That wasn’t what was piercing her bubble of detachment, though. It was him.
She had seen photos of Leander Vasilou, but she hadn’t expected his suit-model looks to be so mesmerizing in real life. His eyelids sat heavy and bored over gray irises. A scruff of beard accentuated the height of his cheekbones and the hollows of his cheeks. That same scruff might be hiding a cleft in his squared off chin. It certainly framed a mouth that gave her a small thrill when his teeth briefly caught at the inner flesh of his bottom lip.
“Oh, yes, I remember her very well,” he said, voice dipping into smoky amusement rife with sensual memory.
That tone had the strangest effect on her, turning the greasiness of dread in her belly to warm butter laced with honey.
A flush of heat rose from that same place, radiating into her breasts and turning to an embarrassed heat as she realized she was reacting in a very sexual way to that timbre in his voice.
She never reacted to men. Or women. Not to anyone. Not like this. She dated when an escort was expected—like a gala or holiday party—but she rarely allowed more than a kiss at the end because that was when her interest always dried up.
Oddly, this man, whom she was predisposed to fear and dislike, was making her wonder how his lips would feel against her own. How would they feel in the crook of her neck? His wide hands became a source of fascination as he briefly squeezed the back of his neck and laughed, causing the fabric of his shirt to strain across his well-built shoulders and thick biceps.
She had never once in her life felt her breath leave her because the beauty of a man appealed so strongly. Or experienced a compulsion to unbutton a man’s shirt and nuzzle the hair on his chest because a few fine hairs at his collar caught her attention, but she was envisioning doing that to him and was appalled with herself.
She swallowed, discovering her throat was hot and tight. Her cheeks were beginning to sting as her blush arrived from her chest and swept upward.
She averted her gaze to a sculpture that could have been steel flames. She thought about the time Midas had thrown her doll into the fire at the Pagonis chalet in Switzerland. It had been the last thing her mother had given her.
That painful memory helped her remember why she was here. At nine, she hadn’t had the courage to pluck her doll out of the fire and save it. She wouldn’t be so cowardly today.
She firmed her feet to the floor and drew a long subtle breath of patience.
Leander Vasilou finally ended his call. He dropped his earpiece onto his desk and looked at her with a distinct lack of interest.
“Kyría Pagonis. You wanted to see me.” He didn’t rise, didn’t offer his hand to shake.
She didn’t even glance at either of the chairs she stood between.
“Callas,” she corrected with a polite smile. “My mother wasn’t married to my father so I use her name.” Ilona always corrected that. It was a whole thing with Odessa, her stepmother. “But given you’re attempting to take over my company, I expect you already know my name.”
“I am taking over your company,” he assured her. “Ilona.”
His facetious tone was dangerously close to that other, intimate timbre he had used a moment ago. It had the same effect of unfurling frond-like sensations deep in her belly.
She tried to ignore it, but her throat was constricting again.
“You have acquired forty percent of the shares in Callas Cosmetics. I own forty-five. Pagonis International owns the remaining fifteen, so I don’t know how you—”
“Does it?” he cut in.
The sweet sensations in her stomach curdled. The text from her younger half brother Hercules appeared in her mind’s eye.
You should be here. They’re making decisions without you.
“I understand you’ve made an offer to buy those shares from Pagonis. May I assume you’re prompted by product loyalty? Your skin is certainly flawless,” she said.
There was a flash behind his sharp gaze, like the glint off a knife blade.
“You may assume that my intention is to take over Pagonis International. Acquiring their cash cow is the first step.”
Ilona had been called many things, but never that. And Midas must know he was the real target. That’s why he was throwing her company forward as a sacrifice. Big surprise.
She tightened her grip on her clutch, fighting to keep an impervious expression on her face.
“I’ve bettered your offer,” she said with false calm. “If they sell, it will be to me. I’m here to offer for the forty percent you’ve already obtained. I’m prepared to pay above market value.”
“I’ve upped the ante myself, promising ten percent over any offer you make. The sky is the limit. That was one of the Pagonis board members on that call.” He flicked a finger toward his earpiece. “We’re old friends and he owes me a favor. He’s also greedy as hell. Pagonis will not be selling their shares to you.”