by Robyn Donald
Stunned and oddly touched, Iona said, ‘Well, between you all you’ve done a brilliant job.’
He saluted her with his glass. ‘Here’s to Chloe, then. And also to…Well, I shan’t pre-empt the Prime Minister’s announcement tomorrow, so let’s call it a toast to a chance to make a difference.’
Startled, she echoed his toast and sipped wine that set her tastebuds tingling with delight. Only the very best for Luke Michelakis, she thought, trying to rein in her runaway reaction to his presence. Everything seemed stronger, more vivid, more potent—from the wine to the man who looked down at her with half-closed eyes.
He set his glass down and said, ‘So…boundaries. Perhaps we should establish some too.’
No touching, she thought hurriedly, then flushed, because of course he wasn’t thinking of that sort of boundary. She was his employee.
Luke went on, ‘While you are in my care you will be treated like one of the family.’
‘In your care?’ she asked, stunned. She gave a wry laugh. ‘That’s a very old-fashioned, rather patriarchal way of looking at the situation. You’re my employer.’
‘I was brought up in a patriarchal society,’ he told her coolly. ‘It is entirely natural for me to think like that.’
‘Do you consider it your duty to care for every one of your employees?’
‘In a less personal fashion,’ he admitted with a wry smile. ‘You live in my house and care for Chloe, so it is different, but, yes, I ensure that not only do the people I employ have good working conditions, but that they are taken care of in other ways. I support an excellent pension plan and health scheme.’
She said briskly, ‘Well, as this is a temporary job you won’t have to enrol me. New Zealand has a good healthcare system, and of course we have universal superannuation.’
Luke thought ironically that he’d never have believed he’d drink champagne with a woman—one he wanted with a taut, driving intensity that kept him awake at nights—and talk about such dull subjects as pension plans and health schemes.
Not that he should be surprised. Iona had never fitted into any of his categories; as a lover she’d been passionate and sensuous, but she’d left him without a backwards glance.
And now, he thought, making a swift decision, was the right time to ask the reason.
‘Why did you run away from Tahiti?’ His tone was idly enquiring.
She gave him a shadowed glance, hesitated, then said slowly, ‘I wasn’t ready for anything else.’
And now? It suddenly became important to him to probe further, but he sensed that now was the wrong time. ‘Because of the death of your fiancé?’
She said quietly, ‘Yes, but also—my parents had died in a car accident that year. And Angie’s marriage broke up around the same time. Everything I valued—everyone I loved—was either dead or in great distress.’ Her narrow brows drew together. Not quite looking at him, she said, ‘I didn’t dare stay. I was afraid.’
‘I see.’ He understood how great loss could have made her unable to trust her instincts, and stifled the urge to comfort her. She wasn’t ready for that, either.
Lashes lowered, she was sipping the champagne with delicate pleasure. His whole body tightened, so that he had to lock every muscle to stop himself from going over and taking the glass from her hand, pulling her into his arms, kissing that softly lush mouth until it parted for him…
What would she do?
Respond, he thought with brutal honesty. She’d go up in flames—yet, although he could take her physically, she’d keep him shut out from her emotions and her thoughts. For reasons he wasn’t prepared to explore he had an uncivilised, reckless need to shatter those barriers, compel her to see him not as a man she was unwillingly attracted to, but as a lover who meant something to her.
Was she going to hold the memory of her fiancé in her heart for the rest of her life? How could any man compete with a dead hero?
His mind went back to the conversation he’d just had with Neelie. Now was not the time to reveal the nanny’s decision, he decided.
The next few days on the mountain would give him time to test his ability to resist Iona. If she proved too tempting, he’d—well, he’d face that if he was forced to.
Aloud he said, ‘I hadn’t realised your parents died so tragically and so soon after your fiancé’s death. I’m sorry.’
She blinked, then said with difficulty, ‘You gave me something in Tahiti.’ Colour burned along her cheekbones and she hurried on, ‘And not just the—our relationship. I found that I could feel again, that I could enjoy things and respond to them. Thank you for that.’
It was a start.
Iona surveyed the view from the sitting room window. Clouds of pale mist rising from the base of the tall trees that surrounded the lodge gave the garden a mysterious, almost eerie air.
The man who’d showed them to their rooms said, ‘That’s steam from the hot springs. There are several pools, all entirely natural, and tested every day to make sure they stay pure. Soaking in the water is a wonderful way to ease out the stiffness after a day on the mountain. And there’s one that’s very suitable for children.’
Chloe looked hopefully up at her father, who said, ‘Later, perhaps.’
Iona looked around the luxurious room. Although as casually sophisticated, the house in Tahiti had possessed a totally different ambience, tropical and beachy. Here a creative decorator had furnished the rooms with native timbers, their rich warmth set off by serene hues taken from sky and bush. Skilfully placed accents in the earthy colours of the volcanic area provided a vital contrast, as did some seriously good art.
Of course it was luxurious—a splendidly equipped lodge set up for several groups of visitors, although they were the only occupants. Their upstairs suite had its own entrance and foyer, with several bedrooms. Iona’s was beside Chloe’s, with one for Luke on the other side.
The bodyguard, a serious young man with a faint American accent, had been introduced as Iakobos. ‘Just Iakobos?’ Iona had asked with a smile as she’d extended her hand.
After a glance at Luke he’d shaken it somewhat gingerly. ‘Just Iakobos, ma’am,’ he’d said.
Chloe clearly knew and liked him, and he’d crouched down to say, ‘Hi, Chloe. You’re growing up, young lady.’
Then he had melted into the background, something he was clearly very good at.
‘What standard is your skiing?’ Luke asked later, when Chloe was taking her nap.
‘I used to be reasonably proficient as a schoolgirl, but I’m well out of practice.’ Iona gave him a questioning look, meeting his eyes with a sharp shift of awareness that twanged along her nerves. ‘It doesn’t matter, surely? I’ll be spending my time on the nursery slopes with Chloe.’
‘Tomorrow morning, yes, that is correct. So she gets to know the instructor,’ Luke said shortly. ‘After that there will be times when you can ski at your level while Iakobos stays with her.’
Luke spent the rest of the afternoon in a room that functioned as an office; at one stage Iona heard him speaking in what she presumed to be Greek. A momentary gleam of compassion at his having to work on what was clearly meant to be a holiday was stifled when his tone changed, dropping into a silky quietness that sent a cold shiver down her spine.
Very glad she wasn’t the person he was talking to, she took Chloe to explore the grounds of the lodge, Iakobos a silent presence with them.
Of course they made snowballs, Chloe showing a streak of mischief by tossing them at both Iona and the bodyguard. Iona could see why the child liked the young man; he entered fully into the spirit of the occasion, teasing her in a mixture of Greek and English and making her laugh.
‘You know how to deal with children,’ Iona said as he directed a small snowball towards Chloe.
It hit her in the stomach, exploding over in her in a flurry, and she sat down abruptly in the snow. After a moment of shock her face crinkled into laughter.
‘I am the oldest in our famil
y,’ he said, hiding a smile as he watched Chloe snatch up handfuls of snow, obviously bent on retaliation. ‘And she is a charming child, easy to deal with and to like.’
Indeed she was; they both pretended not to see her busily moulding a snowball, her face intent and serious.
‘I think you’re going to be attacked,’ Iona observed.
He smiled down at her. He had a very nice smile, and he was a good-looking man, yet for some reason he didn’t affect her at all. Not like Luke…
‘Miss Guthrie—?’
‘Call me Iona,’ she said swiftly.
He didn’t appear to have heard. ‘When she throws, she will aim at me, which means it will almost certainly hit you,’ he warned.
Iona’s laughter was cut short by a level voice from behind.
Luke. In the same silkily lethal tone she’d heard before he said, ‘I assume you think it’s perfectly all right for Chloe to be sitting on the cold ground?’
Both Iona and the bodyguard whirled, Iona resisting an unnecessary guilt.
How could a golden gaze splinter into ice? Luke’s face was like a mask, the angular features set in forbidding lines until Chloe abandoned her snowball and scrambled to her feet, hurling herself at him with a yelp of glee.
His expression softening, he picked her up and in a totally different voice he said, ‘Are you cold?’
‘Only my nose is,’ she said cheerfully, and touched his. ‘So’s yours,’ she said, and started to laugh before breaking into another language.
‘English,’ he said sternly. ‘Miss Iona doesn’t understand Greek.’
Obediently she switched, her words tumbling out. ‘We’ve been playing snowballs. Iakobos threw one and it hit me in the tummy, so I was going to hit him with a big, big one.’ She held out her arms to indicate just how huge it had been going to be.
‘Perhaps you can try that tomorrow. For now, it’s time for us to take our cold noses inside,’ Luke said, and strode back towards the house with her in his arms.
Still feeling chastened, Iona fell in behind, Iakobos beside her. Within seconds Luke called the bodyguard to walk beside him.
Glowering at their backs, Iona told herself she’d done nothing that could be construed as a lack of care or duty. So why was Luke so angry? Was he still furious with the unlucky person on the other end of the telephone? Surely he wasn’t one of those people who let their emotions splatter onto everyone around them?
She was obscurely disappointed. It showed a lack of self-control, something she hadn’t expected of him.
And why should she care? Because she was getting too involved with him, that was why. She stumbled, righting herself rapidly as Luke turned.
‘Take care,’ he commanded. ‘The path is slippery.’
It was, but that wasn’t why she’d tripped. The sensual attraction that throbbed between them was being transformed into something new and powerful. Oh, the elemental sexual pull was still as strong as ever—no, stronger—but it was now grounded in deeper and more significant emotions. Watching him with Chloe and seeing him with Angie’s boys, reading how his father had rejected him—even the conversation about taking care of his workers—had altered her perceptions.
In Tahiti it had all been about lust.
Now she wanted more. She was halfway to falling in love with Lukas Michelakis, internet tycoon, father, disgraced son, respected businessman…
She lifted her eyes, letting them linger on his broad shoulders and narrow hips, measuring the relaxed, ground-covering gait that spoke of strength and power, noting the way he held his child, the swift smile he gave her, his tenderness.
Halfway?
Panic kicked beneath her ribs and hollowed out her stomach as she reacted to a shocking flash of comprehension. Somehow, at some unknown time, ignoring any warning signs, she’d fallen the whole way in love with Luke. She wanted love and marriage and a life together.
And Lukas Michelakis was about as far out of her reach as—well, as the stars.
To him she was that most ex of all exes: an ex-lover. Oh, he still desired her, but it wasn’t in the same all-consuming way she wanted him. He could control that. And soon she’d be an ex-employee, someone temporary and peripheral, only remembered because she’d been useful to him.
The emptiness in her heart expanded, cold with foreboding. She’d have to pick up the pieces of her life again—although this time, she thought as she bustled Chloe off for a bath and to change her clothes, there would be no guilt.
That thought didn’t console her, but getting the child ready for dinner and bed at least gave her something else to concentrate on.
After the nursery tea Luke came in to kiss Chloe goodnight. Apart from a short nod he ignored Iona, until they were back in the sitting room of the suite.
‘I’m eating out,’ he said. ‘Your dinner will be brought to you here.’
‘Very well, sir,’ she returned, her voice expressionless.
He stopped in mid-stride. ‘What did you call me?’ he demanded.
Already regretting the foolish impulse, she said, ‘I noticed Iakobos calls you that, so I thought perhaps it was mandatory.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘You appear to have noticed a lot about him,’ he said conversationally. He walked across to the door and opened it. ‘I don’t want to hear that again. Just remember you are here to care for Chloe, not to flirt with the bodyguard.’
‘Flirt?’ she sputtered, welcoming the swift rush of temper. ‘Flirt? Poor Chloe—if you think that was flirting, you’re going to have a difficult time of it when she becomes interested in the opposite sex. And so is she.’
He said curtly, ‘Leave Chloe out of it. You forget I have seen the way you approach a man—I have noticed the promise in your smile, the sway of your hips, the upward glance from beneath your lashes.’
His coolly dismissive words stung, yet Iona recognised a raw undernote to them. Her breath locked in her throat when she caught the hard flame of hunger in his scrutiny. Her pulses thundered and a hot surge of physical longing plunged her into confusion.
He’d never love her, but he still wanted her.
Luke smiled cynically. ‘It is difficult to hide from passion—our bodies betray us all the time.’ He let his gaze drift from her wide, darkening eyes to the curves of her breast and waist.
Shocked by the violence of her headstrong response—so close to craving she didn’t dare say anything in case she revealed the hot tide his words had unleashed within her—Iona stared mutely at him, pulses leaping in a mixture of fear and eagerness.
No.
Any surrender now would be infinitely rash—far more reckless than those moon-dazed nights in Tahiti. The only way she could keep her self-respect was to ignore the compelling lure of passion—especially now that it was reinforced by a love that had crept upon her so slowly she hadn’t realised its danger until far too late.
Yet it took every ounce of will power she possessed for her to drag in a sighing breath and shake her head.
‘You disagree with me?’ he asked softly, and touched the betraying little throb at the base of her throat.
Fire beat up through her, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, drowning in hot gold. He was judging her reactions with an expert’s experience.
That thought pulled her up instantly. Swallowing hard, she managed to step back, vainly trying to armour herself against his powerful male potency. A violent yearning fogged her mind and reminded her how good—how very good—it had been to forget everything in the safe haven of his arms.
Her voice slow and uncertain, she said, ‘I don’t pretend to have your vast knowledge of sex and sexuality.’ The words sounded too much like a come-on, and she stopped, took another breath and started again. ‘But what’s past is gone. It’s over and done with.’
‘Surely we’ve both accepted that it’s not?’ The hint of amusement in his words set her teeth on edge, intensifying when he added, ‘This need is very much present. You can’t deny that.’
/> Iona shook her head, trying to clear her mind from the drugging fumes of desire. ‘It’s a waste of time—and foolish—to let the past impinge on the present.’
‘How can you stop it?’ His tone was suddenly abrupt. ‘The past is always there. It never leaves us. Everything we do, everything we say, every thought and emotion and sensation is directly affected by what has happened to us previously.’ He looked down at her. ‘You don’t believe me? Then think about this—’
He bent and his lips brushed hers for a second, sending sharp darts of fire through her. Iona tensed, but he lifted his head immediately and stepped back, leaving her tingling, her lips tender and aching for more.
Luke smiled with cold irony. ‘If you had never lain in my arms, never kissed me with all of that passion you’re trying to conceal, you wouldn’t be so defensive now, and your body wouldn’t be remembering what pleasure we found in each other. We can’t escape the past, Iona.’
She said harshly, ‘Perhaps not, but we don’t need to repeat it.’
‘I agree.’ His expression hardened. As a jolt of keen pain seared through her, he went on, ‘You have a pretty name; in Greek it would refer to the violet—either its colour or the flower itself—valued for its modest beauty and retiring disposition.’
Something in his voice and the gleam in his lion-tawny eyes told her he didn’t think the name suited her.
Feeling stupid and callow, she turned away, tense until she heard the quiet huff of the closing door. Even then she couldn’t relax. The cold certainty in his voice when he’d spoken of the past made her shiver. Clearly he could never forgive his father.
She walked across to the window and stared out at the wild landscape outside—snow against black rocks, the dark, mysterious shapes of the trees silhouetted against steam formed in the heart of the earth and forced into the cold air.