‘I can’t deny that a high-profile wedding could do wonders for my business. But that’s not why I want to make Larissa’s dress.’ She ignored Loukas’s sceptical expression and leaned across the table, an intent expression on her face. ‘I love what I do. Making wedding dresses isn’t just a job, it’s my passion, and even if Larissa’s wedding was going to be a small affair, with only a handful of guests and no media interest, I’d still be glad that she chose me as her designer.’
She tore the cheque in half and pushed the pieces across the table towards him. ‘I’m not interested in your money. I want to design Larissa’s dress because I like her. We clicked instantly when she came to my studio, and I’m excited about showing her my ideas.’
She met his steel-grey gaze unflinchingly, honesty and a fierce determination to convince him that she was genuine blazing in her eyes. ‘Give me a chance, Mr Christakis, and I promise I won’t let your sister down.’
Her eyes were the cerulean blue of the sky on a summer’s day, Loukas noted. His attention was locked on her lovely face, as if he was in the grip of a sorcerer’s spell and could not look away from her. He was utterly fascinated by her animated features when she spoke, the way she moved her hands in quick, darting gestures to emphasise a point. She reminded him of a beautiful, fragile butterfly—like the ones that often settled on the bougainvillaea bushes growing over the walls of his villa—and he was sure that if he tried to capture her she would fly away and evade him.
Why was he indulging in such fanciful nonsense? he asked himself irritably. He was captivated by Belle Andersen—drawn by some invisible force to lean forward across the table so that his face was inches from hers. She had spoken of passion for her work, but the word evoked an image in his head of her lying on his bed, her slender body naked, her face flushed and her incredible blue eyes darkened with desire.
Her skin was as smooth as porcelain, her soft pink lips—slightly parted, he noted—a temptation he was struggling to resist. The atmosphere between them simmered with sexual tension, and the voices of the other customers in the bar faded and did not impinge on his ferocious awareness of her.
‘Are you married, Ms Andersen?’
Belle blinked, the sound of Loukas’s voice releasing her from the enchantment of his mesmerising sensuality so that she was once more aware of her surroundings. She heard the clink of glasses as a waiter passed by their table, the cry of a gull strutting along the quay.
Dear heaven! She closed her eyes briefly and dragged oxygen into her lungs, her heart hammering. For a few heart-stopping seconds she had thought that Loukas was going to kiss her. His face was so close to hers that when he spoke his breath whispered across her lips, and she imagined him closing the gap between them and slanting his mouth over hers. She felt almost bereft that he had not.
‘No…no, I’m not,’ she mumbled, finding herself reluctant to sit back in her seat and break the tangible, indefinable something that quivered in the air between them. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I wondered whether your passion…’ he hesitated fractionally, his eyes lingering on her mouth ‘…for designing wedding gowns stems from your own experience as a bride.’
Belle shook her head firmly. ‘My passion is for art and creativity. I am inspired by history. At the moment I’m especially influenced by the sumptuous extravagance of the Palace of Versailles at the time of Louis XIV. The château is renowned as one of the most stunning examples of eighteenth-century French art. I’ve visited several times and come away with ideas that I’ve incorporated into my designs. My aspiration is to transform the images in my head and make dresses that are incredibly beautiful, yet wearable. I think a bride needs to feel comfortable on her big day and confident that her dress works on a practical level—’
She broke off and gave a rueful smile when she realised that she had been talking non-stop. ‘There you are,’ she said sheepishly, embarrassed by a display of enthusiasm that she was sure made her sound like a gauche teenager rather than a professional businesswoman. ‘I’m afraid I tend to get carried away by my passion.’
In the silence that followed her words she was aware of the tension that smouldered like glowing embers between her and Loukas, ready to catch light at any moment. Her senses seemed to be attuned to him, so that she was conscious of the faint acceleration of his breathing and the subtle scent of his cologne. Her heart-rate quickened and she could feel her cheeks grow warm, as if molten heat was coursing through her veins. What was the matter with her? she asked herself angrily. She had met attractive men before. But none had ever made such an impact on her as Loukas Christakis.
Belle’s passion for her designing was undeniable, Loukas brooded, unable to tear his eyes from her lovely face. Maybe he should he forget his reservations about employing an unknown designer and trust Larissa’s judgement?
‘How did my sister come to hear of you?’ he asked abruptly.
‘She saw some of my dresses featured in the fashion magazine Style Icon.’
Loukas’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You must be more well-known than I thought if your work caught the attention of the editor of Style Icon. The magazine is reputed to be the world’s top-selling fashion bible.’
‘Well, it was a bit of luck, really,’ Belle explained honestly. ‘My brother was working on a wedding shoot for the magazine. You might have heard of him? Dan Townsend? He’s making quite a name for himself as a fashion photographer. When one of the designers dropped out at the last minute, Dan persuaded the editor of Style Icon to use some dresses from my collection.’
Against his will Loukas found himself intrigued by Belle. Her personal life was of no interest to him, he reminded himself, yet for some inexplicable reason he wanted to know more about her. ‘Why do you and your brother have different names?’
Belle hesitated. There was no shame in admitting the truth, she reminded herself. The fact that she was illegitimate was not her fault. It had been her choice to change her surname by deed poll from Townsend to her mother’s maiden name of Andersen when she had discovered the truth of her identity.
‘We have different fathers.’
It was the one thing that had saddened her when she had learned that John was not her biological father. But Dan had insisted it did not matter. ‘You’re still my sister, even if technically we’re only half-siblings,’ he had told her gently. ‘And look on the bright side—at least you’re not related to the most unpleasant man on the planet. I have to live with the knowledge that because Mum chose to remain married to my father you never knew your father.’
Nor would she ever know now. Her mother had died and taken the identity of the man she had had an affair with to her grave, Belle thought sadly. She had no way of finding out who her real father was, although she had thought about him endlessly during the past three years—since John had made his stunning revelation on the day of her mother’s funeral that she was not his daughter.
If only Gudrun had told her the truth… She quickly blocked off that pathway of thought. It was pointless to feel angry with her mother, ridiculous to feel betrayed by the woman she had adored. Gudrun had obviously believed she was doing the right thing when she had allowed Belle to grow up believing that John Townsend was her father.
But her mother had been forced to make a stark choice, Belle acknowledged. She knew now that John had threatened to deny Gudrun any contact with Dan if she broke up their marriage. He had agreed to bring up the child she had conceived with her lover as his own if she stayed with him.
No woman should ever be faced with the prospect of losing her child, Belle brooded. Gudrun had put her love for her son before her personal happiness, but because of that Belle had endured a miserable