‘You were investigated,’ he told her smoothly, watching her grey eyes flash with anger. It gave him a sense of satisfaction knowing he’d rattled her. ‘My family are one of the wealthiest in Greece and, although security here on Louloudi is discreet, I asked the protection team to run some checks on you. My father especially is at risk of being kidnapped and held to ransom by criminal gangs.’
‘I’m not a criminal.’ Isla’s finely arched brows drew together in a frown. ‘Does Stelios know that you had me investigated?’
‘Does he know that you inherited money from another wealthy old man?’ Andreas countered to avoid answering her question.
‘Your father knows everything about me.’
She met Andreas’s gaze across the table and he found himself looking away first, shaken by the honesty in her expression. There was something else, an inexplicable sadness. The shimmer of tears made her grey eyes glisten like wet slate. She was a damn good actress, he thought grimly, but he refused to fall for her little-girl-lost look.
Isla stood up and Andreas was aware of the hard thud of his pulse as the breeze flattened her dress against her body, revealing the swell of her breasts and the gentle curve of her hips. ‘I wish you would believe that I mean your father no harm.’
‘Stelios doesn’t seem to be himself.’ Andreas also got to his feet, frowning as he remembered how exhausted his father had been at the end of the dinner party.
Isla hesitated. ‘He has been working hard.’
The gentle affection in her voice for Stelios evoked a feeling in Andreas that he refused to acknowledge was envy. His mother had not shown him tenderness or affection when he was a child, and since he’d reached adulthood he’d avoided emotional relationships, assuring himself that he neither wanted nor needed love. He swore silently, irritated that Isla made him question the status quo of his life that he’d been perfectly content with until now.
‘Perhaps Stelios is tired for another reason,’ he growled. Isla looked puzzled and he elaborated. ‘You are a lot younger than my father and he might be wearing himself out trying to keep you happy in the bedroom.’
‘Your father and I are not lovers,’ she said stiffly.
‘Why not?’ Andreas’s eyes narrowed when she did not answer. ‘I’m curious about your relationship with Stelios. I watched the two of you at dinner last night and I’d swear you do not feel any sexual attraction for my father.’
‘Not everything is about sex,’ she snapped. ‘Relationships—meaningful relationships, not the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind that you only seem capable of—are about mutual respect, friendship and trust.’
Andreas frowned, unsettled by her fervent words. In an ideal relationship those were the qualities he would want. But he did not believe in happy ever after. Isla certainly sounded convincing, but he was sure she had an ulterior motive for wanting to marry his father. His conscience pricked that he wanted to believe the worst of her. If he believed that she was untrustworthy, it might end his annoying fascination with her. His jaw hardened.
‘My guess is that you are determined to make Stelios wait until after he has married you before you will allow him to take you to bed. As his wife you will have access to his fortune.’
Isla drew an audible breath and swung her hand up to his face, but Andreas’s reactions were quicker and he captured her wrist before she could strike him. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he advised softly.
‘You have a vile mind.’ She was breathing hard and her breasts rose and fell jerkily. Her grey eyes darkened with temper but Andreas could feel the pulse in her wrist beating erratically beneath his thumb. The air between them prickled with sexual awareness and he was certain that Isla felt it as intensely as he did. Her voice cracked when she spoke. ‘I’m not surprised that Stelios doesn’t—’ She broke off and dropped her gaze from his.
‘My father doesn’t approve of me. Is that what you were going to say?’ he drawled. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. He and Stelios hadn’t seen eye to eye for years.
‘He doesn’t feel able to confide in you,’ Isla muttered. ‘I wish you would talk to Stelios and resolve the differences between you, before...’
‘Before...what?’ Andreas’s brows rose. But whatever Isla had been about to say she clearly thought better of it. She pulled her wrist out of his grasp and turned and walked away. He watched her go and cursed beneath his breath.
The differences between him and his father were not easily resolvable. Stelios had been a largely absent parent when Andreas was young, spending the majority of his time running Karelis Corp, and later with his English mistress. But Andreas was no longer a teenager who saw everything as black or white. He understood how his mother’s poor health—she’d often reminded him that she had suffered a stroke due to complications during his birth—must have put a strain on his parents’ relationship. He had never felt loved by either of them. He was the Karelis heir, born and raised to take over the company which had been started by his great-grandfather. His father had not forgiven him for putting his motorbike racing career ahead of his duty—especially as Stelios had put duty to his family before his personal happiness.
Nefeli’s birthday party could not come round soon enough, Andreas brooded as he resumed his seat at the table and forced himself to eat the spanakopita that Toula had made for him. In a few days he would return to California and concentrate on managing Aeolus Racing. Maybe he’d look up the redhead who had flirted with him in a bar before he’d left for Greece. It was weeks since he’d had sex, and celibacy was not a natural state for him. Frustration was no doubt the reason for his inconvenient attraction to his father’s fiancée.
CHAPTER FOUR
FROM HER BEDROOM window in the villa Isla could see a dozen luxury tents which had been erected on the lawn in the garden below. They would provide sleeping accommodation for Nefeli’s many friends who would be staying on Louloudi for the weekend. It was glamping rather than camping, Isla thought wryly, remembering the few holidays that she and her mum had spent in a tent in very wet Wales. Not that the weather or a tight budget had spoiled their fun. Marion had made everything an adventure, and they had been so close. Her mum had been her best friend and Isla still missed her. Swallowing hard, she forced her thoughts away from the past.
Every bedroom in the villa was occupied by members of the extended Karelis family. For the past two days extensive preparations had been underway for Nefeli’s twenty-first birthday party and an air of general chaos pervaded the house. No expense had been spared, and Isla had been amazed by the number of crates of champagne unloaded from the boat which had also brought an army of caterers and other staff to the island.
Stelios was determined that his daughter’s birthday party would be perfect. But when Isla knocked on the door of his private suite before she walked in, she found him slumped in an armchair with his eyes closed. The past few days had taken their toll on his strength but he was adamant that no one must know about his illness until he was ready to break the news to his family.
‘Is that the dress you are planning to wear tonight?’
‘I thought you were asleep.’ She smiled at the man who had come to mean so much to her. Stelios was like the father she’d never had. ‘Yes.’ She ran her hand down the skirt of her oyster-coloured evening gown. The dress had a high neck and long sleeves. Memories of the attraction that had flared between her and Andreas when she’d worn the low-cut red dress two nights ago had been behind her decision to cover up.
She had hardly seen him since he had accused her of being a gold-digger, and she sensed that for the past few days he had deliberately avoided her. But the previous day she had gone to the pool and slipped off her robe in preparation to climb down the steps into the water. She’d hesitated when she’d heard a familiar sexy voice say her name, and silently cursed herself for not noticing that Andreas was down at the other end of the pool.
He swam up
to the shallow end with powerful strokes. When he stood up, she noticed a long red scar on his chest that sliced all the way down his abdomen. Water droplets glistened in the whorls of dark hairs that covered his chest and arrowed over his flat stomach. Of their own accord Isla’s eyes lowered to his black swim shorts that sat low on his hips, and her mouth went dry.
‘Come on in. The pool is heated—and you look cold,’ he drawled.
‘I’m not cold.’ Following his gaze, she looked down and was mortified to see the hard points of her nipples jutting beneath her bikini top. The air around the pool suddenly felt stiflingly hot, and her awareness of Andreas was so intense that Isla’s skin prickled. ‘Actually, I’ve changed my mind about having a swim,’ she muttered, quickly pulling her robe back on.
‘Coward,’ he called after her mockingly as she hurried away.
‘Isla?’ Stelios’s voice jolted Isla back to the present, and she hoped he would not query why her face that she could see reflected in the mirror was suffused with colour. ‘You look charming, my dear,’ Stelios told her. ‘But it will be better if you wear a more eye-catching outfit.’
‘I don’t want to look as though I am in competition with Nefeli at her party,’ Isla murmured. The young Greek girl’s unfriendly attitude had made it clear how much Nefeli resented her presence on Louloudi.
Stelios closed his eyes once more and Isla bit her lip as she studied him. His skin was grey and his cheekbones were prominent where he had lost weight, but he was desperate to hide the signs of his illness from his family for a little longer.
She sighed. ‘I’ll choose a different dress.’
‘Wear the blue Oscar de la Renta.’
Ten minutes later, Isla returned to Stelios’s suite wearing the dress he had suggested. ‘You wanted eye-catching and this certainly fits the bill,’ she said ruefully. The midnight blue dress was blatantly sexy with a plunging neckline and off-the-shoulder straps. It was made from satin overlaid with chiffon which had a sparkle of silver thread running through the material so that the dress shimmered. The side split in the skirt revealed her leg all the way up to her thigh when she walked. Silver high-heeled shoes gave her an extra four inches of height.
‘No one will take any notice of me, and all eyes will be on you,’ Stelios said with satisfaction. He handed her a velvet box and Isla gasped as she lifted out a diamond choker.
‘I’m only borrowing it for tonight,’ she insisted as she fastened the exquisite piece of jewellery around her neck.
‘I need you to sparkle this evening,’ Stelios told her. ‘Nefeli and Andreas must not guess that the party is the last event I will be here to celebrate with them.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Isla whispered. ‘The specialist said you could have months left.’
Stelios levered himself slowly out of the armchair. ‘You remind me of your mother in so many ways. Not only in your looks. You have Marion’s gentleness and compassion. I am so glad that I met you again, Isla. The last time you were just a little girl and now you are a beautiful young woman. One day I hope you will fall in love with a man who will treasure you.’
Fat chance, Isla thought to herself as she followed Stelios out of his suite and they descended the marble staircase. Love was a fool’s game, and she must be the biggest fool of all because she could not control the frantic thud of her heart when she walked into the ballroom and the first person she saw—the only person she saw in the crowded room—was Andreas.
He wore ‘formal’ with the easy air of a man who had been born into wealth and privilege. The Karelis heir in all his spectacularly handsome glory. His tuxedo drew the eye to his broad shoulders and narrow black trousers emphasised his lean, athletic build. Beneath the fine white silk of his shirt, Isla saw the shadow of his black chest hairs. His sophisticated clothes could not hide his raw masculinity and she felt an ache in her womb, a longing for something she could not explain to herself.
The woman hanging onto his arm was exotically beautiful. She had long dark hair cascading over one shoulder and looked as though she had been poured into her sequined green dress. Isla refused to acknowledge a stab of jealousy as she watched Andreas dip his head towards his companion and murmur something in her ear. The intimacy between them suggested that they were lovers. Not that she cared in the slightest who Andreas slept with, she told herself firmly.
Perhaps he sensed her scrutiny for he looked in her direction. Heat blazed in his eyes as he skimmed them over her, moving from her hair, piled in an elaborate chignon on top of her head, down to the daring neckline of her dress and lower to her bared thigh, exposed by the split in the skirt. Finally his gaze rested on the diamond choker around her neck and his lips twisted in a sardonic expression, before he turned his attention back to his glamorous companion.
Isla felt a hollow sensation in her stomach. Why was she allowing a notorious playboy like Andreas to get to her? she wondered. She had promised herself when she was sixteen and her father had dismissed her as if she was a nonentity that she would never again put herself in a position where a man made her feel vulnerable.
Resolutely, she pinned a smile on her lips and slipped her hand through Stelios’s arm so that he could lean on her without it being obvious to the other guests. She had a role to play, Isla reminded herself. Stelios wanted her to sparkle and distract attention away from him, and she set about doing just that.
Much later in the evening when she noticed the lines of strain on Stelios’s face, Isla ignored his protest and steered him across the ballroom to a sofa in a quiet corner of the room. ‘Rest for a while,’ she urged, her heart contracting when he gave a low groan of relief as he sank down onto the cushions. ‘The party is a great success and Nefeli looks like she is having a wonderful time.’
She moved her eyes from Stelios’s daughter, who was dancing with a group of her friends, and felt a stab of pain when she saw Andreas wrapped around a lissom brunette wearing a figure-hugging silver dress. ‘Andreas also seems to be enjoying himself,’ she said flatly as she became aware that Stelios had followed her gaze.
‘I have a feeling that you disapprove of my son,’ he murmured. ‘Why is that?’
‘I... I hardly know him.’ Isla felt her cheeks grow warm. She was flustered by Stelios’s question, afraid that she had unwittingly revealed her fascination with Andreas. ‘I’m sure he’s very nice,’ she said lamely.
Stelios chuckled. ‘I have never heard Andreas described as “nice” before.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘My son is a complicated man, but his heart is in the right place.’
‘Can I get you another drink, or some canapés?’ Isla said quickly, keen to move the conversation away from Andreas’s heart, which she seriously doubted existed.
Stelios shook his head. ‘I’ll just sit here. I am feeling a little breathless. But you should go and dance.’
‘I’d rather keep you company.’ She had stayed at his side all evening and chatted to the other guests. Most people spoke at least a little English, and she had learned to speak modern Greek at the same time as she had been studying ancient Greek history. But Isla was not a natural social butterfly and she felt uncomfortable being the centre of attention. She was surprised that no one had commented on how frail Stelios looked, but he had been a powerful figure for so long and she guessed that he was seen as invincible by his family and business associates.
Her eyes moved back to the dance floor and she saw that Nefeli was dancing with Andreas. Isla’s heart missed a beat when the tune finished and brother and sister walked over to where she and Stelios were sitting.
‘Papa, will you come and dance with me?’ Nefeli ignored Isla and held out her hand imperiously to her father.
‘Why don’t you take my place?’ Isla said quickly, standing up and indicating the empty space she had vacated on the sofa. ‘Your father was just saying that he would like to spend some time with you on your birthday.’ There w
as no harm in a white lie if it meant that Stelios could remain sitting, she told herself.
‘An excellent idea,’ Andreas murmured. ‘We’ll leave these two alone while you dance with me, Isla.’
The gleam in his eyes sent her heart slamming against her ribcage but she couldn’t think of an excuse to refuse him. Determined that he would not guess the effect he had on her, she held herself stiffly when he placed his hand between her shoulder blades and propelled her towards the dance floor. To make matters worse, the DJ changed the tempo of the music from disco to a slow number that prompted the couples around them to move into each other’s arms.
‘Relax, I don’t bite,’ Andreas said drily as he captured her hand in his and splayed the fingers of his other hand over her naked back, drawing her closer so that her body brushed against his. The split in her skirt had fallen open and she could feel his hard thigh muscle against her stocking-clad thigh. ‘You look incredible in that dress.’ His warm breath tickled her ear. ‘Are you enjoying the party?’
Isla could not tell him that she longed for the party to be over because she knew it was an ordeal for Stelios. And she was certainly not going to admit that watching Andreas dance with a constant stream of beautiful women had evoked a sensation like sharp knives stabbing her in her stomach. She shrugged. ‘Yes, of course. Your father is pleased that it has gone well.’
‘You really care about him, don’t you?’
Her eyes flew to his face and she expected to see his usual cynical expression, but he was looking at her intently as if he was trying to read her thoughts. Isla hoped that he couldn’t because her thoughts were decidedly X-rated.
Andreas danced with a natural grace and rhythm. He moved his hand down and rested it at the base of her spine, drawing her subtly closer so that they were hip to hip. She was shocked to feel the rigid evidence of his arousal and knew he felt the tremor that ran through her when he swore softly and clamped her hard against him. Even though she was wearing four-inch heels she was much shorter than him, and her gaze was focused on his jaw, shaded with black stubble, that she remembered had felt abrasive on her skin that time he’d kissed her in London.
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