The Greek Bridegroom

‘The roses are for you. I suggest you read the card.’

Rebekah read the words with a sense of mounting disbelief. ‘Dinner tonight. Seven.’

‘I’ll collect you.’

‘You don’t know where I live.’ What was she saying? She had no intention of sharing dinner with him.

‘Ana will give me the address.’

‘No.’

One eyebrow slanted in mocking humour. ‘No, Ana won’t give me the address?’

‘No, I won’t accept your invitation.’ The thought of spending time with him wasn’t a good idea.

‘I promise not to bite.’

‘Thanks, but no, thanks.’ She held out the magnificent sheaf of roses. ‘Please take these. I can’t accept them.’

‘Can’t, or won’t?’ His New York-accented drawl held humour, and something else she couldn’t define.

Ana? Where was her sister when she needed her?

It took only a glance to determine Ana was still on the phone. ‘I don’t date.’

The stark admission appeared to have no effect at all. ‘Seven, Rebekah.’ He turned and walked from the shop, and her reiterated no fell on deaf ears.

She swore, and followed it with a husky litany that damned the male species in general and one of them in particular.

‘Oh, my,’ Ana declared as she replaced the receiver. ‘What did he do? Issue an indecent proposal?’

‘He asked me out.’ Rebekah’s voice came out as an impassioned hiss.

‘And that’s the extent of his crime?’

Rebekah tossed the bouquet of roses onto the work table. ‘I’m not going.’

‘Of course not.’

‘How dare he come in here and order roses…?’ She could hardly contain her anger. ‘Three dozen of them.’ Her eyes flashed blue fire. ‘Then give them to me?’

Ana clicked her tongue and shook her head. ‘Very bad taste.’

Rebekah’s mouth tightened. ‘I’m not accepting them.’ She pushed the bouquet into her sister’s hands. ‘You take them home.’

‘Why not you?’ Ana queried reasonably.

‘I’ll return them to stock.’ She spared them a glance, and her artist’s eye admired the blooms’ beauty. Just for a moment she felt a twinge of remorse.

No man had gifted her anything in a while. And never flowers.

‘Who does Jace Dimitriades think he is?’ It was a question that required no answer, and she banked down a further tirade as a customer entered the boutique.

Rebekah was glad of the interruption, although she seethed in silence for the rest of the day. A number of scenarios as to how she’d deal with him crossed her mind. Some of which, should she put them into effect, would be sure to get her arrested for causing grievous bodily harm.

‘Do you have a number where I can contact him?’

It was late afternoon, and Ana was about to leave.

‘Jace?’

‘Of course, Jace.’

Ana’s features assumed a thoughtful expression.

‘It’s been two years since your divorce. Don’t you think it’s time you emerged into the real world again?’

‘You’re advocating I have an affair?’

‘Who are you afraid of?’ Ana queried gently. ‘Jace or yourself?’ She walked to the door, paused and turned to give her sister a warm smile. ‘Think about it.’

Rebekah opened her mouth, then closed it again.

As an exit line, it was without equal.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS after six when Rebekah eased the MG into the underground car park and rode the lift to the seventh floor.

Indecisiveness was not one of her traits, yet for the past hour she’d changed her mind at least a dozen times.

On entering her apartment she crossed to the phone, looked up the number for Jace’s hotel, punched in the digits, only to replace the receiver minutes later. Jace Dimitriades didn’t appear to be in his room, and a request for his cellphone number was politely declined.

Damn. Failure to contact him meant she had little option but to shower and dress in record time. Or stand him up.

Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chided silently. A few hours, good food, pleasant conversation… What did she have to lose?

Her sanity, she conceded half an hour later as she replaced the in-house phone, gathered up her evening purse, car keys, then rode the lift down to the lobby.

He stood tall, the image of masculine strength, emanating a sense of power only those totally at ease with themselves were able to exude.

Rebekah met his probing gaze, caught his warm smile, and felt her stomach execute a slow somersault.

Any mental assurance she could survive the evening began to dissipate. Was it too late to change her mind? Way too late, an inner voice mocked with derision.

Jace watched the fleeting emotions evident, defined each and every one of them, and felt a sense of male satisfaction in knowing he affected her.

‘Rebekah.’ He moved forward, appreciating the cut and style of her clothes. The slim black skirt and matching jacket highlighted the creamy texture of her skin, and her make-up was minimal. A touch of gold at her ears and her throat added a pleasing addition. Her hair was drawn into a smooth twist, and his fingers itched to remove the pins and let it fall free.