Captivated by the Greek. Julia JamesЧитать онлайн книгу.
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Mel’s hand was enclosed in his and she was standing close to him now. So close that if she pressed forward she would bind herself against the strong column of his body.
She longed to feel that sheathed muscled strength against the pliant wand of her own body, to lift her mouth to his and wind her fingers up to the base of his neck and draw that sculpted mouth down upon hers …
It shook her, the intensity of her urge to do so. Like a slow-motion film running inside her head, she felt her brain try to reason its way out of it. Out of the urge to reach for him, to kiss him …
It had been so, so long since she had kissed a man—any man at all. And longer still since she had given rein to the physical impulse of intimacy. And now here she was, gazing up at a man who was the most achingly seductive she’d ever encountered, wanting only to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her.
As if he heard her body call to him Nikos bent his head to catch her lips. His mouth was as soft as velvet. As sensuous as silk.
Dissolving her completely.
JULIA JAMES lives in England, and adores the peaceful verdant countryside and the wild shores of Cornwall. She also loves the Mediterranean—so rich in myth and history, with its sunbaked landscapes and olive groves, ancient ruins and azure seas. ‘The perfect setting for romance!’ she says. ‘Rivalled only by the lush tropical heat of the Caribbean—palms swaying by a silver sand beach lapped by turquoise waters … what more could lovers want?’
Captivated
by the Greek
Julia James
For carers everywhere—you are all saints!
Contents
NIKOS PARAKIS TWISTED his wrist slightly to glance at his watch and frowned. If he wanted to make his appointment in the City he was going to have to skip lunch. No way could he fit in a midday meal now, having delayed leaving his Holland Park apartment—his base in the UK—in order to catch a lengthy teleconference with Russian clients. He’d also, on this early summer’s day, wanted to get some fresh air and brief exercise, so had dismissed his driver and intended to pick up a taxi on the far side of the park, in Kensington High Street.
As he gained the wide tree-lined pavement he felt a stab of hunger. He definitely needed refuelling.
On impulse, he plunged across the road and headed for what appeared to be some kind of takeaway food shop. He was no food snob, despite the wealth of the Parakis banking dynasty at his disposal, and a sandwich was a sandwich—wherever it came from.
The moment he stepped inside, however, he almost changed his mind. Fast food outlets specialising in pre-packed sandwiches had come a long way in thirty years, but this was one of the old-fashioned ones where sandwiches were handmade on the spot, to order, constructed out of the array of ingredients contained in plastic tubs behind the counter.
Damn, he thought, irritated, he really didn’t have time for this.
But he was here now, and it would have to do.
‘Have you anything ready-made?’ he asked, addressing the person behind the counter. He didn’t mean to sound brusque, but he was hungry and in a hurry.
The server, who had her back to him, went on buttering a slice of bread. Nikos felt irritation kick again.
‘She’s making mine first, mate,’ said a voice nearby, and he saw that there was a shabbily dressed, grizzled-looking old man seated on a chair by the chilled drinks cabinet. ‘You’ll ’ave ter wait.’
Nikos’s mouth pressed tight, and he moved his annoyed regard back to the figure behind the counter. Without turning, the server spoke.
‘Be with you in a sec,’ she said, apparently to Nikos, and started to pile ham onto the buttered slice before wrapping the sandwich in a paper serviette and turning to hand it to the man. She pushed a cup of milky tea towards him, too.
‘Ta, luv,’ the man said, moving to stand closer to Nikos than he felt entirely comfortable with.
Whenever the man had last bathed, it hadn’t been recently. Nor had he shaved. Moreover, there was a discernible smell of stale alcohol about him.
The man closed grimy fingers around the wrapped sandwich, picked up the mug in a shaky grip and looked at Nikos.
‘Any spare change, guv?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No,’ said Nikos, and turned back to the server, who was now wiping the sandwich preparation surface clean.
The old man shuffled out.
The server’s voice followed him. ‘Stay off the booze, Joe—it’s killing you.’
‘Any day now, luv, any day...’ the man assured her.
He shuffled out and was gone, lunch provided. Presumably for free, Nikos supposed, having seen no money change hands for the transaction. But his interest in the matter was zero, and with the server finally free to pay him attention, he repeated his original question about the availability of ready-made