The Enigmatic Greek by Catherine George

as—even far more than—the glossy, highly finished ones he mixed with socially here in Athens and London, also in New York from time to time. He was certain that nature alone was responsible for the curves outlined by her shirt and, though she had worn make-up the night before, there was none in evidence today. He might dislike her profession, but he liked Eleanor.
    He must like her a lot, he thought sardonically. It was not a habit of his to discuss his personal life with anyone, not even his mother, yet he’d found himself actually describing his schooldays to Eleanor. Even more unusually, he had complete confidence in her assurance that what he required kept off the record would stay that way. His mother had been right—as always. The company of an intelligent woman was a refreshing change, and he was by no means ready to part with this one just yet.
    ‘There,’ she said at last and slid the laptop over to him. ‘If you’re satisfied I’ll get it off to Ross.’
    After which, of course, she would want to take off immediately for Crete to catch a plane home. As Alex read the revised draft his brain, long accustomed to dealing with several things at once, began devising ways to keep her here longer—not only to take her to bed but because he enjoyed her company. Persuading a woman to stay with him wasnew. From the time he’d reached his present stature in his early teens, women had been there for the taking, from the neighbours’ daughters he met in Corfu to the women encountered in college and in the business world afterwards. But, with his parents’ union as example, marriage held no appeal. His normal male appetites were catered for by sophisticated beauties who appealed to his senses only, never to his heart. Loving someone madly, as both his parents had done, was a fate he had taken pains to avoid. Not, he realised, frowning, that he had any knowledge of pain in a romantic relationship. Arianna might have dented his pride a little, but his heart had survived undamaged.
    ‘Is it that bad?’ demanded Eleanor. ‘Shall I do more work on it?’
    Alex shook his head. ‘No. It’s fine as it is. I always frown when I concentrate.’
    ‘You don’t object to the touches I put in?’
    ‘No. They make me sound human, so leave them. You write well.’ He pushed the laptop back to her. ‘All yours; make your editor happy.’
    Eleanor was only too glad to speed the article on its way, along with the photograph which really pleased her. It portrayed Alexei Drakos in exactly the right light, his air of power unmistakeable.
    ‘Just wait for McLean to acknowledge it,’ said Alex. ‘Then afterwards you can relax and enjoy some lunch before you go up to the roof to sunbathe.’
    ‘An attractive programme,’ she agreed, and smiled wryly as the expected email popped into her inbox. ‘Here it is.’
    Alex came round the desk to look over her shoulder.
    ‘“Good girl! Many thanks, RMcL.”’
    ‘Good girl!’ said Eleanor in disgust, and shut the laptop.
    ‘You prefer “woman”?’ said Alex, amused.
    ‘Would you like it if someone said “good boy”?’
    ‘Point taken. Let me soothe your indignation with a glass of vintage Kyrkiros wine.’
    Eleanor agreed gratefully. She felt utterly wrung out, which was ridiculous. Spending the morning on one solitary article wouldn’t normally be exhausting, but getting one so important so absolutely right, and with Alexei looking on as she worked, had been a draining experience. To sink into a comfortable sofa and look out at the view as she drank her celebratory wine was a treat she deserved after the effort taken to get the interview. Though she had Talia to thank for that, she knew only too well.
    ‘I need a wash before lunch,’ she told Alex. ‘I won’t be long.’
    ‘Take your time.’ He smiled. Something he was doing a lot more lately since he’d met Eleanor Markham. ‘But not too much. You need sustenance after all your hard work.’
    ‘Fifteen