Make that four continents.
Marriage must have turned her sisters’s brains to mush.
Surely, they knew this man was not marriage material. He would cherish his freedom just as much as she cherished hers. Actually, she wouldn’t even date someone like this. Oh, he might be fun for an evening but that would about do it. The smile. The swagger. He’d be self-centered, hot-tempered…and Greek. Really Greek, as in old-world, I-am-male, you-are-female, macho.
Sam rolled her eyes.
Just wait until she got hold of Carin and Amanda in the morning. Her brothers-in-law, too. And her mother, who’d done more than her fair share of trying to find her The Right Man. Get out of my life, she’d tell the bunch of them. No more matchmaking. No more setting me up. No more—
“Samantha.”
Rafe purred her name in that wonderful Brazilian accent of his. Sam took a deep breath and turned towards him.
“Rafe,” she said calmly. She smiled, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “What a lovely party.”
“Carin arranged it all,” he said proudly.
“Well, she did a wonderful job.”
Rafe nodded. Then he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and cleared his throat. “So. Have you met everyone?”
Here we go, she thought. “How could I?” she said, with wide-eyed innocence. “You have a zillion guests. I couldn’t possibly meet everyone.”
“Ah. No, of course not. But you should come inside, Sam, so you can—so you can meet some of them.”
She stared at her usually unflappable brother-in-law. A flush spread across his tanned cheeks and she sighed.
“Rafe,” she said gently, “I do not wish to meet Demetrios Karas.”
“Carin thinks…”
“Carin should stop thinking. About me, anyway.” Sam softened her words with a smile. “I’m happy as I am. Honestly.”
Her brother-in-law looked relieved. “I know it. I tried telling that to her, but…”
“You didn’t say anything to him, did you? To Karas?”
“Certainly not,” Rafe said briskly.
“Well, that’s good.” Sam fluttered her lashes. “Because I’d hate to have him think of me as goods in the marketplace, if I should decide to go over and introduce myself.”
“But you just said—”
“I said I didn’t want to meet him. I meant as a marriage prospect.” She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. “Actually, he wouldn’t be a very good one.”
“He would agree with you, I am certain,” Rafe said, and smiled.
“But he’d make a great evening’s entertainment.”
“Samantha!”
Sam laughed. “I’m joking.”
Of course she was. It was all a joke. The matchmaking. The handsome stranger with the groupies hanging all over him. The attraction she’d imagined she felt to him and the idea that he’d been looking at her. Even if he had noticed her, even if he were her type, what did it matter? She wasn’t in the mood to get involved with anybody, not for an evening, not for a week, not for a long time. She wanted some peace and quiet while she came down after the months in Indonesia. Some simple translating arrangement that would keep her in New York for a bit. Then, perhaps, she’d be in the mood to meet someone and enjoy him until the next job took her someplace else.
“…if you’ll forgive me.”
Sam focused her eyes on Rafe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”
“I said I was going to find my wife and see if I can steal her for myself for a little while. That is, if you’ll excuse me…?”
She smiled. “Of course. Actually, when you do find Carin, would you give her a message? Would you tell her the party’s marvelous but I’m completely wiped out, and I’m going to call it a night?”
“Of course.” Rafe kissed her temple. “Boa noite, Sam.”
“Good night, Rafe.”
That was precisely what she was going to do. No slinking around on the dark terrace, either. She’d go straight through the house. She’d been behaving like a schoolgirl, trying to avoid Demetrios Karas. And so much for imagining he’d been watching her, coming to claim her…
To claim her?
Sam rolled her eyes. Enough was enough. She needed a good night’s sleep and she was going to get one. She smoothed back her hair, lifted her chin, put a polite smile on her face, walked briskly into the crowded living room…
And went in search of Demetrios Karas.
CHAPTER TWO
SHE was beautiful, this woman with hair the color of autumn and eyes the deep green of the open sea.
Demetrios had noticed her as soon as he entered the room.
She was a vision of femininity in silk a shade just paler than her eyes. A short top—cropped, his last mistress had called the style—skimmed her breasts. Her trousers matched the pale green top. Ordinarily, he didn’t care for women in trousers, but these…
Idly, his eyes traveled the length of her body.
These were different. They began just below her navel, clung to her hips and thighs before falling to her ankles. Her shoes were the same pale green and seemed to be made of nothing but straps and slender, delicately spiked heels.
Only a saint would not have imagined her wearing just the heels and, perhaps, a scrap or two of tantalizingly placed lace, and no one would ever propose him for canonization.
That he should instantly envision her that way had not surprised him. What did was the swift reaction of his body. It was so sophomoric, so unexpected, that he’d turned away from her, half in amusement, half in annoyance, concentrated on envisioning barren stretches of ice-choked tundra, and plunged into conversation with a woman who’d just called his name.
It didn’t help. He said yes, no, and maybe; smiled when it seemed a smile was appropriate, but his mind was on the auburn-haired woman. Why was she so removed? Music was playing, people were talking and laughing. Rafe’s party was a roaring success and yet she kept herself separate. She stood on the threshold of the terrace, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to stay or leave, with a glass in her hand and an indefinable look on her face. Was it boredom? Polite indifference? Whatever it was, she would have drawn every man in the room except for the way she held herself.
Keep away, her posture said, I’m not interested.
Still, Demetrios couldn’t imagine she had come alone. Wasn’t there a man with her? Each time he looked at the terrace, he saw her still standing there, alone.
The only way to get answers to his questions was to go to her and ask them. That look of world-weariness didn’t put him off. On the contrary, it piqued his interest.
He waited for a lull in conversation, made an excuse and started towards her, but he didn’t get very far. He knew a number of people at this party. Voices called out to him. Hands—especially female hands—reached for his arm. There was no way to avoid saying hello and yes, he was fine and no, he would not be going to Gstaad or the Canaries…or, he’d almost said to the last woman who’d batted her lashes at him, or to anyplace he was likely to run into her.
They had enjoyed each other in the past, but the affair had been over for a long time.
The redhead on the terrace didn’t look like she’d cling to a man once the flame between them had died…but that was probably just wishful thinking. Experience had taught him that women were incapable of enjoying something for the moment without trying to build a life around it.
Still, it was pleasant to imagine such a possibility, the perfect woman, one who’d be as beautiful as a rare orchid and as self-sufficient as a desert cactus.
Unfortunately, such a creature had yet to be conceived. Women were either beautiful or sturdy. There was no way to blend the qualities and since he was most definitely a man who preferred beauty to durability, he’d suffered through his fair share of relationships that ended badly. More than his fair share, some might say.
Just once, Demetrios thought as the woman clinging to his arm chattered on, just onc
e he’d like to meet a woman who knew her own mind, who would admit to desire with honesty and forsake the need for games…And then he felt a sudden tingling. He looked up, just quickly enough to see the redhead watching him with an intensity that made him want to push past the idiotic female babbling at him, shoulder through the crowd, take the redhead in his arms and carry her off.
Of course, he hadn’t done it. Civilized men didn’t do such things.
So he waited, ended the conversation and started towards her again, but the fates were against him. When Rafe called his name, what else could he do but respond? They’d been friends for years. Still, once they’d gone through the hellos and how have you beens, Demetrios decided to be blunt. You could do that, with a man.
“Rafe,” he said, with a little smile, “let’s catch up on old times later. Tomorrow, perhaps. How does that sound?”
Rafe grinned and clapped him on the back. “It sounds as if you have your eye on someone. Who is she?”
Demetrios grinned, too. “I don’t know her name yet. I’ve only seen her.”
“Well, point her out. What sort of friend would I be if I couldn’t help?”
“She’s right…” There, he started to say, but she wasn’t. He glimpsed a flash of green silk, nothing more. The mystery woman had faded into the darkness of the terrace. “She was right there. Never mind.” He smiled. “There are some things a man should do for himself.”
“And I’m sure you’ll succeed,” Rafe said, smiling back. “Nick says you used to put him to shame, in the old days.”
“I’m glad he admits it, but then, he’s an old married man now.”
“Happily married,” Rafe said, and cleared his throat. “As I am. And I’m sure you will be, too, when you find the right woman.”
Demetrios could almost hear his mental alarm start ringing. The expression on Rafe’s face had become serious. No, he thought, no. Surely a friend would not try to…
“So,” Rafe said, far too briskly, “have you met all my wife’s family?”
“Marriage has dulled your brain.” Demetrios grinned. “I’ve done business with Jonas, remember? At Espada, where I met his wife and sons. And, of course, I know Nick’s Amanda, and your beautiful Carin.”
“Then, uh, then the only one of the Barons you haven’t met is Sam.”
“Sam?” Demetrios frowned. “I don’t recall Jonas having a son named Sam.”
“No, no. Sam is short for Samantha.”
“Ah,” Demetrios said, as if he understood when, in fact, he hadn’t the slightest idea what his friend was talking about. “I knew the old man had a stepdaughter, but—”
“Sam isn’t Jonas’s daughter.” Rafe cleared his throat again. “Samantha isn’t actually a Baron. She is a Brewster. My wife’s youngest sister.”
“Ah,” Demetrios said again, and glanced towards the terrace. Was she still out there? She had to be. He had to meet her. In a room filled with beauty, hers had shone as brightly as the beacon that marked the anchorage of his private island in the Aegean. “Rafe, my friend—”
“Sam is here, somewhere. Why don’t you let me find her and introduce you?”
Hell. That was what this was all about. Rafael Alvares, who bred world-class horses and captained a Brazilian financial empire, had been given the role of matchmaker. It was pathetic, what happened to a man, once a woman put a ring through his nose.
“That sounds, uh, it sounds wonderful,” Demetrios said heartily. “But, ah, but I have to step out for a moment.” He patted the pocket where he kept his cell phone. “I have to, uh, to make a call to New York. And it’s so noisy in here…”
“You’ll like her. I know you will.”
“Yes. Well, I’m sure I would, but—”
“She’s your type of woman.”
“Really.” Demetrios raised an eyebrow.
“Absolutely. You might not think so, at first. Sam is a challenge.”
Meaning, she was bad-tempered.
“She’s hot-tempered, with a mind of her own.”
Meaning, no man had yet been found who could tolerate her. Demetrios had come to understand the language of those who wanted to end his happy bachelorhood. That the words should spew from the mouth of a friend didn’t make them any less deadly.
“She sounds…fascinating,” he said politely. “And I’m certain she is as beautiful as your wife.”
Rafe seemed to think about it. “No,” he said, after a minute, “I must admit, Sam doesn’t look anything like Carin. She doesn’t look like Amanda, either.”
Worse and worse. His old friend was trying to fix him up with an over-the-hill grouch who bore a man’s name and had none of the beauty of her sisters.
“Well,” Demetrios said, lying through his teeth, “she sounds delightful—but I have to make that call. And I see some people I know. Let me make the call, say hello, and then I’ll certainly get back to you so you can introduce me to your sister-in-law.”
Rafe sighed. “No, you won’t.”
“Don’t give me that look. I’m not trying to, ah, to avoid meeting this—this paragon. I simply—”
“You’re simply not ready to lose your beloved freedom.” Rafe’s sigh became a smile. “It’s all right, Demetrios. I said as much to Carin, but she insisted you and Sam would be a perfect match. What can I tell you, my friend? You know how women are.”
“All too well,” Demetrios said, sighing with relief. “That’s why I’m happy to remain single.”
Rafe walked away. He started towards the terrace only to be waylaid yet again, this time by a blonde with whom he’d had a long-forgotten liaison.
“Darling,” she squealed, and he kissed her cheek when she tilted her face to his, but there was a limit to his patience.
“Forgive me,” he said, with a show of teeth he hoped would appear to be a smile, “but I really must—”
And then a hint of fragrance drifted towards him. Jasmine? Lilac?
“Hello.”
The voice was soft, husky, and touched with amusement. Demetrios felt all his senses go on alert. Only one woman at this party had the power to turn him on with a simple word; he knew, instantly, it was she. He turned slowly, wondering if the reality of her would match his fantasies…
Yes. God, yes. She was more than beautiful. She was magnificent. Eyes a man could get lost in. A mouth that begged to be kissed. Hair that glinted with the fire of the sun.
“How lovely you are,” he said softly.
She laughed. “How direct you are.”
“I’ve been watching you. And you’ve been watching me. Why should either of us pretend?” He moved a step closer. “I’ve spent the entire evening trying to get to your side.”
She smiled and held out a glass. Until then, he hadn’t even noticed that she held one in each hand, both filled with crushed ice and pale golden liquid.
“In that case, you must be thirsty.”
Demetrios smiled. “Don’t tell me…caparhinias?”
“I thought you asked me not to tell you.” Their fingers brushed as he took one of the glasses from her and a charge of electricity flashed through him. Through her, too. He saw her eyes suddenly darken and knew she must have felt the same hot surge. “Do you like what I’ve brought you, Mr. Karas?”
“Yes,” he said in a low voice, his eyes locked on hers, knowing she wasn’t talking about the caparhinias. “Very much.”
“Good.” She smiled, lifted her drink to her lips and took a sip of the sugary rum concoction. “I thought you might.”
She was a flirt. A tease. And yet, she was blunt about what she wanted. The combination was dazzling. He wanted to take her into his arms, carry her through the house, up the stairs to his bed…
“Demetrios?” a voice behind him whined.
Hell. “One moment,” he said softly, and turned to the blonde. “I’m sorry,” he said politely. “But I’m busy.”
He was being rude. He knew it, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman…
There she was, hurrying down the wide steps that led to the gently sloping lawn.
“Wait!”
Her pace quickened, until she was almost running. Demetrios cursed, went after her, caught her as she reached a shadowed gazebo. He clasped her shoulders and swung her towards him. Moonlight lit her face.
“Why did you run away? Are you afraid of me?” Gently, he cupped her face in his hands, his fingers stroking the curve of her cheekbones. “There’s no reason to be. I won’t hurt you.”
Sam stared up at him. There was no way to explain. What could she tell him? That she’d only been teasing, at first, because it was fun to know she’d been coming on to the evening’s unknowing quarry? That what had started as fun had changed? That she could imagine going to bed with him, wanted to go to bed with him, but that not even she, for all her talk, fell into bed so fast? It was out of the question anyway. Her entire family had pointed her in his direction. She doubted if he’d want to hear that.
Sam moistened her lips. “I’m sorry if I misled you. But I’m—I’m tired. And—”
“And, you don’t know me. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His gaze fell to her lips, then rose. “You could know me,” he said softly. “One kiss. That is all it would take, and then we would both know all we need to know.”
“I don’t think—”
“Don’t think. Not tonight.”
Slowly, he lowered his head to hers. Despite his words, she knew he was giving her time to end the game before it was too late.
His eyes were pools of indigo, half shielded by thick, black lashes.
I could drown in his eyes, she thought, and then his mouth brushed hers like a whisper of moonlight, brushed it again and again, and with a little sigh, Sam gave up thinking, closed her eyes, parted her lips and welcomed his kiss.
He tasted of wine and of moonlight, of a thousand forgotten dreams and of a quest that had never quite been fulfilled. And despite everything, she knew, as he kissed her, that she wanted more.
The Pregnant Mistress Page 2