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CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU SHOULD BE resting, not worrying about me.’ Theo Savas paced across the theatre foyer, working to keep his concern inaudible. He’d lived with his grandfather since he was ten and this was the first time in the last twenty years the old man had directly referenced something so personal. Revoking this rule wasn’t just unsettling, it was unsafe. ‘You’ve just come through a major operation—’

‘And that’s given me the opportunity to think. It’s time, Theodoros. Your birthday is only a few weeks away.’

The lights above Theo flickered, signalling it was time for guests to take their seats, but he couldn’t end this call without steering Dimitri back to unconcerned calm.

‘Are you suggesting I’m getting old?’ His joke was weak but he’d try anything to defuse his grandfather’s escalating anxiety. Except anxiety was infectious and the vibes coming through the phone were making Theo’s own muscles tense. That was in addition to the latent strain of the actual topic. ‘There’s plenty of time—’

‘At this rate I’ll never meet my great-grandchildren—’

‘You’re not about to die,’ Theo interrupted. He’d ensured Dimitri had been seen by the best specialists and they’d insisted that with quality rest Dimitri should recover well. ‘You’ve years left in you.’

‘I’m serious. You need to settle down…’

‘And I will,’ Theo reassured him softly and rolled his shoulders.

He ached to resist Dimitri’s attempt to add yet another burden of responsibility, yet he couldn’t brush him off.

Distantly he watched the ushers guide the last arriving theatregoers towards the doors. He needed to move if he was going to make it in there. He stepped forward but a whirlwind of a woman swept in front of him, cutting him off. The tall, slender tornado didn’t stop to say sorry, indeed she didn’t even see him screech to a halt to stop himself smacking into her. She just kept searching her cavernous handbag while racing towards the usher.

‘How about Eleni Doukas? She’s beautiful.’

Theo inwardly shuddered. Was Dimitri suggesting a woman for him?

‘Don’t you like very beautiful women?’ Dimitri added.

Theo bit back a grimace. Sure, he liked women—beauty being only one of their attractions. But most women he met wanted vastly more than what he was prepared to give.

‘Or Angelica.’ His grandfather offered another contender for his consideration. ‘She would be suitable. You’ve not seen her in years.’

Theo had reasons for that. Ironically they were the exact reasons his grandfather would probably welcome. Cultured, well-educated, perfectly connected Angelica had made it clear she’d accept marriage and produce four children while turning a blind eye to extra-marital affairs. But Theo would never be unfaithful and he’d never accept infidelity from his wife either. He knew too well the blisters, welts and scars that such affairs inflicted. The fact was that while Angelica had offered herself as the ultimate convenient wife, while it was the sort of arrangement Theo ought to accept, and while it was certainly what those in his milieu expected him to accept, the prospect of any matrimonial arrangement at all appalled him.

But Dimitri didn’t need to know that.

‘It has been a while…’ Theo murmured, agreeing in order to soothe.

His gaze locked on the scene unfolding outside the theatre door. The blind-haste brunette was still rummaging in her bag. Unlike most of the women present, she wasn’t wearing a shimmering gown. Instead black slim trousers encased her long, long legs. He focused on her feet and saw black flats—so, unaided by towering heels, that striking height was all her own? Interest rippled through him like the faintest breeze bringing relief on a hot summer’s noon. She wore a black wool cardigan beneath which a grey blouse was buttoned to the neck. The dull combination gave nothing away of her figure, other than that she was slender. But it was her expression that pushed him closer.

She was still searching through her bag while casting desperate glances at the unmoved usher and as Theo neared he heard her talking endlessly in a hushed, frantic whisper. Was she trying to buy time? Faking her way in? She was doing a good job because she tugged something even in Theo’s safely entombed heart. Her eyes glimmered with suspicious brightness and her cheeks paled as the doors further along from hers were shut.

‘If not Angelica—’

‘Arrange it,’ Theo decisively interrupted Dimitri. The thought of some possible bride parade was crazy, but he’d consent just to give Dimitri something to look forward to.

He walked towards the pair standing at the last open door to the theatre. The woman had whitened beyond pale and interesting. Any more loss of blood and she’d faint. The honest entreaty in her expression lanced through him. Not faking. Mortified.

‘Introduce me to your three top picks,’ he authorised his grandfather.

‘You’re serious?’ Dimitri wheezed.

‘Yes.’ Theo sighed, serious about meeting them, but not about marrying any. ‘You’re tired and worrying.’ And the old man was bored with being bedridden. At the very least this would give him something satisfactory to think about for the rest of the evening. ‘Make the arrangements.’

If it would settle the old man’s pulse, then he’d handle a couple of weekends being polite to houseguests. The nurse had warned his grandfather might experience a period of feeling low—apparently it sometimes followed lifesaving surgery. Theo would do almost anything to lift his spirits.

‘I’m flying home first thing so I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk more about it then, I promise. I need to work now.’

‘Good, Theodoros,’ his grandfather muttered huskily. ‘Thank you.’

Theo paused, an arrow of discomfort silencing him. Usually Dimitri was all steel—unblemished and immoveable, capably tolerating the burning heat of business, but today, in revealing his wishes for Theo to find a wife? Dimitri discussing any kind of relationship rang Theo’s warning bell, reminding him that Dimitri was more vulnerable than he appeared. And his grandfather didn’t need to thank him, Theo was the one who owed. Everything.

‘It’s all right.’ He cleared his own husky throat. ‘Sleep well.’

He ended the call and walked the last few paces of the foyer. As the main financial backer for this ballet production, he’d been given the best seat in the house. Which, if he wasn’t mistaken, he’d just forfeited because the usher had closed the door with brutal finality.

If he’d walked a little faster, he might’ve made it but he was still distracted by that trouble in the form of a tall brunette. And he badly needed a moment of distraction.

‘I’m so sorry.’ She pleaded with the usher as she swept back behind her ear a tendril that had loosened from the long braid that hung down her back. Her eyes were very large and very worried and she desperately ransacked her bag yet again. ‘I had it, I promise I had it—’

‘I’m sorry, ma’am.’ The usher stood, an impenetrable force, in front of the shut door. ‘But without your ticket…’

Leggy Brunette’s slender shoulders slumped. ‘Yes, of course. It’s just that…it was in here.’ She searched her trouser pockets, then glanced around the floor as if somehow her ticket would materialise. ‘I promise I had it…’

‘Unfortunately it’s too late.’ The usher brusquely ended the conversation.

Hunching as if to hide, Leggy Brunette turned away, the curve of her pretty mouth dropping.

‘Problem?’ Theo stepped sideways, into her path.

She glanced up at him absently, then stopped dead. Her eyes widened and her second glance turned into a shocked stare. Theo happily stared back.

Her eyes were more than blue, they had a hint of pale purple, and he took another step closer on auto. ‘You couldn’t find your ticket?’

She shook her head and kept staring.

Theo couldn’t hold back a small smile. Apparently she couldn’t find her voice either. He was used to getting a reaction from women, but rendering one speechless?

At least some colour was flooding back into her face. But suddenly she swallowed and turned away. He couldn’t resist following. She stopped at the nearest table and, amused, he watched as yet again she fruitlessly searched her bag. He caught a glimpse of something bulky in its depths, surely not a blanket?

‘You know, they’ll never let anyone in late,’ he said softly to let her down gently. ‘They won’t interrupt the performance once it’s begun.’

She dropped her hands and darted another glance at him. ‘I know.’ Her voice was adorably husky with her English accent soft and clear. ‘It’s just that I had it.’

And she really wanted to watch the ballet? Her ticket loss was definitely genuine. Her sharp disappointment nicked his skin and the absurd desire to see her smile slid into his blood.

‘Oh, Mr Savas.’ The theatre usher suddenly appeared at his side, looking flustered. ‘I can sneak you in if you’d like to follow me quickly…’

For a split second his eyes met those lavender-blues and he watched the consternation bloom within them.

‘I wouldn’t want to interrupt the rest of the audience,’ he dismissed the usher’s invitation smoothly. ‘But thank you anyway.’

The usher beat a hasty retreat and Theo faced Leggy Brunette.

‘No one gets in late unless they’re ridiculously rich?’ she muttered, soft reproach in her expression.

Uh… Yeah. ‘I have a spare ticket you can use for the second half,’ he murmured impulsively.

She looked away again as if the sight of him somehow hurt her unusual eyes. ‘Um…’ She fiddled with the strap of her insanely huge bag. ‘That’s really kind of you, but I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’ he asked. He wanted her to say yes and Theo was pretty used to getting what he wanted these days. ‘It’s a spare ticket,’ he reiterated. ‘You can still see the entire second half.’

Her hand twisted in the strap while more colour rose in her cheeks. He knew she was tempted, but wary.

‘There’s no trick,’ he reassured softly. ‘Just a ticket.’

She drew her lower lip between her teeth and bit down on it. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really.’ He chuckled. People didn’t usually dilly-dally about taking things from him. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

That colour swarmed more deeply and she quickly glanced past him. ‘You…don’t have a date you’re here with?’

Was that the reason for her incredulous expression? He suppressed another smile. ‘No. Do you?’

‘No.’ She shook her head quickly.

Satisfaction surged with surprising force. ‘Then I guess it’s meant to be, right?’

‘I…’ She paused. ‘Right.’

‘And now we might as well have a drink while we wait, don’t you think?’ He nodded towards the gleaming theatre bar, his body thrumming with anticipation.

She turned to face him, her lavender eyes gazed directly into his and her chin lifted with a little pride. ‘May I get you a drink, to say thank you?’

For a second Theo was bereft of speech. The women he dated never offered to pay. They knew him, knew how wealthy he was and they were happy to meld into his lifestyle. But his brunette in distress had no idea who he was and apparently had no desire to just take whatever she could from him.

‘Please,’ she added. ‘I wouldn’t want to feel indebted to you.’

Indebted by a mere ballet ticket? That thread of sensual awareness tightened. Was she worried he’d ask her to pay him back in some nefarious way? Well, she could remain calm, Theo had never needed to coerce a woman in his life. He might have money, but he wasn’t spoiled and he’d never presume.

‘Okay,’ he said equably, but then couldn’t resist teasing her prim dignity. ‘But are you sure you have your wallet on you? You wouldn’t want to make offers you can’t fulfil.’

‘Very funny.’ Sparks lit her lavender eyes, but then her expression wrinkled. ‘Damn it, you’ve made me need to check now.’ She rummaged in her bag again—were those chopsticks in there? But then she extracted a small coin purse with a flourish. No sleek leather wallet filled with elite credit cards for her.

‘I knew I had it,’ she said victoriously. ‘But I swear I had the ticket too.’ She groaned ruefully. ‘What an idiot.’ A sudden little giggle bubbled out.

To his astonishment, his whole world narrowed until he saw only her—sparkling eyes and pretty lips and delight—and he found himself smiling back at her. Frankly it was the most he’d smiled in months.

‘How about you go ahead and order?’ he suggested huskily. ‘I need a second to arrange the seat with the staff.’

‘What would you like to drink?’

‘You choose.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ll have whatever you’re having.’

‘Are you sure you want to risk that?’ she asked, her expression wrinkled again.

‘Why?’ He was surprised into another smile. ‘Now I’m intrigued. Quick, go decide for the both of us.’

He couldn’t resist watching her walk towards the bar. He really was intrigued—she was a contrary mix of shy and awkward and assured. Tall, slender, feminine and acutely refreshing. Just the tonic given the last two months of stress, isolation and uncertainty. But she was definitely cautious and perhaps she was right to be, given his inner temptation was to skip the ballet altogether and carry her back to his bed for the night. He’d worship those long limbs and work very hard to put a smile on her pillowy pout…

So not appropriate. Or normal. Not for him. He’d never followed in the footsteps of his playboy father and he never wanted to. He shook off that outrageous whisper of sin and strode towards the theatre staff. One drink, then it was back to duty.

When he walked back to the bar she was sitting all alone with two tall glasses in front of her and quite obviously trying not to appear self-conscious.

He placed the ticket on the bar beside the two drinks and lifted one. ‘All arranged.’

He needed the drink. But on swallowing he quickly stifled his immediate grimace and subsequent smile. This sour fiery stuff wasn’t quite the champagne he’d been expecting. At first glance he’d guessed she’d be a sweet romantic—sensitivity and shy awkwardness were obvious in her eyes. But then she came out with a line of soft-spoken sarcasm, a penchant for rocket fuel as an aperitif and a self-deprecating giggle that stole a rare smile from him.

‘Thanks,’ she said to him earnestly. ‘That’s so kind of you.’

Oddly he didn’t want her to think he was kind. He wanted a bit more of a reaction than that. He wanted…he paused to battle the full force of what he wanted…but, yeah, it was pretty much everything he shouldn’t want. It was everything illicit.

Leah Turner sipped her drink, stifling the urge to surreptitiously pinch herself. This kind of thing never happened to her. Somehow the most gorgeous guy had intercepted her during her most humiliating moment and gallantly turned her disappointment into something else altogether. And, man, he was gorgeous. Tall, lean, muscular, powerful, he exuded a sensual magnetism that was beyond normal. She’d most certainly never felt sexual attraction from one look. He was so dazzling it was hard to think and she wasn’t sure what she was more rapt about—not missing the entire ballet, or stealing a few minutes of this man’s time.

Because those eyes of his? Green eyes were usually a mix of colours—green mixed with blue or hazel, or bronze. But his were pure forest green. So rare, so startling, she had to constantly tell herself not to stare at him. She tried to stare at her glass instead, but only lasted a mere second before lapsing and gawping at him again. ‘You’re important around here?’

‘No.’

She didn’t believe him. She’d watched him speak with the theatre manager and that woman had been all deferential smiles and soothing words. He held more than charm. He held power. Hell, he’d made Leah feel as if she’d done him a favour by saying yes to taking the ticket.

He smiled and there was something a little dangerous in it. ‘Why are you here alone?’

His accent curled her toes and made her an appalling cliché. She had no idea what the mix was, but it melted her like a lonely snowflake on a sunny windowsill.

‘I’m not.’ She lifted her chin. ‘My friend is already here, but she’s onstage.’

‘She’s a dancer?’

‘Yes. She sent me the ticket but I was running late because I’d stopped to help Maeve with something.’

‘Maeve?’

‘One of the residents at the care home I work at. She’s lovely and we bond over—’ Leah paused, realising she was prattling. ‘Over stuff,’ she finished. He didn’t need to know about her new job and the people she’d already fallen for. ‘Why were you running late?’

‘I was on a call.’

‘Girlfriend problems?’ she guessed, cheekily personal but it just had to be the case. ‘Is that why you’re alone? Did she stand you up?’

His eyebrows lifted in a quizzical look.

‘What—you’re never stood up?’ she asked before thinking, of course, he wasn’t.

‘No girlfriend.’ That gorgeous smile crept across his face as if he were pleased to be able to correct her. ‘That’s the real problem. According to my grandfather anyway.’

‘You were talking to your grandfather?’ She was surprised. ‘He wants you to settle down?’

He nodded mock seriously. ‘And provide heirs to the family fortune.’

For certain there was a family fortune. His suit was so beautifully fitting it had to be tailor-made and the gleaming watch on his wrist screamed luxury style. ‘You don’t want to do that?’

‘Not yet,’ he said, obviously and unashamedly repelled by the idea.

‘Yet?’ she queried doubtfully because that wicked light in his eyes made her laugh. There was too much fun to be had first, clearly. How could he not be a playboy? All the women who’d want him, it’d be too easy. But she played along. ‘Because you have too much to do? Too busy with work? Too many other options?’

‘None of the above.’ He chose another answer altogether. ‘Hence no date to the ballet…’

‘I don’t believe you’re out of options,’ she said. ‘You’ve chosen not to bring a date.’ She cocked her head. ‘Because you don’t want to settle down at all?’

He met her gaze with knowing amusement.

She shook her head sadly. ‘Why do I get the feeling your poor grandfather is going to be waiting a while…’

He rolled his shoulders and his amusement faded as something far more serious flickered in his eyes. ‘He’s been unwell—this is preying on him. Hence the lecture.’

Leah watched him blink away that sliver of pain. That he’d not ended the call soon enough to get into the theatre showed he had patience and loyalty and respect for his relative.

‘Family expectations can be hard,’ she offered with soft honesty. ‘I’m an eternal disappointment to mine.’

He looked back into her eyes and they were held for a moment—silent scrutiny, total awareness—and she was struck by the conviction there was much more buried beneath his perfect surface.

‘I don’t believe you’d ever be a disappointment,’ he finally muttered—so low and so serious that she couldn’t smile and shake it off.

Instead a heated flush swept over her skin and she swallowed back the hard lump that had formed in her throat. ‘Well, you’d be wrong.’

He gazed at her for another moment of that unspoken communication—the deeply guarded truth, not the superficial denial that there was anything wrong.

Then he blinked and his lips twitched. ‘Your family want you to marry too?’

Laughter burst out, breaking that intensity. She shook her head.

‘Quite right, it’s a dreadful idea,’ he teased.

‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘It isn’t—’

‘You’re wrong.’ He saluted her with his drink again. ‘All marriages end up miserable.’

‘Wow…is that what happened to you?’

He almost choked on his drink and then laughed. ‘Not married. Never married. Never will marry.’

Yes, the only ring in his world was the ring of finality.

‘Because…’ She inhaled deeply as she studied him thoughtfully. ‘Parents?’

He flashed a look at her—pure pain, pure denial, pure promise of retribution.

‘Yeah,’ she murmured meekly. ‘Poor grandfather.’

‘You think I’m that predictable.’ He took another sip.

‘I think that everyone feels pain, sometimes,’ she said. ‘And often the people who inflict the most pain are the people we’re meant to be closest to.’

‘I’m not close to them,’ he said softly, then forced another smile. ‘So, tell me about your dancer friend. Is it her debut?’

‘No, it’s just that I’ve only recently moved to London so I haven’t been able to see her perform until tonight.’ She shifted guiltily on her chair as she remembered. ‘And now I’ve missed her.’

‘Only the first half. And she doesn’t need to know you’ve missed that.’

‘You think I should lie to her?’

He smiled at her as if she were a timid little lamb. ‘You’re omitting a little of the truth. That’s not a lie.’

‘Of course it’s a lie,’ she corrected him flatly. ‘It’s not completely honest.’

‘And we should always be completely honest?’ He shook his head and laughed openly.

‘You think I’m wrong?’

‘Naïve, perhaps.’ He leaned closer. ‘Sometimes telling the truth serves no purpose. When it can only hurt the person who has to hear it, why would you?’ He broke off with a sharp breath.

She had the feeling he wasn’t thinking of her little ‘missing the first half’ mistake any more.

‘So you’d omit the truth, or tell a lie, to protect someone?’ she asked.

‘Of course.’

He said it with such quiet certainty, she knew he had and did. She thought of the grandfather all over again and wondered what it was he protected him from.

That quizzical look lit his eyes again. ‘What would hurt your friend more? Knowing you missed the first half, or never knowing you missed it?’

‘If she ever found out I lied, that would hurt her the most. But if I tell her the truth, she’ll just laugh at me.’

He stilled, his gaze keen on her. ‘And that doesn’t hurt you?’

She shrugged. ‘My crime isn’t that critical and I’m already laughing at myself.’ She eyed him. ‘We can laugh together. Sharing pain takes some of the sting out of it, doesn’t it?’

‘Not always.’

‘Hmmm.’ She pondered it. ‘The problem is, one omission inevitably leads to more lies—she’ll ask what I thought of something in the first half and I’d have to lie then.’

‘Or you could just not talk about it at all.’

She laughed. ‘So your solution is to just bury everything and live in total denial? Pretend nothing bad ever happened?’ She leaned closer. ‘It’ll only come back to haunt you.’

‘Don’t tell me you believe in ghosts.’

‘Well, I believe some things—feelings mostly—can’t stay buried. They rise like zombies and eat your brain to the point where you can’t think clearly any more.’ It happened to her frequently.

‘So you always act on your emotions?’ he queried. ‘Act on gut feelings rather than with rational thought?’

She sighed. ‘I’m human. I try to be a good one and not hurt others.’

‘So honesty it is?’

‘Ideally, yes.’

‘Ideally.’ He sent her an indulgent smile. ‘So how, ideally, will your friend react?’

‘I know she’ll laugh. It’s not the first time I’ve messed up.’

‘You’ve known her a while?’

‘We grew up in the same town and were in ballet class together.’

‘But you don’t dance any more?’

‘My passion outweighed my talent.’

‘Surely passion’s the most important ingredient?’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Talent without passion is nothing. Skills can be learned, passion can’t.’

‘Well, that may be so, but I’m already taller than average.’ She shrugged, long skilled at masking her self-consciousness about it. ‘Put me in pointe shoes and I tower over most men.’

It wasn’t the only reason she’d quit, but he didn’t need to know anything more about her constant inability to meet her parents’ expectations.

‘Is that why you wear flat shoes now? So you’re not taller than your men?’

Her men? She choked back a laugh at the thought. ‘I wear them because they’re comfortable. I dress to please myself, not some man.’

He grinned appreciatively. ‘Sure. But you’re not taller than me. You could wear high heels when we go out.’

‘I’m not going out with you.’

‘Aren’t we out right now?’ he teased.

She shook her head. ‘By accident, not design.’

‘So wouldn’t you go out with me if I asked?’