He felt pretty dizzy himself.
Remembering just how good it had felt, Andreas fought the temptation to kiss her again. There would be other occasions, he reminded himself, and next time he was going to select the venue more carefully and ban alcohol. She looked as though she was about to collapse in a heap.
'I'd better take you home.'
Before he committed an indecent act in a public place.
And when she was sober he'd arrange a proper date in a place where there'd be absolutely no chance of interruptions.
He stooped to pick up the shoes she'd dropped and then pointed his key towards his car and unlocked it. Suddenly aware that she was swaying again, he swept her off her feet and carried her to his car, trying to ignore her feminine scent and the way her soft hair tickled his cheek.
'Put me down.' Her words were slightly slurred and she wriggled in his arms. 'I hate men. I don't want to go on a date. And I don't want another kiss. It made me feel strange.'
Her head flopped back and he deposited her in the passenger seat, trying valiantly to ignore the fact that her dress had ridden up and was now revealing every perfect inch of her long legs. Her eyes closed and Andreas stared at her in exasperation.
'What exactly did you drink tonight?'
'One glass of really, really delicious orange juice,' she murmured sleepily, and he rolled his eyes.
Did she really expect him to believe that?
She was barely coherent!
'I need to take you home,' he drawled, wondering if she knew just how big a risk she was taking by getting so drunk that she didn't know who she was with. She hadn't even asked his name.
'Give me your address.' He slammed the driver's door shut and turned to look at her, groaning with frustration as he saw her curled up in his passenger seat as snug and comfortable as a tiny kitten. She was fast asleep.
His patience severely tested, Andreas sat back in his seat and counted to ten while he contemplated the problem.
So much for taking her home.
He had absolutely no intention of going back to the bar to discover her address, so he really had no option other than to take her back to his house. Which made life extremely complicated because Adrienne was there.
He closed his eyes briefly and swore under his breath.
The evening was definitely not ending the way he'd intended.
Chapter 2
Libby awoke with a crushing headache.
With a whimper of self-pity she sat up and found herself looking into a pair of curious brown eyes. A girl sat on the end of her bed. Underneath the unruly brown hair and layers of make-up, Libby guessed her to be about twelve.
'Wow.' The girl studied her closely. 'You look really ill.'
Libby bit back a groan and closed her eyes. She had absolutely no idea where she was but she knew she had an almighty hangover.
Which didn't really make sense because she hadn't touched alcohol.
Or, at least, not intentionally.
Suspicion entering her mind she lifted a hand to her aching skull and sat up slowly, wincing slightly as a shaft of sunlight probed through the curtain and stabbed her between the eyes.
Realising that she was lying in an enormous, elegant bedroom, panic swamped her.
Whose bedroom?
Just what had happened last night?
The girl was still studying her closely, as if she couldn't understand how anyone could look so awful and still be alive. 'Yiayia made Andreas promise that he'd never bring a woman home while I was in the house, so I suppose that means he's in love with you.'
What?
Who was the girl sitting on the bed?
And who the hell was Andreas?
Searching her aching brain for some recollection of what had happened the night before, Libby had a sudden memory of broad, muscular shoulders, a firm mouth and lots and lots of fireworks.
Yes, there'd definitely been fireworks.
'I … er … who exactly is Yiayia?'
'Yiayia is Greek for Grandma, and you've said enough, Adrienne.' Cool male tones came from the doorway and the girl scrambled off the bed, suddenly wary.
'There's no need to use that scary tone. I'm old enough to know the facts of life and I know all about sex.' She looked at Libby curiously. 'Did you have sex? Yiayia says that loads of women want to go to bed with Andreas because he's seriously rich and very good-looking. Women go mad about him.'
Deprived of her powers of speech, Libby glanced helplessly at the man in the doorway and clashed with the darkest, sexiest eyes she'd ever seen. Despite her somewhat pathetic state, her mouth fell open and she did something she never did when she met a man.
She stared.
He was well over six feet, powerfully built, with jet black hair smoothed back from his forehead and bronzed skin that suggested a Mediterranean heritage. He possessed all the arrogant self-assurance of a man who'd been chased by women from the cradle.
She felt herself colour under his sharp gaze. It was evident from the hint of mockery in his dark eyes that he realised that she had an extremely hazy recollection of the events of the night before.
'You talk too much, Adrienne.' Without shifting his gaze from Libby's pale face, he strolled into the bedroom and she noticed for the first time that he was carrying a mug. 'Drink that.' He placed a mug of black coffee on the bedside table. 'It will help.'
Confronted by this final confirmation that he was well aware of her delicate condition, Libby shrank back against the pillow, stricken with guilt at her own behaviour.
She'd obviously been horribly drunk the night before.
What she didn't understand was how.
Unlike her, he was fully dressed and she was uncomfortably aware of his wide shoulders and sleek, dark good looks next to her near nakedness. Deciding that so much masculine virility was too much for a woman with a headache, Libby reached for the coffee.
Grandma had a point, she thought weakly. She didn't know about the rich bit, but he was incredibly good-looking. Almost enough to make a woman forget that all men were rats.
Which was evidently what she must have done when she'd agreed to go back to his flat with him.
How could she have done such a thing?
She never took risks like that!
She was obviously seriously on the rebound.
Catching sight of her pink dress draped carelessly over the back of a chair, she gave a whimper of mortification.
How had it got there? She had absolutely no recollection of getting undressed. Realising that she was wearing a white silk shirt that she'd never seen before in her life, her stomach flipped.
What exactly had happened the night before?
She remembered arriving at the auction and being given a drink of orange juice by Bev.
And she definitely remembered fireworks.
'Yiayia says that if a man and a woman spend a night together they have to get married,' the girl said firmly, and the man said something sharp in a language that Libby assumed was Greek before switching to English.
'Go and get ready for school,' he ordered, 'and wash that muck off your face. They'll refuse to have you back if you look like that.'
'That's why I did it,' the girl said moodily, and he sighed, the long-suffering sigh of a man stretched to the limits of his patience.
'You know you have to go back.' His voice was firm but held a note of sympathy. 'Just until we sort this out. I'm interviewing housekeepers next week.'
Adrienne looked at him. 'If you got married you wouldn't need to employ a housekeeper. It's time you settled down with a decent woman, not someone like-'
'Adrienne!' This time the man's voice was icy cold. 'That's enough. Go and wash your face.'
The girl's slim shoulders sagged. 'But-'
'Now!'
The commanding tone evidently worked because Adrienne subsided and left the room with a last curious look at Libby.
There was a long silence and Libby felt her colour rise.
Feeling that someone ought to say something, she put her coffee down and pushed her tangled blonde curls out of her eyes. 'Er … about last night … '
Not having a clue what had actually taken place the previous night, she left the statement hanging, hoping that he'd be enough of a gentleman to say something reassuring, but he merely looked at her quizzically and waited for her to finish.
Libby sighed. He was obviously one of those enviable people who used silence as a weapon, whereas she, unfortunately, had never mastered the art.
'Look.' Deciding that directness was the best approach, she took a deep breath. 'Did you spike my drink last night?'
He lifted a dark eyebrow. 'You think I need to render a woman senseless in order to persuade her to come home with me?'
No, she didn't think that.
He was the embodiment of most women's fantasies.
She flushed and concluded from his amused expression that he obviously wasn't the one responsible for her pounding headache.
'I'm sorry, it's just that someone must have but I really don't remember that much-except the fireworks. They were great. What did-?' She broke off and cleared her throat nervously. 'Well, obviously you brought me back here, which was very kind of you, but did we-? I mean, I don't remember if we actually-You see, I don't do that sort of thing usually, but I suppose I must have been a bit upset last night and … '