He stopped a few feet away and looked at her. Her world had been reduced to this room, this man and those eyes. And that voice.
‘Lucy, I don’t want to be ruthless about this, and I certainly don’t relish the thought of taking action against you. I want the merger, yes, and I’ll do whatever I need to to protect it and make it happen. But I also want you, and I will do whatever I need to in order to make that happen too.’
Lucy shook her head dumbly, even now fighting. It made something in Aristotle’s eyes flash dangerously. She had thought that someone like him would give up when faced with obstinate resistance, although that assertion was now fast losing ground. She had to acknowledge that he’d most likely rarely, if ever, faced resistance from any woman.
‘You’ve made it quite clear that it is impossible for me to leave.’
That was the understatement of the year. Her conscience mocked her. She should have realised all this at the weekend, but he’d had her head in such a tizzy all she’d been able to think of was getting away from him. She realised now that if she had thought it through she could have done her best to keep him at arm’s length for the duration of the merger and then given her notice—instead of these dramatics, which were so unlike her.
‘I’ll stay for the merger and then I’ll be giving you my notice.’
She would just have to worry about her mother when that happened. She hated the fact that she wasn’t strong enough to try and stay and resist this man indefinitely.
Aristotle just looked at her for a long, heated moment. Lucy saw a muscle throb in his temple and it made her insides quiver like jelly. He reached out a hand and cupped her jaw. Shock and instant heat paralysed her at his touch.
‘Say what you want, Lucy, if it makes you feel better, but know this: we will be lovers. It’s as inevitable as the inclement English weather. There’s something raw and singularly powerful between us and I’ve no intention of letting you go—either in the boardroom or in the bedroom.’
Lucy swallowed painfully. His hand still cupped her jaw, his thumb moving lazily against the sensitive skin under her chin. One thing was certain: if, in some parallel universe, she actually gave in to this man, she had no doubt that far from being given the luxury of giving notice he’d be the one saying goodbye—and so fast that her head would be spinning. Something like four weeks’ notice would be reduced to a mocking sham of a professional nicety.
She hated the fact that it was the thought of that right now that made her feel more vulnerable than even the prospect of the battle to come. One other thing was sure: with every bone and last breath in her body she would resist the seduction of this man. Yet, she had to ask herself inwardly, for someone who prided herself on being frigid, why did it suddenly seem like such an uphill struggle?
A week later.
Lucy sat opposite Aristotle on his private jet as it winged its way to Athens from a stormy London. She could almost believe for a moment that she’d imagined what had happened in his office last week, when he’d declared so implacably that he was determined to have her in his bed.
Since that day when she’d been so firmly put back in her place, her letter of resignation torn up, Aristotle had been utterly consumed with business and preparations for the merger. They’d worked late into the night almost every night, and she’d been in the office most mornings as the cleaners were still finishing up. She’d never been so tired, yet so contentedly exhausted. Despite her trepidation at the undercurrents flowing under the surface, professionally speaking she’d never worked at such a heady pace, nor been entrusted with so much responsibility. The sense of pitting her wits against Aristotle and keeping up with him was exhilarating. She blocked out the snide voice that mocked her with the assertion that work was the only exhilarating thing.
Thankfully she hadn’t had time for much more than falling into bed, snatching some food, and getting up again. The weekend had been a blur of last-minute visits to the office, packing, and a bittersweet visit to her mum, before she’d been collected by Aristotle’s driver that Sunday afternoon. The visit to her mother had been bittersweet because she’d had one of her brief lucid moments, recognising Lucy as soon she’d walked into the private room at the home.
‘Lucy, darling!’
Lucy had had to swallow back a lump as she’d watched her still beautifully elegant mother rise out of her chair by the window to greet her with her usual warm and tactile affection. Lucy had missed it so much. On Maxine’s good days, and obviously this was one, she took care of her appearance. On her bad days Lucy would come in and, if not for the care of the attentive staff, her mother could look as unkempt as a bag lady. It made her heart ache with sadness as her mother had always been so fastidious about her looks.
Lucy had been careful not to let the emotion overwhelm her; these moments of lucidity were growing further and further apart, and she’d have her mother with her for only ten minutes before the inevitable decline came. The sentences would stop and falter, her eyes grow opaque, until finally she’d come to look at Lucy with a completely blank expression and say, ‘I’m sorry, dear, who are you?’
It broke Lucy’s heart to know that there was no point in even trying to explain where she was going, or that she was going to be out of the country for a few weeks. At least she could give thanks for the sterling round-the-clock care she could now afford. It made her attempt to resign from her job seem all the more childishly impetuous now. How could she jeopardise her mother’s security? And yet how could she keep working for Aristotle once this merger was completed?
‘Lucy.’
Lucy’s head jerked round from where she’d been looking out of the window at the sea far below. Aristotle must have called her a couple of times; she could hear impatience lacing his voice. He was looking at her sternly, and at that moment Lucy realised how little space was between them—just a small table. Even as she thought that she felt Aristotle flex a leg and it brushed hers. She froze, all that heat and awareness rushing back, mocking her for believing it might have disappeared under a pile of work.
‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something.’
He quirked a brow. ‘Something more interesting than me? Or this merger? Not possible, surely.’
Lucy froze even more, she couldn’t handle Aristotle when he was being like this … flirty. Yet with a steel edge. She couldn’t imagine him ever being truly light, free and easy. Smiling. He was too driven, intense.
She smiled brittlely, determined that he shouldn’t see his effect. ‘Of course not. How could I?’
At that moment the steward arrived to serve them lunch. Lucy automatically went to clear the table and her hands brushed against Aristotle’s. She flinched back but tried to mask her reaction, a flush rising up over her chest. It would appear their tenuous ‘work truce’ had ended. Tension was a tight cord between them.
Lucy studied her food, a delicious-looking Greek salad and fresh crusty bread.
‘Would you like some wine?’
She looked up to automatically shake her head. Wine on a plane with this man was a recipe for disaster.
‘Some water will be fine, thanks.’
She watched as Aristotle’s lean dark hand elegantly poured himself wine, and then water for her. She muttered thanks and took a deep gulp, hoping it might dampen the flames that were licking inside her.
They ate companionably in silence. It was one of the things that perplexed her about this man. They had moments like this when she could almost imagine that they might be friends. She’d noticed in general that he didn’t feel the need to fill silences with inane chatter, and neither did she. It surprised her to find that in common. In all honesty, if it wasn’t for the great hulking elephant in the