Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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      This was where Alex lived.

      If he hadn’t said, “Welcome to my place,” she would have known it anyway. The light walls, the earth tones, the casual modern but not stark furniture, the plush dark rust and blue and gold oriental rug centered on the polished oak floor created a visual backdrop for the man she had known. Even if he weren’t standing there watching her take it all in, she would have known this was where he belonged.

      There were, in the furnishings, in the books and papers on the coffee table, in the framed architectural drawings on the walls, signs of Alex everywhere. She was shaken by how instantly she felt at home, as if she, too, belonged here.

      No. No, she didn’t.

      She took a breath, steeled herself and tossed his words back at him, “So show me the best light of all.”

      He smiled. “Right this way.”

      Wouldn’t you just bloody know that it would be the skylight in his bedroom!

      Daisy stopped dead at the door, realizing a split second before she crossed the threshold exactly where they were going. “I didn’t mean—”

      Alex turned, flashing her a grin. “You asked for it.”

      Daisy read the challenge in it—the very challenge she’d told Cal she could handle. And she could, damn it. So, deliberately, she stepped in and looked around. The skylight was above the bed. The bed looked to be the size of, perhaps, the Sahara Desert—but vastly more comfortable with its buff-colored duvet and a quartet of dark brown pillows.

      “Very nice,” she said, doing her best to keep her gaze fixed on the skylight until she turned back to the living room again. “Let me shoot some photos out here.”

      He smiled, but didn’t challenge her further, just let her wander around and look her fill.

      Daisy resisted looking her fill. She’d have been here for hours, curious about the man, wanting to know him better, at the same time she knew she shouldn’t want to know him at all.

      Alex’s apartment was not some sterile showplace. There were dishes in the sink, a newspaper on the counter. Two pairs of athletic shoes, a gym bag and a racing bike sat by what she supposed was the main front door—the one that didn’t lead down to his office. And one wall of the kitchen was painted as a mural of something that looked like the Greek islands—lots of blue sea and sky, white-washed buildings and blue domed churches. It drew her attention.

      “Did Martha paint that?”

      Martha was Lukas’s twin sister. Daisy had met her several times over the years. She knew Martha now lived part of the year in Montana—of all places—and part of the year on Long Island and wherever her husband, Theo Savas, was sailing boats.

      It seemed an amazing exotic existence to Daisy who had been born in Colorado, came to the big city for university, and never left—except to go back home occasionally.

      “She did,” Alex agreed. “Kind of bowls you over, doesn’t it?”

      “I like it,” Daisy said.

      “I didn’t,” Alex said, surprising her.

      “What? Why not?”

      He shook his head. “Memories.”

      That startled her until she remembered him telling her about his childhood, about his brother who had died young.

      “You could paint over it,” she suggested.

      He shrugged. “I got used to it. I just wasn’t expecting it. I was heading out of town and I told her to paint whatever she wanted. She thought it would make me happy. Can we get on with this?” he said abruptly, gesturing to her camera.

      “Oh! Yes, of course!” Daisy grimaced, feeling a flush of confusion engulf her. That would teach her.

      She pointed to the armchair near the window. “Go sit there and look at one of your books.”

      Alex picked up a book and sat down with it, opened it at random, studied it as if he cared what was in it while Daisy moved and shot, moved and shot.

      He turned a page. “I hired a matchmaker.”

      Daisy’s finger slipped on the shutter release. Then, taking a slow careful breath so as not to jar the camera, she clicked off several more shots and lowered it again.

      “Did you?” she said, heart pounding. “Good for you. I’m sure you’ll find exactly what you’re looking for. Turn a little more this way.”

      He turned. “I found her on the internet.”

      A breath hissed through Daisy’s teeth. “The internet? For heaven’s sake, Alex! How do you know she’s legitimate? She might be a charlatan—someone hanging out her shingle, looking to make money off poor unsuspecting fools.”

      He looked up from the book and raised a brow. “Poor unsuspecting fools … like me?”

      Daisy’s cheeks burned. “I didn’t mean that! I never said—” She retreated behind her camera again. “I just meant that not everyone is reliable, honest. Did you get letters of recommendation? What do you know about her background?”

      “She has a degree in human relations. She was born and raised in Virginia. She came to the ‘big city’ when she was just out of college. Reminded me a little of you.”

      “I’m not from Virginia,” Daisy bit out. “And I don’t have a degree in human relations.”

      “So maybe she’s more qualified than you are,” Alex mused, giving her a sly smile.

      “Maybe she is. I’ve got enough here. Let’s go back down to your office.” Someplace less intimate. Someplace where she could focus on her work. She didn’t want to hear anything more about his matchmaker.

      Alex picked up her camera bag, then started down the stairs again. He glanced back. “I went out with one of her suggestions last night.”

      Daisy pasted on a bright smile. “How nice. Maybe you’ll have a wife by Christmas.”

      He nodded. “Maybe I will. She’s a stockbroker. Nice enough. Intense, though,” he mused.

      Daisy pointed him toward his drafting table. “Put out a drawing and focus,” she directed. She did not intend to get sucked into analyzing his date.

      “Too intense for me,” he went on, even as he obediently pulled out a drawing, spread it on the table and stared down at it. “She’d talked nonstop about everything from chandeliers to parakeets to stock options to astronomy.”

      “Well, it’s early days yet,” Daisy said briskly. “Maybe the next one will be better.”

      If he’d been her client she’d have talked to him about that, tried to learn what he hadn’t liked, what was “too intense.” But she wasn’t finding a wife for Alex Antonides. He was someone else’s problem.

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