Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife

by Robyn Donald

  Thereby neatly underlining that she was years younger than her nearest and greatest acting rivals.

  And, from the schedule she gave, she wasn’t going to have time for anything much—not even Luke—for several years yet. Certainly if she’d married Luke there would have been no place in her heart or her life for Chloe.

  Although she’d been discreet, only letting a few words escape about the man in her life escape, it was clear she and Luke were lovers.

  A fierce jealousy almost tore Iona apart. She had to pace around her room, her mind seething, her heart contracting into a painful lump in her chest. She could not marry Luke without knowing what promises—if any—he’d made to the film star.

  Her first impulse—to call him—was dashed when she realised she didn’t know how to contact him. He’d not given her a number for his cell phone. Moana had gone home for the night, and Iona didn’t know the hotel phone number—wasn’t even sure of the name of the place or where it was. It could be in the next bay, or halfway around the main island.

  She could look it up—but would they know who she was? They might think she was a journalist. Still, she could try.

  A couple of minutes later she put the telephone down. The receptionist had said politely that there was no answer from Luke’s room.

  She had to talk to Luke.

  For a few seconds she hated his father for doing this to her; he’d gauged her well, rightly guessing she’d know she couldn’t compete with Susan Mainwaring.

  She said angrily, ‘Horrible old man! I wish—’ and stopped, because of course she didn’t wish him dead.

  Just out of her life—and Luke’s. And Chloe’s.

  Driven to her feet, she unlatched the door and walked outside into the moonlight. Where was Luke when she desperately needed him?

  A lovers’ moon shone down, all traces of gold vanished so that the light was a pure, hard-edged white.

  She stood on the edge of the terrace and shivered in spite of the warmth. Because it hurt less to think of a tragedy more than two thousand years old than to face what she’d read, she mulled over the story of doomed Hippolytus and his stepmother, Phaedra, who had wanted him and then betrayed him.

  Perhaps Aristo was right when he called the story of Theseus his family’s doom. Luke would do anything to safeguard Chloe, even marry a woman he didn’t—perhaps could never—love.

  She turned and went back inside, turning the magazine over, hopefully scanning the article to see if she could work out when the film star had been interviewed.

  No clue; she didn’t know anything about magazine production, but surely this interview must have occurred before Luke knew Neelie had to care for her mother?

  In which case he could have been planning to marry the film star, feeling that with the constant presence of her father and Neelie an absent stepmother wouldn’t harm Chloe.

  She dropped the magazine as though it poisoned her.

  ‘Think,’ she said aloud, her voice fierce. ‘Think, instead of wallowing in angst.’

  So how had Aristo seen the interview? Her mind worried with that question until she dismissed it. It didn’t matter—someone could have told him, or he could have had a press clipping service so that anything about Luke was sent to him. What did matter was that this very interview could have persuaded Aristo that he had a chance of wresting Chloe away from his son. Any lawyer conducting Aristo’s case would consider those airy comments on Susan Mainwaring’s lack of interest in children a godsend.

  Aristo Michelakis must be pretty sure Iona would be convinced. Not just convinced, but shattered enough to jilt his son.

  She collapsed limply onto the side of the bed. Even to her it seemed ridiculous and irrational, but she had to know whether or not he’d made any promise to Susan Mainwaring.

  And if he had…?

  She set her jaw. She’d face that when she came to it. First she had to find out.

  Chapter Twelve

  IONA finally got through to Luke late at night.

  ‘What is it?’ he demanded, his voice hard with concern. ‘What is wrong?’

  ‘I need to see you,’ she told him baldly. ‘It’s all right—Chloe’s fine.’

  The pause that followed her words screwed her nerves to a point of pain, until he said in a matter-of-fact tone, ‘I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  Setting the phone down, she glanced across at the curtains billowing softly in the breeze and thought wildly, He’s going to think I’m mad. And this business with the magazine can only make things worse between him and his father.

  Too late now.

  It didn’t occur to her to pull on a dressing gown. It wasn’t until Luke came noiselessly through the curtains, big and dark and dominant, that she realised she was wearing a pair of pyjamas that had seen much better days.

  He said coolly, ‘Is this a seduction scene, Iona?’

  But his eyes had kindled and a raw note ran through the words, and she suddenly felt a little less tense. ‘No,’ she said raggedly, and gestured at the magazine, open on the bed. ‘Read that.’

  Black brows drawing together over his blade of a nose, he picked up the magazine, glanced at the cover and looked up sharply. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘Never mind that,’ she said calmly. ‘Please read it.’

  Frown deepening, he scrutinised it, then dropped the magazine onto the floor. ‘I suppose you want to know whether or not we were lovers.’

  ‘Not that,’ she said, muscles contracting as though she faced a blow. ‘I want to know whether or not she had any right to hint at a marriage between you.’

  ‘No.’

  Just one word—so easy to say, so simple—but a word that meant more than anything else he’d ever said to her. Their eyes locked; his were dark and unsparing, and for a moment Iona wavered, and then at a purely instinctual level she understood he was telling the truth.

  ‘That’s fine, then,’ she said quietly.

  He stared at her. ‘Is that all you need?’

  ‘Yes.’

  After a pause he said in a level voice, ‘I don’t know why she said that—or even if she did. Journalists have been known to get things wrong. But Susan made it obvious from the start of our affair that she wasn’t looking for marriage. She certainly wanted nothing to do with Chloe while we were lovers.’

  That hurt like a blow struck at her heart, but she steadied herself enough to say, ‘Go on.’

  He said, ‘I finished our affair when I discovered my father was planning to sue for custody of Chloe. Just before we arrived in New Zealand.’

  ‘Did you love her?’ No sooner had she said the words than she longed desperately to be able to call them back. She sounded so needy. Love had no part in their bargain; she had no right to quiz him about his feelings.

  He shrugged. ‘No.’ He paused, then said with taut irony, ‘It was a very convenient affair—for us both. But Chloe comes first.’

  ‘Of course.’

  On a note of exasperation he said, ‘You forget how I was brought up—to be the one to look after the family. It was always part of the deal—to behave as my father did, and his father before him.’

  ‘Except that your father didn’t,’ she said in swift anger. ‘He tore the family apart because he didn’t believe you. He rejected you.’

  Luke looked bored. ‘I’m not interested in him now—or only in as much as he affects Chloe.’ He glanced at the magazine and said on a steely note, ‘And you.’

  Iona’s breath clogged into a painful lump in her chest. ‘He doesn’t affect me at all. No, that’s not quite true—I still feel a bit sorry for him. But not sorry enough to feel you shouldn’t fight him in this.’

  His smile made her shiver. ‘To the death. Now, why was it so important for you to hear from my lips that I had no intention of marrying Susan?’

  She didn’t dare confess her love for him. He waited, and when she didn’t speak his brows rose. In a dry, deliberate voice he said, ‘Very well. Tell me why you c
hose me for an affair eighteen months ago.’

  A cautious glimmer of hope smouldered into life. She took a jagged breath, then with a rashness that startled her, risked everything. ‘You’re so alive, so much in control of your life, and so strong. That’s what drew me to you at first. And when you made it obvious that for you it would only be a holiday affair—nothing serious, just fun and pleasure and brilliant sex—I thought it was perfect. But I only wanted to be healed, not to fall in love.’

  Still he didn’t turn. It was like talking to a statue. Heart in her mouth, she heard him speak.

  ‘I was a fool.’

  She could gain nothing from his tone—cool, flat, without expression. She said, ‘No, I was the fool. When you suggested we keep up the affair, that I live with you, I was afraid of being hurt all over again.’

  At last he turned, his face set and frowning like one of the old gods of his country. ‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘I refused to admit it, but I was falling in love all over again, and this time it wasn’t the sweet boy-girl thing I’d had with Gavin. It was powerful and frightening and heart-wrenching. And I knew…’

  Her voice trailed away into a silence that held her still.

  ‘You knew what?’ he rasped.

  Inwardly quivering, she forced the words out. ‘That last night, after you’d asked me to live with you, I dreamed that I was married to Gavin, and you arrived and said, “Come,” and I left him, running towards you with such joy, such happiness.’

  ‘You left me because of a dream?’ he demanded incredulously.

  ‘No, not that, but because it showed me something I hadn’t faced until then.’

  ‘And that was?’ When she didn’t answer immediately he commanded ruthlessly, ‘Tell me, Iona.’

  She was horrified to find she was wringing her hands. Hastily putting them behind her, she whispered, ‘Oh, it sounds so stupid. I left you because I was a coward.’

  Luke came towards her, stopping a mere pace away. She didn’t dare lift her eyes further than the small pulse of a muscle in his jaw.

  In a deep, quiet voice he said, ‘Like me, you had learned in a hard school that love can be followed by disaster. Why did you believe me when I told you I had not slept with my father’s wife?’

  Iona stared at him. ‘I…I told you before. I can’t give you an exact reason beyond sheer gut instinct,’ she said unevenly. ‘I just know you wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘You must also know that I have had several lovers—none of whom I’ve married—and been credited with many more. Such a man could be one who takes women lightly, uses them, then discards them. Why didn’t you believe that of me?’

  ‘Because it isn’t in you to behave like that,’ she said instantly.

  ‘I forced you into looking after Chloe, bulldozed you into this marriage.’ His gaze raked her face, intent, compelling. ‘What makes you think I would not force my father’s wife into my bed?’

  ‘You never call her your stepmother.’

  ‘She was an insult to the word mother. Why do you not believe the lies she told? Because I can make you weep with ecstasy in bed? Because I am far richer than my father?’

  ‘No,’ she told him quietly. ‘Because I’ve seen you with Chloe. And…’ She stumbled, searching for words.

  ‘Tell me, Iona.’

  ‘I just know,’ she repeated in confusion, because she couldn’t give him the reason he seemed to want.

  ‘Just as you knew that with me you’d find life and rapture again?’

  ‘Yes.’ And then, more bravely, ‘Yes. I’m sorry I can’t be more explicit than that. You wear your honour, your integrity, your strength like a banner.’ Still he said nothing, and she finished in a tired voice. ‘Which sounds stupid, I know—’

  ‘It sounds magnificent,’ he interrupted swiftly, and smiled, and she realised with a soaring heart that he believed her.

  Oh, they hadn’t solved everything—he hadn’t even mentioned the word she longed to hear—but perhaps, in time, he would learn to love her…

  Thoughtfully he said, ‘The ancient Greeks had the right idea when they ascribed love to Eros, a wayward child who shot arrows into people’s hearts for the sheer mischief of it. I think there is a little more logic to it than that, but I have to admit I fell in love with you when I first saw you walking along the beach out there, your long hair blowing in the trade wind. You looked like a Botticelli angel come down to earth—a wistful angel who wanted nothing more than oblivion.’

  Speechless, hardly able to believe her ears, she lifted her gaze, saw a warmth in his tawny eyes that held something of passion, but even more of love.

  ‘I’d like you to say that again,’ she whispered.

  He laughed deep in his throat. ‘Only if you reciprocate. I am too Greek to take any pleasure in vowing love if you don’t feel the same way.’

  ‘Oh, Luke,’ she said on a broken sigh, ‘you must know I do.’

  ‘Do what?’

  His voice was amused, but the dark heat in his eyes had flared into fire and she said fiercely, ‘Do love you, you idiot. Of course I love you—I think it must have happened that first day too, when you ordered me off your beach and then made me sit down and drink something before driving me back to my hotel. You’ve been part of me ever since.’

  ‘Which is why you fled from me as soon as I asked you to stay with me?’ he said austerely, and as she opened her mouth he held up his hand. ‘No, I understand. I do understand. To love someone and then lose him is a tragedy, and your parents’ deaths so soon afterwards…’ He made a quick gesture. ‘My own mother’s death was tragedy enough for me.’ He paused, then said sombrely, ‘And for my father.’

  After a quick glance at his watch, he looked at her, his expression stripped of everything except naked longing. ‘A declaration of love should be sealed with a kiss—but I don’t dare touch you, let alone kiss you.’

  For the first time Iona let herself believe that what he felt for her was all that she’d ever wanted—no, she thought with breaking joy, more than she’d ever wanted. He couldn’t look at her with such intensity, such open hunger and tenderness, and not mean it.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘It is too close to midnight for what I want to do—ravish you for hours—and Angie is convinced we’re wooing the very worst of bad luck if we set eyes on each other before our wedding tomorrow.’

  Iona choked back a laugh. ‘I’m prepared to risk it if you are.’

  He took a half-step towards her, then stopped. ‘I can wait,’ he said heroically. ‘The first time after we have declared our love should not be hurried. Tomorrow will be our wedding night and we can make love all night long—if I can stand it.’

  Frustration drummed through her in a driving crescendo. ‘I love you,’ she said.

  He stiffened, and for a moment she thought he was coming towards her. However, he stepped back and said roughly, ‘I am only too human where you are concerned! I’ll go now. But tomorrow—this time tomorrow…’

  Although he left the sentence unfinished, his smile and the swift golden glitter in his eyes sent a shiver of sheer delight and need through her.

  ‘Luke…’

  Luke slid a questing hand from her hip to the soft curve of her breast. ‘What is it, my dear one?’

  ‘Earlier today, just as we were all getting ready for the garden wedding, Chloe asked if she could call me Mama.’

  The slow sensuous movement of his hand stilled. ‘And you said…?’

  ‘I said she could.’

  He lifted her chin and kissed her, long and tender and passionate, then tucked her head into his shoulder.

  ‘I hadn’t realised she felt the need for a mother.’ He kissed her and said, ‘You have given her something Neelie was never quite able to be for her.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about Neelie,’ she said. ‘She might not be openly motherly, but I’m sure she learned to love Chloe.’

  ‘Of course.’ He sounded slightly su
rprised.

  ‘Do you think she’d like to be a grandmother?’ When he said nothing she went on, ‘Chloe has no grandmothers. And I’m sure she’d like to see Neelie whenever we’re in the UK, just as Neelie must want to keep in touch with her.’

  He said quietly, ‘You fill my heart with your sweetness. Yes, of course we must make sure Neelie is part of our family.’ He paused, then went on, ‘And now I have something to tell you. Two things, in fact. This morning—before the official ceremony—my father came to see me.’

  She stiffened in his arms, then tilted her head back so she could see his face against the pillow, dark and saturnine. She could read nothing from his expression. ‘Why?’ she breathed.

  ‘To tell me he’d sent a letter to his lawyers instructing them he no longer planned to sue for custody of Chloe.’

  Dumbfounded, she stared at him.

  He watched her with a lurking smile, then said, ‘I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you without a word to say.’

  ‘Why—what…? What made him change his mind?’

  ‘He had never seen her before. She looks like my mother. And he loved my mother deeply; he was desolated when she died.’

  He stretched, but when she moved to give him room he pulled her back into his arms, leaning his head on top of hers as her body curved against the hard contours of his. ‘I like the way your hair falls in a curtain across me,’ he murmured lazily. ‘Such warm, living silk. As he had sent the magazine to you, it did occur to me his unexpected surrender was made so that I could pull out of the wedding if I wanted to—which would prove I was only marrying to safeguard Chloe.’

  She asked hesitantly, ‘Do you think that is the reason?’

  ‘Strangely enough, no. Apparently you—although you do not look like my mother—also reminded him of her.’

  Stunned, she demanded, ‘How?’