He gestured to the steps. ‘I offset my footprint in other ways. The reality is, my schedule cannot be made to fit in with commercial airlines.’
A flight attendant stood at the top of the steps, wearing a navy-blue trouser suit with a crisp white shirt.
‘Miss Jones,’ she greeted, word apparently having reached her of the unexpected guest. ‘Good evening, Mr Lykaios,’ she added.
‘Yassou, Andrea.’ He put a hand in the small of Bea’s back, the touch light and impersonal, yet nonetheless doing very personal things to her insides. Large leather seats were on either side of the aisle, then there was a bank of four facing each other. He indicated she should take one, which she did, spreading her skirt over her knees to conceal her shoes.
He sat opposite, one ankle crossed over his knees in a pose that was sexy and nonchalant and drew attention to his powerful legs. She’d realised he was wearing a tuxedo, of course, but, seeing him sitting directly across from her, the full impact of his appeal hit her like a freight train.
‘You’re quite ridiculously handsome, you know.’
He burst out laughing. ‘Thank you, I think?’
‘It’s not really a compliment,’ she hastened to assure him. ‘Just an observation. I mean, you’d be crazy not to realise that.’
‘I always thought looks were subjective?’
‘Sometimes, but some people are just objectively attractive. It’s a bone structure thing.’
‘Is it?’ he prompted, teasing her with his eyes and his tone.
‘Absolutely. But don’t worry, I’ve never really thought good looks were anything to write home about, so I’m not going to break our cardinal rule.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
For the briefest moment, despite her best intentions, Bea’s eyes dropped to Ares’s broad chest. Her temperature spiked; her tummy flipped.
Andrea arrived, proffering two glasses of champagne, but Ares waved his away. ‘Coffee, efcharistó.’
Bea took hers gratefully. She needed something to soothe her frazzled nerves. ‘Your first language is Greek?’
He dipped his head in acknowledgement.
‘Yet you speak English flawlessly. Did you study here in the UK?’
‘No.’
‘How did you learn to speak it so well?’
His lips twisted in a smile that hid emotions Bea couldn’t interpret. ‘Speaking many languages was somewhat of a survival skill. I got good, fast.’
She quirked her brows. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No,’ he agreed calmly, watching as she sipped her champagne.
She let out an exasperated laugh as the engines began to roar beneath them, the plane starting to move down the runway. ‘So what does it mean?’
He stood suddenly, filling the void between their seats with his large frame and masculine aura. He reached down, his eyes holding hers as he buckled her seatbelt into place, fastening it so it sat low on her hips.
She was breathless, completely unable to look away. ‘I could have done that.’
He took his own seat again, fastening the seatbelt just before the plane took off, a rush of adrenalin flooding Bea as it often did when she flew.
Once they levelled off Andrea returned, brandishing a tray. The aroma of coffee hit Bea squarely between the eyes. There was a small plate on the side, with crescent-shaped biscuits topped with flaked almonds.
‘After my grandfather died, my brother and I spent some time on the streets. We made our way to Athens, where tourists were plentiful. At first we begged—’ he said the word with disdain and her stomach clenched for him, the pain he felt at admitting just that palpable ‘—but once I had a decent command of English and Japanese I began to do odd jobs for the hotels. I earned a pittance—less than begging, most days—but I liked it far more.’
Bea found it hard to catch her breath. ‘I had no idea. I presumed you were—’