He was speaking again, taking another considered mouthful of wine. 'That's rare, these days, even for the British,' he observed.

Kat shrugged.

'You never went abroad on holiday as a child, with your parents?'

'No.' She'd never been on holiday, period. As for her parents-a junkie, prost.i.tute mother and an unknown, could-be-anyone father didn't really cut the mustard when it came to taking their darling daughter off on foreign jaunts ...

Anger spiked through her suddenly. Anger at what this man was digging out of her. She turned it towards him to get rid of it-the quickest way she could. 'Look, what is this?' she demanded belligerently. 'What's it to you whether I've ever been abroad or not? I haven't-OK? Is that some kind of crime in your book?'

The hard features hardened abruptly. 'I told you I don't tolerate att.i.tude,' he bit out at her. 'Do you really have no idea how to conduct yourself? Because, if so, perhaps I should reconsider my decision.'

He watched with satisfaction as emotion jabbed in her eyes, then subsided.

He nodded. 'Yes, that's better.'

He resumed eating. Was the girl really worth the trouble, after all? Yet even as he questioned himself his eyes were going back to her. Taking in those high cheekbones, the luminous skin, the extraordinary eyes focused once more on picking at her salad, the jagged blonde hair edging the sculpted line of her chin. Raw, rough, resistant-yet she drew the eye. And not just his.

He could see it in the other diners. Females were glancing at her, and not just because she was dining with him. He could see she was making them feel as if they themselves were overdressed, fussy, with too much make-up, too elaborate a hairstyle. As for the men-they were looking at her because she was completely, supremely, not paying them attention.

And that quality-that ability to draw eyes-was all that mattered about her. Not her rudeness, her insolence, her thinness, her ignorance.

She'd started to eat finally, forking the green salad mechanically. How the h.e.l.l she lived on such a diet he couldn't imagine. But presumably she did it because she had to-compet.i.tion amongst models was ferocious, and she was right: the camera did add weight. Did she really not do drugs? he mused. His eyes glanced at her arms, but they were unblemished-though that was hardly proof positive. She'd seemed adamant, however, and anyway drug usage was an instant termination of contract clause for models.

As she ate, she made no attempt to talk to him-didn't even look at him, or anywhere else. Illogically a flicker of annoyance went through him. The last thing he wanted was the girl getting any ideas, yet at the same time being so totally blanked by her made his mouth tighten. He reached for his wine again, taking another contemplative mouthful as his eyes rested on her. For a moment he found himself wondering whether, by some remote chance, the girl had any hidden depths to her. It was extremely unlikely, of course. Nevertheless, having insisted on her presence, he should interrogate her for the purpose he'd stated.

'So,' he began, 'what do you know of Monte Carlo, even if you've never been there?'

Her eyes snapped up. 'It's full of rich people,' she said.

'Anything else?' The voice was silky again, as if he was holding on to his patience.

Kat shrugged one shoulder, not replying.

'Are you in the slightest bit interested in knowing anything more?' The silk was wrapping a blade now. She could hear it, and her resentment mounted. Why should he care whether she knew anything about the place?

'What for?' she retorted.

There was a flicker across the dark eyes, and for a moment she felt she'd pushed back too much.

'To demonstrate to me, perhaps-' now the blade was cutting through the silk '-that despite being ignorant, which is probably no fault of your own, you possess sufficient native intelligence to want to know more about the world than your educationally limited and culturally deprived background has afforded you?'

Heat flushed through her, then cold.

Angelos took a mouthful of wine, then set down his gla.s.s with a click on the table.

'To be ignorant is one thing-to want to remain so is another,' he said.

Kat felt her blood sting. Patronising b.a.s.t.a.r.d! Smug, conceited, patronising b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

G.o.d, she wanted out of here! Out of this place where she felt like some kind of dirt under the sole of a pair of handmade shoes! Where Mr Big sat lording it over her, sneering at her and patronising her, and above all holding in his hands the power to give her this job or s.n.a.t.c.h it from her when she'd come so close to getting it!

And, worst of all, making her feel not just like some lowlife but that horrible hot and cold at the same time-as if there was ice in her veins and a hot stone in her stomach, and as if her nerves had itching powder in them. She'd never felt that before and never, never wanted to feel it again ...

She wanted to get to her feet and go-just go! But she gritted her teeth, swallowing it down. She could do this-she could! It would be worth it. It would get her the job and that was all she cared about! He wanted her to know about Monaco? So she'd find out-if that was what he wanted!

'I'll find a guidebook about the place,' she said.

Her voice was tight, and she was obviously speaking under duress, but the recalcitrance had gone-or at least was being suppressed.

'Do that,' he said, and went on with his meal.

He kept her under surveillance as he ate. Could he really be thinking of considering her in any light other than a professional one? Considering silencing her provocative, insolent mouth in a way that he found was suddenly vivid in his imagination ...?

He was still undecided. It irritated him that he should be so. He made decisions fast in his life-the demands of running a multinational corporation necessitated swift, accurate, unhesitating decisions. So why was this girl making him think twice? Why was he even thinking about her at all? Considering her for his bed?

Round the question went in his mind again, and again it found no answer.

Nor had it still when, the last leaf of rocket disposed of, Kat Jones looked up and said bluntly to him, 'Can I go home now?'

Angelos pushed aside his own empty plate and reached for his winegla.s.s again. His eyebrows rose questioningly.

'Can I go home now?' Kat said again. She was as tense as a board, he could see. Maybe his reprimand for her rudeness had unnerved her-brought home to her how ... unwise ... such behaviour was.

And maybe it was as well if she went now. Rushing her into bed on an impulse he still couldn't fathom himself, would also be ... unwise. Although it was also tempting.

Did he really want to let her go? His eyes went to her again, a.s.sessingly. Deliberately he let himself take in every aspect of what she had on offer ...

Across the table Kat froze, unable to breathe. A hole, a gaping slash, had opened up inside her. And she was falling-falling right down into it.

Oh, G.o.d, no-no!

She could only stare helplessly, appalled, as Angelos Petrakos looked her over.

It was like it had been before, as if she couldn't breathe, and yet her heart was pounding, making her feel that impossible mix of shivering cold and burning hot. Her veins felt as if they were melting ... as if he was melting them ... because of the way those dark, steel-hard eyes were working over her, reaching a place that no one had ever reached before ...

She tried to fight it. Tried with a desperation she hadn't known she would ever need.

No! You are not going to let yourself ... let yourself ...

She clawed back sanity. She didn't do s.e.x. She fielded it, ignored it. It didn't exist. Just didn't exist. She didn't let it exist.

But now, in a single glance, she knew how totally, completely wrong she had been ...

He snapped off the gaze. And like a rag doll, limp and bereft of breath, Kat could only sit there-powerless, appalled.

Oh, G.o.d, what had just happened? Why? Why this man?

She had to go. Right now. The imperative of it overwhelmed her. The need for flight. Flight from something she could not cope with-just could not cope with.

'I really have to go.' She heard herself say the words. Heard them fall like stones. Tight, abrupt. Would he think she was lipping him again? She didn't care? Couldn't afford to care-just had to go, get out.

While she still could ...

She dumped her napkin on the tabletop, jerking to her feet. 'I'm sorry. I've got an early start tomorrow.' She sounded disjointed, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't help anything right now.

He'd got to his feet as well. It registered dimly with her, and for a moment she panicked, thinking she wouldn't be able to get away. Then she realised he was simply standing because she had. She forced herself to look at him. His face was shuttered again, his expression veiled. But she didn't dare look at his eyes. Didn't dare meet them ... not again.

'Thank you for dinner,' she got out, still in that disjointed manner. 'But I really do have to go.'

She stared around, trying to remember where the restaurant entrance was. A waiter came gliding over. Angelos Petrakos said something to him, and the man murmured acquiescently and glided off again.

Angelos turned back to Kat. 'A taxi will take you home,' he said.

'I can't afford-' she began automatically, but he simply raised a hand.

'The fare is taken care of,' he replied.

'Oh. Thanks. Um-' She fell silent. She was desperate to ask-So, are you going to hire me? Am I going on the shoot?

But she didn't dare. Didn't dare do anything except pick up her evening purse from the tabletop and clutch it for dear life.

'Goodnight, Kat,' said Angelos Petrakos to her. His eyes were still veiled, still unreadable. Her veins were still in meltdown. She had to get out-now. Right now.

Angelos watched her go, nearly b.u.mping into other tables in her haste. Almost, he went after her. Instead, he resumed his seat. Another waiter glided up, removing the empty plates, bringing him his entree. He started to eat, quite mechanically. His mind only on one thing.

Kat Jones. And what to do about her.

He made his decision.

Kat sat, collapsed, in the back of the taxi. She should have luxuriated in the ease of the journey, but she was still in shock. More than shock. Worse than shock. She was like one of those native peoples who suddenly got exposed to germs they had never had. Keeling over.

Oh, G.o.d, where did it come from? And why? Why him? The guy's an arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d-rich and almighty, Mr Big and Powerful. And I don't want, I don't want, I don't want to feel like this. I don't!

But she did. That was the awful part of it. And it was the weirdest, shakiest feeling. She kept wanting to replay it in her head, make his face come up in front of her, see him there as if he was real. Over and over again.

No! What are you thinking of? Just stop it-stop it!

But it was like an electric switch that couldn't be turned off again. It was on when she went to sleep, on when she woke up. On when she went to work.

Even her anxiety as to whether or not she had or hadn't managed to get on the Monaco shoot couldn't turn it off. Yet she knew, with her head, that the shoot was the only thing she must think about-worry about.

The moment she could she phoned the agency on her mobile, desperate for news, crossing every finger and toe as she asked the snooty cow Anita if they'd heard anything yet from the Petrakos Marine campaign managers. It took another two covert calls from the shoe shop's storeroom before Anita's condescension turned to ill-concealed chagrin-and sent elation soaring through Kat.

The ad agency had been in touch-she was on the shoot. And the fee that Anita grudgingly told her was ... well, fantastic money! Loads more than she'd ever made before!

She punched the air, and for the rest of the morning floated off the ground.

This was it-her big break! It had to be! Her first real money! Serious stuff! And with this shoot in the bag she'd be up for more of the same-and better. She was on the way-she was really, really on the way! The pit she'd crawled out of was getting further and further away, and she was reaching for the sun ...

Nothing could drag her down now. Nothing ...

As for Mr Big, and the insane way she'd reacted to him-well, even if he showed up during the shoot she'd just stay clear of him, that was all. She'd have to. She d.a.m.n well wasn't about to- But her thoughts stopped right there. Anything else was mad. That was all she had to remember. Mad.

Keep focussed-the job is all that matters. Nothing else.

It was what she had to hang on to. She'd lived without s.e.x in her life, and she'd go on doing so. And certainly not with someone like Angelos Petrakos.

He'd use you and lose you.

Her spine steeled. No, it didn't matter that she'd reacted the insane way she had last night. She'd got the job, and that was all that mattered.

That day she had to work through her lunch hour to make up for time she'd taken off to go to yesterday afternoon's casting, but she didn't care. Nothing could crush her elation-not now! She worked late, too, so she could make time to call in at the agency first thing tomorrow to sign the paperwork for the contract. She was still floating, all the way back to her bedsit, but as she walked from the bus stop her feet abruptly sank to the ground-along with her elation. Mike was hovering at the kerb, his motorbike engine idling. Oh, h.e.l.l, was her first thought. She could really do without the guy right now! Why didn't he just give in and accept she wasn't interested? Instead of pestering her like this and hanging around, turning up when he wasn't wanted-would never be wanted. She started to walk along the narrow pavement. He drew level with her on the bike.

'Mike,' she began, 'look, I really don't have time for this-'

He steered his bike across her path, blocking it. He took his helmet off. Kat stopped dead and gave a heavy, exasperated sigh, glaring at him.

There was something different about him, she registered. It was his eyes. They were glittery.

'No time for me, baby? That it?' he said.

'Mike-' she tried again, but he cut right across her.

'But you've got time to hang out with your loaded rich guy, haven't you? I saw you last night in that hotel, schmoozing him, coming on to him!'

She stared. 'How did you-?'

He laughed harshly. 'I followed you! I follow you everywhere! You showed up at the hotel in the afternoon, and then again in the evening. I walked in and saw you in the restaurant with him. So you come across for rich guys, do you, baby?'

Anger spat through her. 'I was there for a casting, that's all!'

He laughed again-derisively. 'Yeah, casting couch. You put out for him and he gives you the job! Well, don't worry, baby. That suits me fine.'

'Get lost!' she snarled at him. She made to get past him, around the back of the bike. His hand shot out and closed over her arm. It was like a vice. She yanked to free herself, and failed. 'Let me go!'

For answer, he just hauled her forward, almost up against him. Fear suddenly spiked through her. The road was deserted, the streetlight broken, and it wasn't a good part of town in the first place.

'Uh-uh, babe. I'm fed up with giving you slack, OK? Time for you to put out for me.'

'In your dreams!' she spat at him, again trying to yank herself free. Anger overriding her fear now.

He gave another laugh. His eyes glittered more intensely. She realised, with a jolt, that he was high.

'Uh-uh. In my photos. Oh, come on, baby-what d'ya think I want? Sure, I want to screw you first, but then it's for the punters, see? Now, you may think they only like big girls like Katya, but trust me, babe, they like skinnies like you, too. I'll make you look really hot! You'll make good money, don't worry!'

He grinned at her. Kat's face contorted. She lashed out with her foot, impacting his shin, tugging back on her arm again. But Mike was strong. Frighteningly strong. He yanked her closer.

'Wanna fight me, babe?' Something glinted in his free hand, and with sick horror Kat realised it was a blade. He whipped it to her cheek. 'Just how hot will your modelling career be when you've been razored? So let's do this nicely, huh?' Then, suddenly, his tone changed. ''Course, you could always keep me happy another way. Now you're s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g Mr Rich you can afford to be generous. You pay me what he's paying you, and we'll call it quits, OK?'