CHAPTER 1

          Nikolas Adamos glanced around him with irritation. It had been a mistake to come here. A mistake to indulge Angelica. He was only in London for a twenty-four-hour stop-over, and when he’d got out of the day-long meeting in the City and returned to his hotel suite, Nikolas had simply wanted to find her waiting for him.

          Then, once they had made polite and empty inquiries about each other’s well-being, Nikolas would’ve done what his fundamental interest in Angelina was: have sex with her.

          Instead, he had ended up in this overcrowded art gallery, bored rigid and surrounded by babbling idiots, among whom Angelica was doing her thing. At this moment, she was giving full descriptions of the art market and the financial worth of the artist on display.

          He couldn’t have cared less about either. And with every passing moment, Nikolas was caring less and less about Angelica, and about spending any more time with her. Not here… and not even in bed.

          Even as he stood there, an expression of growing irritation in his eyes, Nikolas made his decision. Angelica Morrison was going to have to go. Up until now, she hadn’t been much of a problem, no more than any woman was, for they all, invariably, wanted to outstay their shelf-life with him.

          But three months on Angelica, shrewd as well as striking, was evidently starting to think she could start making demands. Like insisting he take her to this opening. Probably she thought that an absence of a fortnight would’ve increased his appetite for her so much that he would be complaisant to her caprices.

          His dark eyes narrowed. Big mistake! His wasn’t a compliant nature. The Adamos wealth had always meant that he could call the shots when it came to women. He chose the ones he wanted and then they did what he wanted… or they were out. No matter how beautiful, how desirable, how highly they rated themselves.

          Angelina Morrison rated herself very highly. She was ferociously chic, with head-turning looks, a well-connected background, an Oxbridge degree, and a fashionable and highly paid career in the art world. Clearly, she considered these attributes sufficient not just to attach herself to a man like himself, but to hold him. Did she even, Nikolas found himself speculating, consider them sufficient to hold him permanently? Her predecessor had thought so.

          Valentina Piermarini, whose exotic looks, soaring soprano voice, and talent for self-promotion ensured her status as a diva at La Scala, in Milan, had clearly believed that marrying Nikolas would mean the rich Adamos funds could be put to work furthering her career.

          The moment Valentina had shown her hand, making it clear she considered that marriage was on the agenda, Nikolas had disposed of her. Her reaction had been volatile in the extreme, but irrelevant to him.

          In comparison with Valentina’s tempestuous personality, Nikolas had welcomed Angelica’s cool chic, as well as enjoying her highly sensual nature in bed. Now, it seemed, much to his irritation, she would have to go too.

          He had quite enough going on in his life as it was. Nikolas’s thoughts shifted closer to home, and his mouth tightened automatically. His father was currently marrying his sixth wife, and far too busy to bother himself with the details and pressure of running a global business.

          As for his half-brother, Demetrios, he was the offspring of his father’s second marriage, and far too busy pursuing his twin pleasures in life… fast cars and faster women.

          Nikolas’s mouth tightened even more. However, he knew that the last thing he’d welcome was his father trying to interfere in how he was running the group, or Demetrios trying to muscle in on it.

          The last, at least, was one thing upon which Nikolas saw eye to eye with his mother. Callista Adamos was vehement in her determination that the son of the woman who had taken her down, shouldn’t get his hands on what she considered her own son’s rightful inheritance. She wanted nothing less than total and permanent control of the Adamos Group.

          His reason for wanting Demetrios out of the picture was less vindictive. He just considered his brother incompetent, self-indulgent, and far too much of a risk to be involved in running a company so large and complex.

          Nikolas didn’t always agree with his mother. And on one aspect of his inheritance, he was completely at odds with her. His eyes darkened as they always did when his thoughts were called in that unwelcome direction.

          Callista was convinced… no, obsessed, that he should marry an heiress, preferably Greek-born, both to boost up his own financial position and to present his father with a grandson to continue the Adamos dynasty.

          Her constant attempts to matchmake only exasperated Nikolas. As did, right now, Angelica’s conversing on the art market. He replied to her mechanically, still considering whether to end their relationship right now.

          The trouble was, if he did, he would be facing yet another night on his own. The dilemma worsened his mood and, imperatively, he gestured to a server circulating with drinks. As his fingers circled the stem of a champagne flute, he found himself glancing at her. And holding the glance.

          Long, blonde hair, caught back in a clip at her nape, an oval face with flawless features, translucent skin, a short straight nose, and accented cheekbones. Wide, long-lashed clear grey-blue eyes completed the package… a very exquisite package.

          His first thought was automatic. What was a girl with looks like this doing working as a waitress? Nikolas took the glass, murmuring a thank-you, and the girl’s eyes met his.

          He could see it happen as if in slow motion… Her reaction to him, to the way he was looking at her. The soft grey-blue eyes widened even more, pupils dilating and her lips parted slightly.

          For one long moment, she looked… helpless. As if there was nothing she could do except meet his eyes and let him look at her. Out of nowhere, Nikolas felt his mood improve. She really was absolutely, without the shadow of a doubt…

“There’s no mineral water.”

          Angelica’s voice was a snap of complaint. Suddenly, the waitress looked flustered. Her eyes broke from Nikolas and went to the woman at his side.

“I-I’m very sorry,” she stammered.

          The waitress had a low voice, Nikolas noted and sounded nervous and under stress. The tray, crowded with brimming glasses, wobbled slightly in her uplifted hands.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a dummy!” Angelica rasped in irritation. “Go and fetch me some. Try and remember I want still, not sparkling water… and hold the lemon.”

          The girl swallowed.

“Of course,” she said.

          Jerkily, she turned to go. As she did, another of the guests in the crowded gallery stepped back abruptly and collided with her. Instinctively, Nikolas felt his hand go out to balance the tray in the girl’s hands, but it was too late. The glass of orange juice nearest the edge tottered crazily and then cascaded forwards, smashing to the ground and emptying its contents all over Angelica’s cocktail dress.

“Oh, my God! You are such an idiot!”

          Angelica’s voice was shrill with fury.

“Just look what you’ve done!”

          A look of horror, and more, convulsed the girl’s face.

“I’m… I’m sorry…”

          It was all she could say. A space had cleared around her, and someone was bustling up to her. A short man with an expression on his face that was both irate, and horrified.

“What’s going on here?” the man demanded.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

          Angelica’s voice was still shrill.

“This imbecile has ruined my dress.”

          The horrified look on the short man’s face deepened, and he launched into a very loud apology, which Nikolas cut short.

“Only the upper part is wet, Angelica,” he said coolly, cutting the man off. “If you sponge it down it will dry out. It’s dark, it won’t show.”

          Angelica wasn’t consoled.

“You half-brained little idiot!” she raged at the girl again.

          Nikolas put a restraining hand on her wrist.

“Go and find the powder room,” he said.

          It wasn’t a suggestion. Throwing him a fulminating glance, Angelica stormed off. Meantime, the short man had summoned two other waiting staff, who’d rushed up with cloths and a dustpan and brush, to clear up the shards and the spilled juice on the polished wood floor.

          He’d also banished the guilty waitress while Nikolas had spoken to Angelica. Nikolas could see her scurrying, shoulders hunched, towards the back of the gallery. Then, the short man was turning his vociferously dismayed apologies on Nikolas, who wasn’t interested.

“It was an accident,” he said curtly, nodding dismissal impatiently.

          The moment was too opportune to miss. Nikolas strode to the reception desk at the entrance.

“Tell Miss Morrison I’ve had to leave,” he said.

          Then he walked out of the gallery, extracting his cellphone to call his driver. He’d send Angelica a cheque for a new dress, and a trinket to wear with it. That should do for her and get him off the hook.  

          It also meant he’d be facing a celibate night for certain. Without a choice, he found himself thinking about the waitress Angelica had railed at. Nikolas frowned… there had been no call to be so abusive to the girl. It had been an accident, not incompetence.

          His mind wandered back to his inspection of the girl. She really had been very lovely indeed. And in the black, tight-skirted, white-aproned outfit, with the close-fitting short-sleeved white blouse, she’d looked very… dreamy.

          Yes, that was the word he was looking for it. Oh, not too obviously, not too flagrantly, but there was no denying that the black and white uniform, together with her soft blondeness and those long-lashed wide-set eyes, did the business.

          Involuntarily, Nikolas got quite aroused. Damn! That wasn’t an appropriate response right now! However lovely she was, the girl wasn’t the type of woman he usually consorted with.

          Anyway, he wasn’t in the habit of picking women up on a casual basis. He selected them carefully, not just on their looks but also on whether they would fit into his lifestyle. And, of course, not seek to outstay their shelf-life.

          His car glided up to the pavement and he got in. Tonight, he would just have to work, that was all. He was flying to New York in the morning anyway, and he knew a large selection of suitable women there from which to choose a replacement for Angelica.

          Nikolas sat back in the molded leather seat, looking indifferently out of the tinted window as the car moved forward, heading back down Bond Street. It took him past the gallery again, and he was relieved to see no sign of Angelica. He felt his conscience ache at having ended their relationship so ruthlessly but put it aside quite soon. He knew very well that the main attraction for her was his wealth and status, nothing more.

          He was about to avert his gaze when a figure caught his eye. Walking along with a rapid, somehow jerky step, shoulders hunched, blonde head bowed, raincoat wrapped tightly around her, hands in pockets, and shoulder bag clutched to her side, was the waitress.

          Abruptly, for no reason he could justify, Nikolas pressed the intercom button.

“Stop the car,” he ordered his driver.