Jane Porter - Irresistible Greeks - Unsuitable and Unforgettable - At His Majesty's Request / The Fallen Greek Bride / Forgiven but not Forgotten?

“Have dinner with me,” he said.

“Where?”

“Here, at the villa.”

The thought of it made her stomach feel all fluttery. It made her palms sweaty, too. She was seriously out of practice when it came to dealing with men. Except she wasn’t, not really, she just never got asked to have dinner with them in a way that went beyond business.

And you think this is more than business?

No. Of course it wasn’t. She was here, in the villa, and he was being hospitable to someone who was working to find him a wife. And she was not that wife.

She didn’t want to be anyway. Not even tempted.

The only reason she’d forgotten, for a moment, that his invitation wasn’t meant to be an intimate one, was because he’d touched her arm. It had caused a momentary short circuit but she was back now.

“That would be lovely. We can discuss some women who might have more advanced conversation skills …”

“Leave your computer in your room.”

“B-but …”

“Come on, Jessica, I think we can have a conversation without your piece of technical equipment between us.”

Did he? Because she didn’t think so. She wasn’t sure what she would do with her hands. Or what she would look at when she started to melt into those dark chocolate eyes of his and she needed a reprieve.

“Of course. I don’t have a problem with that. None at all.”

“Good. See you in a couple of hours. That will give you enough time to unpack and freshen up?”

She frowned and touched her hair. Freshen up? Did she need it?

“Not everything I say is a commentary on you. Or me finding you lacking in some way,” he said, his tone sardonic.

“Pfft. Of course not,” she said, dropping her hand to her side. “And not everything I do is connected to something you say making me feel like I’m lacking in some way.”

One dark eyebrow arched upward. “Touché.”

“Oh … which way to my room?”

“Pick any room you want. Top of the stairs and turn left. I’m to the right.”

Then she would be picking the room at the very, very far end of the hall. Left as left could be. “Great. Thanks. See you down here at seven?”

He cocked his head to the side, that charming, easy grin curving his lips. “Sounds good to me. I’ll have your bags sent up soon.”

“All right. See you at dinner.”

She turned and started up the stairs, the marble clicking beneath her heels.

She wasn’t going to change her dress before dinner. Because that would mean she was treating it like it was special. Like a date.

No. She definitely wasn’t changing her dress.

* * *

She’d changed her dress. That was the first thing he noticed when Jessica descended the stairs and stepped into the living area.

She’d traded in the cheery, yellow, low-cut halter-top dress for a slinky, red, low-cut dress, belted at her tiny waist. The skirt hugged her rounded hips and fell just to her knee, showing those shapely, sexy calves that he was starting to fixate on.

Not as much as he was fixated on the creamy swells of her breasts. But close.

“Hello,” she said. Her posture was stiff, her elegant neck stretched up as tall and tight as possible. Her cherry-painted lips were thinned. Which was a waste in his mind. If a woman was going to wear red lipstick she should pout a little. Especially this woman.

But it wasn’t the sexual feelings she stirred in him that disturbed him. It was the way she’d looked at him earlier … sad, hurt. And how he’d wanted to drop everything, the wall he put between himself and everyone he interacted with, to comfort her.

That feeling, that desire for a true connection, was foreign to him. And if not entirely foreign, connected to the distant past. Back when he’d believed he had a different future ahead of him. Back before he’d realized the importance of erasing any feeling that could root itself inside of him too deeply.

That might control him. Weaken him. As emotion had weakened his father.

“Good evening,” he said, inclining his head. “Have you started settling in?”

“Yes. It’s lovely here.” The corners of her lips turned up slightly. “Very … balmy.”

The small talk was too crisp. Too bland. And Jessica Carter was neither of those things. What she was, was prickly as a porcupine and likely making inane talk to irritate him. It shouldn’t. With women he was all about connecting on a surface level. With people in general. Why did he want more from her?

Why did she make him want more for himself?

Talking to that woman with the mouse laugh … it had been grating. Insufferable. Just the thought of being shackled to her for the rest of his life … It had seemed personal in a way it hadn’t before. Whether that was due to Jessica or the wedding being more of a reality, he didn’t know.

“Tell me about your dress,” he said, because he knew it would catch her off guard. It would also redirect his thoughts to her delicious figure, and that was acceptable. The rest, the feeling, was not.

She blinked rapidly a few times. “My dress?”

He started to walk toward the terrace, where dinner was waiting for them. “Yes, your dress. What’s the story behind it? A woman who makes clothing her hobby surely has a story for each item.”

“Yes. Well, but I didn’t think you would be interested.” She was walking behind him, trying to keep pace in her spiky black heels.

He hadn’t thought he would be interested, either. Strangely, he was. “I live to surprise.” He paused at the table and pulled her chair out. “Sit. And tell me.”

She arched one well-shaped brow. “I don’t respond to one-word commands.”

Heat fired through his veins, pooling in his stomach. His answering remark came easily. And it was welcome as it served to mask the intense need that gripped him. “I’ll bet there are a few one-word commands I could get you to respond to.”

She sat quickly and picked up the glass of white wine that was waiting for her, taking a long drink before setting it down and saying, far too brightly, “I found this dress at a charity shop.”

He rounded the table and sat across from her, keeping the chair pushed out a bit. He didn’t trust himself to get too close. And clearly, Jessica didn’t, either. Her change of topic had been about as clumsy and obvious as they came.

She’d picked up the meaning of his words. And he’d driven her to drink. That was an ego boost.

“Go on,” he said.

“It’s from the late forties or early fifties. Sort of business attire.”

“That was business attire?” It was a wonder any work got done.

“Clothing then was so feminine. It didn’t have to be obvious to be sexy, and it didn’t have to be boxy to be respectable. That’s one reason I like it.”

It was certainly that. But then, Jessica would look feminine in a man’s suit. She had curves that simply couldn’t be ignored or concealed.

“It suits you,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so. You looked at me like I had two heads the first couple of days we were together.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you like fish,” he said, indicating the plate of food. He always opted for simple when he was at the villa. Something from the sea, vegetables from the garden on the property and a basket of bread and olive oil. He had all the formal he could handle in Kyonos. Ceremony and heavy custom, though he’d been born into it, had never seemed to fit him. Just one reason he was always skirting the edge of respectability.

That and a desire—no, a need—to control something about his life.

“I do,” she said. “I didn’t always, but as we’ve discussed, my home state is landlocked, so seafood wasn’t that fresh. And fish out of the river just tastes like a river and it’s not a good experience. Not for me, anyway. Traveling has expanded my horizons in a lot of ways.”