The Demetrios Virgin (3 page)

She glanced at her watch, her heart sinking. She still had over an hour to go before she met Lorraine. There was no way she could stay here in the bar on her own, attracting attention. Quickly she headed for the ladies. There was something she had to do.

In the cloakroom she fastened her cardigan and
wiped her face clean of the last of the red lipstick and the kohl eye-liner, replacing them both with her normal choice of make-up—a discreet application of taupe eye-shadow and a soft berry-coloured lipstick—and coiling up her long hair into a neat chignon. Then she waited in the ladies' room until an inspection of her watch told her she could finally leave.

This time as she made her way through the crowded bar it was a very different type of look that Saskia collected from the men who watched her admiringly.

To her relief Lorraine was parked outside, waiting for her.

‘Well?' she demanded eagerly as Saskia opened the car door and got in.

‘Nothing,' Saskia told her, shaking her head. ‘He turned me down flat.'

‘What?'

‘Lorraine, careful…' Saskia cried out warningly as the other woman almost backed into the car behind her in shock.

‘You mustn't have tried hard enough,' Lorraine told her bossily.

‘I can assure you that I tried as hard as anyone could,' Saskia corrected her wryly.

‘Did he
mention
Megan…tell you that he was spoken for?' Lorraine questioned her.

‘No!' Saskia shook her head. ‘But I promise you he made it plain that he wasn't interested. He looked at me…' She stopped and swallowed, unwilling to think about, never mind tell anyone else, just how Megan's beloved had looked at her. For some odd
reason she refused to define just to remember the icy contempt she had seen in his eyes made her tremble between anger and pain.

‘Where
is
Megan?' she asked Lorraine.

‘She was called in unexpectedly to work an extra shift. She rang to let me know and I said we'd drive straight over to her place and meet up with her there.'

Saskia smiled wanly. By rights she knew she ought to be feeling far happier than she actually was. Though out of the three of them she suspected that Megan would be the only one who would actually be pleased to learn that her Mark had determinedly refused to be tempted.

Her Mark.
Megan's
Mark. There was a bitter taste in Saskia's mouth and her heart felt like a heavy lump of lead inside her chest.

What on earth was the matter with her? She couldn't possibly be jealous of Megan, could she? No! She couldn't be…she
must
not be!

‘Are you sure you tried hard enough?' Lorraine was asking her sternly.

‘I said everything you told me to say,' Saskia told her truthfully.

‘And he didn't make any kind of response?'

Saskia could tell that Lorraine didn't believe her.

‘Oh, he made a response,' she admitted grimly. ‘It just wasn't the kind…' She stopped and then told her flatly, ‘He wasn't interested, Lorraine. He must really love Megan.'

‘Yes, if he prefers her to you he must,' Lorraine agreed bluntly. ‘She's a dear, and I love her, but there's no way…You don't think he could have
guessed
what you were doing do you? No way he could have known…?'

‘No, I don't,' Saskia denied. She was beginning to feel tired, almost aching with a sharp, painful need to be on her own. The last thing she wanted right now was to deal with someone like Lorraine, but she owed it to Megan to reassure her that she could trust Mark.

As they pulled up outside Megan's house Saskia saw that her car was parked outside. Her stomach muscles started to clench as she got out of Lorraine's car and walked up the garden path. Megan and Mark. Even their names sounded cosy together, redolent of domesticity…of marital comfort. And yet…if ever she'd met a man who was neither domesticated nor cosy it had been Megan's Mark. There had been an air of primitive raw maleness about him, an aura of power and sexuality, a sense that in his arms a woman could…
would
…touch such sensual heights of delight and pleasure that she would never be quite the same person again.

Saskia tensed. What on earth was she thinking? Mark belonged to Megan—her best friend, the friend to whom she owed her grandmother's life and good health.

Megan had obviously seen them arrive and was opening the door before they reached it, her face wreathed in smiles.

‘It's all right,' Saskia told her hollowly. ‘Mark didn't…'

‘I know…I know…' Megan beamed as she ushered them inside. ‘He came to see me at work and explained everything. Oh, I've been such an idiot…
Why on earth I didn't guess what he was planning I just don't know. We leave next week. He'd even told them at work what he was planning…that was the reason for all those calls. Plus the girl at the travel agency kept phoning. Oh, Saskia, I can't believe it. I've always longed to go to the Caribbean, and for Mark to have booked us such a wonderful holiday…The place we're going to specialises in holidays for couples. I'm so sorry you had a wasted evening. I tried to ring you but you'd already left. I thought you might have got here sooner. After all, once you'd realised that Mark wasn't at the wine bar…' She stopped as she saw the look on both her cousin's and Saskia's faces.

‘What is it?' she asked them uncertainly.

‘You
said that you'd spoken to Mark,' Lorraine was saying tersely to Saskia.

‘I did…' Saskia insisted. ‘He was just as you described him to us, Megan…'

She stopped as Megan shook her head firmly.

‘Mark wasn't there, Sas,' she repeated. ‘He was with me at work. He arrived at half past eight and Sister gave me some time off so that we could talk. He'd guessed how upset I was and he'd decided that he would have to tell me what he was planning. He said he knew he couldn't have kept the secret for very much longer anyway,' she added fondly.

‘And before you say a word,' she said firmly to her cousin, ‘Mark is paying for everything himself.'

Saskia leaned weakly against the wall. If the man she had come on to hadn't been Megan's Mark, then just who on earth had he been? Her face became even paler. She had come on to a man she didn't know…a
total and complete stranger…a man who…She swallowed nauseously, remembering the way she had looked, the way she had behaved…the things she had said. Thank God he was a stranger. Thank God she would never have to see him again.

‘Sas, you don't look well,' she could hear Megan saying solicitously. ‘What is it?'

‘Nothing,' she fibbed, but Lorraine had already guessed what she was thinking.

‘Well, if the man in the wine bar wasn't Mark then who on earth was he?' She demanded sharply.

‘Who indeed?' Saskia echoed hollowly.

T
O
S
ASKIA'S
dismay she heard the town hall clock striking eight a.m. as she hurried to work. She had intended to be in extra early this morning but unfortunately she had overslept—a direct result of the previous evening's events and the fact that initially she had been mentally agonising so much over what she had done that she had been unable to get to sleep.

Officially she might not be due to be at her desk until nine a.m., but in this modern age that was not the way things worked, especially when one's hold on one's job was already dangerously precarious.

‘There are bound to be cutbacks…redundancies,' the head of Saskia's department had warned them all, and Saskia, as she'd listened to him, had been sharply conscious that as the newest member of the team she was the one whose job was most in line to be cut back. It would be virtually impossible for her to get another job with the same kind of prospects in Hilford, and if she moved away to London that would mean her grandmother would be left on her own. At sixty-five her grandmother was not precisely old—far from it—and she had a large circle of friends, but the illness had left Saskia feeling afraid for her. Saskia felt she owed her such a huge debt, not only for bringing her up but for giving her so much love.

As she hurried into the foyer she asked Emma, the receptionist, anxiously, ‘Has he arrived yet?'

There was no need to qualify who she meant by ‘he', and Emma gave her a slightly superior smile as she replied, ‘Actually he arrived yesterday. He's upstairs now,' she added smugly, ‘interviewing everyone.' Her smugness and superiority gave way to a smile of pure feminine appreciation as she sighed. ‘Just wait until you see him. He's gorgeous…with a great big capital G.'

She rolled her eyes expressively whilst Saskia gave her a wan smile.

She now had her own special and private—very private—blueprint of what a gorgeous man looked like, and she doubted that their new Greek boss came anywhere near to matching it.

‘Typically, though, mind you,' the receptionist continued, oblivious to Saskia's desire to hurry to her office, ‘he's already spoken for. Or at least he soon will be. I was talking to the receptionist at their group's head office and she told me that his grandfather wants him to marry his cousin. She's mega-wealthy and—'

‘I'm sorry, Emma, but I must go,' Saskia interrupted her firmly. Office gossip, like office politics, was something Saskia had no wish to involve herself in, and besides…If their new boss was already interviewing people she didn't want to earn herself any black marks by not being at her desk when he sent for her.

Her office was on the third floor, an open plan space where she worked with five other people. Their
boss had his own glass-walled section, but right now both it and the general office itself were empty.

Just as she was wondering what to do the outer door swung open and her boss, followed by the rest of her colleagues, came into the room.

‘Ah, Saskia, there you are,' her boss greeted her.

‘Yes. I had intended to be here earlier…' Saskia began, but Gordon Jarman was shaking his head.

‘Don't explain now,' he told her sharply. ‘You'd better get upstairs to the executive suite. Mr Latimer's secretary will be expecting you. Apparently he wants to interview everyone, both individually and with their co-department members, and he wasn't too pleased that you weren't here…'

Without allowing Saskia to say anything, Gordon turned on his heel and went into his office, leaving her with no option but to head for the lift. It was unlike Gordon to be so sharp. He was normally a very laid back sort of person. Saskia could feel the nervous feeling in her tummy increasing as she contemplated the kind of attitude Andreas Latimer must have adopted towards his new employees to cause such a reaction in her normally unflappable boss.

The executive suite was unfamiliar territory to Saskia. The only previous occasions on which she had entered it had been when she had gone for her initial interview and then, more recently, when the whole staff had been informed of the success of the Demetrios takeover bid.

A little uncertainly she got out of the lift and walked towards the door marked ‘Personal Assistant to the Chief Executive'.

Madge Fielding, the previous owner's secretary,
had retired when the takeover bid's success had been announced, and when Saskia saw the elegantly groomed dark-haired woman seated behind Madge's desk she assumed that the new owner must have brought his PA with him from Demetrios head office.

Nervously Saskia gave her name, and started to explain that she worked for Gordon Jarman, but the PA waved her explanation aside, consulting a list in front of her instead and then saying coldly, without lifting her head from it, ‘Saskia? Yes. You're late. Mr Latimer does not like…In fact I'm not sure…' She stopped and eyed Saskia with a disapproving frown. ‘He may not have time to interview you now,' she warned, before picking up the phone and announcing in a very different tone of voice from the one she had used to address Saskia, ‘Ms. Rodgers is here now, Andreas. Do you still want to see her?

‘You
can
go in,' she informed Saskia. ‘It's the door over there…'

Feeling like a naughty child, Saskia forced herself not to react, heading instead for the door the PA had indicated and knocking briefly on it before turning the handle and walking in.

As she stepped into the office the bright sunlight streaming in through the large windows momentarily dazzled her. All she could make out was the hazy outline of a man standing in front of the glass with his back to her, the brilliance of the sunlight making it impossible for her to see any more.

But Andreas could see Saskia. It hadn't surprised him that she should choose to arrive at work later than her colleagues; after all, he knew how she spent her evenings. What had surprised him had been the
genuinely high esteem in which he had discovered she was held both by her immediate boss and her co-workers. It seemed that when it came to giving that extra metre, going that extra distance, Saskia was always the first to do so and the first to do whatever she could to help out her colleagues.

‘Yes, it is perhaps unusual in a young graduate,' her boss had agreed when Andreas had questioned his praise of Saskia. ‘But then she has been brought up by her grandmother and perhaps because of that her values and sense of obligation towards others are those of an older generation. As you can see from my report on her, her work is excellent and so are her qualifications.'

And she's a stunningly attractive young woman who seems to know how to use her undeniable ‘assets' to her own advantage, Andreas had reflected inwardly, but Gordon Jarman had continued to enthuse about Saskia's dedication to her work, her kindness to her fellow employees, her ability to integrate herself into a team and work diligently at whatever task she was given, and her popularity with other members of the workforce.

After studying the progress reports her team leader and Gordon himself had made on her, and the photograph in her file, Andreas had been forced to concede that if he hadn't seen for himself last night the way Saskia could look and behave he would probably have accepted Gordon's glowing report at face value.

She was quite plainly a woman who knew how to handle his sex, even if with him she had made an error of judgement.

This morning, for instance, she had completely metamorphosed back into the dedicated young woman forging a career for herself—neatly suited, her hair elegantly sleeked back, her face free of all but the lightest touch of make-up. Andreas started to frown as his body suddenly and very urgently and unwontedly reminded him of the female allure of the body that was today concealed discreetly beneath a prim navy business suit.

Didn't he already have enough problems to contend with? Last night after returning from the wine bar he had received a telephone call from his mother, anxiously warning him that his grandfather was on the warpath.

‘He had dinner with some of his old cronies last night and apparently they were all boasting about the deals they had recently pulled off. You know what they're like.' She had sighed. ‘And your grandfather was told by one of them that he had high hopes of his son winning Athena's hand…'

‘Good luck to him,' Andreas had told his mother uncompromisingly. ‘I hope he does. That at least will get her and Grandfather off my back.'

‘Well, yes,' his mother had agreed doubtfully. ‘But at the moment it seems to have made him even more determined to promote a marriage between the two of you. And, of course, now that he's half retired he's got more time on his hands to plan and fret…It's such a pity that there isn't already someone in your life.' She had sighed again, adding with a chuckle, ‘I honestly believe that the hope of a great-grandchild would thrill him so much that he'd
quickly forget he'd ever wanted you to marry Athena!'

Someone else in his life? Had it really been exasperation and the headache he knew lay ahead of him with their new acquisition that had prompted him into making the rashest statement of his life in telling his mother, ‘What makes you think there
isn't
someone?'

There had been a startled pause, just long enough for him to curse himself mentally but not for him to recall his impetuous words, before his mother had demanded in excitement, ‘You mean there
is?
Oh, Andreas! Who?
When
are we going to meet her? Who is she? How did you…? Oh, darling, how wonderful. Your grandfather
will
be thrilled. Olympia, guess what…'

He had then heard her telling his sister.

He had tried to put a brake on their excitement, to warn them that he was only talking in ‘ifs' and ‘buts', but neither of them had been prepared to listen. Neither had his grandfather this morning, when he had rung at the ungodly hour of five o'clock to demand to know when he was to meet his grandson's fiancée.

Fiancée…How the hell his mother and sister had managed to translate an off the cuff remark made in irritation into a real live fiancée Andreas had no idea, but he did know that unless he produced this mythical creature he was going to be in very big trouble.

‘You'll be bringing her to the island with you, of course,' his grandfather had announced, and his words had been a command and not a question.

What the hell was he going to do? He had eight
days in which to find a prospective fiancée and make it clear to her that their ‘engagement' was nothing more than a convenient fiction. Eight days and she would have to be a good enough actress to fool not just his grandfather but his mother and sisters as well.

Irritably he moved out of the sunlight's direct beam, turning round so that Saskia saw him properly for the first time.

There was no opportunity for her to conceal her shock, or the soft winded gasp of dismay that escaped her discreetly glossed lips as her face paled and then flooded with burning hot colour.

‘You!' she choked as she backed instinctively towards the door, her memories of the previous night flooding her brain and with them the sure knowledge that she was about to lose her job.

She certainly was an excellent actress, Andreas acknowledged as he observed her reaction—and in more ways than one. Her demeanour this morning was totally different from the way she had presented herself last night. But then no doubt she
was
horrified to discover that he was the man she had so blatantly propositioned. Even so, that look of sick dismay darkening her eyes and the way her soft bottom lip was trembling despite her attempts to stop it…Oh, yes, she was a first-rate actress—
a first-rate actress!

Suddenly Andreas could see a welcome gleam of light at the end of the dark tunnel of his current problem. Oh, yes, indeed, a very definite beam of light.

‘So Ms Rodgers.' Andreas began flaying into Saskia's already shredded self-confidence with all the delicacy of a surgeon expertly slicing through layer after layer of skin, muscle and bone. ‘I have read the
report Gordon Jarman has written on you and I must congratulate you. It seems that you've persuaded him to think very highly of you. That's quite an accomplishment for an employee so new and young. Especially one who adopts such an unconventional and, shall we say, elastic attitude towards timekeeping…leaving earlier than her colleagues in the evening and arriving later than them in the morning.'

‘Leaving
early?'
Saskia stared at him, fighting to recover her composure. How had he known about
that?

As though he had read her mind, he told her softly, ‘I was in the foyer when you left…quite some time before your official finishing time.'

‘But that was…' Saskia began indignantly.

However, Andreas did not allow her to finish, shaking his head and telling her coolly, ‘No excuses, please. They might work on Gordon Jarman, but unfortunately for you they will not work with me. After all, I have seen how you comport yourself when you are not at work. Unless…' He frowned, his mouth hardening as he studied her with icy derision. ‘Unless, of course,
that
is the reason he has given you such an unusually excellent report…'