‘Hummus and taramasalata—’ Feeling as though she was going to melt in the heat, Chantal deposited the last of the dishes on the table. ‘Can I get you anything else?’
Her question received no response. The men were listing every component of the car and the women were apparently similarly entranced.
One leaned towards the other. ‘Incredible body,’ she breathed, and her friend gave a feline smile.
‘Devastating. Monumental sex appeal.’
It took a moment for Chantal to realise that the women were talking about the driver, not the car. The nerves on the back of her neck prickled and she turned.
Angelos slammed the car door and then strode into the restaurant as if he owned it, his hair glinting blue black in the glare of the sun. His gaze cool and confident, he scanned the tables, apparently unaware of the level of interest his arrival had created.
Then he saw her, and the flash of sexual hunger in his eyes was immediate and unmistakable.
Chantal felt her knees weaken and the look they shared held such intimacy that they might have been back in the bedroom.
‘Obviously he’s taken,’ the woman behind her murmured regretfully, but Chantal barely heard her because her heart was bumping against her chest and now she felt as though her body was melting on the inside as well as the outside.
She gave him a faltering smile and walked over to him.
‘Hello. This is a surprise. Can I get you a drink?’
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ His voice was dangerously soft and out of the corner of her eye Chantal saw the owner of the taverna approach.
‘Working. And I can’t really talk to you now. It’s lunchtime and we’re very busy.’ She started to move away, but strong fingers clamped around her wrist like a vice.
‘You’re working?’ His voice rang with disbelief. ‘What do you mean, working?’
‘Well—’ She cleared her throat, unsure how to answer. ‘I do a job and get paid for it. It’s a fairly standard formula. And I really need to go now, because this is our busiest time and—’
‘Why?’
‘You’re asking an awful lot of obvious questions.’ Casting an apologetic smile at the taverna owner, she tried once again to free herself. ‘I’m working for the same reason everyone else works. Because I need the money.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Before this moment I never considered myself to be stupid, but I honestly cannot think of a reason why you would need money. I gave you my credit card.’
‘I need my own money.’
‘You are entitled to treat my credit card as your own.’
She looked at him in exasperation. ‘I need proper money.’
‘This is the twenty first century. A credit card is proper money,’ he drawled, a sardonic gleam in his eyes. ‘What do you need this “proper money” for?’
‘All the normal things. But mostly to pay you. So using your credit card wouldn’t have helped. I can hardly use your own money to pay you, can I? It rather defeats the object.’
There was an ominous silence. ‘You are working so that you can pay me? That’s where the money you gave me the other afternoon came from?’ He glanced around the restaurant. ‘You have been spending the last three days working here?’
‘Yes.’ Seeing the shock in his eyes, she felt suddenly defensive. ‘What’s wrong with that? Your father is busy during the day, and you’re working. We don’t all have a Swiss bank account full of hidden billions. I’ve already used up all the money I brought with me.’ Aware that virtually everyone in the restaurant was following their exchange, she tried again to move away, but his grip tightened.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Maybe. But not now and not here.’ Mortified, she glanced around her. ‘Everyone is staring, Angelos.’
He frowned slightly and turned his head, taking in the gaping diners in a glance. Two streaks of colour highlighted his impressive cheekbones and he drew in a slow, deep breath. ‘We need to leave this place.’
‘You leave. I’m not going anywhere. You may not think much of this job but it’s the only one I have. And if you don’t let me go, so that I can serve those people over there, then I won’t have it for long.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Because you won’t be coming back here again.’ Treating the customers to a full-on display of Greek volatility, Angelos fired several incomprehensible sentences in the direction of the taverna-owner, who nodded vigorously.