The fashion editor part of her was appreciative. Nice.

More than nice. Nikos.

She coughed on, more than she needed to, trying desperately to give herself space. His dark hair was curly, unruly and a bit too long. His brown-black eyes were crinkled at the edges, weathered from a life at sea. Among this crowd of fake tans, his was undeniably real. His whole body was weathered by his work.

Nikos. Fisherman.

Her childhood love.

He’d grown from a gorgeous boy into a…what? She didn’t have words to describe it. She was the fashion editor of one of the world’s leading glossies, and she was lost for words.

Words were what she needed. She had to think of something to say. Anything. Almost every eye in the room was on them now. She couldn’t retreat to choking again.

‘You want your drink back?’ His tone was neutrally amused. Deeper than last time she’d heard him. A bit gravelly, with a gorgeous Greek accent.

Sexy as hell.

He was balancing his beer, her Martini and his three remaining blinis. He’d used his spare hand to thump her.

He was large and capable and…

Nikos.

Now she’d stopped choking, the crowd had turned their attention to him. Well, why wouldn’t they? The models, designers, media and buyers were openly interested. Maybe more than interested. Their concentrated attention contained more than a hint of lust.

‘You going to live?’ Nikos asked mildly, and she thought about it. She might. If he went away.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’

‘It’s invitation only.’

‘Yep,’ he said, as if that hadn’t even crossed his mind as something to bother about. How had he done it? People would kill for an invitation to this launch. He’d simply walked in.