The Greek Tycoon's Secret Child. Cathy Williams

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СКАЧАТЬ leave before the bitter end, as she was inevitably doing herself out of much needed tips from those groups who turned up in the early hours of the morning, but she needed the sleep. Needed the time to restore some energy back into her body. She was young, but she wasn’t made of iron and, unlike the other girls working the tables, she didn’t have hours of unimpeded sleep ahead of her in which to recover.

      She watched covertly as they finished the champagne, hoped that there would not be another bottle ordered even if she was doing herself out of money in the process, walked over towards them, taking a deep breath on the way.

      Training was given to all the girls when they first joined on walking. She had never, in her twenty-three years of life, known that there were different ways of walking. She had always narrowed it down to simply putting one foot in front of the other. But she had picked up the style quickly enough so that now, as she headed towards their table, her gait was unconsciously provocative, all the more so because of her slenderness.

      Dominic followed her progress with leisurely enjoyment. She was determined not to look at him. He could see it in the way she collected their glasses. Nor was she interested in them ordering another bottle of champagne, even though she asked the question in the same breathlessly tempting voice.

      ‘Now, where,’ he drawled, capturing her reluctant attention, ‘do you suggest I put this?’ He rested one elbow on the table and heard his client chuckle with wicked amusement as he watched the notes between Dominic’s long fingers.

      Mattie stretched out her palm.

      ‘Isn’t it customary to slip it somewhere rather more intimate?’

      ‘No.’ Mattie flashed him a smile of pure ice and prayed that Harry wasn’t anywhere within earshot.

      ‘Fair enough.’ He surrendered and handed her his extremely generous tip.

      Mattie hadn’t expected it. He was, after all, a typical obnoxious customer who felt he had no need to treat her, a lowly waitress in a nightclub, with anything resembling respect. He shouldn’t be capable of smiling at her with such genuine rueful amusement. As if he could read her mind and could also see for himself what sort of picture he had portrayed and how it had conveyed itself to her.

      She felt a second of passing disorientation, then her fingers curled around the money, well earned as far as she was concerned, and she was walking away. Out to the changing room, where she could get rid of her ridiculous outfit, step out of the high shoes which still pinched her toes even though she should have broken them in a long time ago, into sensible jeans and the flat trainers she was so much more comfortable wearing.

      ‘Harry,’ she said, when she had changed. He was circling the room, frowning, making sure that everyone was happy. ‘I’m off now.’ Mattie liked Harry. If she hadn’t, she would never have stuck the job out for as long as she had, but underneath his veneer of ill-tempered bossiness, he liked the girls who worked for him and treated them with fondness and respect.

      ‘You’re letting me down, Mattie,’ he growled. ‘Three girls short. What’s the matter with Jackie, anyway? You took over from her. She tell you anything? Suddenly flouncing out like that, leaving me in the lurch.’

      ‘She felt ill. Tired, I expect.’ Pregnant, Mattie thought, wondering how Harry would take the news. Finishing work at five-thirty in the morning, Mattie was also feeling the strain of her job.

      ‘Why don’t you stay on, Mats? Earn yourself a few extra quid?’

      ‘What, and get even less sleep than I manage to now?’

      ‘You should dump that course of yours,’ he grumbled. ‘Marketing. Pah! Still, when you get your diploma, or whatever it is that college is dangling in front of you, you just make sure you come right back here. Help manage this little joint of mine. Anyway, you’d better go. No good the punters seeing that their glamorous hostess wears jeans and trainers.’

      Mattie laughed. ‘No. It wouldn’t do for them to think that I don’t live in tight dresses and high heels, would it?’

      She edged her way out of the crowds, towards the exit.

      Dominic, standing to one side by the cloakroom, jacket on, accepting the profuse thanks of his little group of guests for showing them an enjoyable time, almost didn’t recognise the slender blonde slipping out of the door, her jacket wrapped firmly around her.

      Nor would he, under normal circumstances, have allowed his urge to follow her, catch her up, talk to her, to get the better of him. But being in that nightclub had made him realise something, made him see that the world was full of women, uncomplicated women who might entertain the idea of a brief relationship, no strings attached. Beautiful, uncomplicated women, because what other type of woman worked in a place like that? Certainly not those of the high-flying society category, such as his ex-girlfriend, who had thoroughly succeeded in purging him of any inclination to have a serious relationship.

      Or so he told himself as he impatiently said his goodbyes to his client, one eye on the figure hurrying up the dark street, about to spin round a corner.

      It took a bit of swift moving, swift enough to leave him insufficient time to ask himself what precisely he was doing, and then the gap was closing between them. He caught up with her just as she was about to cross the road, then he reached out and stilled her by placing his hand on her arm.

      Mattie swung around instantly. It was after midnight and, although the streets were still busy, so were all the muggers. This was their time of night, when people were scurrying to catch cabs and buses, very likely with wallets poking out like beacons from jacket pockets and a bit too much drink in their blood for them to do much about a running assault.

      ‘You!’ Her eyes widened, then narrowed in angry suspicion.

      An understandable reaction, Dominic thought belatedly, releasing her and drawing back.

      ‘What the hell are you doing? Following me?’ She had only seen him sitting down. Now she realised just how tall he was. Well over six feet. Much taller than she was, and she was no shortie at five feet eight. He was also a lot more powerful close up. Under the well-cut jacket, she could sense a finely honed, muscular body.

      ‘If I told Harry about this, he would have your head for breakfast!’ She didn’t think that anyone, including any of Harry’s very efficient bouncers, could have this man’s head for breakfast, and he obviously was of the same opinion, because he shot her a look of frank disbelief.

      ‘I accept tips from the punters, mister, but that is all you’re entitled to!’ She whipped back around to discover that he was still following her. Although following would have been the wrong word. More like accommodating his long stride to match hers, to keep up perfectly at her level, until they had both crossed the road, at which point she turned to him again, eyes blazing, letting him know in no uncertain terms that he could take his arrogant and more than likely drunken self up some different road, any road that was not the one she happened to be on!

      ‘I’ve seen your type before, let me tell you, and you disgust me!’

      ‘My type?’ Dominic was finding, to his own bemusement, that his instinctive ability to control conversations was being very thoroughly flattened by the spitting blonde in front of him. She had her hands stuck angrily in the pockets of her jacket, only removing one to shove some of that fabulous fair hair away from her face.

      He had pursued her because something about her had turned him on. A lot. And СКАЧАТЬ