by Robyn Donald
‘I need someone here, now,’ Luke said evenly. ‘To take care of a three-year-old girl for the day.’
‘What?’ Iona literally couldn’t believe her ears. Luke Michelakis and a small child simply did not go together.
Impatience tinged his words. ‘I am sure you heard correctly.’
Irked by his tone, Iona ignored her whirling thoughts and didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. Yes, all right, we can do that.’
‘You are sure this person will be reliable and sensible?’
‘Yes.’
‘I need to leave in half an hour.’
Iona’s mouth thinned. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I’m not going to be able to make it in that time.’
‘You will be here?’
She reacted to his incredulous words with chilly aloofness. ‘L—Mr Michelakis, I’m a trained kindergarten teacher, and the only person you’re likely to get during the weekend at such short notice. The child will be safe in my care.’
‘Oh, call me Luke as you did in Tahiti—we know each other well, you and I,’ he said derisively.
‘So why are you questioning my ability to care for the child?’ The moment the words escaped from her mouth she wished she could call them back.
Sure enough Luke said, ‘Now you’re being deliberately naïve. In Tahiti you were my lover—a very charming and sensuous lover—and nothing more.’
Of course he was right, but his casual statement hurt.
He waited, as if for a comment, and when Iona remained silent he went on brusquely, ‘I have no idea what you will be like with children. And if Chloe is not safe in your care you will pay.’
‘Are you expecting a kidnap attempt?’ Into a taut silence, she said, ‘I certainly wouldn’t be much use if that’s likely to occur.’
‘I am not expecting a kidnap attempt,’ he said coldly.
‘I’m relieved. If all you want is a temporary nanny I can do that. I’m capable and competent when it comes to children. And I like them. I also have a current practising certificate which I’ll be pleased to show you when I arrive.’
The pause seemed to drag on for ever, but finally he said, ‘Very well. It seems I am forced to rely on you for this, so I will expect you here within the half hour. Give me your address. I shall send a car.’
Iona drew in a deep breath, but stifled her intemperate reply when she remembered Angie’s delight at the prospect of an uninterrupted day with her sons. ‘Thank you,’ she snapped.
Angie had said it the night before: this was work, and the business needed the money.
Luke repeated her address after her, then warned, ‘Be ready,’ and hung up.
As she scurried around, assembling a kit that would keep a three-year-old girl interested, questions raced through Iona’s mind. Was little Chloe his daughter? If so, she thought sickly, he must have been married or in a relationship when he’d made love to her in Tahiti.
It should have been a relief to be able to despise him. It certainly explained his antagonism; did he think she’d tell his wife he’d been unfaithful?
Never!
But it seemed unlikely that the mother of his child was with him; if she were, she’d be the one looking after her daughter.
By the time the taxi arrived Iona was ready. She’d had to forego breakfast and a much-needed cup of tea, but her large carry-all had enough in it to keep even a demanding child busy for a day. Stomach clenching, she walked out of the penthouse lift, disconcerted to find Luke in the doorway.
Like a lion lying in wait for an antelope.
Dismayed, Iona ignored the treacherous heat burning along her cheekbones while she replied to his greeting.
A narrowed tawny-gold gaze took in her clothes—cotton trousers that that reached halfway down her calves, a bright T-shirt, sandals. One black brow climbed.
‘Practical,’ he observed cooly, ‘if a little informal.’
‘New Zealanders are noted for their informality,’ she returned in her most professional tone.
‘I recall that very well.’
A lazily sensual note beneath the words raised the tiny hairs on the back of Iona’s neck and sent a forbidden, ruthlessly exciting response shivering through her. Damn him, she thought furiously as flashbacks of the time they’d spent together surged back, drugging and potent.
Blurting the first thing that came to her mind, she asked, ‘When am I going to meet my charge for the day?’
‘Right now,’ he said crisply, and reached out.
For a startled moment Iona thought he intended to take her arm.
A primitive, protective reaction twisted her backwards, but his hand closed around the handles of her bag and he said softly, lethally, ‘You are quite safe. If you want me to touch you again you will have to ask me to do so.’
Iona stiffened. OK, so until she’d fled Tahiti probably no one had ever turned Luke Michelakis down, but she’d never promised him anything; right from the start they’d both known that what they shared was nothing stronger or more permanent than a holiday romance.
She’d just ended it a little sooner than either had expected.
Which didn’t give him any right to be offended.
But then the adored only son of a powerful Greek patriarch would certainly be spoilt. Especially one who looked like some beautiful, vengeful god from ancient times.
And there was the spectre of the child’s absent mother…
Choosing to ignore his terse statement, she relinquished the bag to him.
Cynically amused at her care to avoid touching his fingers, Lukas said, ‘This way.’
For a moment he’d been going to ask her why she’d left him in Tahiti, but she was now his employee—and he’d overstepped the professional bounds already.
Besides, he had not allowed himself to care. He’d learned young that women were naturally treacherous—a lesson cut into his heart when his father’s second wife had engineered his expulsion from the family.
He’d vowed then never to trust another woman, so it would be foolish of him to expect more from Iona.
Aristo Michelakis, his father, had expected his twenty-year-old son to fail, to fall into oblivion. Twelve years later, Lukas allowed himself a swift glance around his opulent surroundings.
He’d been coldly, furiously determined to prove both himself and his innocence of the crime he’d been accused of. That driving need had guided him into a career where his brilliant brain and passion were fully utilised. He had seized his opportunities with a zest that had led to huge success in spite of his father’s attempts to ruin him.
And he had his pick of lovers from the women who’d flocked to him, drawn by his fortune and the face he’d inherited from his father.
Always he’d made sure his lovers expected nothing more from him than good sex and his protection as long as the affair lasted.
Then Chloe had been born—another outcast from the family. She’d brought a new dimension to his life, but his attitude to his lovers remained the same.
So why had Iona stuck in his mind?
Because she had been—different. He set Iona’s bag beside a chair and glanced down at her, resisting an impulse to run a finger across that unsmiling, infuriat-ingly desirable mouth. What would she do if he kissed her? His body tightened in swift, fierce response even as he dismissed the thought.
She was not exactly beautiful, but she’d been a passionate and generous lover, and he’d enjoyed their interlude—perhaps a little too much. It irritated him to admit it, but her abrupt departure had angered him. He had missed her.
However, it was ridiculous—a stupid, unnecessary overreaction—to feel she’d betrayed him.
Acutely aware of his swift glance and his silence, Iona was glad to meet the child she was looking after. Chloe was tall for her age, as befitted the daughter of such a tall man, with large dark eyes, and a mouth that subtly echoed that of her father. It quirked in a fleeting smile for him before she transferred a solemn gaze to Iona, who introduced herself
calmly.
‘Hello. My name is Iona Guthrie, and we’ll be spending some time together today while your father has a meeting.’
‘He always goes to meetings.’
The statement, although made entirely without rancour, wrung Iona’s heart.
‘I’m sure he’s very busy, but we’ll have fun together, you and I.’
Chloe scanned Iona’s large bag. ‘Are you going to stay ’cos Neelie’s gone?’
‘Only for today,’ Luke told her.
Who was Neelie? Mother? Nanny?
‘I’ve brought some things you might like to do with me, and a few books you might not have seen before,’ Iona said.
That seemed to satisfy Chloe, who obeyed immediately when her father announced, ‘Take Ms Guthrie out onto the terrace, Chloe, and show her your horse.’
Horse? Surely he didn’t carry around a horse as part of his ménage?
He did. A splendid rocking horse, dappled grey, with flared nostrils and flowing mane, and a saddle and bridle fit for a queen. ‘His name is Pegasus,’ Chloe informed her in that precise, neutral voice.
She glanced up at Iona, who asked, ‘And does he fly, like the horse in the legend?’
It seemed she might have passed some subtle test, for the child smiled at her. ‘Nearly. He used to be Lukas’s horse when he was a little boy.’ Her tone expressed a hint of disbelief, as though she simply couldn’t conceive of her father ever being small enough to ride the horse.
Why did she call him by his first name?
More to the point, where the heck was her mother? Dead? Divorced? Not interested?
None of your business, Iona warned herself, and said gravely, ‘You and your father are very lucky. Pegasus is a magnificent animal.’
‘He’s my best friend.’
Like her father, Chloe spoke excellent English; unlike him she had no trace of an accent. Not, Iona recalled, that Luke had much—really, only the merest hint…
Just enough to imbue every word he said with a subtle under-note of disturbing sensuality that had deepened when they’d made love.
Don’t even think about that!
Iona said, ‘Pegasus is lucky too—to have such a good friend as you. Would you like to show me how well you can ride him?’
After a moment Chloe hitched up her skirt and climbed onto the horse, setting it rocking with a gleeful enthusiasm that warmed Iona’s heart.
‘She is reserved, but not shy,’ her father said from behind.
Startled, Iona swivelled. Dressed in a superbly tailored business suit that showed off his lean, powerful body, he was a formidable presence. A stab of awareness shocked Iona with its swift intensity, reminding her of all the reasons—those foolish, dangerous reasons—she’d embarked on their affair.
Moving out of earshot of the child, she asked in her most practical voice, ‘Is there anything I should know about Chloe before you go?’ When his black brows drew together she added briskly, ‘I gather her mother is not here? No doubt Chloe will be missing her.’
‘You assume too much.’
Iona lifted her head at the touch of hauteur in his words. Something odd was going on here, and if it was likely to affect Chloe she needed to know about it. ‘Very well,’ she said, in a tone that matched his for bluntness, ‘but is there anything I should be aware of?’
Lukas didn’t try to moderate the frown that always made his subordinates tread very carefully. It didn’t seem to affect Iona. Those unusual sea-shaded eyes mirrored both the colour of whatever she wore and her emotions. Today they were a direct, cool blue with a hint of challenge.
Yesterday in the powder room when she’d been half-naked they’d been blue-green, wide and shocked, and then full of mystery.
He’d had to rein in a hunger so elemental and direct it had taken him by surprise.
Why the hell had she run away from him in Tahiti? Because he’d cast his suggestion she stay with him as a proposition rather than a proposal?
Surely she’d realised it was too early in their relationship for an admission of anything more than a passionate hunger? He’d wanted them to get to know each other—discover if their superb compatibility extended beyond the raptures of the bed—but clearly she hadn’t reciprocated those inchoate, hardly formed feelings.
Ruthlessly repressing the sharp twist of sensation in his gut at the memory of just how good they’d been together, he forced his mind back to her question.
Discreet she might be, but he wasn’t going to let her in on any family secrets. He’d had enough of seeing his private life—or fiction about it—splashed across newsprint. If the circumstances of Chloe’s birth and his subsequent adoption of the child ever leaked out, some parts of the media would have a field day.
That he could cope with. What made it imperative that he keep the secret until he could trust Iona was his father’s latest threat—to contest the adoption and demand custody of the daughter Aristo had refused to accept.
Chapter Three
STILL, Lukas reluctantly conceded Iona had a point.
Yesterday he’d ordered his security people to check her and her cousin out; the report had arrived first thing that morning. They were clean—practically saints, he thought sardonically.
After a glance at Chloe’s absorbed little face as she rocked rhythmically on the horse, Luke made up his mind, but even so, he chose his words with care.
‘Her mother has never been part of Chloe’s life.’ She hadn’t even named her. He’d called her Chloe after his maternal grandmother.
Irritated, because the silken allure of Iona’s skin and the grace of her movements still had the power to stir him, he went on more curtly than he’d intended, ‘I have always cared for her, and her nanny has been with her since she was a year old. Unfortunately she was called away to England last night, so it is possible Chloe will talk about Neelie. I have explained the circumstances to her—that Neelie had to go to her sick mother—and she appears to understand and accept that. I have left a contact number beside the telephone; if there is any emergency—but only in an emergency—ring me.’
Her eyes veiled by her lashes, Iona nodded and replied with composure, ‘I don’t panic easily.’
Lukas resisted another flash of hunger, deep and arousing. She didn’t fit the classical standards of beauty—her face was striking rather than pretty—but something about it and her smoothly lissome body still retained a disturbing power to intrigue him.
However, he had responsibilities he couldn’t neglect, and although it was some months since he’d last had a woman it would be inconvenient to embark—re-embark, he corrected cynically—on an affair right now with a woman who’d already caused him enough sleepless nights.
And if he’d learned anything in his life it was to control the urges of his body.
Iona resolutely turned her face away to watch Chloe, absorbed on her flying steed. Luke should mean nothing to her, and neither should the possibility that he’d been married when he’d made love to her with such blazing desire.
Yet she struggled with a foolish sense of betrayal.
Ignoring it, she asked, ‘Roughly what time are you planning to be back?’
‘This meeting should finish at a reasonable time—before five o’clock,’ he told her, a note of austerity in his words telling her he wasn’t used to being questioned. ‘If it threatens to stretch further I—or my PA—will contact you. Do you have an appointment tonight?’
Iona met eyes that were unexpectedly keen. ‘No.’
His expression didn’t change as he turned and called, ‘Chloe, I have to go now.’
The child scrambled down from the rocking horse and came running with outstretched arms. Watching him swoop down to lift her high, Iona relaxed. Luke wasn’t effusive, but his love for his daughter was clear; he held her with great tenderness, and murmured something in a language Iona supposed to be Greek.
Forget the way that voice sends shivers down your spine, she warned herself. Concentrate on Chloe.
Somehow that touched a nerve in Iona.
Gently he put Chloe down and straightened up. ‘So, be good for Miss Iona while I’m gone.’ He looked at Iona. ‘I have ordered a snack to arrive at ten for both of you, and lunch will be brought up at midday. Chloe has a nap after lunch for half an hour, and then a drink and some fruit when she wakes.’
‘Lukas, can Miss Iona take me for a swim when I wake up?’
Smiling down at her, he replied, ‘No, because she will not have brought anything to wear in the water.’
His daughter pouted, but didn’t push her luck. Obviously Luke’s decisions were non-negotiable.
Iona said, ‘Actually, I noticed the pool yesterday so I brought my togs.’ She looked at him directly, aware of a swift streak of colour along her cheekbones. In Tahiti she’d swum naked, and from the gleam beneath his lashes she suspected he was remembering. ‘I have a lifesaving certificate.’
For an intimidating moment he was silent before his mouth curved in an oblique smile. ‘I know you are an excellent swimmer. I see no reason why you shouldn’t swim together,’ he conceded to a beaming Chloe, adding, ‘But only if you promise me that when Miss Iona tells you it is time to get out you do not plead to stay in for just a few minutes longer.’
Chloe’s face wrinkled in earnestness. ‘I won’t, Lukas. I will be as good as gold, like Neelie says.’
He looked amused, but spoke directly to Iona. ‘Chloe is an excellent swimmer for her age, but too much time in the water turns her lips blue and makes her shiver.’
During the morning the child’s artless frankness built a picture for Iona of a man who could be stern but wasn’t unfair, and whose arms held all Chloe wanted. She referred to the nanny with affection, but clearly it was her father who was the sum and substance of her life.
The situation nagged at Iona. Perhaps he hadn’t known about the child when they’d had that fling in Tahiti?