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The stylist’s preparation wasn’t all shoring up of her looks, however. It was pampering with massage and a mani-pedi, encouragement to doze by the pool while last-minute adjustments were made to her dress, and a final polish on her hair and makeup that gave her more confidence than she expected.

As she eyed herself in the gold cocktail dress, she was floored at how chic she looked. The cowled halter bodice hung low across her modest chest and the snug fabric hugged her hips in a way that flattered her figure without being obvious. The color brought out the lighter strands in her hair and made her skin look like fresh cream.

The stylist had trimmed her mop, then let its natural wave take over, only parting it to the side and adding two little pins so her face was prettily framed while the rest fell away in a shiny waterfall around her shoulders. She applied false eyelashes, but they were just long enough to make her feel extra feminine, not ridiculous.

“I’ve never known how to make my bottom lip look as wide as the top,” Viveka complained as her lips were painted. The bruise Grigor had left there had faded overnight to unnoticeable.

“Why would you want to?” the woman chided her. “You have a very classic look. Like old Hollywood.”

Viveka snorted, but she’d take it.

She had to acknowledge she was delighted with the end result, but became shy when she moved into the lounge to find Mikolas waiting for her.

He took her breath, standing at the window with a drink in his hand. He’d paired his suit with a gray shirt and charcoal tie, ever the dark horse. It was all cut to perfection against his frame. His profile was silhouetted against the glow of the Acropolis in the distance. Zeus, she thought, and her knees weakened.

He turned his head and even though he was already quite motionless, she sensed time stopping. Maybe they both held their breath. She certainly did, anxious for kind judgment.

Behind her, the stylist left, leaving more tension as the quiet of the apartment settled with the departure of the lift.

Viveka’s eyes dampened. She swallowed to ease the dryness in the back of her throat. “I have no idea how to act in this situation,” she confessed.

“A date?” he drawled, drawing in a breath as though coming back to life.

“Is that all it is?” Why did it feel so monumental? “I keep thinking that I’m supposed to act like we’re involved, but I don’t know much about you.”

“Don’t you?” His cheek ticked and she had the impression he didn’t like how much she did know.

“I guess I know you’re the kind of man who saves a stranger’s life.”

That seemed to surprise him.

She searched his enigmatic gaze, asking softly, “Why did you?” Her voice held all of the turbulent emotions he had provoked with the act.

“It was nothing,” he dismissed, looking away to set down his glass.

“Please don’t say that.” But was it realistic to think her life had meant something to him after one glimpse? No. Her heart squeezed. “It wasn’t nothing to me.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted tightly. His eyes moved over her like he was looking for clues. “But I wasn’t thinking ahead to this. Saving a person’s life shouldn’t be contingent on repayment. I just reacted.”

Unlike his grandfather, who had wanted to know he was actually getting his grandson before stepping in. Oh, Mikolas.

For a moment, the walls between them were gone and the bright, magnetic thing between them tugged. She wanted to move forward and offer comfort. Be whatever he needed her to be.

For one second, he seemed to hover on a tipping point. Then a layer of aloofness fell over him like a cloak.

“I don’t think anyone will have trouble believing we’re involved when you look at me like that.” He smiled, but it was a tad cruel. “If I wasn’t finally catching up to someone I’ve been chasing for a while, I would accept your invitation. But I have other priorities.”

She flinched, stunned by the snub.

Fortunately he didn’t see it, having turned away to press the call button to bring back the elevator.

She moved on stiff legs to join him, fighting tears of wounded self-worth. Her throat ached. Compassion wasn’t a character flaw, she reminded herself. Just because Grigor and Hildy and this jackass weren’t capable of appreciating what she offered didn’t mean she was worthless.


Tags: Dani Collins Billionaire Romance