and I’ve brought an offering. Let me in, fair Lucilla, or banish me. Your choice.”
“I’m angry with you.”
“I know this. I brought a peace offering.”
She didn’t answer. But the door buzzed as she freed the lock and Christos went inside.
Lucilla’s heart turned over. She glanced in the mirror by her apartment door and frowned. She’d come home and changed into yoga pants and a soft T-shirt so she could curl upon the sofa and read the reports from her staff.
She had not expected company. She had certainly not expected Christos. She heard his footsteps on the stairs and yanked the door open. He was still wearing his suit from earlier, and his hair was gorgeously tousled from the breeze outside. He came up the last step and stopped. Then he held up a bag.
“Souvlaki, pita, rice, dolmades and baklava.”
Lucilla blinked. “Don’t tell me you cook.”
“I do, actually. But I didn’t cook this. Still, I promise it’s good.”
She pulled the door wider and he came inside, smelling like the night air and something spicy, too. She closed it behind him and then headed for the kitchen because she did not know what to say. When she got there, she began to pull out plates and silverware. Christos took the food from the bag and set the containers in a row on her island.
It was almost companionable, which seemed strange considering they were enemies.
Enemies who were powerfully attracted to each other, apparently. So attracted that she’d gone against every bit of good sense she possessed and let him in.
She spied the bottle of wine she’d plannedto open earlier. She’d been texting Antonio and forgot all about it. A sliver of guilt threatened to prick her as she remembered what they’d been texting about.
Christos. Specifically, getting rid of Christos.
“Wine?” she asked, picking up the bottle. Because she certainly needed it now.
Christos flashed her a smile that made her insides quiver. “Sounds good.”
She fished in the cabinet for the opener. But her hands were trembling too much to do a proper job and she swore softly as she failed to get the corkscrew seated for the second time.
“Here, let me.” Christos was beside her, his big body almost startling as he invaded her space. He took the corkscrew from her hands, took the bottle, too, and then deftly inserted the device. She watched as he expertly worked the cork free.
“You must have been a waiter once.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed. Though not for long.”
“Didn’t like it, huh?”
His expression was coolly amused. “No, I bought the restaurant.”
She should have known. “You went frombeing a waiter to being the owner. How long did that take?”
“Six months.”
Lucilla wanted to whistle. “You do have a hell of a reputation, Christos.”
That much was certainly true. Everything she’d learned about him since she’d started researching him only made him seem more formidable—and yes, even somewhat supernatural—than before. Christos achieved things that others could not. He did not fail, and he did not leave a business in worse shape than when he arrived. He always improved upon what he’d been given.
She knew that—and yet she knew she could do the same thing, at least where the Chatsfield empire was concerned. She knew the business backward and forward because she’d worked pretty much every position in the hotels there was, from chambermaid to front desk and beyond. She’d been preparing for it her entire adult life, but her father didn’t have faith in her ability.
It still stung, even after all these weeks, and she bit down on the bitter flood of acid in her throat. Thinking about her father would only make her angry and upset, and she’d prefer to keep her wits about her. She had a verydark, very handsome, very dangerous man in her kitchen.
And she still had no idea why he was here. Or why she’d let him in.
Christos stood so near, his scent wrapping around her, invading her senses. He handed