She shook his hand once, then dropped her own back to her side, hiding it behind a fold in her full skirt as she clenched it into a fist, willing the burning sensation to ease.
“I’ll hold you to it, Ms. Carter. And I warn you, I can be a tough taskmaster.”
Her breath caught. “I’m … I can handle you.”
He chuckled, low and dark, like rich coffee. “We’ll see.”
CHAPTER TWO
“ARE you finding the accommodations to your satisfaction, Ms. Carter?”
Jessica whirled around, her heart thudding against her breastbone. Stavros was standing in the hallway of her hotel, a small smile on his face. “I … Yes, very. I didn’t expect to see you here. Today. Or ever.”
He looked around them, as though checking to see if he was in the right place. “This is one of my hotels.”
“Yes, I know, but I assumed …”
“You assumed that I had no real part in the running of my hotels, casinos, et cetera. But I do. In another life I might have been a businessman.” His tone took on a strange, hard tinge. “As it is, I divide my time between being a prince and running a corporation. Both are equally important.”
She tried to smile and took a step back. “So, to borrow a phrase … of all the hotels you own, on all the island, you walk into mine?”
His sensual lips curved upward. It was hard to call it a smile. “Oh, this was calculated, but I also had a business reason for coming by.”
Her stomach fluttered. Down, girl. What was wrong with her? A man hadn’t made a blip on her personal radar for a long, long time. And Stavros was a client.
Anyway, she wasn’t quite through licking her wounds.
The loss of her five-year marriage, and the circumstances surrounding it, had left her feeling far too bruised to jump back into dating. Which had been fine. She’d left her job, poured everything into starting her own company and perfecting her system of matchmaking.
Those who can’t do, teach, those who can’t find a match, match others.
That wasn’t true. She could find a match. Had found one, back when she’d believed in falling in love accidentally with the aid of some sort of magic that might make it stick. As if it were so simple.
And then life had taken her dreams, her hopes, her beliefs and feelings, and it had jumbled them all together until the wreckage was impossible to sift through.
Until it had been much easier to simply walk out of the room and close the door on the mess, than to try and find some sort of order again.
But her ex-husband had no business wiggling into her thoughts. Not now. Not ever, really. That was over. She’d changed.
Her job had always seemed important. At first, being a matchmaker had been all about indulging her romantic streak. She’d been in love with love. With the mystical quality she’d imagined it possessed.
She knew differently now. Knew that relationships were about more than a flutter in your stomach. Now her job seemed essential in new ways. To prove to herself that it could still be real. That people could get married and stay married.
It was almost funny. She created successful relationships, successful marriages. And she went to bed alone every night and tried not to dwell on her broken one.
She’d had mixed success with that. But she’d had phenomenal success with her business. And that was what she chose to focus on.
“All right, what was your reason?” she asked, taking another step back.
“First off, I had to speak to my manager about handling all of the incoming guests for Mak and Eva’s wedding. One of my gifts to them. Putting Mak’s family up in the hotel. He could do it himself, and he’s argued with me about it no end, but I’m insistent.”
“And you do get your way, don’t you?” she asked. She had a feeling he never heard the word no. That if a command was issued from his royal lips everyone in the vicinity hopped to obey him. It wasn’t that he had the manner of a tyrant, but that he had such a presence, a charisma about him. People would do whatever it took to be in his sphere. To get a look from him, a smile.
He was dangerous.
“Always.” The liquid heat in his eyes poured into her, his husky smooth tone making her entire body feel like it was melting. She was pretty sure she was blushing.
Oh, yeah, dangerous didn’t even begin to cover it.
She cleared her throat, “And the other thing?”
“I came to get you. If you’re going to be aiding me in the selection of my future bride, you need to understand me. And in order to do that, you need to understand my country.”
“I’ve done plenty of research on Kyonos and …”
“No. You need to see my country. As I see it.”
She really didn’t relish the idea of spending more time with him. Because it wasn’t really her practice to buddy up to a client, though, knowing them was essential. But mostly because, between yesterday and today, the strange fluttery feeling in her stomach hadn’t gone away. The one that seemed to be caused by Stavros’s presence.
“Are you offering me a tour?” She should say no. Say she had paperwork. Something.
“Something like that.”
“All right.” She wasn’t quite sure how the agreement slipped out, but it had.
Well, it was best to agree with the one who was signing one’s very large check when all was said and done with the marriage business. Yes. Yes, it was the done thing. So she really had no choice but to spend all day in his presence. No choice at all.
“Great. Do you need to get anything?”
“I was ready to go and have some lunch, so I think I’m all set.” Her cherry-red pumps weren’t the best choice for walking, but she’d packed some black ballet flats in her bag for emergencies. And anyway, they were amazing shoes and worth a little discomfort.
His eyes swept her up and down, a lift in his brow.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“What?” she repeated.
He turned and started walking down the hall and she clacked after him. “Why did you look at me like that?” she asked.
“Do you always dress like this?”
She looked down at her dress. White with black polka dots, a red, patent leather belt at the waist. It was one of her favorites, especially with the shoes and her bright red bag. “Like what?”
“Like you just stepped off the set of a black-and-white film.”
“Oh. Yes. I like vintage. It’s a hobby of mine.” One her new financial injection allowed her to indulge in in a very serious way. Her bed might be empty, but her closet was full.
“How do clothes become a … hobby?”
“Because you can’t just buy clothes like this. Well, you can, but they’re reproductions. Which is fine, and I have my share, but to actually get a hold of real vintage stuff is like a game sometimes. I haunt online auctions, charity shops, yard sales. Then there’s having them altered.”
“Sounds like a lot of trouble for secondhand clothes.”
“Possibly fourth-or fifthhand clothes,” she said cheerfully. “But I love the history of it. Plus, they just don’t make dresses like this anymore.”
“No, indeed they