The Millionaire's Virgin

By: Susan Stephens & Lindsay Armstrong & Sophi Weston



‘But?’ he pressed.

‘I’m tired. It’s late. And I’m ready for bed.’

‘So I see.’

His lips tugged up at one corner in a way that made her painfully aware that she was naked beneath her robe. The split second it took to look down to check that the robe was securely fastened was enough for his chauffeur to march past her carrying a hamper. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

Zagorakis stepped forward and barred her way. ‘In here?’ he said, protecting his man’s back by resting one arm against the doorframe of her den.

Lisa’s mouth dropped open. The only thing left for her to confirm, apparently, was the venue for the picnic he had brought with him. ‘You have some incredible nerve—’

‘Please… no more compliments.’ He held up his hands in mock defeat and she had to be prodded twice before Vera could make her presence felt.

‘Hadn’t you better get changed?’ Vera suggested discreetly. ‘You don’t want him guessing you’re naked under there.’

Lisa could see the sense in that. ‘Stay with them, will you, Vera? I’ll be back as quickly as I can.’

Jeans and a T-shirt might have been a practical choice, but smart navy trousers and a tailored white blouse made Lisa feel more in control. The sex-stripping pop socks and boring flat shoes were an inspiration, and, with her hair scraped back into a pony-tail, she was satisfied that she had done everything possible to strip anything lightweight from her appearance. A slick of clear lip-gloss was her only concession— but then she sucked it off again. No point in playing Zagorakis’s game—she’d stick to her own.

The angry words she had been rehearsing all the way down from her bedroom died the moment she entered her den. The room had been transformed. Candles had been lit, and were flickering on every surface. Champagne was cooling in a bucket… and on a low table between the two sofas a platter of fresh seafood emitted a faint, salty tang. Another mouth-watering aroma said the bread in the wicker basket was still warm, and, inside a crystal bowl nestling in a dish of ice, yellow butter pats were asking to be slathered over one of the crisp, golden crusts. And she was hungry—starving, in fact, Lisa realised, praying her stomach wouldn’t rumble.

‘Can I tempt you?’

Transferring her gaze to Constantine Zagorakis’s dark, slanting eyes, Lisa stared at him coldly.

‘A few prawns, perhaps?’ he murmured, reaching for a plate.

He was baiting his hook with a lot more than seafood, Lisa suspected, seeing the smile hovering around his mouth.

‘What’s the matter?’ He put the plate down again.

Lisa had been distracted momentarily. She was sure she had just heard two sets of footsteps leaving the apartment; two voices mingling as the front door closed.

‘Where are you going now?’ he said.

Lisa looked down at the hand on her arm. Zagorakis released her at once. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘I must have been mistaken—’

‘Mistaken?’

‘I thought I heard Vera leaving.’

‘Your housekeeper? You did.’



‘No.’ Lisa shook her head. ‘Vera would have come to say goodnight to me before she left.’

‘Not if she was being discreet.’

‘Discreet?’

His shoulders eased in a shrug. ‘It’s no trouble for my chauffeur to take her home. He passes her door—’

Raising one hand, Lisa silenced him. ‘Let me get this straight. You sent my housekeeper home?’

‘It’s getting late.’

‘I would have called a taxi.’

‘I thought I’d save you the trouble.’

‘Trouble?’ Trouble had come through her door at nine o’ clock that morning and she hadn’t got rid of him yet.

‘That’s all right with you, isn’t it Lisa?’

Lisa? She wasn’t going to let him get to her, even though he was asking one thing while his eyes were suggesting something else. She had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing her shrink from the prospect of being alone with him either. ‘Yes, Tino, that’s absolutely fine with me—’

‘Good.’

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