When Christakos Meets His Match Page 2

  Sidonie pursed her lips. She had loved her self-absorbed and endlessly vain mother, who had passed away only a couple of months before, but how could her mother have done this to her sweet and innocent younger sister?

  The never forgotten sting of shame reminded Sidonie all too uncomfortably of exactly how her mother could have done such a thing—as if she could ever really forget. Ruthlessly she quashed it.

  When Sidonie’s father had died a few years before, their comfortable lives had crashed around their ears, leaving them with nothing. Sidonie had been forced to leave her university degree before the start of her final year in order to find work and save money to go back.

  Moving to Paris to live with Tante Josephine had been her mother Cecile’s only option to avoid becoming homeless or—even worse—having to find work. Cecile had not been happy. She’d been used to a life of comfort, relative luxury and security, courtesy of her hard-working husband who had wanted nothing more than to make his wife happy.

  It would appear now, though, as if Sidonie’s mother’s selfish ways had risen to the fore again. She’d encouraged her sister to take out a mortgage on the apartment that had been bought and paid for by her husband because he’d cared for his vulnerable sister-in-law’s welfare. Cecile had used this fact as leverage to persuade Tante Josephine to agree to the remortgage. She’d then used that money, and credit cards in both their names, to spend a small fortune. Tante Josephine now found herself liable for the astronomical bills as the remaining living account-holder.

  Sidonie had to figure out the best way forward to help her aunt—she had no intention of leaving her to fend for herself. The start of the process had been taking on the burden of the debts into her own name. She hadn’t thought twice about doing it—ever since her childhood innocence had been ripped away Sidonie had developed a well-ingrained instinct to cover up for her mother—even now, when she was gone.

  Sidonie was facing the prospect of moving to Paris to help her aunt get out of this crisis. She staved off the sense of panic. She was young and healthy. Surely she could get work? Even if it was menial?

  In a sick way events had conspired to help her—she’d lost her waitressing job in Dublin just before she’d left for Paris to meet with a solicitor to discuss her aunt’s situation. Her restaurant boss had explained miserably that they had gone into liquidation, like so many others. Sidonie was going back to Dublin now—just to tie up loose ends and collect the deposit owed to her on her flat when she moved out.

  Her hands clenched into fists at the thought of how her mother had only ever thought about herself, oblivious to the repercussions of her—

  ‘Here is your seat, sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Sidonie’s thoughts scattered as she heard the exchange above her head, and she looked up and saw a man. She blinked. And blinked again. He was very tall and broad. Slim hips at her eye level. He was taking off an overcoat and folding it up to place it in the overheard locker, revealing a lean, muscular build under a fine silk shirt and jacket. Sidonie was vaguely aware of the way the air hostess was hovering attentively.

  The man said in English, with a seductive foreign accent, ‘I’ve got it, thank you.’

  The air hostess looked comically deflated and turned away. The man was now taking off his suit jacket, and Sidonie realised she was staring—no better than the gaping air hostess. Quickly she averted her head and looked out of the window, seeing nothing of the pewter-grey Parisian spring skies and the fluorescent-jacket-clad ground staff preparing the plane for take-off.

  His image was burned onto her brain. It didn’t help when she felt him take the seat beside her and all the air around them seemed to disappear. And it really didn’t help when his scent teased her nostrils; musky and masculine.

  He was quite simply the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life. Dark olive complexion, high cheekbones, strong jaw. Short dark brown hair. Firmly sculpted masculine mouth. He should have been pretty. But Sidonie’s impression was not of pretty. It was of hard and uncompromising sexuality. Heat. The last kind of person she’d have expected to sit in an economy seat beside her.

  And then he spoke. ‘Excuse me.’

  His voice was so deep that she felt it reverberate in the pit of her belly. She swallowed and told herself she was being ridiculous—he couldn’t possibly be that gorgeous. She turned her head and her heart stopped. His face was inches away. He was...that gorgeous. And more. He looked vaguely familiar and she wondered if he was a famous male model. Or a French movie star?

  Something funny was happening to Sidonie’s brain and body. They didn’t seem to be connected any more. She felt a hysterical giggle rise up and had to stifle it. She didn’t giggle. What was wrong with her?

  One dark brow moved upwards over the most startling pair of green eyes she’d ever seen. Gold and green. Like a lion. She had green eyes too, but they were more blue than green.

  ‘I think you’re sitting on my seatbelt?’

  It took a few seconds for the words to compute, and when they did Sidonie jumped up as if scalded, hands flapping. ‘I’m so sorry... Excuse me... Just let me... It must be here somewhere...’

  Sounding irritated, the man said, ‘Stay still and I’ll get it.’

  Sidonie closed her eyes in mortification, her hands gripping the seat-back in front of her, and she hovered, contorted in the small space, as the man coolly retrieved his seatbelt and buckled it.

  Sidonie sat down again and attended to her own belt. Feeling breathless, and avoiding looking at him again, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I—’

  He cut her off. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it.’

  A flare of something hot lanced Sidonie’s belly. Did he have to sound so curt? And why was she suddenly so aware of the fact that her hair was scraped up into a messy bun, that she had no make-up on, that she was wearing jeans that were so worn there was a frayed hole at her knee and an equally worn university sweatshirt. And her glasses. If Central Casting had been looking for ‘messy grunge student type’ she would have been hired on the spot.

  She was disgusted at herself for letting a man—albeit a man as gorgeous as this one—make her feel so self-conscious. She forced herself to take a deep breath and looked resolutely forward. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she was aware of big, strong-looking hands opening up a tablet computer. Her belly clenched.

  The seconds stretched to minutes and she heard him sigh volubly when the plane still wasn’t moving. His arm nearest to her reached up to push something, and she realised it must have been the call button when the stewardess arrived with indecent haste.

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  Sidonie heard the irritation in his voice. ‘Is there a reason why we’re not moving yet?’

  She looked over and saw only his strong profile and jaw, and even though she couldn’t see it she could imagine the kind of expression he’d be using: imperious. She glanced at the woman and felt sorry for her because she looked so embarrassed.

  ‘I’m not sure, sir. I’ll check right away.’ She rushed off again.

  Sidonie let out a faint snort of derision. Even the stewardess was treating him as if he was some sort of overlord.

  He looked at her then. ‘I’m sorry... Did you say something?’

  Sidonie tried not to be affected by his overwhelming presence. She shrugged minutely. ‘I’m sure we’re just waiting in line to take our slot on the runway.’

  He turned to face her more fully and Sidonie cursed herself. The last thing she needed was his undivided attention on her.

  ‘Oh, really? And what if I have an important meeting to attend in London?’

  Something hot flashed into Sidonie’s veins and she told herself it was anger at his insufferable arrogance. She crossed her arms in an unconsciously defensive move and said in a low voice, ‘Well, in case it’s esca
ped your attention, there are approximately two hundred people on this plane. I’m sure more than one other person has a meeting to make, and I don’t see them complaining.’

  His eyes flashed and momentarily stopped her breath. They were so unusual and stark against his dark skin. He was like a specimen from some exotic planet.

  ‘There’s two hundred and ten, actually, and I don’t doubt that there are many others who have important appointments lined up—which makes my question even more relevant.’

  Sidonie barely registered the fact that he knew exactly how many were on board and bristled at the way his eyes had done that quick sweep up and down her body, clearly deducing that she wasn’t on her way to an important meeting.

  ‘For your information,’ she said frigidly, ‘I have a connecting flight to Dublin from London and I’ll be very inconvenienced if we’re late. But that’s just life, isn’t it?’

  He leant back a little and looked at her. ‘I wondered where your accent was from. It’s intriguing.’

  Sidonie wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, so she clamped her mouth shut. Just then someone dressed in uniform with a cap came alongside their seats and coughed slightly to get the man’s attention.

  Releasing Sidonie from his compelling gaze, the man turned, and the pilot bent down and said discreetly, ‘Mr Christakos, sorry about this delay. It’s beyond our control, I’m afraid... They’ve got a backlog of planes waiting to take off. It shouldn’t be much longer, but we can get your private jet ready if you’d prefer?’

  Sidonie knew her eyes had gone wide as she took in this exchange.

  After a few moments the man said, ‘No, I’ll stay, Pierre. But thank you for thinking of it.’

  The captain inclined his head deferentially and left again and Sidonie realised that her mouth was open. Abruptly she shut it and looked out of the window before the man could see. In her line of vision was a similar plane to theirs, standing nearby, with the distinctive Christakos logo emblazoned on the side, along with a quote from a Greek philosopher. All of Alexio Christakos’s planes sported quotes.

  Alexio Christakos.

  Sidonie shook her head minutely, in disbelief. The man next to her—now on his phone, with that deep voice speaking in a language that sounded like Greek—could not be the owner of Christakos Freight and Travel. That man was a legend. And he would certainly not be sitting beside her, with his long legs constricted by the confines of economy class seating.

  He’d been a case study in their business class at college before she’d had to leave. Astonishingly successful while still disgustingly young, he’d made headlines when he’d cut himself off from his father’s inheritance to go his own way, never revealing to anyone his reasons for doing so.

  He’d then grafted and worked his way up, starting up an online freight company that had blown all of the competition out of the water, and when he’d sold it after only two years he’d made a fortune. It was that early success that had given him the finances to branch out into air travel, and within the space of five years he’d been competing with and beating the best budget airlines in Europe. He had a reputation for treating customers like people and not like herded cattle, which was a trademark of a lot of Christakos’s competition.

  He was also one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe, if not the world. Sidonie was not a gossip magazine aficionado, but after they’d studied his entrepreneurial methods in college she’d had to listen to her fellow classmates wax lyrical about the man, drooling over copious pictures of him, for weeks. With a sinking feeling in her chest, she realised why he looked vaguely familiar. Even though she’d not shared in their collective drooling she’d glanced at a couple of pictures, dismissing him as a pretty boy.

  Now she knew: pretty he was not. He was all male. Virile and potent. She felt like squirming, and she wanted to change seats. She was suddenly acutely uncomfortable and didn’t like to analyse why that might be. She wasn’t used to someone having such an immediate physical effect on her.

  * * *

  The woman in the seat next to Alexio was starting to fidget. He had to curb the urge to put his hand on her thigh to stop her and curled that hand into a fist. She was clearly a nervy sort from the way she’d reacted when she discovered she was sitting on his seatbelt.

  It was intensely irritating to him that he was aware of her at all. That he’d done a minor double-take on hearing her challenge him. He chafed at being in such close confines with another person after years of the luxury of private air travel, but if he wasn’t so damned conscientious...and controlling... His mouth quirked at the thought of the insult that had been hurled his way more than once.

  On the phone, his assistant was informing him of his schedule in London, but Alexio caught sight of a sliver of pale knee peeping out of torn jeans beside him and stifled a snort. Could she be any messier? He’d taken in an impression after exchanging those few words—light-coloured hair, a slim body, pale face, glasses. Voluminous sweatshirt that hid any trace of femininity. And a surprisingly husky voice with that intriguing accent.

  Alexio did not take notice of women who did not dress like women. He had high standards after being brought up by one of the world’s foremost models. His mother had always been impeccably turned out. He frowned. He was thinking of her again.

  Realising the novel fact that he was not actually taking in a word his assistant was saying, Alexio terminated the conversation abruptly. The woman went still beside him and something tensed inside him. He could be on his way to his private jet right now but he’d refused. Again, not like him. But something had stopped him. Something in his gut.

  He glanced over to see that the woman had a capacious grey bag on her lap and was pulling things out of the seat pocket in front of her to put them in haphazardly. Another strike against her. Alexio was a neat freak. She’d pushed her black-framed glasses on her head and his eye was drawn to her hair.

  It was actually strawberry blonde. An intriguing colour. It looked to be wavy and unruly if let loose, and he found himself wondering how long it was when it wasn’t confined in that high bun, with wisps curling against her neck and face.

  Something tightened inside him, down low. Her face, too, was not as unremarkable as he’d first thought. Heart-shaped and pale. He could see a faint smattering of freckles across her small straight nose and it shocked him slightly. It had been so long since he’d been this close to a face without make-up. It felt curiously intimate.

  Her hands were small and quick. Deft. Short, practical nails. And just like that Alexio felt a punch of desire bloom in his gut. It was hot and immediate as he imagined how small and pale those hands would look on his body, caressing him, touching him, stroking him. The images were so incendiary that Alexio’s breath stopped for a moment.

  The girl seemed to have restored her belongings to her bag and now, almost as an afterthought, she took her glasses off her head and put them in too.

  She must be aware of his scrutiny—he could see a flood of red stain her cheeks. And that stunned him anew. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush?

  Alexio leant back slightly, noting that her mouth in profile looked full and soft. Kissable.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ he asked, slightly perturbed that his voice sounded so rough.

  The woman took a breath, making her sweatshirt rise and fall, drawing his eye to the flesh it concealed. He had a sudden hunger to see her. And he wondered about her breasts. That desire increased, shocking him slightly with its force. He’d just left a woman in his hotel suite—what was wrong with him?

  She looked at him and Alexio’s eyes met hers. He sucked in a breath. Without the black-framed glasses they were stunning. Almond-shaped. Aquamarine. Like the sea around the islands in Greece. Sparkling green one second and blue the next. Long dark lashes were a contrast against her pale colouring, and her eyebrows the same
strawberry blonde tone as her hair.

  She looked resolute, her hands gripping her bag, that soft mouth tight now, eyes avoiding his. ‘I’ll move seats.’

  Alexio frowned. Everything in his body was rejecting the notion with a force he didn’t like to acknowledge. ‘Why on earth do you want to move?’

  This was another novel experience—a woman trying to get away from him!

  Alexio settled back further in his seat. The woman opened her mouth again and he saw small, even white teeth. Her two front teeth had a slight gap in the middle. He had the uncanny feeling that he could just sit there and stare at her for hours.

  Now she was blushing in earnest.

  ‘Well, you’re obviously...you know...’ she looked at him now, slightly agonised.

  He quirked a brow. ‘What am I?’

  Her cheeks went an even brighter red and Alexio had to curb the desire to reach out and touch them to see if they felt as hot as they looked.

  She huffed now, impatiently. ‘Well, you’re obviously you, and you have things to do, people to talk to. You need space.’

  Something cold settled into Alexio’s belly and his eyes narrowed. Of course. She’d heard that exchange with the pilot and would have deduced who he was. Still...in his experience once people knew who he was they didn’t try to get away—the opposite, in fact.

  ‘I have all the space I need. You don’t need to go anywhere. I’ll feel insulted if you move.’

  * * *

  Sidonie had to force herself to calm down. What on earth was wrong with her? So what if he was Alexio Christakos, one of the most powerful entrepreneurs of his time? So what if he was more gorgeous than any man she’d ever seen? Since when had she become a walking hormone, anyway? The flight was only an hour. She could handle anything for an hour. Even sitting beside Alexio Christakos.