Page 3 of Beyond Enemy Vows

"No. I wasn't able to make it. I heard my cousin looked beautiful."

"Yes, she did. I absolutely love her."

There's a moment of silence and I can feel his eyes on me, so I take another drink of my champagne and look at him.

"So, Niko Petrou. What are you doing here?"

"Paying respects."

"To my father?"

He shrugs. "Yes. And now, to the woman in the black dress I've been watching all night."

My stomach tightens.

That little line shouldn't work. But it does. It drops my defenses just enough to tempt me closer.

"You always flirt with enemy daughters at parties?"

"Our fathers were friends. Temperamental friends, but still," he says and takes a sip of his drink. "And you're not my enemy," he says smoothly. "So you just have to decide what I am to you."

"Pretty sure you're trouble."

"Not denying it," he says. "But I'm very good at it."

He steps close. Too close.

"Have a drink with me," he says, towering over me.

I blink. "Here?"

He laughs. "When this is over. Somewhere less watched."

My body says yes.

My mouth says, "I can't. I'm flying to Boston in the morning with Keira, and then to Ireland the day after. Her family has a cottage there."

His brows lift. "Ireland? That's a long way to run."

"Who says I'm running?" The challenge comes naturally.

"Your eyes do. What are you looking for out there, Calli?"

"Peace and quiet. Space to breathe and get away from all this," I say, looking around. "Keira and her brother are joining me at the end of the week, but I wanted to go out first."

He looks at me for a moment, studying me.

"Then maybe I'll meet you there. For that drink," he says.

My eyes go wide. "In Ireland? You're kidding."

"I'm not. Text me the address."

I laugh. "Not happening. It's been what? Ten years since I last saw you. I hardly know you, Niko."

He looks down at me, his eyes scanning over my body. "Oh now that's far from the truth. And even so, this will be the perfect chance to get better acquainted.”

He sets his drink down on a nearby table and pulls a pen from inside his jacket, writing his number on a cocktail napkin. "In case you change your mind."