Sophie Weston - The Millionaire's Virgin

He didn’t look at her directly. She might have been someone he had only just met, another suit who had come to Stellamaris on the same flight as the rest. She added her own half-hearted grunt to the general murmur of acceptance, and then, collecting up her things, she started to load her briefcase.

‘Lisa.’

Lisa flinched even though it was only her PA, Mike, calling to her. She was a bundle of nerves on top of everything else. That was what happened when you let your guard down—everything went to pieces. She turned around smiling, mask in place—or so she thought. Mike quickly drew her out of earshot.

‘Shit, Lis’! What’s happened?’

Lisa stared in amazement. Mike… beautiful Mike, with his astute blue eyes, carefully shaped brows, and expensive highlights neatly sculpted to his gorgeous, gorgeous face, never swore, never called her by a pet name, even though they had known each other for years. Was it that obvious? ‘Is it obvious, Mike?’ she asked him in a tense whisper, glancing around.

Taking her arm, he turned her so she faced the wall, so they both did. He put his head very close to hers, and put his arm around her protectively. ‘Are you OK, Lisa? Can I do anything for you?’

What was happening to her? Lisa wondered, fighting back tears. Was she falling apart? She felt a handkerchief pressed into her hands, and nodded briskly, applying it to her mascaraed eyes as cautiously as was practicable when you were mopping up a waterfall.

‘No, that’s fine—you keep it,’ Mike said when she absent- mindedly attempted to hand the ruined silk back to him.

She made a mental note to buy him a dozen more to replace it the moment she got back home.

‘Lisa!’ Mike hissed imperatively out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Can I do anything for you, anything at all? Can I get you out of here?’

She saw the sense in that. ‘Yes, please, Mike, that would be great.’

Putting a shielding arm out in front of her face, Mike swept them both out of the room as only he could, with élan , with chin tipped at a formidable angle, as if he were protecting the Queen of England from unwanted attention.

‘That was a great exit,’ Lisa admitted shakily when they reached the drive. Taxis were pulling up ready to take the men back to the Zagorakis guest house.

‘Your voice is still wobbly,’ Mike observed, ‘and your face is a mess.’

‘Thank you for your honesty—I think.’

‘Someone has to be honest with you, Lisa.’

Lisa turned to look at him. ‘You’re right. I value your opinion… You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Thank you,’ he said, preening a little. ‘It’s always nice to hear that you do.’

‘In future, I’m going to be very different.’

‘Not too different, I hope.’ Mike frowned. ‘There is a certain kudos in being the trusted advisor of one of the most difficult women in business today.’

‘Is that what they say about me?’

‘Close.’

‘Hmm.’ Lisa nodded thoughtfully. ‘Actually, Mike, there is something else you could do for me.’

‘Name it,’ he said frankly.

‘Sit next to me tonight. I’ve had enough of Zagorakis’s attempts to manipulate me.’

‘It would be my pleasure.’

Lisa chose the most glamorous gown she could find amongst her new clothes. It was a lacy confection that fell off one shoulder, and had a short tight skirt with a flirty tail that kicked out at one side. She brushed her hair until it gleamed like silk, and applied her make-up with unusual care—too much of it…

Far too much of it, Lisa decided, staring into the mirror. She could hear her father’s sneering voice; it still haunted her. ‘Your mother always wore too much make-up when she was upset.’

‘And I wonder why that was, Daddy?’ Lisa muttered, slapping cleansing cream onto her face.

Slipping out of the dress, she left it on the floor. Pulling on her own suit trousers and her own sensible shoes, she weakened as far as a plain ivory silk shirt was concerned when it came to plundering the collection of new clothes in her wardrobe. And that was only because she knew the evening would be warm even if they were seated outside, and she couldn’t bear to be stifling in a jacket—and her own white blouse had already been taken from the room to be laundered.

She collected her hair in a loose pony-tail at the nape of her neck. Nothing too frivolous; nothing that could be construed as an attempt to win anyone’s attention. Face tonic to freshen up, and then some tinted moisturiser, and a slick of lip-gloss. She confined herself to a smidgen of mascara, and a spritz of perfume later she was ready—just at the moment Mike knocked on the door.

He looked fantastic, as always. Lisa felt dowdy by comparison— and clearly looked it too, from Mike’s disappointed expression.

‘Oh, no… No, no, no,’ he exclaimed, shaking his head. ‘The minute we get back home, I’m taking you in hand.’

‘I look that bad?’

‘You look like a sleek, beautiful leopard masquerading as a mouse.’

‘As good as that?’

‘Shall we?’ Mike said, offering her his arm.

Tino glanced at her, and then looked away as she walked arm in arm with Mike onto the patio. The other men were already sipping drinks, and hadn’t noticed her at all. Waiters were moving amongst the small gathering with canapés, and more drinks, and absolutely everyone was in

dinner suits, including Tino.

‘You know what?’ Mike whispered in her ear.

‘What?’

‘You look as out of place now as you did when you walked into the boardroom earlier today. Why don’t we about-turn, and I’ll sort you out?’

‘Are you serious?’ He clearly was, Lisa realised, when Mike wheeled her away.

As she opened the door of the first wardrobe Mike threw up his hands in a paroxysm of delight.

‘Designer heaven!’ He flicked expertly along the rail. ‘We’ll take this, and this… Oh, and this.’ Holding the gossamer-fine beaded and sequinned shawl up close against his Ozwald Boateng jacket, he sighed theatrically.

Closing her eyes briefly, Lisa shook her head and smiled. She wasn’t going to get out of the room again until Mike had his way—she might as well give in.

‘Mike, you’re my fairy godmother,’ Lisa exclaimed a little while later, staring transfixed at her reflection in the full-length mirror.

‘Fairy godsister, please… Well, what do you think?’

‘What do you think is more to the point,’ Lisa said, turning around to smile at him.

‘Well, that brute of a Greek isn’t going to ignore you now, that’s for sure,’ he said with satisfaction, offering Lisa his arm.

Mike made her pause just inside the door where the light was a little brighter than on the patio. There wasn’t quite an audible gasp, but there might as well have been. Every man had turned to stare.

Mike had dressed her hair high so that she looked taller than usual, and a few softening tendrils had been allowed to escape around her carefully made-up face. Mike had designed her make-up too, to complete the ‘look’, as he called it, with all the care he might have applied to one of his famously fabulous room settings. Her eyes were smoky, her lashes black… Her lips were full and glossy red, and there was just a hint of rouge to define her cheekbones—the end result? She looked like something out of Vogue or Tatler — anyway, quite unlike herself, Lisa decided.

She had never gone for full-on glamour in her life before, but, of course, Mike did nothing by halves. The strappy sandals he’d insisted she wear had stratospheric heels, and the dress he had chosen was cut, appropriately enough, with a nod to ancient Grecian styling. Cunningly draped, it fitted where it touched, and was extremely elegant, yet sexy— with a slit up the side to a point where Lisa felt quite a draft, especially as Mike had specifically ruled out the wearing of underwear.