The Greek Tycoon's Virgin Wife. HELEN BIANCHIN

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      All that remained was to implement a starting point, begin the courtship…and put forward his proposal.

      Xandro’s eyes narrowed slightly as Liliana Girard separated from her daughter’s side and began moving towards him.

      ‘Xandro. How lovely to see you here.’

      ‘Liliana.’ He took her outstretched hands in his, then lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips to her cheek.

      ‘If you’re alone this evening, perhaps you would care to join Ilana and me?’

      Xandro inclined his head in silent acquiescence.

      ‘Thank you.’

      He allowed Liliana to precede him, his gaze becoming deliberately enigmatic as he saw the moment Ilana sensed his approach. The imperceptible stillness in her stance, the slight lift of her head, like a fragile gazelle scenting danger.

      Then the moment was gone, replaced by a practised smile as he drew close.

      People-watching was an art-form, body language an acquired skill…both at which he was incredibly adept. ‘Xandro,’ Ilana managed with cool politeness, and silently damned the way her pulse kicked in to a faster beat.

      There was something about him, an indefinable quality that raised the hairs at the back of her neck in silent warning…of what?

      Tall, for even in four-inch stilettos she had to lift her head to look at him.

      Attractive, Ilana accorded silently, in a leonine way, for the lighting accentuated his broad sculptured facial features, strong jaw-line and the enigmatic expression in his dark eyes.

      His tailoring was impeccable and individually crafted, downplaying rather than emphasising his impressive breadth of shoulder.

      Intensely masculine, he bore an aura of power that was uncontrived, yet only a fool would fail to detect the ruthlessness lurking beneath the surface.

      ‘Ilana.’

      He made no attempt to touch her…so why did she harbour the instinctive feeling he was merely biding his time? It didn’t make sense.

      ‘I believe you’re sharing our table this evening.’ She was well versed in the art of social conversation and could converse in fluent Italian and French, thanks to a year spent in each country studying couture.

      Yet in this man’s presence she had to consciously strive to present a certain façade. Aware, in some deep recess of her mind, that he saw straight through it.

      His gaze remained steady. ‘Is that a problem?’

      What would he do if she said…yes?

      A polite smile curved her mouth. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to have you join us.’ And knew she lied.

      ‘One of the committee members has just signalled me,’ Liliana posed. ‘I won’t be long.’

      For a moment Ilana felt bereft, and incredibly vulnerable. She could escape with good reason…excuse herself and drift towards another group of guests. Except it would be a copout, and a fruitless one, for she doubted such a move would fool Xandro in the slightest.

      It was inevitable they’d cross paths. The Caramanis empire was a known benefactor of several charities, and gala events such as this evening’s fundraiser ensured Xandro’s presence, usually with a stunning female in tow.

      Yet this was the third time in recent weeks he’d attended an evening function without a partner.

      So who’s counting? a silent imp taunted…and she stilled the soft oath that rose and died in her throat.

      The thought he might deliberately seek her out was laughable. She was his polar opposite, and besides, she was done with men. Had been for more than two years, and once bitten…

      A faint shiver slithered down the length of her spine as memory provided a vivid replay of that fateful night when her hopes and dreams had been so cruelly shattered.

      She’d survived and moved on, losing herself in her career to the extent it consumed her life. There was little she wanted or needed. No unfulfilled dreams.

      ‘Darling.’ The soft feminine voice was pure feline, and matched the tall, willowy blonde who drifted close to Xandro’s side. ‘I didn’t expect to see you tonight.’

      ‘Danika,’ Xandro acknowledged with a polite smile that failed to reach his eyes.

      The Austrian-born model trod the international fashion catwalks and was much sought-after by designers, despite her behind-the-scene tantrums. A nightmare to work with, she possessed a magical ability to model clothes that put her among the élite.

      ‘You’ve met Ilana?’

      Brilliant blue eyes spared her a perfunctory look. ‘Should I have?’

      The deliberate put-down was softened with an ingenious tilt of that exquisitely painted mouth.

      ‘Ilana is a fashion designer.’

      ‘Really?’

      Bored disinterest couldn’t have been better feigned. This was party time, and the glamorous model had only one goal in mind…Xandro Caramanis.

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