As the car slowed to go over a speed hump, his fingers briefly fell to her shoulder. An accident of transit, nothing intentional about it. The reason didn’t matter though; the spark of electricity was the same regardless. She gasped and quickly turned her face away, looking beyond the window.
It was then that she realised they had driven through the gates of City Airport.
She turned back to face him, a question in her eyes. ‘There’s a ball at the airport?’
‘No.’
‘Then why...?’ Comprehension was a blinding light. ‘We’re flying somewhere.’
‘To the ball.’
‘But...you didn’t say...’
‘I thought you were good at reading between the lines?’
She pouted her lips. ‘Yes, you’re right.’ She clicked her fingers in the air. ‘I should have miraculously intuited that when you invited me to a ball you meant for us to fly there. Where, exactly?’
‘Venice.’
‘Venice?’ She stared at him, aghast. ‘I don’t have a passport.’
‘I had your assistant arrange it.’
‘You—what? When?’
‘When I left this morning.’
‘My assistant just handed over my passport?’
‘You have a problem with that?’
‘Well, gee, let me think about that a moment,’ she said, tapping a finger to the side of her lip. ‘You’re a man I’d never clapped eyes on until yesterday and now you have in your possession a document that’s of reasonably significant personal importance. You could say I find that a little invasive, yes.’
He dropped his hand from the back of the seat, inadvertently brushing her arm as he moved, lifting a familiar burgundy document from his pocket. ‘Now you have it in your possession. It was no conspiracy to kidnap you, Beatrice, simply a means to an end.’
Clutching the passport in her hand, she stared down at it. No longer bothered by the fact he’d managed to convince her assistant to commandeer a document of such personal importance from her top drawer, she was knocked off-kilter by his use of her full name. Nobody called her Beatrice any more. She’d been Bea for as long as she could remember. As girls, they’d formed a club: ABC—Amy, Bea, Clare, and the ‘Bea’ had stuck. But her full name on his lips momentarily shoved the air from her lungs.
‘Why didn’t you just tell me?’
He lifted his shoulders. ‘I thought you might say no.’
It was an important clue as to how he operated. This was a man who would do what he needed to achieve whatever he wanted. He’d chosen to invite her to this event, and so he’d done what he deemed necessary to have her there.
‘Your business is too important to our company, remember?’ She was grateful for the opportunity to remind them both of the reason she’d agreed to this. It had nothing to do with the fact she found him attractive, and everything to do with how much she loved her friends and wanted the company to continue to succeed.
‘And that’s the only reason you agreed to this,’ he said in a deep voice, perfectly calling her bluff. Was she that obvious? Undoubtedly. Her lack of experience with men meant she had no idea how to conceal her feelings.
Fortunately, the car drew to a stop at that point and a moment later a man appeared, dressed in a smart navy-blue suit, opening the door.
He spoke in Greek, and Ares responded in English. ‘Miss Jones will be joining me. Please have champagne brought to us after take-off.’
Bea stepped out of the car, her jaw dropping at the sight of a gleaming white aeroplane emblazoned boldly with the word ‘Lykaios’ down the side in bright red letters.
‘Of course you have a private jet,’ she said with a bemused shake of her head.
‘It’s a practical necessity. I travel a lot.’
She refused to be impressed. ‘You know how bad they are for the environment, don’t you?’