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‘Yet you’re working as a rich man’s servant.’
‘And your point is? You strike me as a pretty rich man yourself, Odysseus.’ Deliberately, she studied the lapel of his handmade suit, her gaze drifting over the exquisite cream shirt and a tie of silk which matched his blue eyes exactly. How dared he look down his privileged nose and startjudgingher? ‘Are you saying you don’t have servants?’
His voice was impatient. ‘That’s different.’
‘How?’ she argued. ‘Don’t I fit your perceived idea of what a servant should be? Wrong age, wrong marital status, wrong shape?’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘But it’s what you meant, isn’t it?’ she demanded. ‘And why wouldn’t I do it when I happen to be very good at it? I really love this city, but I’m sure even you can appreciate how much it costs to live here. I could never afford the market rent but this way I get to live on the Grand CanalandI get paid well.’ She knew she wasn’t providing him with all the facts, but nobody said she had to. She wasn’t going to see him again but she could certainly influence the way he remembered her. A virgin conquest was one thing, but she wasn’t going to come over as some sort of hard-done-byvictim. ‘Youmay live in a lofty ivory tower looking down on the world, Odysseus, but surely you can understand that not all of us do.’
A faint smile tugged at the edges of his lips.
‘Are you suggesting I’m a snob, Grace?’ he questioned softly.
She shrugged. ‘I’ll let you be the judge of that.’
Odysseus met the defiant challenge sparking from her eyes and wondered if she had any idea how much her outspokenness was turning him on, because his great wealth and his power often made women people-pleasers when they were in his presence. But that wasn’t the only thing which was making his blood grow heated. Last night’s attraction had been mutual—a flash of something extraordinary, sharpened by the fact that they had both been dressed as other people. A cocktail of anonymity and flirtation which had gone further than it should have done and had ended all too abruptly.
But today she wasn’t coming onto him one bit and that in itself, was alluring. In fact, she seemed to have gone out of her way to dress in a manner which made her fade into the background and that also set her apart from just about every woman of his acquaintance. Her hair was windswept, her jeans and sweater unremarkable. So why this sudden longing to shove aside the scratched café table and pull her into his arms? Was it the memory of her sweet responsiveness which made him want to behave so uncharacteristically, or because a woman playing hard to get was outside his realm of experience?
He’d been targeted by the opposite sex for as long as he could remember. At fifteen he’d needed to get away from home and the predatory stepmother who had watched him like a dog on heat. He’d found himself a job on a yacht sailing around the Greek islands, and the daughter of the luxury vessel’s owner had watched him with eyes which had been just as hungry. But she hadn’t been married to his father, which meant he was able to consider having sex with the gym-honed heiress.
Yet Odysseus had resisted the pleas to visit her cabin in the dead of night, or to linger when she flaunted her topless body in front of him while her parents were ashore. If anything he had savoured testing his own resolve and witnessing her growing frustration at his resistance. He’d waited until the very last day of his employment, when his pay cheque had been safely in his hand, before taking her down to the beach, where he’d spent the whole night exploring her body beneath the stars.
She had whispered that he was her ‘bit of rough’ and he had stored away that piece of information thoughtfully. She’d gasped into his ear that he was the best lover she’d ever had and he hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he’d been a virgin. But even at the height of his first penetrative orgasm he had remained curiously detached, despite her demands afterwards to know how hefeltabout her. The words she had tried to corral him into uttering had remained unsaid and she had been unable to hide her disappointment.
That had been the beginning of his sexual journey and he had plotted his future course accordingly. Physical satisfaction coupled with an emotional distance were the only things he ever guaranteed and not once had he ever strayed from that path. He chose his lovers carefully. Wisely.
Until now.
‘So Contarini doesn’t know you’re meeting me?’ he questioned.
‘Of course not!’
‘Because you sense he wouldn’t approve?’
‘Something like that.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘His approval naturally being something you always seek?’
‘He’s my boss, Odysseus. He pays my wages. And since he’ll be here long after you’ve flown off into the sunset—’ she put her hands flat on the table, as if she was preparing to lever herself to her feet, and the rogue scarlet fingernail winked at him provocatively ‘—it would be pretty stupid to do something which annoyed him. Jobs like that don’t exactly grow on trees.’
He saw a sudden rush of colour flood into her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to the table, as if she’d said too much, and for a moment Odysseus studied her bent head, his mind a mass of conflicting thoughts.
The best thing would be for him to say goodbye. To take a water taxi to the airport where his plane was waiting and lose himself in work and preparation for his upcoming trip to Tuloranka. But something was holding him back. He felt a rush of desire as potent as a raw slug of retsina and suddenly he gave in to it, let it wash right over him.
‘Turn your hands over,’ he instructed huskily. ‘And look at me.’
Raising her puzzled gaze to his, she nonetheless did as he asked, exposing the palms which last night had pressed hard into his buttocks as she’d urged him even deeper. Was she remembering that, too? Was that why she suddenly bit her lip as a flush of colour spread over her cheeks? He began to trace a slow and deliberate circle over her skin and to anyone watching, it would have appeared to be the most innocent of touches. Yet to Odysseus it felt unbearably sensual. He heard her suck in a shuddered breath and then expel it—a sound of pure capitulation made all the sweeter by her obvious unworldliness. He could see the smoky dilation of her pupils as she fixed him with a bewildered amber gaze.
‘Wh-what are you doing?’ she whispered.
‘I’m reminding you what happens when I touch you. It’s pretty remarkable, isn’t it?’ He paused. ‘Are you as turned on as I am right now, Grace?’
She didn’t answer straight away. Her gaze flickered down to their hands before she lifted her eyes to his once more. ‘You…you know I am,’ she breathed shakily.
Yes, he knew, and for a moment Odysseus cursed the fact that he’d already checked out of his hotel, while she was clearly in no position to take him home. But even if she had been, he was damned if he would ever set foot in his grandfather’s house again. He studied her trembling lips and considered his options. Finding another room wouldn’t be a problem for a man with his connections, despite the fact that it was a busy carnival week. But a snatched afternoon of sex wasn’t what he wanted. After a whole year of self-imposed celibacy, she had awoken his sexual hunger in a way which felt new and raw and urgent. She had set his blood on fire.