Her gaze avoided meeting that piercing green one. ‘It’s public knowledge—’
‘It’s malicious gossip—accompanied by unreliable articles and photographs in newspapers,’ he corrected harshly. ‘None of which can or should be believed.’
That might be true, but Donna’s experience with this man was indisputable—set in stone. Wasn’t it?
But no doubt Jack’s version of the breakdown of their four-year marriage would differ greatly from Eva’s own. There were always two sides to an unsuccessful relationship…
No!
Eva couldn’t afford to have any
doubts about Markos Lyonedes’s callous reputation with women. The physical desire she felt for him already made her feel more vulnerable than she was comfortable with. She had a plan for the rest of her life, and it was a sensible plan—one which did not include an affair for a few weeks with Markos Lyonedes!
‘Whatever,’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I really do have to leave now.’
‘But you’ll be back on Thursday at six o’clock?’
Eva sighed at his dogged persistence. ‘I said I would, yes.’
Markos nodded his satisfaction. Eva might not know it yet—might not want to know it—but that single kiss they had shared had told him that she wanted him too.
And Markos had every intention of pursuing her until he had her exactly where he wanted her. In his bed.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘I totally agree.’ Markos grimaced as he saw the look of horror on Eva’s face on Thursday evening as the two of them entered the sitting room of what was now his penthouse apartment on the top floor of Lyonedes Tower.
He had received a call from Security a few minutes ago, informing him of her arrival downstairs. Most if not all of the Lyonedes employees had gone home now—including Markos’s secretary.
‘I think bland must have been the middle name of the previous interior designer.’
‘I was thinking it’s just plain ugly…’
Eva couldn’t think what on earth had possessed the previous designer to choose cream and beige as the colour scheme in this beautifully appointed room. The furniture, though obviously expensive, was unattractively square and minimalist, and the only saving grace to this room was the impressive one hundred and eighty degree view of New York, visible from the huge picture windows that covered two of the walls.
Not only was the colour scheme insipid in the extreme, it didn’t suit the man who now lived here. Markos’s swarthy complexion, dark hair and piercing green eyes required that he be surrounded by the warm colours of the Mediterranean: terracotta, with touches of green and blue, maybe the palest hint of yellow…
Eva brought her thoughts up short as she realised her interior designer instincts had taken over from her common sense. It was two days since she had last seen Markos—two days and two restless nights—during which time Eva had become even more determined that she did not want to spend any more time in this man’s company than she absolutely had to. To do so would be opening herself up to all sorts of disappointment. As such, knowing how this room should look was one thing. Being the one to effect those changes was something else entirely.
Of course it didn’t help Eva to remain detached and professional to see that Markos was dressed as casually as she was this evening. The darkness of his hair was still damp from the shower, and he had obviously changed out of the formal suit he had worn to work today. He was now wearing a black shirt, the collar unbuttoned at his throat and the sleeves turned back to just below his elbows, with a pair of faded blue denims clearly outlining the leanness of his waist and his perfectly taut bottom and long legs.
She straightened briskly. ‘Are the rest of the rooms as awful?’
‘Worse.’ He grimaced.
Eva found that hard to believe. ‘How many rooms are there?’
‘Four en-suite bedrooms, kitchen, breakfast room, formal dining room, a gym—’
‘Okay—a lot.’ She grimaced, rummaging through her capacious shoulder bag for her sketchbook and pencil as she continued to look about the room with narrowed, assessing eyes. ‘It looks more like an impersonal hotel suite than a private apartment.’
‘That’s probably because that’s what it was designed to be.’ Markos shrugged. ‘Drakon has his own place in Manhattan. This apartment was used only to entertain business associates in less formal surroundings than the offices downstairs.’
‘Do I want to know in what way they were entertained…?’ Eva eyed him derisively.
‘Just drinks and the occasional dinner,’ he assured her dryly.
‘I’ll believe you—thousands wouldn’t!’