. He was used to people targeting him because of exactly who he was: heir to a vast inestimable fortune and legacy.
But he didn’t want to think about that now—it would only remind him of the feeling of ennui and claustrophobia that had driven him here in the first place, even though he’d almost forgotten about the Irish estate he owned.
He dug into his inside pocket and muttered, ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this...’ before pulling out his passport and handing it to his housekeeper.
Who looked more like a cheerleader, with that supple body and fresh-faced beauty.
Before he could censor himself he said, ‘How old are you?’
She looked up from the passport. ‘Twenty-three. This is a Greek passport. I thought you were Italian?’
Nikos took the passport back. ‘I’m half-Greek, half-Italian and I decided to go with my Greek side. Any more questions? Or can I now enter the property I own?’
* * *
Maggie couldn’t believe she was being so antagonistic to the owner of this house. Because he was the owner.
Nikos Marchetti.
She scrabbled to recall the vague information she’d absorbed from her mother about him, but her mother’s illness had taken most of her attention. He was heir to a vast fortune—the Marchetti Group. But even she knew who they were. The biggest conglomerate of luxury brands in the world. They also owned vast swathes of real estate—hotels, nightclubs, and entire blocks in places like New York.
Maggie stood back and moved aside. ‘Please, come in, Mr Marchetti. It’s a pleasure to welcome you to Kildare House.’
He made a rude sound and walked in, placing a small holdall bag down on a nearby chair. He was even bigger and more gorgeous under the bright lighting of the hallway. He looked around the hall and then proceeded to walk into one of the nearby reception rooms.
Maggie was still reeling from his scent, which had washed over her as he’d entered. Nothing manufactured—or maybe it was just expensive enough not to smell synthetic. Musky, woodsy and pure male essence...
She closed the front door and followed him to the doorway of the reception room to see that he had taken off his jacket and flung it carelessly over the back of a chair. He was at the drinks cabinet and opening a whiskey bottle, pouring a measure into a small tumbler glass.
‘Would you like me to show you around?’ Maggie asked, aiming to sound professional and breezy when she felt anything but.