CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

A RISTOPHANES K ATSAROS , BILLI ONAIRE owner of one of Europe’s most influential financial companies, had every minute of his phenomenally expensive time planned down to the last second. His schedule was his bible, his compass, and if something wasn’t in his schedule then it was irrelevant. He liked the certainty and he liked the control it gave him.

He was a man for whom control wasn’t simply vital, it was a way of life.

So as he exited the gala he’d been attending in Melbourne, a dull affair that he didn’t enjoy—social engagements were the bane of his existence—he checked his watch to make sure he was on time for the meeting he’d planned at the penthouse apartment he’d bought three years ago and never visited. A meeting he was sure would not be dull in the least.

Angelina was scheduled to join him for the night, as per his instructions to his personal secretary. She was tall, blonde, elegant, a professor of literature at an elite American college, and in Melbourne for a conference. She, like he, had a very tight schedule and one night was all she could do.

Not that he minded.

He had a revolving schedule of lovers, women who wanted only a night and nothing more, and he liked to make sure he had at least a couple of evenings each week with one in whichever city he was in at the time.

Sex was necessary and it helped him let off steam, but he didn’t prize it above anything else he had scheduled. It was a bodily requirement that he paid attention to as he paid attention to every bodily requirement in order to keep himself in optimum health.

He was looking forward to the evening, because he liked Angelina. She was cool, fearsomely intelligent and could more than hold her own in conversation with him. She was also uninhibited in bed and he was very much looking forward to that as well.

Beauty was not a requirement in his lovers, but intelligence was mandatory. Chemistry, too, was vital. His time was expensive and if he’d put aside the time for sex, then he wanted it. He also required that it should be as pleasurable as possible for all concerned.

That was all he was thinking as he came down the steps, his limo waiting for him at the kerb, and he wasn’t paying any attention to the light drizzle coming down from the sky, or the slick stone of the footpath, or the small figure hurrying along said footpath.

Hurrying too fast, in retrospect.

Aristophanes had his phone out of his pocket and was in the process of texting Angelina that he was on his way, when he heard a cry and the sound of someone hitting pavement. He jerked his gaze from the screen, startled, only to see the small figure crumpled on the pavement directly in front of his limo.

It wasn’t moving.

Aristophanes wasn’t a man who acted without thinking. He considered all his options carefully. He took his time. But now, faced with an unmoving human being lying prone on a slick street, he didn’t hesitate. He strode over and knelt on the wet stone, heedless of the rain on his immaculate black suit trousers.

The person was swathed in a cheap-looking black coat, what seemed to be miles of a woollen scarf, and he couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman until he’d managed to pull away all that fabric.

The loveliest woman he’d ever seen lay on the footpath in front of him.

For long moments he crouched there, ignoring the drizzle, almost transfixed.

She wasn’t a conventional beauty, he supposed, though beauty didn’t interest him the way it obsessed other people. He prized intelligence and self-control above all things, yet even he couldn’t deny that the woman lying unconscious on the pavement was exceptionally pretty. Her features were delicate and precise, a small chin, finely arched brows, and the sweetest pout of a mouth. Thick, dark red lashes feathered her cheeks.

A couple of months ago he’d been forced to go to a gala at an art gallery in New York, and there had been an exhibition of Pre-Raphaelite painters. The gala had been as dull as expected so he’d busied himself by looking at the paintings instead, particularly those by Burne-Jones.

She reminded him of the women in those paintings. A Pre-Raphaelite beauty fallen on a wet pavement.

Not that he should be staring at her. She was unconscious, which meant she’d hit her head on said pavement, and what he should be doing was checking she was okay, not staring at her like a fool.

His driver had got out of the limo and was at his elbow, but Aristophanes didn’t turn round. Instead he held a couple of fingers against the pale throat revealed by the plunging neckline of the black dress she was wearing. Her pulse beat strongly beneath her warm skin.

Thank God.

‘Call an ambulance,’ he said roughly to his driver. ‘Now.’

He had other places to go tonight and this would put him behind schedule, but even he couldn’t leave an unconscious woman lying on the pavement in the rain.

He stared down at her, frowning. The black dress she wore looked as cheap as her coat, but it clung to every curve, outlining a body made to fascinate a man for days. Full, luscious breasts, rounded hips, an elegant waist...and unless he was very much mistaken, she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

A pulse of desire shot through him, making every muscle clench tight.

Disturbing. He’d never felt such an instant physical attraction to a woman before. He preferred conversation first before anything else, because it was always the mind that drew him, not the body.

But this woman’s body...

He forced the thought away, hard. She was lying unconscious in the rain and he should be thinking about getting her warm, not noting her lack of undergarments.

Since moving her would be a mistake, he shrugged out of his handmade black cashmere overcoat instead, and laid it carefully over the top of her. She was so small the coat covered her.

‘Ambulance is on its way, sir,’ his driver said.

‘Good.’ Aristophanes didn’t move from where he crouched beside the woman. ‘Get an umbrella to shield her from the rain.’

The driver did so and, rather to his own surprise, Aristophanes found himself grabbing the umbrella from him, and holding it over the unconscious woman himself.

She was breathing, which was good, though she was very pale.

He checked his watch again. Time ticked by. The ambulance was coming. He could hear the siren. He should probably finish that text to Angelina to let her know he’d be delayed, yet he made no move to get his phone out. He kept holding the umbrella, crouched beside the woman, keeping the rain off her.

As the siren got louder, the woman made a soft sound and Aristophanes glanced down. Her eyelashes glowed reddish in the streetlights and were fluttering as she gave a moan. Instinctively, he put a hand on her shoulder to keep her still. Moving wasn’t a good idea when the ambulance hadn’t even arrived.

He’d never been a gentle man, never been one for kindness, but with an unconscious stranger on his hands, he made an attempt at both.

‘Keep still,’ he murmured. ‘You have fallen and hit your head. An ambulance is coming.’

Her lashes fluttered again, then rose, revealing liquid dark eyes that met his unerringly. They were full of confusion and shock, and he wasn’t sure what happened then, only it felt as if something large and solid had hit him squarely in the chest.

The ambulance sirens echoed.

He shook off the strange sensation and made as if to get to his feet—the paramedics would need room to work—but at that moment, a small hand crept out from under his coat and gripped his with surprising strength.

He froze.

Her eyes had closed again, but she didn’t let go of his hand.

A long time ago, when he’d been on his fifth—or maybe his sixth?—foster family, he’d discovered a stray kitten underneath some stairs in the dusty concrete apartment block in Athens where he’d been living at the time. He’d been about twelve, or thirteen, and at that stage had still been bothering trying to make a connection with his current foster family. But his foster parents hadn’t been interested, not when they’d had five other kids they were also fostering. So Aristophanes had been left to his own devices. Out of boredom and loneliness, he’d decided to adopt the kitten himself.

It had been wild, but he’d been patient, and eventually, using pilfered pieces of fish and crumbs of cheese, and little saucers of milk when he could get them, he’d got the kitten to begin to trust him. And the moment the kitten had allowed him to pick it up, he’d felt such a sense of achievement, as if there was something good about him after all.

It felt like that moment now, with this unknown woman clinging tightly to his hand. As if he were all that stood between her and destruction.

Aristophanes Katsaros was known as one of the brightest and best financial geniuses on the planet, and the financial algorithm he’d created had sent his fortunes into the stratosphere. He was a shark when it came to money, and numbers were his playground, his happy place. People, however, were far down on his list of priorities.

So he should have shaken her hand off, risen to his feet, and let the paramedics do their thing. Then he should have got into his limo and driven away to meet Angelina, and had the night of pleasure he’d allowed himself.

Except he didn’t.

For no apparent reason that he could see, he stayed where he was, reluctant to pull his hand away from the small, slender fingers clutching his own. He couldn’t recall a time anyone had reached for him, let alone some complete stranger in considerable distress.

Five minutes earlier, if anyone had told him that he’d be kneeling in the rain next to an unconscious woman and unable to pull away because she was holding his hand, he would have laughed.

Well, he might have laughed. If laughter were something he indulged in, which it wasn’t. At the very least he would have ridiculed the idea.

Now, though, as the ambulance pulled up and the paramedics leapt out, he found himself staying exactly where he was, keeping hold of her hand. Eventually, he had to move though, so he eased his fingers from hers and stepped back to give the paramedics room to work.

It was time to go. Time send that text to Angelina and let her know that he was on his way.

But he didn’t. He stood there, watching as the paramedics checked her over, shone a light into her eyes and murmured reassuringly to her.

She was awake again, her gaze darting around as if she was looking for someone.

Was it him? Though he couldn’t think why she’d be looking for him, since she wouldn’t know him from Adam. Still, he stepped closer and when she looked around again, her dark eyes met his. ‘You,’ she whispered and again reached out a hand to him.

The paramedics were putting her onto a wheeled stretcher and, once they’d strapped her in, he stepped in close and took her reaching fingers in his. They closed convulsively on his hand, gripping tight, and so he had no choice but to follow as they wheeled her to the ambulance.

‘Will she be all right?’ he asked one of the paramedics.

‘She has a concussion,’ the man said. ‘We need to get her to hospital to get her checked out. Are you her next of kin?’

‘No.’ Aristophanes’ attention was consumed by the woman and the grip she had on his hand. She felt so warm.

They were preparing to put her in the ambulance.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ the paramedic said. ‘If you’re not her next of kin, you can’t come with her.’

He hadn’t planned on going with her. His plan for the evening was Angelina and her slender, supple body. Yet now the woman’s grip tightened, as if she was trying to hold onto him, and he realised suddenly that he wouldn’t be able to give his full attention to Angelina until he knew this complete stranger was okay.

She probably had next of kin somewhere, but she’d slipped over next to his limo and now he felt responsible. Also, she was holding onto his hand very tightly, making it clear—in his mind anyway—that she wanted his presence.

‘I am coming with her,’ he said flatly, using the same tone he always used when people disagreed with his wishes.

The paramedic shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, sir. You can’t.’

Aristophanes, who didn’t hear the word no very often and never liked it when he did, focused on the man. ‘I don’t care.’

‘Sir, you can’t—’

‘Yes, I can,’ Aristophanes cut him off with all the force of his considerable authority. ‘Or do you really want me to go to the trouble of buying your hospital just so I can fire you?’

The paramedic opened his mouth. Shut it. Then shrugged and muttered something Aristophanes decided not to catch.

They loaded the woman into the ambulance and let Aristophanes climb in beside her, and he continued to hold her hand as the sirens started and they sped towards the hospital.

She sighed, settling on the stretcher, her eyes closing.

Angelina was going to have to wait.

Nell was having a lovely dream. She’d been running from something very upsetting and had fallen over, and then the most beautiful man she’d ever seen had grabbed her hand to help her up. He was holding onto it now and she didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want to let him go ever. He was so strong and reassuring and she was sure that nothing could touch her while he was here.

Now they were dancing and...no...wait...they couldn’t be dancing because she was lying down and not moving, and her head was hurting, and she felt dizzy. Had she been drinking? Had she got really, really drunk?

Then again, no, she couldn’t be drunk because she didn’t drink much and, anyway, she had work the next day and she never missed work. She loved her job at the preschool, and she loved the kids. So not drunk, then. Perhaps she was sick and that was why her head was hurting?

If felt like an effort to open her eyes, but she managed it, expecting to find herself in her little flat in Brunswick with the morning light coming through the window.

Except she wasn’t in her bed or in her flat.

She was lying on what looked like a hospital bed with a curtain drawn around it, and someone was holding her hand.

Wait, what? A hospital bed? What on earth was she doing in hospital?

Desperately she tried to remember what had happened. Things were a little hazy, but she’d got to the bar where she was supposed to meet Clayton—she’d been seeing him for about a month—and had sat there waiting for him. She’d dressed up specially, because she’d decided that tonight was the night she was going to sleep with him. She hadn’t yet, wanting to wait until she was sure he was someone she could see having a long-term relationship with, and only in the past couple of weeks had she decided that, yes, he was.

So she’d worn a slinky black dress that clung to her generous curves and, in a fit of daring that wasn’t like her at all, she hadn’t put on any underwear. He’d been getting impatient with their lack of physical contact, so she’d wanted to make sure he knew that she was ready and willing right now.

Except then he hadn’t turned up. At first she’d thought he was just late. But then late had turned into very late, and then, an hour after that, she’d got a text from him saying he was sorry, but he didn’t think this would work between them. She was too uptight, he’d said, too many hang-ups about sex, which wasn’t what he was looking for.

After the text, she’d walked out of the bar into the drizzly night, upset and full of embarrassment that she’d put on a sexy dress and no underwear for a man who hadn’t wanted her. Who in the end had left her to wait in the bar for an hour then not even turned up.

She’d been determined not to cry as she’d walked blindly through the drizzle and then...something had happened and she’d woken up here.

At that moment someone bent over her and she found herself looking up into a pair of eyes the dark grey of thunderclouds, framed by long black lashes and straight black brows.

Her breath caught.

It was the man. The beautiful man from her dream. Except apparently he wasn’t a dream after all.

His face was all rough angles and chiselled planes, his mouth hard, his cheekbones high, and he had the most impressive jaw she’d ever seen.

No, perhaps beautiful wasn’t the right word for him. Compelling, maybe. Or magnetic.

Electric.

Nell stared at him, her voice vanishing somewhere she couldn’t reach.

He was very tall, wide shoulders and broad, muscled chest encased in an expertly tailored white shirt that looked somewhat damp. He also wore black trousers that highlighted a narrow waist and powerful thighs and...

Lord. What was she doing? She never gazed at men like that. She’d certainly never gazed at Clayton like that. Then again, Clayton didn’t look like this man and, also, Clayton had ghosted her in a bar the night she’d planned on sleeping with him.

Clayton, who she’d thought was the perfect man for her. Who worked for a bank, owned his own home, and was good-looking. Whom she’d had fun with and—

And who didn’t want you.

Nell swallowed, a hot wave of remembered embarrassment washing through her, but she forced the thought away, concentrating instead on the man at her bedside and not the man who’d left her high and dry.

He looked expensive, this man in his damp evening clothes, and he radiated authority, as if he were one of the doctors who ruled this ER. No, as if he were one of the people who ruled the entire hospital, or possibly even the entire city itself. Maybe even the whole country...

Then something else interrupted the rush of chaotic thoughts. He was holding her hand, his fingers warm and strong, and somehow reassuring. She wanted to tighten her grip, as if he were all that stood between her and a hundred-foot drop.

‘Are you well?’ His voice was deep and a touch rough, with a hint of an accent she couldn’t place. Definitely not Australian.

Nell tried to find her own. ‘Um... My head hurts.’

‘Yes,’ the man said. ‘You had an accident. You slipped on the wet pavement and hit your head, and so I called an ambulance. You are in hospital.’

Oh, God. She must have been more upset than she’d thought if she’d slipped. She was normally pretty careful on the bluestone paving of Melbourne’s streets, especially when it was raining. It had better not be serious. Sarah, her manager, would be extremely annoyed if she couldn’t go to work the next day, since they were already short-staffed.

At that moment the curtain was pushed back and a doctor came in, looking harried. ‘Miss Underwood,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘A bit woozy,’ Nell replied.

‘Of course, you’ve had quite the knock on the head. Luckily, Mr Katsaros here was able to call an ambulance and get you in to see us.’

‘It was nothing,’ the man—Mr Katsaros—said dismissively. He released his grip on her hand and glanced at her. ‘You’ll be looked after here.’

Her fingers tingled from where he’d been holding them, and his grey gaze was very sharp, very intense. It was as if all the air in the room had been sucked away when he looked at her, which was disconcerting.

‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to sound her usual calm, firm self since that was her default setting whenever she was disconcerted. Being calm and firm also worked extremely well with small children, animals and overbearing men.

‘We’ll need to do a brief examination,’ the doctor said, ‘but first I need to know if you have anyone at home who can look after you.’

Nell swallowed, her mouth a little dry. ‘No, I live alone.’

‘Friends or family?’

She shook head again. The only friend she could call on was Lisa, who also worked at the preschool, but she was on holiday in Bali. And as for her family... Her parents had died when she was a child, and there was no point asking her aunt or uncle. Or her cousins. She hadn’t been in contact with them for years and didn’t know how to reach them even if she’d wanted to. Which she didn’t. They’d never been interested in her and the feeling was mutual.

The doctor frowned. ‘You need to be with someone for at least twenty-four hours. Are you sure you don’t have anyone you can call?’

Nell’s head was starting to feel a little better so she sat up, taking it slow, pleased to find the dizziness receding. ‘I’m sure I’ll be fine,’ she said. There was her neighbour, Mrs Martin, who could look in on her. No need to put anyone else to any trouble over a silly bump on the head. ‘I have a neighbour who can—’

‘I will look after you,’ Mr Katsaros interrupted unexpectedly, his voice like stone, heavy with authority.

Nell blinked.

He’d turned to look at her again, his dark grey eyes boring into hers, radiating that peculiar intensity that sent a hot, electric feeling through her. It was disturbing. He was disturbing.

Rattled, she dredged up a sunny yet impersonal smile. ‘Thank you. That’s a very kind offer, but I couldn’t possibly put you to the trouble.’

His gaze remained unblinking, making her feel as if she were a specimen on a slide put under a very powerful microscope. ‘It is no trouble.’

The electric feeling intensified, which disturbed her even more, so she smiled harder. ‘As I said, it’s very kind of you, but...well. You’re a complete stranger and I have no idea who you are.’

‘Aristophanes Katsaros,’ he said without hesitation, as if he’d been waiting hours for her to ask. ‘Google me.’

The doctor, who was checking her phone and now looking even more harried, glanced at Nell. ‘I need to do a few checks before we can let you go, Miss Underwood. But I can’t release you if you don’t have anyone to be with you.’

The pain in Nell’s head receded to a dull ache. ‘As I said, I have a neighbour who can—’

‘You will be in no danger,’ the preposterously named Aristophanes Katsaros interrupted yet again, that storm-grey gaze not moving from hers. ‘Not from me. I have a doctor on my staff who can keep an eye on you.’

At that moment an alarm sounded from somewhere beyond the curtain around her bed, and people began shouting. The doctor pulled a face, then vanished back out through the curtain without another word.

Clearly some emergency was happening.

Mr Katsaros didn’t move, making the confined space seem even smaller than it was already, filling it with a tense, kinetic energy that made her heart beat hard. And it wasn’t with fear. She didn’t know what it was.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, going into firm teacher mode automatically. ‘But I don’t know you from a bar of soap. And while I’m grateful for you coming to my rescue, I don’t understand why you’d suddenly want to spend the next twenty-four hours looking after me.’

He stared down at her from his great height, standing quite still and yet somehow making the air around him vibrate with that strange electricity. His gaze flicked along the length of her body stretched out on the bed then came back to her face, the dark storm grey turning to silver. ‘Do you have anyone else?’

Abruptly, she became conscious that her slinky black dress was damp and clinging to every single curve she had and that...oh, yes, she wasn’t wearing underwear.

Her cheeks burned. How bloody mortifying. Here she was in this stupid dress that she’d put on for Clayton, with no underwear, lying in hospital because she’d knocked herself out. And this man had rescued her. He likely already knew what she had on underneath, or rather what she didn’t have on underneath. What must he think of her?

Nell wanted to grab a blanket and pull it over herself, hide away from this far too magnetic man’s gaze, but there wasn’t one. All she could do was brazen it out, pretend she was wearing a suit of armour instead of a layer of cheap black jersey.

She gave him a very direct, quelling look. ‘I’ve already said I have a neighbour.’

‘Will they be able to stay with you the entire time?’ he asked. ‘A head injury can be very dangerous.’

Nell gritted her teeth. He was being very...insistent and she couldn’t fathom why. The real problem, though, was that Mrs Martin, her neighbour, was eighty-five and had a bad hip. She used a walker, too, and, while Nell thought she could manage to pop in a couple of times over the course of twenty-four hours, Nell certainly couldn’t ask her to stay.

Which meant Nell was in a difficult position.

She stared at Aristophanes Katsaros, who stared back intently, silver glittering in his eyes. It made her skin feel tight, that look, made her feel restless in a way she couldn’t pinpoint. As if she were excited or thrilled by the way he looked at her, which couldn’t be right. Why would she be excited about that?

Clayton never looked at you that way.

No, he hadn’t. He’d been patient with her at first when she’d refused to sleep with him, telling her that it was fine, he’d wait. But then he’d been less patient, more irritated, making vague comments about his ‘needs’ and wasn’t she being a little selfish?

Anger flickered at the memory and, briefly, she thought about lying to the demanding Mr Katsaros, but a lie involving a head injury would be very stupid and she wasn’t stupid.

‘No,’ she said with a bit of bite in her tone. ‘No, they will not be able to stay with me the entire time.’

‘In that case you will come with me.’ He said it as if that were the most logical thing in the world.

‘I don’t know you from—’

‘Google me.’

‘But I—’

‘Do it.’ He handed her his phone, his gaze relentless. ‘I’ll wait.’

His insistence made her bristle. ‘Forgive me, but I’m not sure why you’re insisting on looking after a complete stranger. I can arrange my own babysitter, believe me.’

His straight black brows drew together slightly, but the intense look in his eyes didn’t waver. ‘You slipped beside my car. You are my responsibility, and I take my responsibilities very seriously.’

A pulse of inexplicable heat went through her, though she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t want to be his responsibility. She’d been other people’s responsibility for years after her parents’ deaths, and it hadn’t turned out that well, at least not for her.

Clearly impatient with her silence, he nodded at the phone. ‘Search my name.’

Nell was tempted to tell him very firmly that he couldn’t tell her what to do, but that wasn’t going to help matters and, anyway, she abhorred a fuss.

Reluctantly, she opened the web browser in the sleek black piece of technology in her hand.

‘Do you need me to spell it?’ he asked.

She gave him a look. ‘Aristophanes. Like the ancient Greek playwright?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine.’

‘Katsaros is spelled K-A-T—’

‘I can manage,’ she said coolly, interrupting him for a change as she entered his surname—it was Greek, she thought—into the web browser.

Hundreds of hits came up. Newspaper articles, magazine articles, think pieces, opinion posts, essays, interviews, videos... A bewildering array of information about Katsaros International, a huge finance company, and its mathematical-genius founder, who’d invented a financial algorithm that did something to the stock market.

Aristophanes Katsaros was that powerful billionaire founder, and he was currently standing at her hospital bedside in the busy ER of a public hospital, staring at her as if he wanted to eat her alive.

You would like him to.

The pulse of heat became a flame flickering inside her, and she couldn’t keep telling herself that she didn’t know what it was, not this time.

It was physical attraction, pure and simple.

She didn’t understand. Why on earth would she be attracted to this stranger? She didn’t know anything about him and, given how insistent and overbearing he seemed to be, she wasn’t sure she’d like him even if she did. There was no way on earth she could be attracted to him. Yet, she couldn’t deny that she felt hot when he looked at her, restless too, a million ants under her skin.

She’d had a grand total of one lover in her life and Clayton was to be the second, but even Clayton had never made her feel like this. That was the issue. Clayton had made her feel...well...nothing. If this was indeed attraction, and she’d never felt it before so she wasn’t entirely sure, then Clayton hadn’t made her feel even a tenth of what Aristophanes Katsaros made her feel.

Bewildering. She didn’t like it. She wouldn’t like him to eat her alive, and what she actually wanted was to be out of his disturbing, electric presence.

Also, she didn’t need him to make such a fuss. If he was indeed the founder of Katsaros International, then he had much better things to be doing than looking after a lowly preschool teacher. Why on earth was he making all this effort for her?

‘I see,’ she said after a moment, gripping her self-possession as tightly as she could. ‘May I ask why?’

His straight dark brows twitched again. ‘What do you mean why?’

She gestured at the phone. ‘You’re very rich and obviously very important. Why on earth would you waste time looking after me?’

‘Waste time...’ he echoed, looking puzzled, as if the words meant nothing to him. ‘No, you do not understand. I never waste time. Every second is accounted for, and I can assure you that I have rearranged my schedule to account for looking after you.’

Nell blinked. He had a strange way of speaking, as if his words were precious and he was doling them out one at a time. His accent was tantalising though, making soft music out of his deep voice, making her want to hear him speak again just for the pleasure of it.

Still...he’d rearranged his schedule? For her? Why would he do that?

She stared at him blankly, not knowing what to say.

Apparently, though, he didn’t need her to say anything, because he checked the heavy-looking watch on his left wrist then reached for his phone, plucking it out of her hand. He glanced down at the screen and began to type one-handed, his thumb moving deftly.

‘I will have you examined by my doctor. It will be quicker,’ he said, still typing. ‘It is pointless to wait further here.’

Nell opened her mouth in an automatic protest, but then he lifted the phone and spoke into it in a language that wasn’t English. Maybe Greek, given his last name? He was short, to the point and devastatingly authoritative, before ending the call abruptly. ‘Come,’ he ordered, holding out a hand to her. ‘I have my doctor waiting.’

The air of authority with which he spoke, as if the world were his to command, shocked her. She’d never met anyone with such a sense of their own importance.

Well. He might be a very famous, very rich, very powerful billionaire, while she was only a preschool teacher who was neither rich, famous nor particularly powerful, but she still wasn’t going to go with him just because he said so.

‘I don’t care who you have waiting,’ Nell said with the same gentle firmness she used with particularly recalcitrant children. ‘But I’m not going with you and that’s final. As I keep saying, I have a neighbour who can—’

‘I don’t care about your neighbour.’ He didn’t take his gaze from hers. ‘Do you know how serious a head injury can be, Miss Underwood? The paramedic explained it to me on the way to hospital. You might feel fine now, but you could have a blood clot or any one of a number of serious complications. He was very clear that someone needs to be with you for the next twenty-four hours. So unless you fancy a hospital stay, in which case you’ll be taking a bed from someone who might need it more than you do, I suggest coming with me now.’