‘We are not friends, Lucilla. You do not care about my childhood, nor I yours.

‘You care about what I am doing to your precious company and I care about returning the Chatsfield name to its former glory. We are not on opposite sides, no matter how you wish to view it. And we don’t need to engage in polite banter in order to pretend we like each other.’

Her eyes had narrowed considerably. And her colour was high. The flush over her breasts was intriguing. He wanted to slip her gown off her shoulder and press his mouth just above her heart.

‘With an attitude like that, no wonder you don’t have any friends. You refuse to let anyone get close enough to be a friend.’

He snorted. ‘And do you really want to be my friend, Lucilla? Or is there something more to this query?’

She tilted her chin up. ‘No, I don’t want to be your friend. But I was trying to be polite. I thought maybe life would be easier if we at least pretended to like one another.’

He took a step closer to her, watched the thrum of her pulse kick up in her neck. He had to admire that she did not back away. She stood her ground, though she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, since he towered over her.

‘I am quite willing to pretend, Lucilla mou. I find myself utterly intrigued by the cut of that gown and the mystery of what lies beneath. If you wish, we can leave together and pretend to like each other in my bed.’

Step into the opulent glory of the world’s most elite hotel, where clients are the impossibly rich and exceptionally famous.

Whether you’re in America, Australia, Europe or Dubai, our doors will always be open …

Welcome to

Synonymous with style, sensation … and scandal!

For years, the children of Gene Chatsfield—global hotel entrepreneur—have shocked the world’s media with their exploits. But no longer! When Gene appoints a new CEO, Christos Giatrakos, to bring his children into line, little did he know what he was starting.

Christos’ first command scatters the Chatsfields to the furthest reaches of their international holdings—from Las Vegas to Monte Carlo, Sydney to San Francisco … but will they rise to the challenge set by a man who hides dark secrets in his past?

Let the games begin!

Your room has been reserved, so check in to enjoy all the passion and scandal we have to offer.

Ref: 00106875

www.thechatsfield.com

USA TODAY bestselling author LYNN RAYE HARRIS burst on to the scene when she won a writing contest held by Mills & Boon. The prize was an editor for a year—but only six months later Lynn sold her first novel. A former finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award, Lynn lives in Alabama with her handsome husband and two crazy cats. Her stories have been called ‘exceptional and emotional,’ ‘intense’ and ‘sizzling.’ You can visit her at www.lynnrayeharris.com.

Heiress’s Defiance

Lynn Raye Harris

www.thechatsfield.com

Family Tree

To Lynn’s Lovelies, the most awesome street team a girl could ask for. Thanks for being such great fans of my books!

Table of Contents

Cover

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Family Tree

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

Epilogue

Readers’ Extras

Discover The Chatsfield

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

“TAKE CARE OF it now,” Christos Giatrakos said into the phone, his voice hard and clipped and way sexier than Lucilla would have liked. Oh, how she hated Christos! And yet, sitting here in his office, waiting for him to finish whatever dictatorial phone call he was currently making, her belly churned with heat at the mere sound of that voice.

Certainly it did not help that he looked more like a male underwear model than a CEO. Christos should have been strutting his stuff on a runway in Milan, dressed in nothing but his tightie-whities, instead of sitting in what should be her chair—at what should be her desk—and making everyone’s lives miserable.

Especially her life. She’d worked too damn hard and too damn long, and sacrificed too damn much, to have this Greek god of an up-start usurping her position in her own family company.

Lucilla ran a hand over her sleek twist, making sure her hair wasn’t out of place, and fumed. She wanted to get up and walk out, but she couldn’t let Christos see that he had that much power to anger her. He’d summoned her by email, as he so often did, and then forced her to cool her heels on his couch while he made phone calls.

She sat ramrod straight, with her tablet on her lap, scrolled through emails and pretended not to care that Christos was ignoring her. Her gaze took in the office that should have been hers. Christos hadn’t claimed the desk in the manner that she’d expected, but there were subtle differences—the way the computer sat at a precise angle, the pen—worth more than her monthly salary—perfectly positioned in line with the keyboard, and a small coin sitting just to the right of the pen. From where she was sitting she could only tell that the coin wasn’t English. The photographs that had once lined her father’s desk had been pushed back into the corner of the bookcase behind the desk. Her mother’s ancient edition of Aesop’s Fables was still in its usual position in the case, however.

“If you can’t get this done, then don’t call back. The Chatsfield has other suppliers, Ron. And I will not hesitate to use them.”

Christos put the phone back in the cradle with a firm click and muttered something in Greek. And then he looked up, hitting her with the full force of those icy blue eyes. Lucilla shrugged off the internal shiver making its way down her spine and met his gaze evenly.

“What is the problem with the Frost wedding reception this weekend?”

Lucilla’s insides boiled at his tone. No polite greeting, no reasonable query. Just a demand. And an insulting one at that.

“Problem? There is no problem, Christos.” She refused to call him Mr. Giatrakos, though he insisted on it from all the employees. Well, damn him, she wasn’t just any employee. She was the rightful CEO of this company and she refused to act subservient just because her father had chosen this man over her. Not happening.

His gaze did not soften. “I have heard there is a problem.”

At times like this, Lucilla wanted to wrap her hands around his gorgeous neck and squeeze. “Then you heard wrong.” She flipped through the schedule on her tablet and ran down the page of tasks for the Frosts. “The only thing that could have ever been considered a minor issue—and trust me, it is not an issue for us—is the seating arrangements for the bride’s mother and father. I have taken care of it.”

“And why would this have been an issue?”

“Because they are divorcing, acrimoniously as it happens, and Mr. Frost is attending with his new, much younger girlfriend. Something he should know better than to do but apparently does not.”

Christos’s eyes were chips of ice. “Lucca may have pulled off the coup of the century and made a success of the royal wedding in Preitalle, but this means now, more than ever, the world’s eye is upon us. And the Frosts’ wedding has the potential to explode in our faces, Lucilla. You will see that it does not.”

Lucilla stood and tried not to look flustered. Dammit. Every time he said her name, a heated shudder rolled through her. His accent wasn’t heavy, but it was definitely pronounced, and the way it rolled over the syllables of her name was too sensual, too disturbing. Yet he would not call her Ms. Chatsfield because she would not call him Mr. Giatrakos. In that respect, it was her own fault. If she didn’t like her name on his lips, she had no one to blame but herself.

“I have been seeing that things do not explode for quite some time. I will continue to do so, even when you are history.”

And he would be history, if she had anything to say about it. If Antonio came through with the hostile takeover of the Kennedy Group, they could prove to their father that they did not need Christos Giatrakos. However, given that Antonio had missed their meeting last week she was starting to worry.

Lucilla frowned. The only thing that bothered her about the scheme was Antonio himself. Although Antonio was living in this hotel, she wasn’t seeing him any more than she had over the past few years. And when she’d seen him this last time he’d looked … different somehow. More agitated and preoccupied.

Concern speared into her at the thought of her big brother, but she pushed it aside and concentrated on the man before her. If they could just get rid of Christos, life could be good again. They would all be happier when she and Antonio were in control of the family empire once more.

And that was a goal she intended to work tirelessly for.

One corner of Christos’s mouth lifted in a grin. It was not a friendly grin, however, and she cursed herself for showing her irritation yet again. Sometimes, she just could not help her reaction.

“I am not history at the moment, Lucilla mou, and you will do as you are told or face the consequences.”

Lucilla tried so hard to keep her tongue in check. But some things were impossible to stomach. “You have no control over me, Christos, no matter what you think. Yes, you control the Chatsfield empire, and you control access to my trust fund. But you won’t intimidate me the way you’ve intimidated my family.” She walked over and put her palms on his desk, leaned over until her eyes were at the same level as his. She was all in now, her emotions whipped to a furious froth that had been bubbling for weeks, ever since this man showed up and started giving orders like a despot.

“I won’t be bullied by the likes of you. You need me right here, doing what it is I do every day, or you will fail. I’ve been running this hotel for years. Fire me, and see what happens then. My father will send you packing without a shred of remorse once you fail to do whatever it is he thinks you’re going to do.”

Christos’s eyes glittered. He stood, very slowly, and Lucilla straightened. Even in her heels, she wasn’t as tall as he was. He looked down on her as if she were a bug beneath his custom shoe.

“You’ve been wanting to say that for a while, have you not?” His voice was mild, amused, and yet it also managed to be hard and unflinching.

Her heart raced, her skin heating from the inside out. Yes, she’d been holding it in, and yes, it felt good to finally say what she’d been thinking. But she also felt as if she’d committed an error. She’d admitted to the enemy that she cared very much about his elevation over her when what she really needed to do was be quiet and take him down from the inside.

She absolutely could not let him get wind of what she’d talked Antonio into doing.

Because she would take this arrogant Greek down. One way or the other, Christos Giatrakos’s reign would be short and sweet, a footnote in the history of the hotel chain. It still stung that her father had chosen this stranger over her, but she could not let her wounded feelings get in the way of what she had to do to win.

Yes, she should have kept her mouth shut. But she hadn’t, and now there was nothing to do but own it. Lucilla tilted her chin up. “I have indeed. You might be congratulating yourself on dispersing my siblings on your errands, but don’t think you’ll handle me quite so easily.”

His eyes slid over her then, and her stomach clenched. “I wouldn’t dream of handling you, Lucilla. But if I did, rest assured you would do as I wished. And you would enjoy every moment of it.”

Her heart lodged in her throat. Were they still talking about the hotel? Or about something else?

“You are a deluded man, Christos. I will never enjoy a moment with you. I despise you and wish you would crawl back into whatever hole you crawled out of.”

His expression changed then, went from coolly amused and arrogant to hard and cold and … resentful? Lucilla blinked. She had the impression she’d hurt him, but that could not be possible. Christos Giatrakos had no heart to wound.

His next words proved it. “I care not what you think of me, Lucilla mou. You are as spoiled and useless as the rest of your kind.” He held up a hand to stop any protests. “Oh, you play at working, and you do a good enough job in your duties as the director of guest services. You are correct that I need you, but make no mistake—if I have to fire you, I will. No one is indispensable to the running of this company, Lucilla. Not even you.”

“Or you,” she threw back at him.

One eyebrow lifted. “Or me. And that is as it should be. Any company that is so invested in the talents of a single person and cannot recover should that person die or leave is a very stupid company indeed. My goal is to make the Chatsfield number one in the luxury field again. But I do not expect that this company will not ever run without me, nor would I want it to. That, I believe, is the difference between us. You would see it fail out of spite. I would see it succeed.”

There was a pinch in her chest as she pulled in a sharp breath. Of all the arrogant assumptions. Yes, she wanted the Chatsfield to be number one again—but she didn’t think it took Christos to do it. She could have done it if her father had given her the chance. She still could. She would.

“I do not wish to see us fail at all. And I resent that you would think so.”

“Then grow up and act like it.” He flicked his hand. “And now if you will get out of my office, I have important work to do.”

Lucilla clutched her tablet tight to stop her from flinging it at his head. “As you command, O Lord of Everything.” She took two steps, then whirled back around to find him still watching her. “You won’t always be here, Christos. Enjoy the big corner office while you can.”

He lowered himself into the plush leather chair with a smile. Then the arrogant bastard had the nerve to lean back and put his feet on the ancient cherry desk.

“I am enjoying it very much, thank you. Now be a good girl and get to work.”

Lucilla stalked out of his office with her head held high. But she could feel the blood pounding in her veins, feel the hate coursing through her. She wanted to scream. And, perversely, she wanted to kiss the bastard. She marched past Jessie—her able assistant—and into her own, much smaller office, slamming the door satisfyingly before throwing herself into her chair and closing her eyes while she fought for calm.

Why on earth could she not face the damn man without thinking about how his lips must taste? It was getting worse, not better. Every time she was with him, she thought of how he might taste, of how those muscles would feel beneath her hands. It was just her perverse nature, going left when she wanted to go right. She’d always been this way. Tell her she couldn’t do something and she set out to prove she could.

Like run the hotel chain. She’d spent years proving she was the rightful heir to the CEO position, and what did her father do? He hired a smoldering Greek with a bad attitude and a sexier-than-sin body to do the job she’d been training for all her life. She’d put her dreams aside at the age of fourteen, when her mother had walked out and left her and Antonio, her older brother, to be the surrogate parents for their siblings. Her father had been useless after Liliana left and so it had fallen to her and Antonio.

Well, dammit, she’d done what she was supposed to do. She’d been a good girl and played by rules that should never have been imposed on her at such a young age. She’d done her time and she wanted her due. She wanted control of the Chatsfield empire. The hotels were in her blood. They were not in Christos’s. He was not a Chatsfield and he didn’t care, other than where dollars, pounds and euros were concerned.

Lucilla chewed her lip, thinking. She’d researched Christos thoroughly when he’d arrived, but there was one thing she couldn’t find out. He didn’t seem to come from anywhere. He didn’t have a family. He was Greek, he claimed Athens as his hometown, and that was it. There’d been no record of his life before he was about twenty-five and burst onto the scene as the man who’d turned around a very old and venerable shipping company.

Then he’d moved on to another company, and another. He was good at what he did—and ruthless beyond belief. He slashed and burned and what emerged from the ashes was always better and brighter than before.

Yes, he was pretty good. But she didn’t trust him. And she damn sure didn’t like him. She couldn’t believe that her father had turned over control to this man they knew so little about. Gene Chatsfield had handed over the keys to the kingdom and then flown back to the U.S. to be with his new fiancée as if he hadn’t just turned Lucilla’s world—and her siblings’ worlds—upside down in the process.

Lucilla wanted to know more. She wanted to know who Christos Giatrakos really was, where he came from and why he thought he could be so cold and ruthless with everyone. And then she wanted him gone.

That, really, was the deciding factor. Lucilla wanted him gone, no matter how sexy or smoldering he was. And she was willing to do just about anything to achieve that goal. She picked up the phone. It was time to call in every last favor she was owed in exchange for information.

The Chatsfield was hosting a gala tonight in the main ballroom. An art auction for charity that would bring out the richest members of London society. As CEO, it was Christos’s duty to be there as the new public face of the company. Whatever the Chatsfield children had done to tarnish the venerable name, Christos was determined to erase those memories from the public consciousness. Yes, it would take time, but he would turn the company around. Of that he had no doubt.

He frowned as he thought of Lucilla Chatsfield standing in his office and glaring at him. She didn’t like him; that much was plain. He didn’t like her, either. She was utterly spoiled, though perhaps not quite as useless as most of her siblings.

Yet he found her oddly compelling and he did not like it. For instance, her brown eyes were flecked with gold. Why did he know this detail? He had no idea, but he did. And whenever she came into his office, he found himself watching those gold flecks and wondering if they might change with passion. What would staid Lucilla look like mussed? Her hair was always sleek and smooth, either twisted up on her head or slicked back into a thick ponytail. Her suits were crisp and tailored. Not too conservative, not too sexy.

He should not notice her at all, really. She was not a classically beautiful woman. Her cheeks were a little too plump and her hips a little too curvy to be stylish. She was too serious and frowned entirely too much.

And yet he found himself wondering what she would look like naked and sprawled across his bed. A clear sign he’d been working too much and not getting enough sex if he was thinking of uptight Lucilla Chatsfield this way.

Tonight, that would change. He had a date to the gala, and she’d hinted more than once that she was available all night long. After a trip home to shower and change into his tuxedo, Christos got behind the wheel of his Bugatti Veyron and went to pick Victoria up at her apartment. She was waiting just inside the glass doors, her blond hair a mass of luscious curls, her body encased in something shiny that looked almost like rubber.

She sashayed from the building and two men on the sidewalk nearly tripped on their tongues. Christos should be ecstatic at the sight of her, and yet he was somehow disappointed as he opened the door and helped her into the car. She is lovely, he told himself. Lovely.

“I’ve been looking forward to tonight,” Victoria said, sliding her hand up his thigh once he’d gotten into the driver’s seat again. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. Other than the shock of being touched so blatantly, he felt no excitement. His body responded as her hand drifted over him—a woman was touching his groin, after all—but he didn’t find the prospect particularly thrilling.

“Enough of that, Victoria,” he clipped out. “We have a long evening to get through first.”

She laughed and ran her thumb over his cheek, presumably removing the lipstick she’d left there. “I can’t wait, darling.”

Soon, they were at the hotel, and Christos went around to join Victoria on the red carpet while the valet slipped inside his car and drove off. Photographers were stationed on either side of the entrance, corralled behind velvet ropes, their flashes popping again and again as he walked up the carpet with Victoria on his arm.

They passed inside. Staff members were busily taking care of the guests, but he had no doubt he’d been seen. No one nodded, though. He did not expect it. It wasn’t his job to be liked. Gene Chatsfield had hired him because he was the best. Not because he was the nicest.

The gala was in full swing when they walked into the ballroom. The soaring artdeco walls and ceilings were a work of art themselves, which is why the room showcased the art on display so well. Men in tuxedos and women in glittering gowns mingled, drinks in hand, rotating past the displays and making marks in their catalogs.

Christos circulated, shaking hands and talking with the guests, smiling with satisfaction at their compliments on the decor and service. Victoria clung to his side until he grew tired of having her there and deposited her with a group of expensively dressed women. When he left, they were comparing notes on their dress designers.

He continued to talk to the guests as the clock ticked down to the moment the auction was scheduled to start. At one point, when the conversation bored him and his mind began to drift, the crowd parted and a flash of red caught his eye. It was a dark-haired woman, standing with her back to him, her body encased in a clinging ruby gown sewn with sparkling crystals. She was alone in front of a painting, and he had a sudden urge to find out just what she seemed so captivated by that others did not.

He did not know her or what drove her, but she appeared lonely and isolated in the single beam of light shining down on the spot she stood in. Her head was bowed, her shoulders bent forward, as if the weight of something terribly sad pressed down on her.

Her isolation and loneliness spoke to him because he so often felt the same things. By choice, yes, but still. He’d had to isolate himself to survive the hell of his childhood. It was a skill he’d perfected by the time he was fourteen. A necessary skill to keep from going insane in the juvenile-detention facility he’d been sent to.

Christos excused himself from the conversation and moved toward the woman. He wanted to know who she was and what was in the picture that affected her so much. She turned then, and he stopped, stunned. Lucilla Chatsfield’s brows were pulled together, her face creased with sadness and pain. And she was utterly beautiful standing alone in that beam of light.

The light picked out her bone structure, highlighted the luminous quality of her skin and transformed the darkness of her hair into a chestnut cloud flowing down her back. She was still Lucilla, but Lucilla as he’d never seen her before. The beauty of her hit him like a lightning bolt, stole the air from his lungs, sent blood rushing into his groin.

He wanted to possess her. He wanted to erase that sadness from her eyes, and he wanted to strip that red dress from her body and expose the creamy skin underneath. The need to do so rocked him. And angered him.

He had no time for this. Lucilla was an obstacle in his path, not a dalliance on the side. She hated him. Despised him for sending her brothers and sister away on errands, and for thwarting her ambition.

Christos plucked two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and moved toward her. She’d turned to look at the painting again, and he found himself focusing on the swell of her hips, the curve of her back and the lush beauty of her hair as it tumbled over her shoulders in rich, reddish-brown waves. She never wore her hair down. He was suddenly thankful that she did not because the urge to plunge his fingers into it and feel the silky mass gliding over his hand was almost overwhelming.

“See something you want?”

She whirled to face him, clutching a hand over her heart. “Oh, my God, you scared me.”

He held out the champagne. “Then I apologize.”

She took the glass. Then she turned to look at the painting again. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

Christos stared at the small portrait of a woman. It wasn’t an old painting, though it wasn’t recent, either. The woman was wearing a long gown, pearls and a mink, and she was laughing. It was not a staid portrait at all. Christos frowned as he scanned the portrait. This woman looked familiar in a way. He turned to look at Lucilla’s profile, saw the same lines as in the painting, and a new feeling took root in his soul: anger and even a modicum of pity. Gene Chatsfield had put a portrait of his missing ex-wife into the auction, and Lucilla seemed sad about it.

No one knew where Liliana Chatsfield had gone, but one day she’d walked out on her family and never came home again. He knew the history, as so many did, but for the first time he could see how it must have affected at least one Chatsfield child.

It made him feel almost tender toward her. A complication he did not need. “She is indeed. Your mother, I presume?”

She took a sip of her champagne and he saw that her fingers trembled. “Yes.”

“And does it bother you this picture is in the auction?”

She sniffed. She did not look at him. “Of course not. It’s for a good cause, and my father is right to get rid of it. Graham Laurent painted it before he was quite so famous, so it will fetch a high price simply because of that. Obviously, my father knows this.”

And Gene Chatsfield was marrying again, so his new wife-to-be probably didn’t want a portrait of the old wife still in his possession. Though why he didn’t gift it to one of his children, Christos couldn’t say. It seemed the logical thing to do.

“You could buy it.”

She turned to look up at him again, and he felt the power of that gaze down to his toes. The gold flecks in her eyes sparkled in the light from above. “Oh, no, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be seemly.”

He didn’t quite understand that logic, but it was not his concern really. If she didn’t want to buy it, what did he care?

“As you wish, Lucilla mou.” He didn’t know why he called her my Lucilla, but the first time he’d done it, she’d seemed annoyed—so he’d kept doing so because it amused him to irritate her. He had not meant to irritate her now, but of course she could not know that. Her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you have some souls to collect elsewhere in the room?”

Christos couldn’t help the laugh that burst from him then. Lucilla tried to frown but ended up smiling, though she kept biting her lip to stop. He wished she would let it out because he was certain a smile would transform her face.

“I have met my quota of souls for the day, unfortunately.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Tomorrow is a new day. I’m sure you’ll find some lives to wreck before the morning runs out.”

He took a sip of champagne, uncharacteristically amused. She was acerbic and tart, not at all what he was accustomed to in a woman. It was a novelty, and he enjoyed it more than he should. He never cared if he was liked. Companies hired him to do the tough jobs, to make the decisions no one else would.

He didn’t care if this woman liked him, either—but he found himself hoping she wouldn’t go away just yet.

“It is on my schedule,” he said.

“Of course it is.” She pulled in a deep breath and turned away from the painting as if she had made a final decision to slice herself off from the allure of it. “Tell me about you, Christos. Where did you grow up? What did you like to do as a child?”

Her questions punched him in the gut. He never talked about his childhood. It was too painful. Too dark and disgusting. Compared to hers, even with an absent mother, his was hell on earth.

“I grew up in Greece. I had a happy life, I got an education and I went to work. What else is there to know?” The lies flowed easily from his tongue these days. He’d had years to practice them, after all.

She was staring at him. “Where in Greece? Near the sea? Inland?”

Ice formed in his veins. He did not like it when people pried. “Everywhere in Greece is near the sea.”

“That’s a very vague answer.”

He shrugged as if it were nothing to him. “We are not friends, Lucilla. There is no point in engaging in idle chitchat. You do not care about my childhood, nor I yours. You care about what I am doing to your precious company, and I care about returning the Chatsfield name and all it stands for to its former glory. We are not on opposite sides, no matter how you wish to view it. And we don’t need to engage in polite banter in order to pretend we like each other.”

Her eyes had narrowed considerably. And her color was high. The flush over her breasts was intriguing. He wanted to slip her gown off her shoulder and press his mouth just above her heart.

“With an attitude like that, no wonder you don’t have any friends. You refuse to let anyone get close enough to be a friend.”

He snorted. “And do you really want to be my friend, Lucilla? Or is there something more to this query?”

She tilted her chin up. “No, I don’t want to be your friend. But I was trying to be polite. I thought maybe life would be easier if we at least pretended to like each other.”

He took a step closer to her, watched the thrum of her pulse kick up in her neck. He had to admire that she did not back away. She stood her ground, though she had to tilt her head back to look up at him since he towered over her.

“I am quite willing to pretend, Lucilla mou. I find myself utterly intrigued by the cut of that gown and the mystery of what lies beneath. If you wish, we can leave together and pretend to like each other in my bed.”

Her eyes grew as wide as saucers. The color in her cheeks bloomed redder than before. And then she looked completely furious, as if he’d tricked her somehow. He didn’t have time to figure it out because she poked him in the chest with a manicured finger.

“You are not serious, Christos, and this isn’t funny.”

“I was not trying to be funny.”

She poked him again, harder this time. “I saw you come in and I know who you’re with. Don’t insult me by pretending you find me more appealing than you do your supermodel girlfriend.” She dropped her finger and straightened her shoulders. “I am not that desperate or that stupid and I resent you thinking I am.”

CHAPTER TWO

LUCILLA’S HEART BEAT hard and fast as she met Christos’s icy blue gaze. She knew her color was high, and she knew the hue of her gown didn’t help matters in the least. Why had she chosen red for tonight?

Because she knew he would be here.

No, that was not it at all.

She’d chosen the sexiest, boldest dress she owned because she liked to look and feel pretty, not because Christos Giatrakos would be here with yet another model on his arm. Since he’d arrived at the Chatsfield, he’d often been seen at their various events with beautiful women—a different one every time, in fact.

And now he was making fun of her. Taunting her with the idea of them being together, of tangled limbs and heated skin, when she knew it was the furthest thing from his mind. It was his aim to fluster her. It infuriated her that she could even be flustered—damn her stupid hormones—but she refused to let him know it was working.

She tilted her chin up and gave him her best glare. It had often worked on her siblings when they were growing up and she needed to get them in line.

Christos smirked. And then his gaze slid from hers, down over her neck, her collarbone, her chest …

Her skin burned everywhere he looked, as if it were his hands gliding over her body rather than his eyes. “I assure you I am most serious, Lucilla mou. If you care to test me, take my hand and follow me.”

She curled her free hand into a fist to prevent her from doing just that. Not that she seriously wanted to get naked with Christos, but she was damn tempted to call his bluff. Because he was baiting her. He wasn’t serious, and they both knew it. And she would love nothing more than to make him admit it.

“Is this your famous seduction technique? I find it lacking in subtlety and quite amateurish indeed.”

His gaze glittered. “You prove my point with your refusal. You are a coward, Lucilla. This is why you cannot run the Chatsfield Hotels. You are not willing to take chances.”

A fresh wave of anger buffeted her. “Goading me will not get you anywhere. I can see through you, Christos. You want to prod me into doing something stupid. It would give you no greater pleasure than to make me look like an idiot.”

“You do that quite well on your own.”

She nearly choked on her own tongue. “How dare you.”

He arched an eyebrow, mocking her. “I dare because you will not. Because you are frightened, Lucilla. A spoiled little girl who cannot make the hard choices in life. I can, and I will, best you every time.”

“I hate you,” she whispered, her heart hammering hard.

“I am aware of this. And I am certain it can only make this flame between us burn hotter.”

“There is no flame. You’re deluded.” And yet her body was being eaten alive by excitement and anger and the very powerful urge to kiss this man, to see if she would incinerate with that single touch.

How had this … this weakness happened? One minute she was staring at her mother’s portrait and the next he was there and she was burning up inside. She told herself it was because she’d been feeling sad and vulnerable and she hadn’t yet gotten her defenses back up. That was the only way Christos could get to her like this.

He took a step closer to her, until there was hardly a breath separating them. “It is time to stop lying to yourself. You feel it the same as I do. You have felt it from the first moment, the same as I have. Let us burn together, Lucilla, and get this inconvenient attraction out of the way. We’ll work together much better once it’s done.”

She couldn’t breathe. He was taking up all the air, all the space, and she ached with his nearness. It was the final straw for her. She took a step backward, out of his orbit, and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Christos, but I think you’ve got it all wrong. There is no attraction, at least not on my part. I can’t stand you and I certainly don’t want you. Now if you will excuse me, I have an event to supervise.”

“You can tell yourself that, but we both know it’s not true.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she said tightly.

“Run away, Lucilla. But this isn’t over.”

She sucked in an angry breath. “I am certain it is. Good night, Christos.”

Lucilla pivoted on her heel and strode away, merging into the crowd. She was shaking inside, and that infuriated her. Why did she let him get to her? For weeks now, she’d been cool and businesslike, ignoring him, looking down her nose at him even though he was taller than she. She’d treated him like the bug under the dark rock that he was, and she’d gotten away with it.

But today she’d lost her cool. She’d finally snapped and all the boiling emotions she’d been trying so hard to hide had spilled over the walls of the dam she’d built to contain them. They were currently ravaging everything in their path despite her best attempts to rein them in again.

But she would get herself under control. She had a plan, and that plan required her to keep doing as she always did. Christos would be gone before the summer was out when she was finished. She just had to stay strong and focused.

Lucilla slipped into the ladies’ room where she smoothed her long hair and refreshed her lipstick. She stepped back and studied herself in the mirror on one wall. She was not unattractive. But she wasn’t tall or leggy, or so thin she could wear anything and look fabulous in it. She had curves and little bulges—thank heavens for proper foundation garments—and her cheeks were too plump. She was also short, though four-inch heels made her seem tall.

She had brown eyes and brown hair and her smile was too wide. She did, however, have fabulous breasts. She slipped her hands under their curves, admiring them in the mirror. Yes, men definitely wanted these. Perhaps Christos did, too, though it seemed far more likely he was simply toying with her. Wanting her to admit she wanted him so he could reject her and thus prove his superiority while laughing at her.

Not happening.

With a last primp of her hair, she returned to the ballroom. As the evening wore on, she smiled and chatted with the guests and tried to push Christos from her mind. It wasn’t easy since she could feel his presence in the room. She knew he was watching and waiting and perhaps hoping she would make a mistake tonight.

She glimpsed him from time to time, holding court at the center of a gathering, the tall, leggy blonde in the skintight dress plastered to his side. He caught her gaze once and she forced herself not to look away. They stared at each other for several moments before the woman at his side seemed to realize his attention wasn’t on her anymore. She leaned in close and said something in his ear, and then he was turning his perfect smile on her.

Lucilla felt almost bereft when he wasn’t looking at her anymore, as if he’d somehow rejected her when he’d turned away. Utterly ridiculous.

She hadn’t brought a date tonight. She hadn’t dated anyone in months now because she’d been so focused on the hotel empire and had no time, but she decided that first thing tomorrow, she was getting back out there in the dating pool. It was ridiculous to throw herself so hard into work that she neglected having a personal life.

She told herself that if she hadn’t been lonely and aching for companionship, Christos would not have been able to affect her.

And he had affected her. She would admit that much. He was tall, sinfully sexy, and he made her blood hum. She really hated that about herself, that she could be attracted to a jerk like him, but her body didn’t seem to know he was poison.

When the auction began, Lucilla stayed around at first to make sure things were going smoothly, but then she retreated to her office with instructions to Jessie to come and get her if anything was amiss. She didn’t want to be there for the auctioning of her mother’s portrait.

She didn’t know why it bothered her—Liliana Chatsfield had thought nothing of abandoning her children and husband and leaving the raising of her family to her two eldest, so why on earth should Lucilla care about her portrait?

It was nostalgia, plain and simple, and she refused to let it bother her a moment longer. She sat at her desk—not the easiest thing to do in a tight gown—and scrolled through the bookings and reports for the upcoming week. The hotel had many things going on, and it was her duty to make sure it all went smoothly.

When her door opened, she glanced up, expecting to see Jessie. Instead, her stomach dropped into her toes and her pulse kicked up at the sight of Christos standing there, coolly handsome in his tuxedo and crisp white shirt.

“Yes?” she said as blandly as possible.

He walked in and closed the door and her heart ticked up another notch. “You left rather abruptly. Is everything all right?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You tell me.”

She sighed and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “It’s been a long day, Christos. I’m tired and I have a lot of work to do. I don’t stay for every event. Jessie knows where to find me if I’m needed.”

“You are upset with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Not everything is about you, difficult as that may be to believe. No, I don’t like you, but I don’t spend every waking moment thinking about you.” Well, she did, but much of it was about how to get rid of him. She waved a hand airily. “I forgot about it as soon as I started talking to the auction director.”

Not quite true, but he didn’t need to know that.

He sprawled in the chair in front of her desk, gloriously loose-limbed and casual when she had the impression he was anything but. “This is good, Lucilla mou. Because we have things to talk about.”

She tried not to let the way he said her name slip down her spine and start drumming a beat in her deepest core, but it was damn near impossible. Plague the man for making her think of sex, anyway!

“I wish you wouldn’t call me that. I have no idea what it means, but it irritates me.”

His grin was too sexy for comfort. “I know this. It’s why I do it. And it means ‘my Lucilla.’”

Her stomach clenched. “I am most certainly not your Lucilla. I’m not anyone’s Lucilla.”

She could have bitten her tongue for admitting that last part. It was as if she’d just come out and said she couldn’t interest a man to save her life.

“This is a shame. You should be someone’s Lucilla. You should be taken to bed often and made to scream your lover’s name many times a night.”

Her throat was tight. “You really shouldn’t talk to me like this. It’s inappropriate.”

He ran his fingers along the edge of the chair’s arm. “Is it? You have informed me more than once that you don’t work for me, that you are a Chatsfield and these hotels are yours by birthright. How am I being inappropriate?”

She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the pulsing of her blood in her veins. “My father hired you and gave you control over the Chatsfield Family Trust. I’d say that’s incentive enough for me to need to do what you say. And that makes this conversation inappropriate.”

“And here I thought we were finally being truthful with each other.” He made it sound as if he was disappointed in her, and that only irritated her further.

“What did you wish to talk to me about, Christos? If it’s not business, then please go away.”

He laughed. “It is definitely business, Lucilla mou. But I cannot help but rib you now that I know you are not immune to my charm.”

“Oh, for God’s sake—you have no charm! This is not about you or your nonexistent charm. It’s about business and what’s best for the hotels, so stop irritating me and get on with it.”

He leaned forward then and put his elbows on her desk. “After the shareholders’ meeting in August, I plan to make a tour of several Chatsfield locations. You will accompany me.”

Lucilla blinked. “Me? Why? Don’t you have an assistant for that?”

He rubbed a finger over his bottom lip and she found herself following the motion of that finger. “If you wish to run this company someday, I suggest you do what I tell you.”

She felt herself growling. “Sometimes it’s easier to get flies with honey, you know.” She tapped a key on her computer, purposely ignoring him. “And maybe I’ve decided I don’t want the company, after all. Maybe I’ll start my own business.”

“You can try. Or you can come with me and help fix what is wrong.”

She blinked. His tone hadn’t changed at all, but he was now looking at her expectantly. As if he just knew what her answer would be. And, damn him, he did. But she wasn’t going to make it easy on him.

“You cannot possibly mean for me to really help you. I’m spoiled and useless, remember?”

“You are indeed. And yet I am pleased with tonight’s event, and pleased with how things have gone in your office in general. It’s time to step up, Lucilla. Prove your mettle or get out of my way.”

She gripped the pen she’d picked up just a little tighter. He was so damn smug. “I can handle anything you throw at me, baby.”

He blinked. “Baby?”

“Annoying, right?” She shrugged, though her heart raced with adrenaline. “I’ve decided to start giving as good as I get. If I’m your Lucilla, you can be my baby.”

He lifted an eyebrow, and she had the impression she’d just wakened a sleeping tiger. Perhaps she shouldn’t bait him, but God, he deserved it. It made her feel reckless, which was certainly not how she usually behaved. But she rather liked it.

“I look forward to the inevitable clash of wills, Lucilla. You have no idea how much.”

She dropped the pen. “Because you like discord in your work environment? Well, I don’t. But I won’t be bullied, either. So get ready, baby, because I will not back down.”

He stood then and looked down at her from a great height. Because she didn’t like him towering over her, she stood, too. They faced each other across her desk. Her body felt rubbery, liquid, as their gazes held. There was no denying that Christos Giatrakos was powerfully, sinfully attractive.

If only he wasn’t such an arrogant jerk.

“I feel as if we must seal this deal somehow,” he murmured, and her stomach fluttered.

She came around her desk and thrust her hand out. She would not cower from him like a mouse. “I believe a handshake is how it’s usually done.”

His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand. “Indeed.” His hand slipped into hers, engulfing it. They were palm to palm and it somehow felt like the most intimate touch imaginable. She tried not to gasp, tried not to shiver or make any response that let him know how intense this feeling was.

But she didn’t need to. He tugged her hand softly and she moved forward until their bodies pressed together. His arm slipped behind her, his fingers spreading over the small of her back, burning her through the fabric of her dress.

His other hand tilted her chin up. His eyes, those beautiful, icy eyes, searched hers. She could not, for the life of her, imagine what she was supposed to say.

“I think this requires something a bit more personal,” he murmured. And then his mouth came down on hers—softly, sweetly, his lips gliding over hers, teasing and tantalizing. Her heart was a reckless runaway in her chest, and her body had lost the ability to hold itself upright moments ago.

She clutched his lapels, her eyes fluttering closed as he tormented her with that glorious mouth. His tongue slipped over her lips, and she gasped. Then he was inside and she was there to meet him. Their tongues tangled, and Lucilla made a noise in her throat as her body simply melted.

Oh, she hadn’t felt like this in so long—if ever. She’d had lovers, certainly. But not for months now, and no one who’d made her yearn so keenly for his touch. Kissing Christos was a revelation in more ways than one.

First, he was an amazing kisser. Second, in spite of her very real dislike of him, it only seemed to make kissing him more exciting. He tilted her chin up, plundered her mouth with a bit more urgency than before. His tongue was skillful, his lips masterful.

Oh, how she ached for more than this melding of mouths.

But this was Christos. Christos. The man her father had sent to do the job she was meant to do. The man who thought himself above her in every way. The man who showed absolutely no remorse or pity in his dealings with others.

He’d sent Lucca to the Mediterranean, Cara to Vegas, Franco on an errand in Australia. He’d hired Antonio as the head of strategy, but Antonio had taken the job only because she’d begged him to so they could work together to bring Christos down. With Orsino out of action in France, and Nicolo currently holed up at Chatsfield House with Christos’s PA—whom he’d sent to secure Nicolo’s attendance at the next shareholders’ meeting—Christos was like a great spider, sitting at the center of his web and sending out threads designed to ensnare people.

Lucilla’s fingers tightened in his lapels. She had a choice. She could stop this insanity or she could use this moment between them. She had never been a seductress before—but she could be. She could use this fire, this need, and she could best him at his own game.

She pressed herself closer to him, though it terrified her on some level to do so. His grip on her tightened, his hands spanning her hips, pulling her against him and—

Oh, my.

He was hard. There was no mistaking it. She’d thought, on some level, that he was faking desire for her. Liquid heat flooded her sex as he moved against her, his body sparking delicious sensations in hers. She let her hands slide over his chest, beneath his jacket—

There was a knock on the door and then it swung open before Lucilla registered what such an intrusion would mean.

“Oh! Excuse me!”

The door slammed shut again and Lucilla broke free of Christos’s grip. Oh, my God. Her cheeks blazed. She’d just been caught in the arms of the boss. By Jessie. Because that’s how everyone viewed Christos around here even if she did not.

Fury and embarrassment boiled in her belly. She’d been so convinced she knew what she was doing. What on earth had possessed her?

She was not a seductress and she had no idea what she’d do with Christos if she did sleep with him. How would that help her cause? Clearly, she’d been out of her mind. The moment he’d kissed her, she’d lost her sense. And now Jessie knew. Who else would know before the week was out?

Christos’s eyes glittered hot as he ran a thumb over his lip, presumably removing her lipstick. He appeared as cool as if he were standing outside in a soaking rain while she felt as if she would never be cool again.

“It seems as if we’ve been interrupted. Not a moment too soon, I imagine.”

“Honestly, I have no idea what that means.” She went around her desk and stood with that object between them, as if it could protect her when she apparently didn’t have sense enough to protect herself. “Nothing was going to happen.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” His voice was soft as a whisper and yet steely, too. “We wanted the same thing, Lucilla. And it would have happened on your desk in another five minutes.”

“You are so deluded. I let you kiss me. It meant nothing.”

“Tell yourself that if it helps you sleep at night. But you know as well as I do where that kiss was headed.”

She folded her arms over her chest and hoped the wild beat of her pulse didn’t show in her throat. “If you will excuse me, I believe Jessie needs to see me for something.”

He inclined his head. “Of course.” He was almost to the door when he turned and threw her a heated look. “As I said before, this is not over. In fact, I would say it has only begun.”

Without waiting for a reply, he yanked the door open and stalked through it. An astonished and red-faced Jessie hurried into the room, eyes wide. She wisely did not say a word about Christos.

Lucilla took her seat and tried to appear cool. “Well, has there been a disaster?” Aside from the disaster of letting Christos kiss her and steal all her good sense, of course.

“Nothing of the sort. You asked me to let you know who bought your mother’s portrait.”

She’d almost forgotten. “Yes, of course I did.”

Jessie looked apologetic. “I’m afraid it was an anonymous phone bidder. It sold for one hundred thousand pounds, though.”

Lucilla tried to ignore the pinch in her heart. No way could she have afforded that much, even if she had been willing to bid. “Thank you, Jessie. I’ll be here for a while. Let me know if I’m needed.”

“Yes, Ms. Chatsfield,” Jessie said before turning and hurrying out the door. Lucilla closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She could still feel Christos’s touch on her skin, still feel the deep pull of desire in her core.

Lucilla shivered. And then she opened up her email and got to work. Christos had to go. Soon.

CHAPTER THREE

CHRISTOS WAS IN a bad mood. He was restless and edgy and his patience had run out a long time ago. He knew what it was. He sat at his desk in his big corner office and brooded over the latest reports. Oh, the reports were fine. There was progress on all fronts. Lucca wasn’t making a spectacle of himself, Cara was managing to ride out the media storm created in Las Vegas with the notorious Aiden Kelly and Franco was getting somewhere with Purman Wines.

Not only that, but Sophie had made progress with Nicolo and he would be at the shareholders’ meeting next week. Orsino still wasn’t answering Christos’s calls, but Christos figured it was only a matter of time. The Chatsfield children were coming into line, whether they believed it or not.

His biggest problem, however, was Lucilla.

He couldn’t forget that kiss in her office on the night of the charity auction. It had been two weeks ago now and he thought of it incessantly. The way she’d melted in his arms like molten gold, her body curving into his and promising him such sweetness. He’d wanted her quite desperately in that moment. And she had wanted him, too; he was certain of it. She’d been ready to come apart in his arms and then the door had opened and Jessie had stumbled in—and that was the end of that.

For two weeks, she’d avoided him. They saw each other at the morning staff meetings. She gave her reports. But she did not come to his office—and he did not send for her.

He did it as much to prove to himself as to her that he was unaffected by their interchange. Yes, she’d excited him and he’d wanted her. But he did not need her. Women were interchangeable to him. All he required from them was a warm body in his bed and a few hours of passion. Beyond that, he wished for nothing more.

Needed nothing more.

Except, dammit, he couldn’t stop thinking about Lucilla’s mouth beneath his, her tongue gliding against his, her body so pliable and warm….

The tingle at the base of his spine was not a good sign. He swore and got to his feet, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets and stalking over to the window to gaze out on the park across the street. He needed a woman. Any woman. That would take the edge off and then he could get back to thinking straight again.

He could call Victoria. She was an enthusiastic lover, even if she left him cold. Yes, he’d taken her back to her apartment that night after the aborted kiss with Lucilla and he’d let her strip him naked. He’d spent his passion inside her body, but he’d felt vaguely disgusted with himself when it was done. Then he’d left her with a kiss and a promise to call.

He had not done so, of course. He had no intention of doing so, no matter that it would be the solution to his problem.

He raked a hand through his hair and swore softly. He could not figure out this reaction to Lucilla, except that she fired his blood because she so very clearly despised him. He didn’t usually care how anyone felt about him so long as the job got done. He still didn’t care.

But he was intrigued, damn him. No one stood up to him the way Lucilla did. No one challenged him on every level. He found that he enjoyed it.

He was a man who got what he wanted. And right now, he wanted Lucilla Chatsfield. He wanted her beneath him, saying his name in pleasure rather than derision. It was dangerous to want such a thing, and yet he was driven by a need that went all the way back to his miserable childhood.

He’d been nobody, nothing, an unwanted blot on the dirty face of the life he came from. He’d clawed his way up, out of the mire, and he’d sworn he would have everything he had ever been denied. He’d not been raised with gold and diamonds and plenty to eat. He’d had to fight to survive, and he’d had to maim to prevent being killed.

Lucilla Chatsfield, in contrast, had grown up in a huge pile of stones known as Chatsfield House, where she’d had servants, money, all the food she could eat and the finest education money could buy. Her tones were cultured, her manner graceful and understated.

Lucilla would never be gauche. She would never be an urchin from a hardscrabble background. She would never feel as if she didn’t belong.

He knew what it meant to be all those things, though he’d left them far behind. He’d achieved fame in certain circles, a fortune and all the women he wanted. He’d had heiresses before. Rich divorcées. Women whose pedigrees went back to some important monarch or other.

But there was something about Lucilla Chatsfield. Something about the idea of seeing her naked and trembling before him, begging for his touch, for his mouth on her body. Begging the former street urchin to caress her privileged flesh.

Oh, yes, she made him remember his roots and he did not like it. She made him feel unworthy, and he’d worked a long time to banish that feeling. He’d not felt worthless in forever. Not until Lucilla looked down her nose at him and told him to crawl back in his hole.

What he didn’t understand was why she made him feel that way, because she certainly wasn’t the first to say such a thing to him. She likely wouldn’t be the last.

But she did, and he couldn’t allow it. Christos let out a long breath. There was only one cure, only one way to relegate her to her rightful place in his universe.

Lucilla was standing in the kitchen, tasting the selections the head chef suggested for the upcoming seasonal menu when Christos walked in. Her heart skipped a beat, but she continued to lift the tasting spoon to her lips and nibble on the goat-cheese-and-truffle-oil hors d’oeuvres Henri had designed. It was perfectly placed on a little crostini that gave it a delightful crunch when she bit down.

“Excellent, chef,” she said after she’d swallowed the morsel.

“Sir?” Henri inquired, turning to Christos with a tasting spoon.

“Certainly.” He took the spoon and popped the food into his mouth and she found herself fascinated with the way he chewed it. Slowly, as if savoring every flavor. When he finally swallowed, she wanted to fan herself. “Most excellent,” he told the chef, who beamed.

Henri excused himself after a few more moments discussing the food and Lucilla found herself alone with Christos—or as alone as one could be in a kitchen bustling with activity. She hadn’t spent any time with him since that night over two weeks ago when she’d nearly lost all her sense over nothing more than an illicit kiss.

Frustratingly, she still had no information she could use to jettison him from the Chatsfield. But she wasn’t giving up yet. There were still people she hadn’t heard from. And then there was the last email that she’d received from Sara Norrington, the private detective she’d hired to investigate Christos. Sara had said that she was on to something but had refused to share any information until she had something concrete. A little tendril of guilt wrapped around Lucilla’s heart but she ignored it. What was there to feel guilty about? She wasn’t going to maim him, for God’s sake. She just wanted him to resign and move on to the next company.

She gripped her tablet to her chest and leveled a cool gaze on him. He made her insides flutter, damn him. “Did you need something from me?”

One eyebrow lifted and heat slid over her skin. Oh, heavens … Talk about a loaded question.

She expected him to remark on it, but he did not. Rather, he spoke imperiously, as if he’d never had his tongue in her mouth and his hands on her body. “Only to remind you that the shareholders’ meeting is next week, and we will be leaving immediately after.”

It was as if the kiss had never happened, and for some reason that irritated her. She would at least like to know he’d spent half as much time thinking about it as she had. Not that she ever would know it. He’d left that night as he’d arrived: with his supermodel on his arm. Laughing at her, no doubt, for being so flustered when Jessie caught them.

“I know that.”

“Though you have not bothered to reply to my email.”

She got the distinct feeling he wanted to irritate her. It was working, too. “What is there to reply to? You sent a detailed itinerary. I assumed I was to salute sharply and click my heels.”

“Yet a reply in the affirmative is expected. If I assumed that all my memos were received and agreed to without confirmation, I wouldn’t be much of an executive, now would I?”

“Then I shall have Jessie respond immediately.”

“See that you do.”

“You could have just called,” she said as he turned away. How dare he show up and put her on the spot, then walk away as if nothing disturbed him?

He pivoted back to her. “You didn’t answer your phone. I wasn’t prepared to assume you would answer a follow-up.”

“I’ve been busy.”

His eyes gleamed. “As have I. Which makes this meeting damned inconvenient, I assure you.”

Now he was just making her mad. “So why didn’t you pick up the phone and call my office? You know the number. Or, better yet, have your assistant call my assistant. You didn’t have to disrupt your excruciatingly busy day to come find me.”

He glanced over her shoulder, presumably at the kitchen staff who were busily going about their duties peeling vegetables, preparing dishes, washing pots and generally prep-ping the kitchen for the evening service. No doubt they were paying attention keenly as Lucilla was well aware that both their voices had risen as the conversation went on.

“It seems as if we are attracting attention, Ms. Chatsfield. Would you care to continue this discussion in my office?”

She swallowed. If she refused him, she would look weak to whoever was watching. If she accepted, she would then be alone with Christos. She didn’t want to be alone with him. Not because she didn’t trust herself, but because it was damned humiliating. She’d spent the past two weeks thinking of his body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped around her. Clearly, he’d been troubled by no such thoughts.

Still, there was only one choice. This was her hotel, damn him. Her birthright.

“Of course,” she replied, sweeping past him so that he had to follow her from the kitchen. She hurried down the hallways, aware of him behind her, aware of eyes on them as they swept through the offices. She had no idea if Jessie had repeated what she’d seen that night of the gala, but Lucilla was always conscious of the possibility. Jessie was a good assistant, but all it took was one stray comment and the whole thing could explode like a wildfire. That was simply the nature of office gossip.

Lucilla marched past Christos’s assistant, Sophie, just back from her excursion to Chatsfield House, and into his office, turning when she heard the door click shut behind her. Her pulse tripped and stumbled as she tried to maintain her cool.

“I prefer if you do not challenge me in front of the staff,” he ground out before she could speak. “It sets a bad precedent.”

“Then don’t come into my territory to chastise me in front of my staff,” she grated back. “Because I will not tolerate it.”

His eyes narrowed. “You will not tolerate it? Have you forgotten who is in charge here, Ms. Chatsfield?”

Ms. Chatsfield. He’d called her that twice now when he never had before. For some reason, it annoyed her. Not that she missed being called his Lucilla but, well, dammit …

Lucilla closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t know what she missed or why she was irritated. She only knew it was different and she didn’t like it. But then she didn’t like being called Lucilla mou, either.

Argh! What was the matter with her?

“You are not in charge of me, Christos. I will respect the fact my father hired you, and I will respect the fact that you even believe you are doing a good job—but I won’t be talked down to in front of the staff and I won’t keep silent when you irritate me. You are not a god, and this is not your personal domain.”

His eyes glittered with heat. And then he laughed. “You amuse me, Lucilla. So much. If you were anyone else, I’d have fired you the first day.”

Pleasure suffused her at his use of her name. And then anger, because she wasn’t going to be flattered by his admission that she amused him, dammit. The last sentence was the part she needed to focus on. His arrogance was insupportable. “You could have tried. You would not have succeeded.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I could order the locks rekeyed. How would you get in your office then?”

“I’m sure I would have found a way.”

His gaze raked over her. She was wearing a button-down dress today, with long sleeves and a high neck, but he made her feel as if she were in a negligee and little else. “Yes, perhaps you would have.”

“Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” she snapped. “I have work to do.”

He thrust his hands in his pockets and ranged toward her. Her pulse ticked up a level. He was wearing a gray suit with a white shirt that was unbuttoned a couple of buttons. He rarely wore a tie. Which was annoying because she often found herself focusing on that narrow slice of skin revealed in the opening of his shirt.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.