It was startling how easily he could read her. She’d never thought herself that expressive, but Roman seemed to know, to sense what she was thinking—sometimes even before she did.
‘This is going to be impossible,’ she almost wailed, once again mockingly. ‘How am I supposed to focus on a business proposal with all this…?’ She gestured around her, searching for a word that would express even an ounce of the beauty she was staring at. But for once she wasn’t looking at the ocean, or the rooms, or the beautiful things contained within. She was looking at her husband. A husband who did not seem hungry for food in that moment.
Roman couldn’t, wouldn’t, stop the smile lifting his lips at his wife’s insincere complaints. He had wanted to give her this—to give her everything and more.
‘First, we eat. And during our meal you can practise your pitch as much and as many times as you need. But after…that time is for us,’ he promised.
‘Nope. Don’t need to. I know it by heart. Let’s just skip to the “us” time,’ she said, reaching for him, pulling him towards her.
He placed a kiss on her lips, chaste and sweeter for it, and pulled away. ‘I am simply making sure that you go into the meeting feeling completely prepared,’ he gently whispered, refusing to be responsible for any further damage to her career.
Her large round eyes, matching the colour of the turquoise sea behind her, flickered with understanding, seeming to sense his guilt, and she reluctantly agreed.
Over a first course of filo pastry wrapped scallops in a creamy leek sauce, finished with fresh figs, Ella outlined the strategies of placing Loukas’s business with handpicked charities within Greece and across the globe. Through the second course of sous-vide lobster with a mango, avocado, red onion and lettuce salad, Ella described how she and Célia would ensure each event and investment would be carefully curated by them, all communication running through them in order to filter only information of the utmost importance to him directly, reducing the tax on his precious time. And over a dessert of gingerbread cannoli, kirsch mousse and cinnamon ice cream, she delivered the financial incentives for offsetting some of his extraordinary wealth against global tax breaks and outlined how the positive impact of the publicity garnered would be immeasurable.
By the time coffee was served, Roman was halfway to demanding she drop all and any interaction with Liordis and muscling in as her first client himself. He was impressed. The vague gathering of thoughts she’d had when they had first met in France had been honed, stripped back and fine-tuned to the point of excellence. Ivan had been a fool. A fool that he was pleased his wife had not succeeded with. Liordis, he was sure, would not make the same mistake.
‘And now,’ she demanded, placing her knife and fork together on the plate, ‘can we please—pretty please—get to the “us” time?’
Yes, everything in Roman roared. Whatever she wanted, while she still wanted it, he would give.
* * *
Two days later Ella swept into the restaurant she and Roman had still not visited. She felt…powerful. Powerful and sensual and confident. The soft white linen shift reaching to her thighs and a deceptively comfortable pair of palazzo trousers in a beautiful rust colour were both elegant and practical. Because, Ella realised, this would be the last business meeting that she could have while still disguising her pregnancy.
She was not naïve—she knew that her pregnancy could affect the way some potential clients viewed her and her future involvement in any deal she would secure. But both she and Célia had already decided that they would not be the clientele they would wish to attract. Roman had reassured her that it was unlikely to worry Liordis and she trusted him. Nothing would dim the excitement she felt thrumming through her veins. It was almost an echo of the sensual delight her husband had driven her to on the two preceding evenings as they’d watched the sun descend over the South Pacific Ocean, as their cries of pleasure mingled with those of exotic birds and the unconscious rhythm of their bodies followed the gentle sweep of waves moving back and forth over the beach below.
Ella would not have needed the careful guidance of the head waiter to direct her to Loukas Liordis. The man sat at a table on the decking, separated from the rest of the customers inside the restaurant, who were unable or unwilling to prevent the curious glances they cast his way. Although there were a few other tables dotted around the sweeping decking, Ella knew that they would have the space entirely to themselves so that no one would be able to eavesdrop on their conversation. She had ensured as much.
She took the short walk winding between the other diners to look at the man she hoped would be her and Célia’s first client. With his view secured on the horizon, she could take her fill. He was very attractive—Ella could see how he had earned his wicked reputation—and was even mildly surprised not to feel something within her pull towards his impressive aura. But a red ribbon had formed around her feelings for her husband, one that would never be severed by anyone other than Roman.
Even sitting, she could tell he was tall. Low brows lay heavily over deceptively slumberous eyes and the tawny hair, stylishly chaotic, almost roguish in its refusal to adhere to neatness, was a surprise to someone who expected to see darker features. His full lips drew into a large smile as he stood upon seeing her and graciously met her with a kiss to each cheek.
‘Ella,’ he said, and the informality of using her first name, the intimacy it invited, would probably have made another
