Sold to the Enemy Page 17

‘How did you end up such an optimist with a father like yours?’

  ‘I refused to believe that all men were like my father. I knew they couldn’t be—especially after I met you. I believed in something better and I wanted that. Why would someone want to repeat the past when the future can be so much better?’

  His lips were on hers. ‘You are an inspiration, koukla mou.’

  ‘Not really.’ She melted under his touch. ‘I’m just trying to have the life I want. Which probably makes me horribly selfish.’

  ‘Then we’re a perfect match, because you know I don’t think of anyone but myself.’

  But he was smiling as he said the words and so was she, because the happiness was too big to keep inside.

  ‘You kept shutting me out.’

  ‘You were so affectionate. So open. I kept shutting you out and when you said those words I panicked.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’m not panicking now.’ He trailed his fingers down her cheek. ‘So any time you want to say them again, that would be good.’

  She smiled again. ‘What words?’

  ‘Now you’re torturing me, but I suppose I deserve it.’

  ‘I’m not torturing you—’ she wrapped her arms round his neck ‘—I just don’t know which words you mean.’

  ‘You’re a wicked tease.’ His mouth was hot on hers and she gasped as he lifted her onto the table.

  ‘Any moment now thirty people are going to walk into this room.’

  ‘Then you’d better say those words fast—unless you want to say them in front of an audience.’

  ‘Which words?’

  He cupped her face. ‘The ones where you tell me how you feel about me.’

  ‘Oh, those words.’ She loved teasing him. ‘I’ve forgotten how to say them because you didn’t want to hear them. They’ve vanished from my brain.’

  ‘Selene—’

  ‘I love you.’ For the first time she said it freely, and she smiled as she did so because it felt so good to be truly honest about her feelings. No more hiding. No more pretending. ‘I really love you and I’ll always love you.’

  They kissed, lost in each other, until they heard applause and both turned to see a crowd in the doorway led by Maria, who was smiling. Behind her stood Takis, Kostas and all the other members of Stefan’s senior team.

  Blushing, Selene slid off the table and Stefan muttered under his breath.

  ‘What does a guy have to do to ensure privacy round here?’

  ‘We came to congratulate you.’ Maria produced two bottles of champagne which she put on the table and then turned to hug Selene. ‘I’m so delighted. I know it’s a little early in the day, but we thought it was appropriate to celebrate the occasion with champagne.’

  Stefan eyed the bottles with incredulity. ‘You shouldn’t even have been aware of the occasion. Were you listening at the door?’

  ‘Yes.’ Maria was unapologetic.

  Takis eyed his boss cautiously and then slid into the room, put a tray of glasses on the table and hugged Selene, too.

  Choked, Selene hugged them both back. ‘Thank you for watching over me and being so kind.’

  ‘If everyone could stop hugging my future wife,’ Stefan drawled, ‘I’d quite like to hug her myself. But it appears I no longer have any influence in my own office.’

  ‘This is a special occasion, boss,’ Takis muttered, releasing Selene. ‘Some of us had given up on ever seeing this day.’

  Unbelievably touched, Selene slid her hand into Stefan’s as his executive team piled into the room. ‘This is so great! Can we open the champagne? I always wanted to live a champagne lifestyle—although preferably without the headache.’

  Takis reached for the nearest bottle. ‘Champagne in a breakfast meeting. A typical working day in the Ziakas Corporation.’

  Stefan rolled his eyes. ‘Clearly you’ve never seen what happens to Selene when she drinks champagne.’

  ‘I’m lovely when I drink champagne—and anyway I have Takis to extract me from danger.’

  ‘That’s my job now. I’m signing on full-time.’ Stefan pulled her back into his arms and kissed her, ignoring their audience. ‘Which is just as well if you intend to go through life with a glass of champagne in your hand.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Good things happen when I drink champagne. You know that.’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes glittered into hers. ‘I do.’

  There was a thud as the champagne cork hit the ceiling, and Selene beamed as Takis handed her a glass of champagne. ‘We have four advertising agencies sitting in the lobby, waiting to pitch to us. They’re going to think we’re very unprofessional.’

  ‘They can think what they like.’ Stefan tapped his glass against hers and bent his head to gently kiss her mouth. ‘Just this once I’m mixing business with pleasure.’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.

  No one should have to put up with that.

  Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.

  She needed that job.

  Needed it.

  Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.

  It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.

  No!

  She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to the bailiffs but her father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!

  Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.

  There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.

  It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.

  None.

  Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.

  Per month!


  Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.

  She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a table near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.

  ‘What can I get you?’ Allegra was about to order a glass of house wine, or maybe just ask if they could do her a pot of tea and a sandwich, because she really ought to try a couple more job agencies, but hell, a girl could only take so much rejection in one day and she may well be living off tea and sandwiches for a long while yet!

  ‘A bottle of Bollinger please.’ It was an extravagant gesture for Allegra, an unusual one as well. She was extremely careful with her pay cheque, saving twenty percent to put towards her first mortgage before it even hit her account, determined never to be like her family—but where had that gotten her?

  The waitress didn’t bat an eye; instead she asked how many glasses.

  ‘Just the one.’

  She was given a little bowl of nuts too!

  ‘Celebrating?’ the waitress asked as she poured her drink.

  ‘Sort of,’ Allegra admitted, and then, left alone, she decided that she was. For months she had put up with her boss’s thinly veiled leers and skin-crawling comments. It was worth celebrating just to finally be past all that, so she raised her glass to the window, in the general direction of her old work place.

  ‘Cheers!’

  As she turned she caught Mr. Gorgeous watching her—not staring, just idly curious—and she couldn’t blame him for that. After all, she was raising a glass to the window. She gave him a brief smile and then turned back to her thoughts, took out a pen and the notebook and list of contacts that she always carried and set about making copious lists, determined, determined, that by the end of the week she would be back in work.

  Halfway down the bottle and she didn’t feel quite so brave. If anything, half a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach had her emotions bubbling and she was dangerously close to tears, especially when the waitress came over.

  ‘You didn’t sign the register when you came in,’ the waitress said, and even before she continued Allegra knew what was coming and inwardly flinched as realization dawned. ‘You are a member, aren’t you?’ She felt a blush spread on her cheeks. Of course it was a private club that she’d entered, not some bar she’d just wandered into, and just as she was about to apologise and fling down her fifty-pound note and flee, a voice that was as pleasing as its owner saved her the embarrassment.

  ‘Why are you hiding there?’ A deep warm voice had both Allegra and the waitress turn around and she found herself looking now into the eyes of the pensive stranger—very brown eyes that stayed steady as hers blinked in confusion. He turned and addressed the waitress. ‘Sorry, she’s my guest. I’ll sign her in in a moment.’ The waitress opened her mouth to say something—after all, Allegra had been sitting there alone for a good half an hour or so and he had made no effort to join his guest—but perhaps he was a favourite customer, or maybe it was just his impressive stance, because, without comment, the waitress left them to it.

  ‘Thanks,’ Allegra said as he took a seat in front of her. ‘But no thanks. I’ll just settle my bill….’ She went to go, but as he moved to stop her, his hand reaching across the table, she shot him a look that told him unwelcome contact would be a very foolish mistake on his part. Given the day she’d had, Allegra had enough pent-up energy to give this stranger a little piece of her mind.

  ‘As I said, thank you, but no thank you.’

  ‘At least finish your drink,’ said the stranger. ‘It would be a shame to waste it.’

  It would be a crying shame actually.

  Maybe she could take it with her, Allegra thought wildly, having visions of herself walking down the street, half-drunk bottle in hand, bemoaning her situation. She found herself smiling at the very thought—not smiling at him, of course, except he interpreted it as such, because he clicked slender fingers in the direction of the bar and summoned another glass. Allegra sat bristling as the waitress poured him a glass of her champagne.

  ‘I’m just trying to enjoy a quiet drink alone,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘Then sign in,’ he suggested.

  ‘Ha, ha!’

  ‘Or,’ he offered, ‘you can be my guest, which means you sit with me. I wouldn’t hear of it otherwise.’ She couldn’t place his accent. He spoke English terribly well; in fact, his voice was clipped and well schooled, unlike Allegra’s rather more London accent, but there was a slight ring to it, Spanish or Italian perhaps. She was determined not to stay long enough to find out.

  ‘Anyway,’ he carried on despite her lack of response, ‘you don’t look as if you are enjoying it. In fact, apart from the small salute to the window you seem as miserable as I am.’ She looked at him and saw that the impressive suit he was wearing wasn’t just dark, it was black, and so, too, the tie. Not just from the attire, but from the strain on his face, he had clearly come from a funeral. Now he was close, she could smell him—and he smelt nothing like the usual man in a bar. It wasn’t just the delicious hint of cologne that was unusual; he actually smelt of clean—there was no other way to describe it. His eyes were clear and bizarrely she felt herself relax just a little, for this was surely not a man who usually pressed attention, and it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else that she needed to be.

  ‘Are you usually so invasive?’

  He thought about it for a moment. ‘No.’ He took a sip of drink and seemed to think about it some more. ‘Never. I just saw you looking so fed up and then when the waitress came over I thought…’

  ‘That you’d cheer me up?’

  ‘No.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘I thought we could be miserable together. Don’t look, but there are a group of women…’ He gestured his head and as instructed she didn’t look, but she knew who he meant. She’d heard their flirting laughter, and had easily guessed it was aimed towards him. ‘One of them in particular seems determined to join me.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d have no trouble at all fighting off unwelcome attention.’ Unlike me, she didn’t add, but then she wasn’t particularly used to men vying for her attention—well, not gorgeous ones anyway. But knowing how to deflect unwelcome attention was surely a prerequisite to him stepping out on the street, because wherever he went he surely turned heads.

  ‘Normally, I have no problem.’ He didn’t say it in arrogance, merely stated the fact. ‘Just today.’ She looked at his suit. ‘I was just trying to have a drink, to think, to have some silence, perhaps the same as you….’ And while she’d have chosen to have some peace, she’d settle for silence too.

  ‘Okay.’ She gave a begrudging smile. ‘I can manage silence.’

  He must be someone, because all she had been given was a small bowl of nuts, but now that he’d joined her she was treated to lots of little bowls of goodies. She didn’t care if she looked greedy; the rumble in her stomach reminded Allegra that she hadn’t eaten since the slice of toast she’d had while dashing to the Underground some seven hours ago.
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  ‘I’d better sign you in,’ he said. ‘I’m surprised you got to a table. They are normally very…’ He didn’t finish, but the insinuation that she didn’t belong had her blushing to her roots.

  ‘Particular!’ Allegra finished for him, and again she went to reach for her bag. She did not need his charity and certainly not his insults. Today really wasn’t proving to be the best.

  ‘Thorough.’ He actually smiled at her indignation, a lovely smile that suited him—the very first smile from him that she had seen—and it changed him, changed those haughty, guarded features in a way she rather liked. It was a small smile, not a wide one, a smile she somehow knew was one that was rarely shared. It had to be rare, she figured, because the effect was completely devastating. It fostered awareness, made even listening somehow terribly difficult, because what had offended just a moment before hardly mattered a jot as he spoke on. She had to remind herself that a few seconds ago she’d been rather disgruntled, had to force herself to not sit there like an idiot and smile back. ‘I meant that they are usually very thorough.’

  ‘You’re forgiven then.’ And despite her best intentions, Allegra realised she was smiling back.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Allegra,’ she said. ‘Allegra Jackson. Two l’s.’

  ‘I’m Aless…’ He hesitated, just for a second. ‘Alex.’

  And she watched as he headed off, breathed a little sigh of relief, because normally when she said her name there was a frown, or a little flare of recognition. Her family managed to hit the newsstands with alarming regularity, and even though she was, in the main, left out of the scandal and gossip they all generated, her rather unusual first name, combined with the surname of Jackson generally led to the inevitable… ‘Are you Bobby Jackson’s daughter?’

  He headed over to the book and signed her in in the guest column. He’d almost given his real name. It wasn’t exactly a secret but in general, and especially in London, he went by Alex Santina, businessman extraordinaire, not HRH Crown Prince Alessandro Santina. He guessed the slip-up was because he’d been sitting there thinking about Santina, thinking about the angry discussion he’d recently had with his father. He was tired too, Alex realised, and that was unusual, for fatigue was a rare visitor for him. But lately he’d felt it, and today, standing in that church, it had washed over him and literally drained him. He did not recognise that he was upset; funerals did not upset him and he had attended many. He’d hardly known Charles after all.