The Greek’s Cinderella Deal by Carol Marinelli

CHAPTER THREE

‘EXCUSEME!’ MARY blustered at his crude words.

But Costa was non-repentant and he repeated himself. ‘I just saved your ass.’

‘Look, I’m not sure what you’re referring to,’ she attempted, trying to spare herself the shame of being outed as a paid-for date. ‘If things were a bit strained earlier then it was because Eric and I were both a bit flustered—I was late... I missed my bus...’

Her voice trailed off at his slight eyebrow raise. Possibly, Mary realised, if she were really in a relationship with Eric they would have arrived together—and certainly not via public transport.

And so, in a vague, misplaced stab at redemption, she used Coral’s description of him. ‘He’s a sweetheart.’

‘Really?’ An incredulous smile spread on Costa’s lips. ‘Then I apologise for the misunderstanding. I told Ridgemont the party invitation was strictly for one.’ He had long since refused to be on first name terms with that man. ‘But I can easily let him know I’ve added you to the guest list if you want to join him...’

He watched dull colour spread from her neck to her cheeks, but there was dignity in her reply.

‘That won’t be necessary.’

She looked embarrassed at being caught out, but he also saw her sudden flood of relief that this nightmare really was over.

‘I should leave,’ Mary said, sounding flustered. And she turned to do just that.

He let her go with a brief nod.

In fact, now that the so-called ‘meeting’ was over, Costa took his phone from his jacket pocket and turned it on. While waiting for it to load, he glanced up. Previously he had noticed only her nerves and her ill-fitting shoes. Now, though, he saw that her dress was not so plain. The slight dip at the back allowed a glimpse of pale spine and accentuated her tiny waist.

There was an old-fashioned beauty to her, Costa thought, as she nervously tiptoed through Reception on little matchstick legs. There was something about this Mary Jones that forced his attention.

He turned back to his phone and tried to swat her from his mind, but found himself looking up again. She hadn’t got very far—in fact she stood nearby at a table. The flush from her face had gone and she was suddenly incredibly pale as she dragged in air and looked around nervously, as if in dread that Ridgemont might suddenly appear.

‘Mary.’ To his own surprise Costa walked over. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ she attempted.

But she was suddenly overwhelmed by her own foolishness, recalling her trembling fear as she had practically hidden in the restroom, planning her escape.

‘Well, not fine, exactly. I’ve had better Saturday nights...’

She let out a shrill laugh, because actually she’d had nothing but a string of miserable Saturday nights, but right now she’d settle for an evening spent folding a mountain of pink towels back at the salon, slowly losing more of her spirit.

‘I just need a moment.’

‘You’re okay,’ Costa said, even though she looked as if she might faint.

He had already noticed her very slender frame and he felt a sudden twist of guilt—for they had missed dinner, after all, and perhaps she had been counting on it. Costa knew better than most the true pain of hunger and how it felt to be denied a much-needed meal.

‘Would you like to get something to eat?’ Costa offered. ‘Perhaps catch your breath before you head off?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘We could go into the bar...’

‘You warned me yourself not to mess with the big guns,’ Mary responded rather tartly, when usually she’d never dare. But adrenaline was still coursing through her veins. ‘And I’m guessing—’ from Eric’s nerves, from the deference of the waiter, she’d realised that perhaps this Costa was the one to fear ‘—I’m guessing you are one.’

‘Unlike Ridgemont, I don’t pay for company,’ Costa responded. ‘Now, you can take that as an insult and huff off, or we can take a seat here and at least get a drink...’

He gestured to the sumptuous bar with its occasional tables and carefully placed leather chairs and velvet couches, as well as an open fire. Despite its size, and the people filling the seats, it reminded her of a cosy nook. A place to simply curl up and hide.

‘It is up to you.’

She looked to the brass doors she had first walked through. A second ago all she had wanted was to get the hell away, but she could see the arriving patrons with their umbrellas, could see the black of the night outside, and suddenly she felt safer with him than alone.

‘Just a drink?’

‘Yes, Mary, I don’t do double-speak.’

‘Meaning...?’

‘If I wanted sex I would say so upfront.’

She let out another burst of nervous laughter, but he did not join her. Instead, he repeated his offer.

‘Would you like to join me for a drink before you leave?’

Finally she could breathe. For the first time since arriving in the hotel she felt air expand right down to the bottom of her lungs. Yes, a drink sounded like something she would very much like, if only to gather herself.

‘Please.’

They were led through to where gorgeous couples and groups were sipping their beverages and making conversation. Again, she noticed that certain pause as they passed.

He had an effect on everyone, Mary realised, but then she wondered if all these people were simply curious as to what on earth he was doing with a woman in someone else’s shoes carrying a rather scruffy purse.

The bar area was sophisticated indeed, and his reserved table was tucked away in a gorgeous alcove, with plump chesterfield chairs and a low walnut table. There was a violet orchid floating in a small glass jar, but there was no candle or anything to denote romance—this was where, she realised, he had been intending to speak with Eric.

Thank God he had gone.

Gratefully she sank into a seat as he did the same, and for a moment closed her eyes in quiet relief. Costa’s rather indelicate dressing-down had hit home. Indeed, had he not intervened, Mary knew she might well have found herself in serious trouble tonight.

‘Shall I ask for the menu?’ Costa broke into her thoughts. ‘I wouldn’t mind something to eat.’

‘Go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ll just have...’ She looked up to the waiter. ‘A hot chocolate, please.’

‘That’s not some cocktail I don’t know about, is it?’ Costa checked, and for the first time she properly smiled. Not a big smile, a subtle one, but unlike before it wasn’t forced.

‘No, just a hot chocolate.’

‘With marshmallows?’ the waiter checked.

‘Yes, please!’ It was so nice to be asked that she dared ask for more. ‘Extra-sweet, please.’

‘Of course.’

Costa gave his own drink order and ordered some nibbles, then they made polite small talk as they waited for them to arrive—or rather, Mary tried to. She was truly awful at it, though.

‘The weather is dreadful,’ she said.

‘It always is when I come to London.’

‘I don’t think that’s very fair.’

Costa shrugged. ‘It’s just an observation, not an insult—I’ve never had a sunny day here.’

‘Well...it was gorgeous yesterday.’ Why was she defending the weather? Mary had no idea.

‘That was yesterday. I can assure you there will be solid rain all week.’

‘Is that how long you’re in London, then?’

‘Yes,’ Costa said, a touch surprised that he had given this information away so readily, for he usually kept his plans to himself.

Always.

‘I’ll keep an umbrella handy, then,’ Mary said.

‘Do.’

Then there was no more small talk. Mary just sat, somewhat defeated, and Costa simply let her be.

Their drinks were served—his preferred cognac and for Mary hot chocolate in a delicate porcelain cup and saucer, along with some delectable tiny pastries and chocolate-dipped fruits.

‘This is lovely,’ she said, having taken a sip of the velvety drink and seemingly revelled in its sweet warmth.

‘Enjoy,’ Costa said, surprised at his relief when she picked up the tongs and selected some food.

Despite his determination not to get involved, he knew he could not leave the sum total of their conversation as a discussion of the weather.

‘So,’ Costa prompted, ‘tell me about you...’

It sounded like a clichéd opening, except it was a line he had never used before. But she really intrigued him and he found he couldn’t help himself.

‘There’s really not much to tell.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘I work at a hairdresser’s.’

She told him the name of it And he shook his head. It was probably the kind of place a man like him would never set foot in.

‘Do you like it?’ he asked.

‘Some days.’

She popped a little ball of chocolate-dipped pastry into her mouth. Costa wondered whether it was to stop him from delving further, but he knew delaying tactics and waited till she had swallowed.

‘And are your family in London too?’ he enquired, before she could reach for more food.

‘I have no family,’ Mary said, and even as she lied she looked him right in the eye.

It was, in truth, a practised lie.

A necessary lie.

But that didn’t stop her feeling guilty each time she said it.

It had meant survival at school, and that had been confirmed when her boss, Coral, had warned her not to reveal that her father was in prison, so her response had become the norm. Anyway, this man did not need to know; he was making conversation, that was all.

‘None?’ Costa checked.

‘None,’ Mary said firmly, and took another sip of her drink. But she herself heard the slight rattle as she replaced the cup in its saucer.

Costa had noted it too, though his eyes did not move to her hands. Instead he watched the blink of her gorgeous blue eyes and she knew he didn’t believe her.

‘Is it hard being alone in the world?’ he asked. Then, as if taken aback by his own curiosity, immediately apologised. ‘Excuse me. I had no right to ask that.’

‘It’s fine.’ In fact, it was refreshing to be asked. ‘I guess I’m used to it, for the most part.’

‘What about the other parts?’

‘Other parts?’

She was about to offer a tight smile and reach for a white chocolate ball, except there was a gentleness to his questioning and he no longer seemed imposing, simply kind. He was patient too, for they sat in a gentle silence as she actually thought about those ‘other parts’. Yes, she had lied about not having a father, but this man in front of her had no right to the secrets of her heart.

And so she thought not so much about the emptiness of Christmas, nor the desperation of the unmarked birthday that had led her here tonight. No, Mary thought of the hollow ache of loneliness. The moments when she woke up in fright over a problem to be faced alone. How she had felt just a short while ago in the restroom as if she could simply disappear from the face of the earth unnoticed...

He watched her eyes finally lift to his. ‘I feel somewhat adrift.’

‘Adrift?’

‘It means—’

‘I know what it means,’ Costa said, for it was not the English he was having trouble comprehending.

‘Still...’ She gave him a smile then. ‘It means that I get to make my own choices...’

‘What were you doing with Ridgemont?’ he asked, and watched her rapid blink in response. ‘I have known him for many years and I’ve never once heard him described as a sweetheart—even I didn’t want to be here tonight.’

‘Then why were you?’ Mary asked.

‘Touché.’ He gave a grim smile. ‘You don’t really expect me to answer that, do you?’

‘No...’ Mary admitted, but she did make an observation. ‘Though from the vibe at the table I could sense you weren’t about to deliver pleasant news.’

Costa said nothing.

‘You’ve known him longer than fifteen years, haven’t you?’

He shot her a look, not really surprised by her perceptiveness, more that she was bold enough to ask.

And Costa liked boldness.

‘I have known him for longer.’

Usually Costa would not have given even that much away, let alone elaborate, but he had been primed for things to come to an abrupt end tonight and been denied the satisfaction of the moment. Despite his cool demeanour, he was still riled.

‘Ridgemont wouldn’t recall, though. He had his team of minders with him even back then.’

‘Really?’

Costa refused to be drawn further. ‘Look, forgive me if I sound presumptuous... I don’t tend to concern myself with someone else’s date, but that’s because I generally know they can take care of themselves. You, though, seemed out of your depth. More than that, you seemed to realise that for yourself.’

Mary was silent.

‘Am I right?’

She could lie no more when the truth was blatantly clear. Had she not forgotten her bag in her dash to the powder room she would now be sitting in a taxi she couldn’t afford and almost home.

‘Yes.’ She looked right at him then. ‘My boss assured me—’

‘Your boss needs to vet your clients better,’ Costa said sharply.

Oh, God, he thought she was referring to her madam, or whatever they were called! But there was more on her mind than enlightening him...

‘Might he come back?’ she asked. ‘When he finds out the party isn’t real.’

‘It’s real,’ Costa said. ‘Though I doubt they’ll be thrilled by his arrival. You’re correct, our meeting was not going to be a pleasant one, but instead of telling him what I came to say, I called in a favour to get him away from you.’

Oh!

‘I was about to make a run for it...’ she admitted. ‘Look, I made a mistake—’

She stopped. He didn’t need to know about the pressure applied by Coral that had brought her here this evening, but there was also the real reason she’d finally succumbed tonight, and something about Costa Leventis made her feel safe enough to reveal it.

‘I just wanted a fabulous night out...somewhere nice.’

‘There are safer ways to chase excitement, Mary.’

And he would know all of them, Mary thought. She stifled an involuntary sigh. There was a shot of silver at his temples, a little fan of lines beside those gorgeous eyes... He just oozed worldliness and experience and...and something else. Something she was struggling to place. He had a kind of ‘knowing’ about him, and she felt so drab and unsophisticated in comparison.

‘So,’ he said, holding the stem of his glass between two fingers, swirling it slowly as he warmed it with his palm before taking a taste of cognac, ‘how old are you?’

‘Twenty-one,’ Mary said and then sighed. ‘Today.’

He said nothing to that. In fact he looked distinctly unimpressed. Not, of course, that she’d expected him to break into song, but she seemed destined to tick off another birthday entirely unacknowledged.

He fired another question. ‘How long have you been working...’ he hesitated ‘...at the hairdresser’s?’

‘Almost five years.’

‘Years?’Costa checked.

‘Yes,’ Mary said. ‘I started there when I was sixteen. It’s not ideal, of course.’

‘Is that why you’re here on a Saturday night? Trying to earn some extra cash?’

She said nothing. In fact, she was trying to hold back from devouring the plate of nibbles and trying to remember her manners, given that he had so far not touched the food.

Costa wasn’t holding back on the questions though. ‘I assume you are paid in cash?’

‘I don’t think that’s a polite question.’

Costa took a breath and knew not to push it, but he loathed more than anything people being taken advantage of, and God knew he’d been on the receiving end often enough while trying to get ahead.

‘Could you get another job?’ he asked, despite his determination to endure only a quick drink with her and then walk away. ‘One that pays you enough to pay your rent and eat?’

She pulled her hand back from the rapidly diminishing food selection. But instead of shrivelling, as she usually did, she shot him a look. ‘Why do you think I’m here, Costa?’

‘I get it, okay?’ He did—and what was more, he admired her. ‘I know it’s easier said than done. Go ahead...’ he said, and pushed the platter towards her. ‘They are not to my taste.’

‘Then why did you order them?’

‘I get a little mixed up at times. I thought I had asked for orekita...’ He saw her frown. ‘Meze.’ Still the frown.

In truth, Costa knew exactly what he had ordered, but he had noted her sweet drink choice and taken a guess that she would enjoy it.

‘In Greece the selection would be more savoury.’

‘Well, this is perfect for me.’

‘Then enjoy. I shall have something else later. You were saying you don’t like where you work...? That it is less than ideal?’ Costa prompted.

She gave a mirthless laugh. ‘So far from ideal. I was promised an apprenticeship when I started, but I’m not very good with the clients. I tend to say the wrong thing.’

‘Say nothing,’ he suggested. ‘I can’t stand getting my hair cut. Hairdressers always speak...’ He made a yapping gesture. ‘Maybe you should open a salon that offers a haircut with no conversation? Men would come in droves...’

Mary smiled. ‘Well, whatever the case, it’s not easy to leave without references—’ She stopped herself.

‘And without the right clothes for an interview at a high-end salon?’ Costa suggested, but her lips tightened and he knew she felt criticised. ‘May I say you look very beautiful tonight...?’ He could have said so much more than that. He wanted to say so much more than that. But he chose not to. ‘Your dress is stunning.’

He tried not make it sound sleazy or practised, to put a kindness in his tone. It was clearly so unfamiliar to her it made her blink.

Costa saw that blink as if in slow motion—the golden honey colour of her thick eyelashes as they closed—and although his faith had never lapsed, tonight it was proved...for it would seem that mountains did indeed move.

The entire reason he was sitting here was the simple fact that she moved him.

Outside family, which consisted only of his mother, he could count on one hand the people who moved him—or rather on one finger... Or make that no one. No one really moved Costa Leventis—he had trained himself in that long, long ago.

‘Does your phone always buzz like that?’ Mary asked, for it was lit up like a Christmas tree and sliding across the smooth walnut table with a life of its own.

He glanced at the phone. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’ He stood and took the call as he walked off. ‘Hey, Roula.’

With his back to her, she was finally able to properly stare. He signalled to a waiter, she presumed to get the bill, then returned to his call as she unashamedly took in the exquisite cut of his suit—or rather the sheer exquisiteness of him.

Her first assessment had been right—he was exceptionally tall—but it wasn’t just his height that held her attention. Nor the heady scent of his cologne that had stirred the air as he moved away and lingered even now...

Mary was befuddled. She told herself it was his presence, his being, his quiet command that had brought to this wretched night a sense of calmness and safety.

She turned her attention to the pretty flower on their table as Costa ended the call and returned to his seat.

Costa still couldn’t quite articulate why he was prolonging the night, but there was something about her plight that moved him. Something about Mary in her old-fashioned dress that made him want to...well, to help. And fortunately he was in a position to do so.

‘Sorry about that,’ he said as he re-took his seat. ‘I don’t often take calls mid-conversation. Usually I turn my phone off...’

He did so now, for it was something that had always irritated Costa. When he gave his attention he gave it fully. However, the call had been an important one, and he had followed it up with one of his own.

‘That’s fine.’

‘I wanted to confirm something before I put it to you.’ He looked over at her. ‘I have a business proposal...’

Oh, God.She really had jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, Mary thought. The panic that had subsided over their drinks rushed back with a vengeance.

‘I don’t think so.’

She reached for her purse, but before she could stand he clarified his words.

‘I meant a traineeship at one of my hotels. Although I don’t have any here in the UK...’

‘You mean an actual job?’

‘Yes. You heard me discussing the retreat in Anapliró? Despite Ridgemont’s description, it’s actually very beautiful. We don’t generally take trainees at the spa there, but we can always make room for good staff.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘In the massage parlour?’

‘Can we please move away from that?’ he suggested, but acknowledged her caution. ‘The spa is world-renowned...more than accredited...’ He lingered on the topic for a second more, as if to make one thing very clear. ‘Despite the nature of our meeting, let me assure you that there is no ulterior motive. I’m barely there...’

‘Why not?’

Now it was Costa who blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘If it’s so beautiful, and if it’s your home, then why are you barely there?’

He should tell her this minute why she wasn’t successful in applying for jobs: Mary Jones really did not interview well!

There were places in an interview, especially with Costa, that people just did not go!

‘That’s irrelevant,’ he told her. ‘Is it something you would like to consider?’

Mary dared not consider it.

She dared not think about it for she wanted to leap to Anapliró in one single bound.

But even if she still didn’t know how to start unpacking her feelings towards her father, Mary knew she could not abandon him.

She simply couldn’t.

Costa watched her silently wrestle. What was stopping her? he pondered. Yes, he was perhaps being arrogant to assume she would simply torch her life here, but an offer of a traineeship at his retreat was so coveted there was more chance of milk from a bull. More to the point, here she was dealing with the likes of Ridgemont, for God’s sake...

Perhaps that was it.

‘Mary, if you have a criminal record, just tell me now and—’

‘I do not!’ Mary bristled.

‘Fine, then.’ He glanced over to the waiter and signalled him. ‘Mary?’ He was still waiting for an answer, which was something Costa was rather unused to in all walks of life. ‘Would you like my staff to contact you?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

She never cried—not since the night of her mother’s funeral—and she certainly wouldn’t start now. But she could almost taste the salt of the tears she would shed later as she declined this opportunity.

‘Thank you, but no.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear that.’

Not as sorry as she!

Mary shot him a look then—a sharp look, an angry look...one Mary herself didn’t understand. For it was aimed at the one person who had thrown her a lifeline.

It was the most honest she had ever been with her eyes, because it was hurting her so much to decline. Her mask did not just slip—it was gone, and for a moment she was lost in his silvery eyes.

He did not judge.

Nor did he move to persuade or dissuade her.

He was done with her.

And then there came a moment so rare and so scarce that Mary didn’t know what it was—she saw him simply accept her silent anger. Her regret.

And not just regret for declining a dream job.

There was regret yet to come, because her refusal surely meant the end of this moment.

This moment with him.

It was as if the lights had been turned off and all noise had been muted. As if the lens through which she had until now viewed the world had sharpened its focus.

All the details she had gathered through the night seemed to click, click, click... Not just the beauty of his eyes, but the silver at his temples, his scent, his height, his arrogance combined with such kindness... All of it clicked into one vivid image and there he was, as if for the first time.

Costa Leventis.

Yes, he was gorgeous.

Yes, he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen in real life.

But all of that she had known on sight.

She hadn’t, until now, known that this man might arouse in her a reaction she had never so much as imagined—hadn’t known that for all the trouble she had simultaneously ignored and anticipated tonight, this might be the most perplexing part.

It wasn’t that she fancied him—that was a horrible word, and so inadequate to describe this moment when she felt as if the only other person in the world was seated in front of her.

And this moment suddenly terrified her half to death.

‘I have to go.’

‘Mary—’ He moved to halt her.

‘Do you run around offering work to all of Eric’s dates?’ Of course he didn’t. ‘Thank you for the drink...’ Mary said, gathering her purse as she stood, desperate to flee.

‘Please wait a moment.’

‘For what?’ Mary snapped, for she did not want him to glimpse what was happening inside her. She was blushing and stumbling, and hungry for cold air. ‘I really do have to go.’

‘Wait, please,’ Costa said. ‘There was another reason I interrupted our conversation...’

He glanced across the room and, perplexed, she followed his gaze. That lens widened again, and the rest of the world reappeared in slow motion... Only now she stood on what she could only describe as an entirely different plane of existence.

A waiter was walking towards them, and at that second the pianist started to play ‘Happy Birthday’ and everyone in the plush bar turned to stare... Mary blushed, lit up with desire, and it felt to her that every single person in the bar who was now staring at her could surely see it.

Mutely, she sat down as a perfect slice of strawberry Fraisier cake with a candle on the top was placed in front of her. Written on the plate in chocolate was Happy 21st Birthday, Mary.

She had lost the ability to speak.

‘I think you’re supposed to blow out the candle,’ said Costa.

‘Oh, yes...’ She took a breath.

‘Make a wish,’ he reminded her.

She nodded. Her wish was suddenly an urgent one: Please don’t let this man know the effect he’s having on me.

She duly blew out the candle and watched as the orange flame puffed out and a wisp of black smoke rose into the air.

Costa wondered what she had wished for. Not a new job, it would seem.

‘Enjoy...’ Costa said, and although he was irked that she had refused his offer, he was not enough of a bastard to leave her sitting alone with her single slice of birthday cake and two forks.

He picked up one of the forks. ‘You go first.’

‘Me?’

‘It’s your cake.’

Mary forgot for a moment how to do something as simple as pick up a fork and eat cake.

‘Thank you,’ she said finally, her breath returning. ‘You’re the first person to acknowledge my birthday...’ Mary felt her blush fading as somewhat more normal service started to be resumed. ‘I mean, in the scheme of things it’s unimportant, but I’ve had not even a card or a single balloon...’

‘I don’t do cards.’ He shrugged.

‘What about balloons?’

He screwed up his nose.

‘Well,’ Mary said, more to herself than to him, ‘it’s not as if twenty-firsts are big birthdays any more...’

‘I wish!’ He rolled his eyes.

Now that he knew they would see each other no more, because she had not accepted his offer of the traineeship, it was as if he was letting her in just a touch.

‘For mine there was a big party.’

She smiled.

‘Not the sort of party you’re imagining,’ Costa told her. ‘There was cake, which I don’t like, photos, which I loathe, and I was reminded to appear grateful when my yaya presented me with my dead papou’s watch.’

‘That’s nice, isn’t it?’

‘My grandparents were not nice people.’

‘You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.’

‘You learn nothing from people’s lives if you turn them into saints.’ Costa shrugged. ‘I still have to wear that damned watch whenever I’m home.’

‘Lose it.’ Mary leant forward and whispered the words. ‘Perhaps wear it in the sea.’

And, unbeknownst even to her, Mary put on something she hadn’t worn in the longest while—something forgotten, something long unseen. For Costa, she smiled her mettlesome smile.

‘I like your line of thinking, Mary Jones,’ he said. ‘Here...’

He dived into the cake and offered her his loaded fork. For a second it wobbled between them, as if for a sliver of time he’d been about to feed her.

It was enough to have her snapping back to attention, and she took the proffered fork from him and somehow guided it to her mouth.

‘Mmm...’ The sponge was so light, the cream like silk, and there was a burst of fresh strawberry on her tongue, both sweet and sharp. She was probably biased, but when her mouth was clear she said, ‘This is the nicest cake I’ve ever tasted.’

‘Really?’

He said it in that dubious tone Mary was coming to recognise, and she watched as he picked up the other fork and swooped in for a taste.

She couldn’t help but stare.

Goodness, he was beyond handsome.

Those eyes were stunning, with thick, dark brows that framed them perfectly. She scanned his features, both in an attempt to find fault and, more honestly, to preserve this image of perfection, from the sculpted cheekbones to the strong unshaven jaw. And as for that mouth...

Mary was suddenly grateful that there was room in her stilettos for her toes to curl!

It was plump and open, and she watched that perfect cake disappear behind those perfect lips, leaving a slight smear of cream on the top one.

Oh, help.

She was beyond turned on, and it was such an unfamiliar feeling that she didn’t know how to sit with it and just let it be. So distracted was she by the thrum of her veins beneath the grey tweed dress that she found herself mirroring him—licking her own top lip as he did the same.

Costa seemed a touch confounded as he went back for another taste. ‘It is actually very nice.’

‘You sound surprised?’

‘I am,’ he agreed. ‘I really don’t have a sweet tooth.’

‘I’ll have to remember that for future ref—’ Her voice, which had gone all husky, stopped short.

Costa glanced up sharply. Yes, sharply. Because sweet Mary had just delivered a stunning and rather unexpected flirtation.

Rarely did flirting sideswipe Costa—he was an expert in it, after all. But he found that his guard was suddenly up.

The flush that had returned to her cheeks was now spreading down her neck, and it was not born of embarrassment or awkwardness. And her pupils were as big as the plate of cake they shared.

Well, not quite... But Costa recognised naked lust when he saw it.

Just who was this woman? In the space of an hour he had blown up long-held business plans, offered her a job, shared a birthday cake, and almost convinced himself that she was an innocent in this game called life.

It would seem he had been duped, for her eyes told him there was something going on beneath her wide-eyed façade. He rarely felt rarely played when it came to seduction, but she might just be a master at it.

‘There’s no need for you to keep a record, Mary,’ Costa said in rebuttal, ‘given that we won’t be seeing each other again.’

‘Of course.’

All the cake was gone now, and this time when she reached for her purse he didn’t stop her, though he did make himself stand.

‘I’ll walk you out.’

‘Thank you.’

He knew she must have felt his sudden pulling back and, despite her inexperience, had understood why. The confusing part was that her flirtation had been unintentional and it seemed to have unsettled them both.

Yes, both.

Costa had been born flirting, and was rather certain he would take that skill to the grave. But tonight he really had been trying to do the right thing.

‘Goodnight, Mary.’

‘Goodnight.’

He knew he should turn to go, but instead he stood there, trying not to notice her shabby coat and the broken umbrella being handed to her as the doorman asked if he could summon her car or, when she declined, call a taxi.

‘No, thank you...’

Mary had told him she had arrived by bus, and he guessed her mode of departure would be the same. He tried to remain unmoved. He had done his best, Costa told himself, and she had made it clear that she did not want his help.

But then, on some sort of reluctant autopilot—for he would by far prefer to walk away—he heard himself address the doorman. ‘Could you arrange a car for Miss Jones, please?’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘It’s fine,’ Mary said. ‘There really is no need.’

‘I invited you for a drink,’ Costa said as the car was swiftly arranged. ‘I practically interviewed you. It is right that I ensure you get safely home.’

‘I didn’t accept the job,’ Mary pointed out.

‘As is your right. But that doesn’t mean I leave you to take the bus.’

‘Well, thank you.’

They stepped out into the cool evening to find that the rain had stopped but all was shiny and wet. For Mary, London had never looked so beautiful as it did this night.

It was as if everything had been swept clean. The terrible error of judgement she had made in accepting tonight’s dinner date had been rectified and her birthday had been acknowledged.

It was almost like waking up to find the fairies had been while she slept.

She used to dream of that.

She used to fall asleep dreaming that she would wake up and her world would have changed. That her mother would be downstairs and her dad would be putting on a tie and heading to work. That the nightmare her childhood had become was just a dream from which she had finally awakened.

‘Goodnight, Mary,’ Costa said again. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you.’

He said it so politely that for a moment she thought he might shake her hand, but he didn’t, and when he spoke next there was a slight edge to his tone.

‘I wish you well in whatever path you choose...’

His tone might be a little bit sarcastic, but she got why—given she had told him a little of her plight and then turned down such a stunning opportunity.

‘Costa, I’m flattered by your offer. It really is the nicest proposal I’ve ever had. It’s just that I have other commitments...’

‘It was just a suggestion.’

‘A very nice one,’ Mary said. ‘Thank you for thinking of me.’ She swallowed. ‘And for earlier...’

‘No problem,’ he lied.

She melted him.

Costa didn’t quite know why.

There was a lot going on behind those china-blue eyes and thick honey lashes, and before he could think twice he cupped her cheeks with his hands in the gentlest of farewells as he offered his final warning.

‘These other commitments...’

He still thought her an escort.

But even if it only served to compound his theory of her, she did not want to bring up her father.

‘I don’t want to discuss it.’

‘Very well, but please be more careful in the future.’

‘I am careful,’ she countered.

Since her mother had died, she had been dreadfully so. She wanted to explain the aberration that tonight had been, but with her face in his hands there was no room for words, so she just carried on staring into those beautiful, inscrutable eyes.

‘I mean it,’ Costa said. ‘There are a lot of snakes out there—believe me, I know...’

‘How?’ she asked.

‘Because I’ve had to work with them. For a while I was one of them.’

She wanted to know more.

Mary wanted more.

It was as though he was a magnet and her skin was embedded with shards of iron. She was drawn to him. So much so that she had to press her soles into the floor to ground herself and tell her lips not to move towards his.

Costa could feel the shiver of anticipation beneath his fingers and he looked at the perfect lips he had watched blow out a candle. He wanted them on his, yet he reminded himself of the circumstances of their meeting.

No, to kiss her now would not be fair.

He removed his hands from her burning cheeks.

‘I am going back in.’

Yet still he could not leave things there.

‘If I wanted to call you...?’ Costa checked, and saw her eyes widen. ‘I think it would be poor form to ask Ridgemont for your details.’

‘Indeed.’

‘So,’ he said, ‘what is your number?’

He took out his phone and, oh, so confidently went to type it in.

‘I don’t have one,’ Mary said.

She gave him a brittle smile as it dawned on her that he might be considering booking her ‘services’, before remembering that he’d said he didn’t pay for company.

‘I think it best we leave it there.’

‘Certainly,’ Costa said, pocketing his phone.

‘You have your party to get to.’

‘No,’ Costa corrected as he saw her into his car. ‘That was just to get rid of Ridgemont. I’m going back in now...’ He gestured with his head to the hotel. ‘Happy birthday, Mary.’

He closed the car door and watched as it glided out into the dark night.

‘Is everything all right, sir?’ the doorman asked.

‘Of course.’ Costa nodded, for now she was gone he could finally think straight.

As he went back inside Costa mentally amended his response.

In fact, things were far from okay.

In fact, the night had not gone well at all.

Somehow Mary Jones had not just blown up his carefully laid plans, she had completely upended him.