A proposal of convenience!

When billionaire Lukas Christophedes finds maid Ashleigh gatecrashing his mansion, he strikes a bargain: if Ashleigh acts as Lukas’s girlfriend to help him close a deal, she can stay until the New Year!

For newly single Ashleigh, agreeing to keep hearts off the table sounds easy...until the line between what’s real and what’s for show starts to blur! And as Christmas approaches, all Ashleigh is wishing for is a different, much more heartfelt, proposal...

Maids Under the Mistletoe

Promoted: from maids to Christmas brides!

Maids Emma, Ashleigh, Grace and Sophie work for the same elite London agency. And with Christmas just around the corner, they’re gearing up for their busiest period yet!

But as the snowflakes begin to fall these Christmas Cinderellas are about to be swept off their feet by romantic heroes of their own...

Don’t miss our

Maids Under the Mistletoe quartet

A Countess for Christmas

by Christy McKellen

(October 2016)

Greek Tycoon’s Mistletoe Proposal

by Kandy Shepherd

(November 2016)

Christmas in the Boss’s Castle

by Scarlet Wilson

(December 2016)

Her New Year Baby Secret

by Jessica Gilmore

(January 2017)

Greek Tycoon’s Mistletoe Proposal

Kandy Shepherd

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KANDY SHEPHERD swapped a career as a magazine editor for a life writing romance. She lives on a small farm in the Blue Mountains near Sydney, Australia, with her husband, daughter and lots of pets. She believes in love at first sight and real-life romance—they worked for her! Kandy loves to hear from her readers. Visit her at www.kandyshepherd.com.

To Wendy Uren—for the many years of friendship and all that window shopping in Bond Street!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

LUKAS CHRISTOPHEDES HEARD the singing the moment he let himself into his Chelsea townhouse. The infernal sound of yet another Christmas carol. This time, infiltrating the sanctuary of one of his favourite homes. How many times had he heard a rendition of Jingle Bells already today? With only days until Christmas, canned festive music had followed him from the airport in Athens all the way to his disconcerting business meeting in east London. After the day he’d endured, he did not need Jingle Bells here.

The cleaner must have left a radio on. He had an ongoing arrangement with the upmarket Maids in Chelsea agency to ensure his house was cleaned and aired daily so it would always be ready should he have to spend time in the UK. Perhaps they’d purposely left the radio on as a burglar deterrent? That could make sense—Chelsea was one of the most affluent areas of London. But the sooner it was switched off the better.

As he strode through the marble-floored entranceway the singing got louder—and more off-key. He winced. No radio would give airtime to this appalling rendition of Jingle Bells in that tuneless female voice. This was a live performance. He cursed in a fluent mix of Greek and English. A maid must still be here working—a particularly tone-deaf maid. At six p.m. he expected his house to be free of any domestic help. It was his escape and his refuge and he demanded privacy. Strong words would be spoken to Maids in Chelsea for this breach of protocol.

Lukas flung his cashmere coat and scarf onto the antique chair in the marble-tiled hallway and headed towards the staircase that led to the next two floors. He wanted this maid out of his house, pronto.

The tuneless singing was coming from the next floor so he took the stairs two at a time. He wanted to plug his ears with his fingers as he neared the master bathroom that adjoined his bedroom. It couldn’t be much fun getting down on hands and knees to scrub out someone’s bathroom but that was no excuse for this tuneless wailing. The sooner this woman packed up her brushes and mops and got out, the better.

The door to the luxurious bathroom, all marble and glass, remodelled by one of the most in-demand interior designers in London, was half open. He pushed it fully open. Then stood, stupefied. There was a naked woman in his bathtub.

She reclined in the freestanding rolltop tub. Although a heavy froth of bubbles protected her modesty he could make out the shape of high, round breasts, slender shoulders, a long pale neck. A mass of bright auburn hair was piled on top of her head and fell in tendrils around a flushed heart-shaped face. One slim leg pointed to the ceiling as she used a long-handled wooden brush—his new brush—to soap between toes tipped with a delicate pink polish.

‘Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh-ay,’ she caterwauled, her voice cracking on the last word as she didn’t achieve the high, extended note required.

Lukas stared in disbelief for a moment longer before he exploded. ‘Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bathroom?’

The woman turned. Her eyes widened and he saw they were an extraordinary shade of blue. Then she screamed—an ear-splitting scream even more excruciating to his ears than her singing. ‘Get out!’ she shrieked.

Lukas glared at her. ‘You can get out of my bathtub first.’

She waved the bath brush at him in what was obviously intended to be a menacing manner. ‘Not until you get out of here.’

The movement of wielding the brush brought her breasts dangerously close to being bared. With a quick downward glance and a little gasp, she seemed to realise it and stilled. Then slid deeper down into the water, all bravado wilting like the foam bubbles on her shoulders.

‘I...I guess you’re Mr Christophedes. Even though I was told you weren’t going to be in London until after Christmas.’

‘And you are?’

The flush deepened on her cheeks. ‘Ashleigh Murphy. Your daily maid. From Maids in Chelsea.’

‘So, Ashleigh Murphy, what are you doing in my bathtub?’

She raised the brush again. ‘I’m...uh...scrubbing it.’

Her audacity almost made him smile. Almost. He realised she was young, mid-twenties at most. And quite lovely. But she had taken an unheard of liberty for a maid.

‘I think not,’ he said. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, crossed his arms in front of his chest. ‘Try again.’

‘This is such a luxurious bathroom. As I cleaned it, I wished I could try out the tub—it’s magnificent, isn’t it?’ The hand that wasn’t holding the bath brush reverently stroked the side of the tub without, Lukas thought, her realising she was doing it. ‘The slum of a hotel where I’ve been staying has the world’s most disgusting shared bathroom. I had to disinfect it before I could even think about dipping a toe in the tub. And then the water was just a lukewarm trickle...’ Her voice died away. She swallowed hard. She didn’t meet his eyes but seemed to concentrate on the work-of-art tap.

‘So the bathroom is no better in the place you’re staying now?’

She crinkled up her nose in a look that expressed guilt better than any words could. ‘Actually it is. Because, well, I’m staying here. In...in your house.’

‘You what?’ The words exploded from him and she cringed back into the water.

‘You’re getting a live-in maid at no extra cost?’ she offered, in an obvious effort to placate him.

‘Not good enough, Ashleigh Murphy,’ he thundered.

She crossed her arms over her chest and sat up higher in the bathtub. The water fell away to reveal more of her slim, pale body. Lukas knew he should avert his eyes but it wasn’t easy. In his thirty-four years, he had never encountered such a situation. Even though he’d grown up in a multi-servant household and kept a full-time staff in his Athens mansion.

‘I had nowhere else to stay. My time ran out at the hotel; I was planning to couch surf with a friend but it didn’t work out. London at this time of year is so expensive I couldn’t find anywhere I could afford. I’d been hired as your daily maid so I—’

‘Took advantage and moved in.’

‘Took advantage? I suppose that’s how it might look. But I was desperate. It was either bunk down in one of your guest rooms or...or go home.’ Her voice trailed away.

‘And home is?’

‘Australia.’

He’d detected an accent but it wasn’t strong and he hadn’t been able to place it. Lukas frowned. ‘Surely Australia is a good place to call home, especially at this time of year when it’s summer there.’

Her eyes cast downward. ‘Not...not when I ran away from my wedding. And if I go home again the family will think I’ve come back to...to marry a man I realised I don’t love.’

She was a runaway bride? Lukas wasn’t sure what to say about something so messy and totally out of his experience. But it was hardly an excuse to trespass. He cleared his throat. ‘You’ll be lucky if I don’t call the police.’

Her eyes widened in alarm. ‘Please. Don’t do that. I assure you I haven’t stolen anything. I’ve been doing extra cleaning in lieu of rent. And...and please don’t tell Clio Caldwell at the agency,’ she said. ‘She knows nothing about me staying here. She’s been so good to me and I don’t want to let her down. And...and...well, she’s having a personal crisis right now and doesn’t need any extra worries.’

The fact that the intruder in his bathtub seemed more concerned at offending her boss than saving her own skin made Lukas soften towards her. Perhaps she was just young and silly, and desperate rather than dishonest.

‘Then I suggest you pack your bags—’

‘I only have a backpack,’ she interrupted.

‘Pack your backpack and get out of my house,’ he said.

She caught her lower lip with her teeth. Lukas could not help noticing the lush fullness of her mouth, her perfect teeth. ‘Now?’ she said, her voice quivering a little on the word.

He tapped his foot on the floor. ‘Now.’

‘But...’ Her voice trailed away and she hugged her arms closer to her chest.

Some dark part of him wanted to make her get out of the bath and watch as she fumbled for a towel. See for himself if her body was as slender and shapely as it appeared through the protective coating of bubbles. But he did not give in to base impulses. Not after having grown up with the consequences of his father’s lack of self-control and indulgence in whatever appetites overcame him. Not when he’d been put at risk himself from the unbridled decadence of his family’s lifestyle.

Lukas took a step towards the heated towel rail. Picked up a thick, pale grey towel and tossed it towards her. She went to catch it, her movement revealing the curve of the top of her breasts. Then, rather than risk further exposure, she stilled and let the towel slide to the marble tiles next to the tub. For a long moment she looked at him, her eyes wide, her mouth trembling. Lukas recognised the second a shadow of fear darkened her eyes as she realised the vulnerability of her position.

He stepped back to put a greater distance between them. He wanted her out of his house. But he would never want a woman to cringe from him in fear. Not that Ashleigh Murphy seemed to be the cringing type.

‘Get yourself dressed and see me in my study on your way out,’ he said curtly, turning on his heel. The sooner this opportunistic backpacker was out of his house the better.

* * *

Ashleigh towelled herself dry with trembling hands. Her encounter with Lukas Christophedes had left her shaking. Not just because she’d been caught trespassing by the owner of this multi-million-pound house but because of him. For that split second before she’d screamed, her senses had registered that the dark stranger in the bathroom was gorgeous.

As an Aussie girl from a country town, she had had no experience of Greek billionaires. If anything, she would assume they would be old, grey-haired and possibly paunchy—and there were no personal photos on display anywhere in this house to indicate Mr Christophedes was anything different.

The reality was that thirty-something Lukas Christophedes looked as if he’d stepped off the pages of an upmarket men’s magazine—tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired with a lean, handsome face. But his dark eyes had smouldered with fury, his mouth set tight when he’d discovered her in his bathtub. Gorgeous had suddenly seemed grim.

Thank heaven she didn’t encounter him as she made her way to the bedroom she’d purloined, wrapped only in the towel he had tossed at her. Of course she’d been completely in the wrong to have abused her position of trust with Maids in Chelsea to squat at a client’s house. She’d been desperate but, in hindsight, she realised she must have been crazy to do such a thing.

As she dressed, then shoved her few belongings into her backpack, her mind roiled with thoughts of what she could say to him. If, as he’d threatened, he got the police involved, she could end up with a criminal record. Even get deported. And all because her friend Sophie had mysteriously disappeared on the night Ashleigh had intended to ask her if she could crash on her sofa until she found somewhere to live.

They’d been waitressing at a posh party and Ashleigh had been dealing with some obnoxious guests who’d downed rather too much champagne. By the time Ashleigh had sorted them, Sophie was nowhere to be seen—and hadn’t reappeared until the next day with an enigmatic smile and a refusal to explain where she’d been.

In the meantime, Ashleigh had had nowhere to sleep. In desperation, she’d thought of the house in Chelsea where she’d just accepted a two-month house-care job. The luxury residence was empty and, apparently, rarely used.

It had been after midnight by the time Ashleigh had let herself into the Christophedes townhouse and the smallest of the guest rooms. With an en suite shower, it might actually be earmarked for a housekeeper or nanny she’d told herself to quieten her conscience. That first night she’d slept fitfully, fully clothed on top of the bedcover, jumping in panic at any slight sound in the house. By now, the third night, she’d convinced herself she wasn’t hurting anyone and no one need know. Wasn’t it a waste to leave a house like this empty? And she had made herself useful by doing chores beyond the scope of a daily maid’s duties.

But, however much she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, she’d known staying there was wrong. What an idiot she’d been not to have just left it at one night. If she had, she might have got away with it. She dreaded facing Sophie, her friend she’d known since they were teenagers, who had recommended her for the position at Maids in Chelsea. Not to mention Clio. The charismatic owner of the agency had taken a risk on employing her—an unknown Australian with little prior experience of hospitality or housekeeping work.

Ashleigh slung her backpack over her shoulder. It was light. When she’d run away from her wedding, she’d only intended staying in London for a two-week vacation and had packed the minimum required. But she’d loved being in London so much she’d decided to quit her job back home and stay longer. Maids in Chelsea was hard work but fun and she’d made friends with two other maids as well as Sophie: posh Emma and shy Grace. She planned on staying in the UK for as long as it took to make it very clear to both Dan, her aggrieved former fiancé, and her family that she had no intention of returning home to get married. In her mind the ceremony was permanently cancelled. In their minds they seemed to think it had been merely postponed.

Sometimes it seemed her family sided more with Dan than with her. ‘Dan is like a son to us, we’re so fond of him,’ her mother was always saying of the guy who had been Ashleigh’s off and on boyfriend for years. Huh. That was the trouble. She’d realised she was fond of Dan too. Just fond. Not the head-over-heels in love she needed to commit to marriage.

She’d explained that to her parents when she’d confessed she wanted to call off the wedding a month before she was due to walk down the aisle. In frustrated reaction to their shocked disbelief, she’d even gone so far as to call Dan the world’s most boring man.

Instead of listening to her, instead of believing her, her mother had tut-tutted that she’d get over this little blip and that the stress of the wedding plans was messing with her mind. Her father had gone so far as to actually pat her on her head—as if she were seven instead of twenty-seven—and tell her there was nothing wrong with a bit of boring in a man. Boring meant steady and reliable. Ashleigh had gritted her teeth. Boring meant boring.

What did it take to get it into the heads of the folk back home that the engagement was over? She’d had every intention of going home to Bundaberg for Christmas. Her family celebrated Christmas in a big way and she’d never been away from them at this special time of year. But when the other day she’d video-chatted with her mother to talk about dates and flights, there was Dan, sitting beside her mum on the sofa. He’d blown her a kiss as if she still wore the engagement ring she’d consigned to the bottom drawer of her dressing table when he’d refused to take it back. ‘You’ll be wanting to wear it again,’ he’d said with pompous certainty.

Seeing him there, so complacent and cosy, had made her see red. It felt like a betrayal by her family. Then her mother had gushed that Dan would be with them for Christmas Day as both his mother and his father would be away. Without really thinking about the consequences, Ashleigh had informed her parents she was not coming home for Christmas and didn’t know when she’d ever go back to Australia.

So here she was on a dark, freezing December evening, about to be booted out into the vastness of London without anywhere to stay. Except perhaps a police cell if she wasn’t able to convince Lukas Christophedes to let her go.

She made her way up the stairs to the next level of the townhouse. There was an elevator, but she never took it, too frightened it might stall between floors and she’d be trapped in a house where she was staying illicitly. She sent up a prayer that the billionaire client would accept her grovelling apologies and let her go without punishment. Staying here had been a bad, bad idea.

She’d dusted and vacuumed around his already perfectly clean office so she knew where it was. Like all the rooms in this beautiful, luxurious house, it had been decorated with the most expensive of furnishings and fittings, yet still retained the cosiness of a traditional English library—the walls lined with books and Persian rugs on the floor.

The door was open. Lukas Christophedes sat at his desk, his back towards her. He’d taken off the jacket of his dark, superbly tailored business suit. The finely woven fabric of his shirt showed broad shoulders and a leanly muscled back. She knocked quietly and he immediately swivelled on his chair to face her.

She caught her breath, her trepidation momentarily overcome by heart-stopping awareness of his dark, Mediterranean good looks. He’d discarded his necktie and opened the top buttons of his shirt to reveal a vee of tanned olive skin pointing to an impressive chest. Rolled up sleeves showed strong, tanned forearms. His dark hair was rumpled as if he’d run it through with his fingers. For a moment, Ashleigh thought he seemed less intimidating. Until he turned his gaze to her, assessing her with narrowed eyes, his expression inscrutable.

A shiver travelled up her spine. This man had her in his power—and she had made herself vulnerable to him by her foolish behaviour. Talking her way out of this might not be easy.

CHAPTER TWO

LUKAS STARED AT Ashleigh Murphy as she peered around the door then stepped tentatively into his office. He schooled his face to hide his surprise. He’d been expecting a scruffy backpacker, the type travelling the world on a shoestring, seeking cut-price meals, free Wi-Fi and a cheap place to lay their heads. Backpackers of her ilk had filled the Greek seaside villages where he’d sailed and swam and partied as a student—before responsibility had grabbed him by the scruff and dragged him back to save the family business from his parents’ gross mismanagement.

But Ashleigh Murphy seemed something more than that. True, she wore blue jeans that had seen better days, a sweater of some nondescript muddy colour and scuffed trainers. Trainers. His elegant mother would have hysterics at the sight of running shoes on the hand-woven carpet of a Christophedes residence. But there was something about this trespassing maid that transcended her humble attire and he found it difficult to drag his gaze away.

More petite than she’d appeared in his bathtub, fine-boned and slender, she moved with a natural grace. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders in a bright, untamed mass. It framed even features, pale skin flushed high on her cheekbones and those extraordinary blue eyes. Without even trying, she seemed classy.

He was still irritated by her outrageous incursion into his privacy. But Lukas’s irritation began to dissipate as an idea began to form. An idea that could help him solve a particularly bothersome problem that, for all his business smarts, had him stumped. The problem had been plaguing him ever since his meeting at The Shard this afternoon. And it could impede the success of the business expansion he was determined to achieve.

But first he had to assess Ashleigh Murphy’s suitability for what he had in mind. In the right clothes, her looks would pass muster. But he needed to find out more about her background, see if she was capable of what else was required.

Curtly, he indicated she take the chair on the other side of his desk. She put her backpack on the floor beside her and sat down. He made her wait while he tapped out some notations on his tablet. She sat up straight and appeared composed. Her attempt to mask her discomfort, perhaps even fear, at the situation in which she’d found herself was impressive. But she betrayed her anxiety in the way she shifted in her seat, her overly tight grip on the arms of the chair. In other circumstances, he would have put her at her ease. At this time, he felt it wouldn’t hurt for her to squirm a little before he hit her with his demand.

He lifted his head to face her full on. ‘I need to decide what course of action to take against the person I found basking in my bathtub instead of cleaning it.’

She flinched and the flush deepened on her cheekbones. ‘Please, I can’t apologise enough. I know how wrong it was to do what I did.’ Her speaking voice, as opposed to her singing voice, was pleasant and well modulated.

‘How long did you intend to stay here in my home?’

‘Tonight. Then I—’

‘You mean for as long as you could get away with it?’

‘No!’

Lukas didn’t reply. He’d learned silence often elicited more information than another question.

‘Until I could find somewhere I could afford to live. I’m expecting a funds transfer from home any day. I...I haven’t been working for Maids in Chelsea long enough to ask for an advance.’

She might not appear like the typical backpacker but it seemed she was as perpetually broke. That might play well into his hands.

‘What kind of visa are you on that allows you to work in the UK?’

‘No visa. My father is English by birth. I have an EU passport and the right of abode here.’

‘Yet you live in Australia?’

‘My grandparents emigrated when my father was a child. But we lived in Manchester for two years when I was a teenager while my father studied for his PhD.’

‘Your father is an academic?’

‘He’s the principal of a secondary school in Bundaberg in Queensland where we live.’

‘And your mother?’

‘She’s a schoolteacher too.’ She tilted her head to one side in query. ‘I don’t know what that has to do with me doing the wrong thing here.’

‘It interests me,’ he said. She interested him.

She bit her lip, as if against a retort she wouldn’t dare utter considering the precariousness of her situation.

‘Have you always been a maid?’

‘Of course not.’ She spat out the words then backpedalled. ‘Not that there’s anything wrong with being a maid. In fact I consider myself to be a very good maid, and waitress and front-of-house person—all learned since I’ve been in London. But my real job is something quite different. I’m an accountant. I have a degree in commerce from the University of Queensland.’

‘You—’

She put up her hand in a halt sign. ‘Don’t say it. If I had a dollar for every time someone told me I don’t look like an accountant I’d be a wealthy woman.’

Lukas had to suppress a smile. That was exactly what he had been about to say. Of course there was no reason a woman so exquisitely feminine shouldn’t be an accountant—it just made her even more interesting that she didn’t fit the mould of an outmoded stereotype.

‘You manage money for a living, yet you end up homeless in a big, ruthless city?’ he said.

‘Circumstances beyond my control,’ she said, tight-lipped.

‘Were you brought up by your family to be honest?’

Her eyes flashed with barely concealed outrage. ‘Of course I was.’

‘I could ask you to tip out the contents of your backpack for me to check, then to turn out your pockets.’

Her chin lifted. ‘To see if I’ve stolen anything? I’d be more than happy for you to search my bag.’ She gripped the arms of the chair and leaned forward. ‘Go ahead. I have nothing to hide. But ask me to undergo a body search and it will be me calling the police.’

Lukas found he couldn’t meet her fierce glare. He swallowed hard in distaste at his own actions. He had taken this too far. He had no desire to burrow through her personal belongings. Or undertake anything as intrusive as a body search. That would be...sleazy and he was not that kind of man. ‘I’ll take your word for it,’ he said gruffly.

She nodded but her lips were pressed tight.

One of the reasons he’d been able to lift his family company from the verge of bankruptcy to a business turning over in the multiples of millions was his ability to read people. Every instinct told him this young woman had been foolish but not dishonest.

‘I know Maids in Chelsea are scrupulous in the background checking of their employees,’ he said. ‘I assume the same was done for you.’

She rolled her eyes, just slightly, but he didn’t miss it. It was an action he found unwarranted—but perhaps he would have done the same if he were on the other side of the desk.

‘I can assure you I have no criminal record back in Australia,’ she said. ‘All I’m guilty of is an error of judgement. I know it was wrong of me and I reiterate my apology.’

‘You admit you have slept under my roof. No doubt you were planning to spend tonight here too?’

‘Yes. But it was only until—’

Lukas looked down at his tablet. ‘I’ve calculated how much three nights at a West End hotel of equivalent comfort would cost you.’ He named a figure that made her gasp. ‘You owe me.’

Ms Murphy paled and he could see a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. ‘But I can’t afford it. If I could pay that I would have gone to one of those hotels in the first place.’

He leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘That’s really not my concern,’ he said.

Lukas didn’t like threatening her. But she could be a solution to his problem. And once he’d made up his mind on a course of action, he didn’t stop until he’d got what he wanted.

‘I...I can’t,’ she said. ‘I just can’t pay that.’ Her lush, wide mouth trembled. ‘You’d best call the police.’

Bravado or bravery? Whatever it was, he admired her spirit.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘There’s no need for me to call the police. I have a way you can pay off your debt to me without money exchanging hands. Something not very arduous that you might even enjoy.’

* * *

Ashleigh was up and out of her chair so fast she tripped on her backpack and had to steady herself against the desk. She could hardly believe what she’d heard. Sexual favours to pay off a so-called fabricated debt? Clio had warned her there was a certain type of man who considered maids and waitresses to be fair game. Already she’d had to fend them off—especially towards the end of the night at a party when they’d had too much to drink. But this man! She was shocked—and disappointed. Lukas Christophedes had seemed better than that.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Never.’

He frowned, got up from his chair. The man was tall and powerfully built and she was glad there was a desk between them. ‘You say “no” before you’ve even heard my proposition?’ he asked, his frown deepening.

‘Sex is sex, no matter which variant you want me to trade with you.’ She glared at him then glanced at the open door, ready to bolt. ‘And the answer will always be no.’

He frowned. ‘You’ve got this wrong. I didn’t mean that at all.’ He wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘I would never suggest such a thing. My English...’

His lightly accented English was perfect. It wasn’t what he’d said but how he’d said it. Then she took in the bewilderment in his deep brown eyes and swallowed hard. Or could it be how she’d interpreted his words?

‘Maybe I...misunderstood?’ she asked hesitantly. Misunderstood big time, perhaps.

He came around the desk towards her. She took a step away, the back of her knees pressed against the edge of the chair. Just in case. After all, he was a stranger and she was alone with him in his house.

‘Whether I did not get my message across correctly or you misunderstood is beside the point,’ he said. ‘I am not asking you for sex. That is not how I do business.’

‘I...I’m glad to hear it.’ He must think her hopelessly naïve. ‘So...what is your proposition?’

‘I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend.’

Ashleigh felt as though all the air had been expelled from her lungs. ‘You what! How is that different from—’

He put up one large, well-shaped hand to halt her flow of words. ‘Completely above board, I assure you. Just for one evening. An important business dinner tomorrow. I’ve decided I need a date to...to deflect unwanted interest.’

‘And you want me to be a fake date?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Why? I can’t imagine a man like you would have a shortage of real dates. You’re wealthy, handsome. You’d just have to click your fingers for a multitude of women to come running.’

‘Perhaps not a multitude.’ He gave a wry, self-deprecating smile she found herself warming to. ‘Of course I know a few women in London.’ Ashleigh suspected that was a serious understatement. ‘But none whom I want to involve in this. No one I want to get the wrong impression.’

‘You mean the impression you’re serious about her.’

‘That is correct,’ he said. ‘This would be purely a business deal, with no continuing personal involvement. You are unknown in London and that suits me perfectly.’

Would being this man’s fake date be any worse than being hired as a waitress for an upscale private party? The idea intrigued her. He intrigued her. Wasn’t this why she’d come to London? To climb out of the deep rut she’d found herself in. To revel in freedom and independence. To be brave and take risks and open up to new experiences.

‘So tell me more about this “proposition”?’ she said.

Ashleigh stood by the chair close to her backpack, on the off chance she needed to pick it up and run. He paced up and down as he spoke.

‘I met this afternoon at The Shard with a potential business partner, someone I very much want to work with.’

Ashleigh loved the beautiful old buildings in London where history was alive on every corner. But she was fascinated by The Shard—London’s futuristic glass skyscraper. The first day she’d arrived, she’d stood at its base and craned her neck to gaze up at the incredible ninety-five-storey building, so tall its jagged top disappeared into the clouds. One rare free evening when they weren’t working, she and Sophie had gone up to the bar for a drink—just one as they were so expensive—and gawked at the incredible views of London old and new.

Of course The Shard would be just the place for a visiting billionaire to hold his meetings.

‘Excuse my ignorance,’ Ashleigh said. ‘But what exactly is your business?’

There was no point in pretending she knew anything about him—or in pretending she was anything other than who she was. Of course, if she agreed to be his fake date, that would take pretending to a whole new level. He was so handsome it wouldn’t be a hardship.

‘There are various arms to the Christophedes business but the one that concerns me now is electrical appliances. We dominate the Greek market, are one of the bestselling brands in mainland Europe, and export to Scandinavia and the Middle East. But the British market eludes me. I need a local partner.’

‘You mean a distributor?’

‘Yes. I did my due diligence and decided this woman’s company would be the best fit for what I need. I approached her and today was our initial meeting.’

‘Is she interested in doing business with you?’

‘Yes.’ He stopped his pacing, looked directly down at her. ‘She is also interested in me.’

‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ she said, perplexed at the doom-laden way he said it. ‘You would have to get on with her if you’re working on such a big deal.’

He cleared his throat and shifted from foot to foot. Ashleigh was surprised at his display of discomfort. ‘I mean she is interested in me as not just a business partner but as a man.’

For the first time Ashleigh saw a crack in the billionaire’s confident air of arrogance. She tried not to smile. Somehow she doubted that was the reaction he would expect. ‘I see,’ she said, trying to sound very serious.

‘Do you? Tina Norris is a very beautiful older woman used to getting her own way.’

‘So...she’s a cougar and she wants you as part of the deal?’ Who could blame the woman? The man was good-looking in the extreme. And, she suspected, when he wasn’t glaring or shouting at misbehaving maids, he could be charming.

‘That is the impression she gave me this afternoon.’ He shuddered. Again Ashleigh had to suppress a smile. He was no doubt used to being the hunter, not the hunted.

‘But you’re not interested?’

‘Not in the slightest. I found her...predatory. Besides, I would never get involved with a business partner.’

‘I see your dilemma—you don’t want to offend her.’

‘That is correct. I want her on side for the business.’

‘But not in your bed.’

He paused. ‘That’s a blunt way of putting it, but yes.’

‘Hence the fake date. It would be diplomatic if she could see you had a girlfriend.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

‘But you don’t want to give the wrong idea to someone you might actually date.’ Ashleigh felt she had to reiterate to make sure she completely understood what she might or might not be getting herself into. She was surprised at how at ease she felt with him.

‘Yes.’

‘And that’s where I come in? If I agree, that is. What would my—’ she used her fingers to make quotation marks ‘—duties involve?’

‘Accompany me for the evening. Make intelligent conversation—I can see that won’t be a problem—and behave as though we are a genuine couple. Convince Ms Norris that there is no point in pursuing me as I am already involved with a beautiful redhead.’ He looked at her with what seemed like genuine admiration. She couldn’t help but preen a little.

‘So, act all lovey-dovey?’

‘I’m not exactly sure what you mean by that but I think I get the gist of it,’ he said with that ghost of a smile she was beginning to anticipate.

‘You know, act affectionate and smoochy with each other.’ Why had she said that? Because she realised that if she had met this man in different circumstances she would find the idea of smooching with him more than a touch appealing.

‘It will be a business dinner,’ he said. ‘Anything...physical would have to be discreet.’

‘I get it,’ she said. Ashleigh wondered if he was subtly warning her not to form any expectations of anything other than a fake date with him.

He stood with his back to the window, his hands clasped behind him. The curtains were drawn against the cold of a December evening, but she knew the window looked down to a city-sized garden, perfectly maintained with formal clipped hedges and a centrepiece fountain. No doubt there was a team of gardeners to keep it in shape for when the absentee owner decided to drop into London.

She looked up at him, wishing she wasn’t wearing flat shoes—he was so much taller than her and his superior height seemed to emphasise the balance of power that tipped firmly in his favour. The billionaire and the maid.

‘If I agreed to your proposition, what would be the consequences for me?’ she asked.

‘No complaint would be made against you to your employer or the police.’

‘And my “debt” to you?’ That calculation of hotel rates rankled. She doubted he would be able to enforce something so spurious. But she was hardly in a position to question his methods. Not when he had every right to report her to the police.

‘Of course your debt would be wiped completely.’

‘In return for one dinner date with you and your potential business partner?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

Ashleigh didn’t ask if she would continue to be his daily maid. She knew she’d flicked her last ever duster around this house. She’d have to invent a good excuse to give Clio for why she wanted to quit such a pleasant job.

‘It sounds like it could be fun,’ she said, forcing a smile. What choice did she have but to agree?

‘As I said, you might even enjoy it,’ he said. ‘The dinner is at an excellent restaurant in Mayfair.’ The kind of place maids usually didn’t eat at was the implication. Or indeed accountants from Bundaberg.

She took a deep breath. ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘But there’s just one more thing.’

He raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Yes?’

‘How will we get around the fact that we’re total strangers and know absolutely nothing about each other?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘HOW DO WE get over the hurdle that we are strangers? We start finding out about each other,’ Lukas said. ‘We have until tomorrow evening to make our story sound feasible.’

He was pleased Ashleigh had acquiesced so readily. So he’d had to use some leverage to get her on board, but that was what it took sometimes to get a deal across the line. He’d learned that at twenty-one when he’d had to sort out the mess his profligate parents had made of the company. It had been a tough lesson—he’d discovered people he’d thought he could trust could not be trusted, that he had to be guarded, tamp down on his reactions and feelings. The episode had marked the end of his youth.

‘You mean I get a crash course in Greek billionaire and you learn what makes an Aussie maid tick?’ she said.

‘Aren’t you masquerading as a maid? That’s just a vacation job, isn’t it? I suggest you stick to Aussie accountant,’ he said. ‘We’ll skirt around the maid thing as far as Tina Norris is concerned.’ No doubt Ms Norris would have done her research, discovered he was a steadfast bachelor, would scrutinise the woman he chose to accompany him. He shuddered again at the thought of the predatory gleam in the older woman’s eye when they’d met. Buried in his past was good reason for his revulsion.

‘Actually, I don’t much like being an accountant,’ Ashleigh said. ‘I was steered into it by my parents, who thought accountancy would bring a secure job. I’ve got my options wide open when it comes to changing career.’

‘You’ll need to brief me on all that,’ he said.

The briefing would not be onerous—there was something about this girl that intrigued him. Ashleigh Murphy seemed somehow different to the women he usually met. Perhaps because she was Australian. More likely because she didn’t move in the same social circles. He liked that she didn’t seem intimidated by him or fall over backwards to impress him.

She shrugged. ‘Not much to tell, really. I managed a flooring company back home.’

‘You were a manager? That’s impressive.’ She didn’t appear to be long out of university.

Her slight smile in response hinted at dimples and he found himself wanting to make her smile properly. Not that he was adept at telling jokes or funny stories. In fact he’d been accused of being over-serious. Since he’d been forced to swap his carefree life as a wealthy kid who’d known he would never have to work for a living, there had been little room for laughter. Or for love.

Where did that come from? Perhaps prompted by the knowledge that, at the age of thirty-four, he had to pretend he had a serious woman in his life. A wife, children—there wasn’t room in his life for marriage. He didn’t want all that. And, he told himself, he didn’t miss it. The Christophedes companies took up all his life. The business was his life.

‘The title sounds more impressive than it is,’ she said. ‘It’s a small company and I wore a few different hats. But it had a good product and I worked with really nice people. Truth is, you can’t be too picky when it comes to getting a good job in a country town. There aren’t many opportunities.’

Lukas couldn’t imagine why a woman as smart and lovely as Ashleigh Murphy would want to bury herself in some far-flung country town. He would find out why tonight.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘No. I was...er...going to have something after my bath.’

‘So you’ve been using my kitchen too?’

She nodded. ‘I won’t lie,’ she said. ‘Though it sounds like I might be doing a lot of lying tomorrow night.’

‘Not lying.’ He refused to contemplate that he was planning anything that smacked of dishonesty. ‘Think of it as role playing.’

Her auburn eyebrows rose. ‘Not a bad idea. I’ve done some acting—amateur, of course—so I’ll think of this as preparing for a role.’ She pulled a face. ‘You might have to help me with the script.’

‘Starting from now,’ he said. They had until tomorrow, but a good part of his day would be, as usual, taken up with work. ‘You haven’t eaten and I haven’t eaten. Come out to dinner with me and we’ll start the get-to-know-you process.’

‘Uh, okay,’ she said, obviously disconcerted. ‘But...but I need to find somewhere to stay tonight. I have to phone around my friends.’ She looked at her feet, obviously uncomfortable at the reminder of her transgression. As well she might be.

‘You can stay here tonight,’ he said.

She looked up. ‘As part of the deal?’

‘Yes,’ he said. Whatever she might think of him, he would not let a young woman risk being alone in London without a safe place to sleep. ‘Though you can steer clear of my bathroom.’

‘And what about tomorrow night?’ she said, audacity trickling back into her demeanour.

‘Tomorrow night too.’

For the first time since he had encountered her in his bathtub Ashleigh smiled. Delightful dimples bracketed her cheeks and light danced in her eyes. He found himself dazzled by the warmth and vivacity that smile brought to her face. She really was lovely, in a wholesome, unsophisticated way.

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘That will give me the breathing space I need to make other arrangements.’

‘After that you’ll be on your own,’ he cautioned her.

‘I’m aware of that,’ she said. ‘I realise I’m only here on sufferance.’ She paused. ‘Just checking I won’t be charged accommodation fees for those two extra nights?’

‘Of course not,’ he said, an edge of impatience burring his voice. ‘You’re now an invited guest.’

‘Just needed to be sure,’ she said, but there was an impish gleam to her eyes that made him unsure if she was completely serious. He wasn’t used to being teased.

He looked pointedly at his watch. ‘I suggest you go back downstairs and change.’

She looked down at her jeans and trainers, as if seeing them for the first time. ‘Yes, these clothes won’t do, will they? I’m warning you, though, I don’t have the wardrobe to be a billionaire’s escort.’ She flushed. ‘I mean “escort” in the old-fashioned sense of the word, not...uh...the other.’

‘I thought I’d made it very clear that this is strictly business.’ Now he felt like rolling his eyes.

‘Yes, you did,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t mean...’ Her words petered to a halt. She walked back to the desk and picked up her backpack. ‘I’ll go down to change now. Shall I meet you at the bottom of the stairs in ten minutes?’

He nodded, secretly sceptical about the ten minutes. Never had he known a woman to get ready for a dinner date in that small amount of time.

She headed towards the door. Again, he thought how gracefully she moved. It made watching her do something as simple as walk away a pleasure. But she stopped and turned on her heel to face him again. ‘Mr Christophedes, before I go, I want to thank you for...well, for being so reasonable about all this. I appreciate it and I want to assure you that in return I’ll do my very best for you with the fake date scenario.’

It gave him a jolt that she called him Mr Christophedes. The formal usage felt as if she had put him in his place—an older guy, an employer, someone of a different generation to be kept at a distance.

He didn’t know why he didn’t like it. But she couldn’t keep calling him Mr Christophedes when they were together with Tina Norris. That would give away the game.

Ashleigh didn’t wait for an answer and her quickened pace as she left the room made it clear she didn’t expect one.

Lukas looked at the doorway for a long moment after she’d left. Who would have thought the maid in his bathtub would turn out to be such an interesting woman?

Ten minutes later, he was amazed to find Ashleigh waiting for him at the base of the staircase. She’d used the time to advantage. He was so taken aback by the result he was momentarily lost for words. Once again, she’d surprised him.

No trace of backpacker remained. She wore a simple black dress, buttoned down the front and belted at the waist, with elbow-length sleeves. The hem stopped just above her knees to display slender legs encased in fine charcoal stockings and finished with low-heeled black pumps.

‘Do I look okay for the restaurant?’ she said, aware of his overly long inspection.

Her hair had been tamed and pulled half back off her face. She’d darkened around her eyes, which made them look even bluer, and her mouth gleamed with a warm pink lipstick.

‘You look very nice,’ he said, then cursed inwardly that he’d used such an overworked English word. Eisai omorfi were the words that sprang to his mind—You look beautiful. But that would be inappropriate.

‘Great, because this is the only dress I’ve got with me,’ she said with a sigh of relief. ‘It’s what I wear when I’m waitressing at posh parties. Maids in Chelsea doesn’t have a uniform—a black dress is required for such occasions. My friend Sophie gave this to me when I started there. She’s a fashion designer—when she’s not a maid or waitress, that is—she’d made it for herself then adjusted it to fit me.’ She smiled. ‘But I guess that’s too much information, isn’t it?’

Lukas was still shaken by his reaction to how good she looked in that dress. It was discreet, modest even, but it fitted snugly and made no secret of her curves, a hint of cleavage in the open neckline, the belt emphasising her narrow waist and the flare of her hips. He had to clear his voice to speak. ‘Not really. Now I know you have a friend Sophie who is generous and good to you.’

Ashleigh smiled—not her full-on dazzling smile but halfway to it. ‘I went to school in Manchester with Sophie when we were teenagers and we’ve always stayed in touch. She got me the job too. Then introduced me to two of the other girls at Maids in Chelsea and we’ve all become friends.’ She looked up at him, that smile still hovering around her mouth. ‘But none with a sofa available when I needed it.’

Lukas smiled in response. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was glad she’d ended up at his house—but his outrage at her impudence had dissipated.

‘You’ll be cold when we get outside.’ He noticed she had a coat slung over her arm. ‘Get your coat on and we’ll walk to the restaurant.’

She shrugged on her coat and once again Lukas stared at her, this time in what he feared was ill-concealed dismay. Of course she picked up on it. ‘It’s not great, is it?’ she said of the shabby quilted anorak that didn’t meet the hem of her dress.

‘Is that the only coat you have?’

‘A warm overcoat is not something you need in Bundaberg’s tropical climate,’ she said. ‘I borrowed this from my sister from when she backpacked around Europe. I’m waiting until next payday to buy something more suitable for London.’

‘In the meantime, you shiver?’ he said.

‘Let’s just say I walk really fast when I’m outside,’ she said. ‘Oh, and these help.’ From out of her coat pocket she pulled a hideous checked scarf and a pair of knitted mittens and flourished them in front of him. Lukas had to refrain from shuddering his distaste. He might have his issues with his mother but she was the most elegantly dressed woman he knew, and had set the standard for how he expected a woman to dress. He’d have to schedule a shopping expedition for Ashleigh in the morning so she looked the part for their fake date.

‘You can’t wear that out with me,’ he said, too bluntly.

‘Oh,’ she said, suddenly subdued. Without protest, she slid the odious excuse for a coat off her shoulders. ‘Then I guess I’ll shiver in just my dress.’ With great exaggeration, she wrapped her arms around herself and made her teeth chatter. ‘I’ll walk really, really fast to the restaurant.’

‘No need for that,’ he said, heading for the cloakroom under the stairs. ‘My mother left a coat behind on her last visit. She’s a little taller than you but I think it will fit.’

‘Your mother won’t mind?’

‘My mother has so many clothes she’s probably forgotten she has it,’ he said.

Lukas flicked through the coats and jackets he left here for his own use. ‘Here it is,’ he said and pulled out a wraparound coat of fine wool in a subtle leopard print with a shawl collar. A faint whiff of his mother’s signature perfume drifted to his nostrils. It brought memories of his glamorous mama kissing him goodnight before she headed out for yet another party, leaving him once again with his nanny. He’d grown up loving his nanny more than his mother. He held out the coat to Ashleigh.

‘Oh, I love it,’ she breathed, her eyes wide with admiration. ‘Are you sure it’s okay for me to wear it?’

‘Would I offer if it wasn’t?’

‘It’s just that it looks very expensive.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. His mother’s extravagance wasn’t the sole reason his parents’ management of the company had brought the business crashing to its knees, but it had certainly contributed to it.

He held the coat open. ‘Here, let me help you into it.’

As Ashleigh slid her arms into the coat it brought her close to him. So close he could smell her scent—something fresh and light and appealing. Much like Ashleigh herself.

She shrugged the coat over her shoulders, headed to the large mirror on the wall opposite the stairs. There she tied the belt around her waist, adjusted the collar. Then fluffed up her hair and pouted at her image as she scrutinised her appearance, in a gesture that was instinctively feminine. She snuggled into the coat and closed her eyes in bliss. Lukas was stunned by the sensuality of her expression he saw reflected in the mirror.

‘This is the most wonderful coat,’ she purred as she stepped away from the mirror. ‘I’ve never worn anything like it. Thank you, Mrs Christophedes.’ She blew a kiss in the direction of the cloakroom. The warm tones of the leopard print were perfect for her colouring, making her hair seem to flame under the hallway chandelier, lifting her pale skin. She did a graceful little twirl and the hem of the coat swung open to show her legs. She looked sensational. ‘And thank you too, Mr Christo—’

‘Lukas,’ he said gruffly, keeping his hands fisted by his sides.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Lukas.’ His name sounded like a caress on her voice. ‘I’ll have to get used to calling you that. Be careful not to give the game away when we’re on our fake date.’

‘Yes,’ he said.

He would have to be careful too. When he’d devised the solution to the problem with Tina Norris, he hadn’t expected to feel any stirrings of attraction to his pretend girlfriend. He could not let that happen.

‘You know, Lukas,’ she said, exaggerating his name. ‘You were right. I think I really am going to enjoy this...role playing.’ She unleashed the full force of her dazzling smile. ‘Let’s get started straight away.’

CHAPTER FOUR

ASHLEIGH STOOD NEAR the top of the marble steps that led to the street, stamping her feet in her thin-soled pumps against the cold. It seemed surreal to be on her way out to dinner with Lukas Christophedes—billionaire, businessman, fake boyfriend.

As she well knew, it took time to attend to the various locks, bolts and security devices on the glossy black front door. She seized those few minutes to herself to try and sort her chaotic thoughts about the crazy deal she’d struck with him.

But as she watched him she started to shiver—not because of the cold but from delayed reaction as the full impact of her misconduct hit her. Security was vital to the high-end clients of Maids in Chelsea. She’d learned that London SW3 was one of the most desirable postcodes in the UK, possibly even the world. By handing her the keys to this house, Clio had entrusted her with the reputation of the agency—and she had betrayed that trust big time.

She felt she might hyperventilate when she realised how lucky she was to have got off so lightly. Had anyone other than Lukas Christophedes caught her in his bathtub she suspected she would right now be languishing in a police lockup. But his lenient treatment of her was only because she had something to offer him. If he changed his mind, or if she didn’t deliver on her part of the bargain, she could still end up enjoying the hospitality of the Kensington and Chelsea constabulary.

Men like Lukas—no matter how charming—didn’t get to be billionaires without being ruthless. She would have to play her assigned role to the nines. That meant getting as much as she could out of this evening so she could become the best pretend girlfriend ever. Then, after tomorrow’s dinner date was over, she could put him and today’s mortifying incident behind her. She took a deep breath to steady herself for the task to come.

Not that spending time with Lukas would exactly be a hardship. As he finished with the security device he turned to face her. Tall and imposing in a superbly tailored, deep charcoal overcoat, he was so strikingly handsome if she’d passed him in the street she would probably have tripped over her feet in her haste to turn and gawk at him. He was intelligent and interesting too. It seemed impossible that such a gorgeous man had to resort to a fake date. One thing was for sure—she could never think of Lukas Christophedes as boring.

He narrowed his eyes in the inscrutable way she had already come to recognise. ‘You need boots in this weather,’ he said. ‘Tall black boots.’

She stopped stamping, berating herself for drawing attention to the paucity of her wardrobe. ‘Yes,’ she said. If he only knew how many of London’s enticing shop windows she had lingered at, looking at boots she couldn’t possibly afford. Running away from her wedding had cost her in more ways than one. ‘Warm boots are on my shopping list.’ To be purchased at the Christmas sales. She had to find somewhere to live first, before she bought boots.

He indicated that she go ahead of him down the steps. ‘Do you like Italian food?’ he asked.

Her tummy threatened to rumble in response. She hastened to speak over it. ‘I like any food. Well, pretty well any food. I don’t care too much for really hot curries, which is a disadvantage living in London when that’s what my friends love best. But Italian? I love Italian. Wouldn’t you like to eat Greek?’

‘No one cooks Greek food as well as in Greece,’ he said, his voice underscored with arrogance.

‘I guess not. I’ve enjoyed Greek food back home in Australia,’ she said. ‘You know Melbourne is supposed to have the biggest population of Greek people of any city outside of Greece? Not that I’d recognise what was good Greek food or bad.’

Ashleigh knew she was chattering on too much, a habit she would have to curb if she were to be believable as the sophisticated kind of woman a man like this would date. Lukas and her. She had to get the script right. Because this might very well turn out to be one of the most life-changing experiences of her life.

‘I’ll take you to my favourite Italian restaurant on the King’s Road,’ he said.

‘I’d like that,’ she said.

As soon as she turned into the street, she gasped as a gust of cold, damp air hit her, burning her lungs, numbing her cheeks. Her eyes started to water and she blinked against the smarting tears.

‘You’re not used to the cold, are you?’ Lukas asked.

‘Not yet,’ she said, rubbing her hands together then sliding them into the pockets of her glorious borrowed coat. ‘I’m still getting acclimatised. Of course I spent very cold, wet winters in Manchester when I was younger but that was years ago. I’ve lived in tropical heat ever since.’

Immediately, Lukas unwound the finely woven grey scarf from around his neck. ‘Wear this and keep it up around near your face.’

Dumbfounded, Ashleigh shook her head. ‘There’s no need—I can’t possibly take your scarf.’ It was all very well to wear his mother’s clothing; to wear his clothes seemed way too intimate.

Did he intend to put it around her neck? She put up her hand to stop him and in doing so grazed his. At the brief contact, she dropped her hand—then regretted it immediately. A pretend girlfriend wouldn’t react like that at such a casual touch. A pretend girlfriend certainly shouldn’t feel such a zing of awareness.

‘But you must,’ he said, holding the scarf out to her. ‘I insist.’ It was not so much a demand but a statement not to be disputed.

Pretend girlfriend or not, it would be ungracious not to take the scarf when it had been so thoughtfully offered. Tentatively, she took it from him. The fabric was soft, cashmere and silk most likely, and warm from his body heat. She wound it around her neck, tucked it inside her collar and up around her chin, and immediately felt several degrees cosier.

‘Thank you,’ she said simply, too shaken to say anything else.

The scarf was scented with something spicy and woody—cedar perhaps?—and distinctly male. Him. The scent of Lukas Christophedes—the man she needed to get to know by this time tomorrow evening. The man she would have to fight crazy stirrings of attraction for. There was too much of a fairy tale feel about all this—she couldn’t allow herself to believe any of it could be real.

‘But now you’ll be cold without your scarf,’ she said.

‘I’ll have to walk really, really fast then,’ he said, taking an exaggerated deeper stride.

She laughed, surprised at the unexpected touch of humour. Otherwise he seemed so serious.

‘Does it get cold in Greece in winter?’ she asked. ‘I always think of it as a summer place, all blue skies and even bluer waters.’

‘Even the islands get snow in winter,’ he said. ‘I live in Athens where it does get cold but not bitterly so. Then we have unexpected warm days—halkionis meres—halcyon days when the sun is shining and winter is temporarily banished.’

They were talking about the weather. She’d need to know more than that if she were to fool the astute businesswoman they’d be dining with tomorrow. But where to start without seeming to interrogate him?

They walked to the end of his street, turned into The Vale and then right into the King’s Road, heading west. Far from walking really, really fast, Lukas kept his pace to hers. As if they actually were a couple. At this time of evening Chelsea was buzzing. Trees were strung with thousands of tiny lights, the shops decorated for Christmas, snatches of festive music greeting them as they walked by the buildings. London at Christmastime was magic—she was so glad she had decided to stay here.

‘Where shall we say we met?’ she asked, having to raise her voice over the sound of a red number eleven bus rumbling by. ‘We can’t say Greece, because I’ve never been to your country. I did a whistle-stop European bus tour when I was a student but we didn’t go there.’

‘We’ll rule out Greece, then. I believe my potential business partner has vacationed on the island of Santorini many times and would immediately sniff out any fraud.’

‘Have you ever been to Australia?’ she asked.

‘No. Although it is on my bucket list.’

‘So “no” to Australia, then. Seems our common ground is England. We’ll have to say we met somewhere on British soil.’

‘But not in my bathroom.’

Was there a hint of teasing in his expression? Ashleigh couldn’t see to be sure. She squirmed at the memory of their first meeting. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Definitely not.’ Maybe she would tell Sophie about that incident but no one else. She would never live it down.

‘When were you in Manchester?’ Lukas asked.

‘When I was fifteen. Twelve years ago. And Sophie tells me the city has changed a lot.’

‘Manchester won’t work either.’ He paused. ‘So you’re twenty-seven now?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I thought you were younger. Perhaps twenty-three, twenty-four.’

Ashleigh gritted her teeth. She couldn’t let him know how much that assumption irritated her. ‘People often take me for younger—and treat me as younger.’ Especially her family—right now refusing to believe she knew how she wanted to live her own life. ‘I’ll be twenty-eight in March and am quite grown up, thank you.’ She couldn’t keep the tart edge from her words.

‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said with that trace of a smile that lifted his somewhat severe face.

‘How old are you?’ she asked. If there’d been time, she would have looked him up on the Internet. As it was, she was flying blind. He was a total stranger.

‘Thirty-four.’

‘So you were okay with thinking I was more than ten years younger than you?’

‘In my family it is not uncommon for the men to be much older than their women. My father is considerably older than my mother.’

‘I see,’ she said. She’d only ever dated men around her own age. It might be interesting to get to know a man six years older—even if they weren’t really dating. ‘There’s so much I need to know about you if we’re to appear authentic as a couple.’

‘That is true. Ask me anything you need to know.’

‘And you ask me anything too,’ she said. Not that there was a lot to discover. Her life had been anything but exciting. Until now.

They walked in silence while Ashleigh wrote herself a mental memo of questions. She fired off the one at the top of her list. ‘I probably don’t need to ask this, but I’m assuming you’re not married?’

‘I have never been married,’ he said. ‘I never will marry.’

His vehemence surprised her. ‘That answers that, then,’ she said. ‘I’m...uh...sure you have your reasons.’ He didn’t rush to enlighten her as to those reasons. ‘What about serious girlfriends?’

‘Not recently. And none that should concern you.’

‘Not married. No serious girlfriends. Okay.’ This wasn’t going well.

‘My friends tell me I’m married to my work.’

‘Really? That doesn’t sound much fun.’

His laugh was short and cynical. ‘One thing you would be expected to know about me is that I took over the family business when it was on the verge of bankruptcy. I was aged twenty-one when I set myself the goal of turning it around. There hasn’t been much opportunity for fun.’

‘That’s quite a story. You must be proud of such an achievement.’

‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

‘But what’s the point of being a billionaire and not having any fun?’

Lukas stopped so abruptly she nearly crashed into him. ‘What?’ he said.

‘I said...I said... Well, I think you heard what I said. I mean, life’s all about laughter and love and...’ Her voice dwindled away. ‘Forget it. On to the next question.’

He stared at her in what she could only describe as astonishment that she should be so impertinent. ‘My life is about responsibility and hard work and righting the wrongs of the past,’ he said.

She didn’t dare ask what those wrongs might be. Not yet, anyway.

‘I get that,’ she said, even though she didn’t. They came from different worlds. She forced her voice to sound bright and cheerful. What the heck had she got herself into?

‘Moving on to my next question. You speak such perfect English. Did you study here?’ His voice was deep and steady, with that hint of an accent to add to its appeal. She could close her eyes and just enjoy hearing him talk.

‘I went to university here in London for a while. But I was already fluent. I had an English nanny from birth and studied the language all through school. My family considered it important that I spoke good English. There is another reason so many young Greek people speak English—American and English music and movies are not often dubbed into Greek.’

‘That’s a powerful incentive to learn a language. I wish I’d had something like that to inspire me.’

‘Do you speak another language?’

‘I studied Indonesian at school. But, apart from vacations in Bali, I’ve never really used the language so am not at all fluent.’ She looked up at him. ‘Maybe you can teach me some Greek?’

‘There is not much I can teach you in the short time we will be together,’ he said. Putting her in her place.

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But could you please just tell me the Greek for “darling”?’

He frowned. ‘What for?’

She wanted to sigh heavily at his obtuseness but didn’t dare. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘An endearment here and there might add to the authenticity of our...uh...relationship.’

‘Agápi mou,’ he said finally.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘It means darling, or my love—agápi mou,’ he said with an edge of impatience.

Ashleigh repeated the words. ‘How did I do?’ she asked.

‘Not bad at all,’ he said with an expressive lifting of his dark eyebrows.

‘Thank you.’ In her head she went over and over the phrase so it would seem natural should she get the chance to drop it into the conversation.

They walked further, past the fashionable restaurant that had in some earlier incarnation been a garage. She’d enjoyed a very expensive cup of coffee there with Sophie the first day she’d come to Chelsea to meet Clio and be interviewed for the position with the agency.

‘How far is the restaurant?’ she asked.

‘A few blocks further down,’ he said.

‘Towards Land’s End?’

He smiled. ‘World’s End is in Chelsea. Land’s End is in Cornwall, right down at the southernmost part of England. They say if you walk from John O’Groats at the top of Scotland to Land’s End you’ve walked the length of Britain.’

Ashleigh gave herself a mental slam to the forehead. ‘Of course, what a stupid mistake. I’ve heard my English grandparents say that. You know more about this country than I do and I’ve got English blood.’

‘I like London. That’s why I bought the house here. Chelsea is so English but also cosmopolitan. I can enjoy a certain anonymity here.’

‘I love it too,’ Ashleigh said. She was about to tell him how she’d felt immediately at home in London when she’d got here but didn’t want to remind him of how completely she’d made herself at home in his house.

The ristorante was large and noisy with clatter and chatter; delicious aromas wafted to meet her. Ashleigh wondered how she would be able to talk privately with Lukas. But he was greeted by name by the beaming maître d’ who took their coats—she hoped hers wouldn’t get lost because no way in a million years would she ever be able to afford to replace it—and ushered them to a quiet table in an alcove. Reluctantly, she handed over her borrowed scarf—already she missed its warm caress with the heady hint of his scent.

The waiter pulled out her chair for her. But before she sat down she rose up on tiptoe and deliberately planted a lingering kiss on Lukas’s cheek, then trailed her fingers from his cheek, down his neck to stop at his collar. ‘This is delightful, agápi mou,’ she murmured in the throatiest, sexiest murmur she could muster. Then looked up into his eyes and pouted, as if inviting a kiss in return.

CHAPTER FIVE

TAKEN UNAWARES, LUKAS froze at Ashleigh’s touch. For a heart-stopping moment she stayed intimately close, her curves against his chest, her sweetly scented hair tickling his face. She whispered in his ear, her voice laced with amusement at his reaction. ‘Try to look like you’re enjoying this—we’re meant to be in love.’

Then she sat down on her chair opposite him, flashing a radiant smile to the waiter as she thanked him for his elaborate play at shaking out her linen napkin and placing it on her lap.

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