‘Walt Eickehoven.' Without thinking, she said his name out loud.
Ilios swung round. ‘You know him?'
‘No, but I know his style,' Lizzie answered. ‘Those sofas and that unit are unmistakably his. I've heard that he's got a queuing list of clients that goes into months, if not years.'
Ilios shrugged. ‘Queues can be jumped. I'll show you the guest suite, and then you'll need something to eat. I'll order something in-do you like moussaka? If so, we can eat in half an hour.'
Lizzie nodded her head. She was hungry, but she was also tired.
‘This way,' Ilios instructed her.
‘This way' led down another windowless corridor of marble and mirrors, this one with inset niches, each one containing a carefully lit piece of stone artwork.
The apartment was a work of art in itself, Lizzie recognized, but her heart ached over a private question. How would the two motherless sons Ilios Manos intended to bring up fit into such an environment? She didn't think she would actually want to live in such a polished and sterile atmosphere herself, even though as a designer she could appreciate its stunning design.
Ilios had stopped outside a door in the corridor and was indicating to her. ‘I think you will find everything you need inside.'
Nodding again, Lizzie opened the door. By the time she had closed it she knew that Ilios had gone-not because she had seen him go, but because somehow she had sensed it. The air around her and her own body's reaction told her that he was no longer there. She frowned. Finding Ilios Manos sexually attractive was understandable, and she tried to tell herself to quell her growing panic about how she was going to cope living so closely with him. Obviously such a stupendously male man was bound to have that effect on most women. But she was not most women, and she was desperately afraid of her vulnerability. Discovering that he had made such an impact on her senses that even her skin could register his presence or the lack of it was frighteningly dangerous territory-dangerous and not to be risked territory, in fact.
Instead of thinking about the effect Ilios had on her, Lizzie told herself to try and focus instead on her surroundings. As a designer she could possibly learn something that she could take with her into her life, when her present enforced ordeal was finally over.
The guest suite, for instance, was exactly that-a luxurious, streamlined boutique-hotel-style open space, with a sleeping area at one end that contained a bed, and a living space at the other furnished with sofas, tables and a desk.
Like the living room, the guest suite also had a glass wall that ran its full length, but this one looked inward onto what she imagined must be an enclosed garden, since it was virtually on the roof of the building. Carefully placed soft lighting revealed a perspective view of the ruins of a small elevated Greek temple, which looked down into the garden with steps leading from it into a swimming pool. Along the far length of the pool ran a colonnade, planted with vines, which led to a grotto of the sort favoured by designers of the Italian Renaissance opposite the temple. Parterred greenery in intricate formal patterns separated the pool area from the space outside the glass wall, so that that space formed an almost private outdoor sitting area, with double doors from the living space opening out onto it.
Lizzie didn't like to think of the millions just the apartment and its garden must have cost. Professionally, she was in awe. This kind of commission was so far outside her level of operation that the only time she would normally get to view one would be in the pages of a magazine. But, as a woman who shared her own living space with two sisters and twin five-year-old boys, she was almost repelled by the cool, sleek hauteur of living space. It made her feel that as a human being her presence within it spoiled its sterile perfection.
Ilios had handed her trolley case before leaving her, and of course it looked ludicrously out of place.
Half an hour, he'd said. That meant she had the choice of showering and tidying herself up, or texting her sisters.
That choice was no choice, really. Lizzie smiled ruefully to herself as she headed for the double doors to one side of the enormous low-level bed, dressed in immaculate grey and white linen to tone with the slate-grey tiled floor.
Beyond the double doors was a dressing room-cum-wardrobe space-enough space to house the entire wardrobes of her whole family with room to spare-and beyond that, through another set of doors, was the bathroom, containing both a shower and a bath, and a separate lavatory. For the first time since she had entered the apartment Lizzie realised she was in a room that combined both modern artistic design and sybaritic sensuality. For a start, the glass wall continued the full length of the bathroom, making it possible to stand in the wet-room-style shower or lie in the huge stone bath and look out into the garden. Limestone tiles covered floor and walls; thick fluffy grey, white and beige towels were stacked on the inbuilt limestone shelving unit next to the double basins.
After a regretful look at the shower, Lizzie washed her hands and face and then returned to the bedroom, sinking into the white sofa as she quickly texted her family to tell them the good news about her new commission from the owner of Manos Construction.
That done, she only just had enough time to comb her hair and renew her lipstick before a quick glance at her watch told her that her time was up.
When she had made her way back to the living area, she suspected, from the quick frowning glance that Ilios gave her, that he had expected her to have changed clothes. No doubt he was used to women making an all-out effort to impress him, but even if she'd had time to change, Lizzie acknowledged, since all she had to change into was a different top she was hardly likely to have impressed him.
While he might not exhibit the tendencies one somehow expected to see in a man who had ‘come from nothing'-for instance, whilst she had no doubt that both his clothes and the watch he was wearing were expensive, they were the opposite of ostentatious-she suspected that designerclad females were his normal choice of arm candy. Which was perhaps why he considered her sex to be so rapacious.
Their food, delivered whilst she had been in the guest suite, was a simple moussaka-type dish. It was, Lizzie admitted as they sat opposite one another at the polished black glass table, absolutely delicious-as was the wine Ilios had poured to go with it.
It was merely necessity that had prompted him to decide that Lizzie could pay off her debt to him by becoming his wife. He had no personal interest in her whatsoever, Ilios reminded himself as he watched her enjoying her food, plainly not in the least bit concerned about the fact that she was still dressed in workmanlike clothes that did nothing to accentuate her figure and were obviously neither designed nor worn with the idea of arousing male desire. So why did it irk him so irrationally to recognise that she had not made the slightest attempt to attract his attention? Was he really such a stereotypical male? Or was it because, despite the fact that she was not making any attempt to attract him, he was very much aware of her?
If he was, then it was probably due to the fact that it was some time since he had shared his bed with a woman. He had ended his last relationship after his lover had started trying to pressure him into marriage-over a year ago now, in fact.
If Lizzie's manner irked him then it was surely because, even though his current contact with the female sex was via a variety of social and business-related events, and not on any personal level, he took it for granted that the women he met would be well groomed, dressed in such a way that pleasing the male of the species would be their clear intention.
Ilios looked at her and frowned.
‘You will need a new wardrobe before you can appear in public as either my fiancée or my wife,' he informed Lizzie.
‘I have plenty of clothes at home. I can ask my sisters to send me some.'
‘No.'
‘Why not?'
‘Why not? Right now you are dressed as though you were a suburban matron whose sole concern is looking after her family. Jeans and a blazer, loafers … A woman who does not seek to attract the attention of a man, and who perhaps would even prefer to repel male attention.' He made a dismissive gesture which stung Lizzie's female pride.