Theseus Discovers His Heir

by Michelle Smart

  Talking to her had been like bathing in a clear, sun-drenched lake after months of soaking in the salty sea. He remembered how torn she’d looked when her friends had said they wanted to return to their chalet. How disappointed he’d been when she’d got up from the table and wished him goodnight.

  The next day he’d tried to convince her to go surfing on the north side of the island with them all. Her friends had jumped at the chance but Jo had politely refused. She’d happily tagged along to watch, however, sitting on the beach and refusing to acknowledge his cajoling to come into the water.

  Shortly after that he’d gone with his Scandinavian friends to a nearby uninhabited island for a couple of days of mountain climbing.

  When they’d returned, the first thing he’d heard when he’d charged his phone had been Helios’s message telling him to come home. Their grandmother had been taken seriously ill and wasn’t expected to survive.

  For the second time in his life he’d been lost. The first time had been the night their grandfather had flown to their English boarding school to tell him and Helios that their parents had been killed. Nothing could ever touch that night for pain, but he’d had his brother there, and for that one night his grandfather—who in that moment had been a true grandfather to them—had held his two grandsons close.

  On Illya he’d been alone, and far from his family. He’d been on an island in the middle of the Adriatic Sea where the only means of transport had been the daily ferry.

  He’d finished half a bottle of gin in his chalet alone, waiting until he’d figured everyone would be in bed before staggering outside, intending to sit on the beach.

  There had been a light on in Jo’s chalet.

  Thinking back, he was surprised he’d known which chalet had been hers.

  ‘According to my mother, her side of the family has a direct link to Queen Victoria via many marriages,’ she said now, in that same amused tone he remembered from five years ago. ‘I think I’m something like six-hundred-and-thirty-ninth in line to the throne.’

  ‘Being that far up the chain you must have grown up in your own palace,’ he teased, playing along with her irreverence.

  ‘I grew up in an Oxfordshire manor house so old and draughty it would have been warmer sleeping in an igloo.’

  ‘Rather like sleeping in a palace, then,’ he observed with a grin.

  She laughed, her eyes meeting his. ‘Your palace is wonderful and has hot running water. My parents’ house has a boiler so old my mother passes it off as an original feature. Saying that, the kennels and the stables always have decent heating.’

  ‘Did you have a lot of pets?’ He could just see her fussing over a small army of dogs.

  She pulled a face. ‘Not quite. My mother turned the old outhouses into an animal sanctuary. She’ll take any animal in: cats, dogs, hedgehogs, horses—donkeys, even. Those she can’t rehome, she keeps.’

  ‘How many animals does she have?’

  Her lips pursed as she thought. ‘Anything up to fifty of them. If she runs out of space she brings them into the house.’

  ‘That must have been magical for you as a child.’

  She gave a shrug, her answer delayed by the waiter coming over with a jug of water and taking their order.

  ‘So your mother runs an animal sanctuary—what does your father do?’ he asked once they were alone again.

  ‘He drinks.’

  His hand paused on his glass.

  ‘He’s an alcoholic.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Is he violent?’ He thought again of the drunken American college students who’d been so abusive to Jo and her friends. Drink had a habit of making some people cruel.

  ‘God, no. He’s actually very placid. He just sits in his study all day, working his way through his whisky.’

  ‘How does your mother cope?’

  ‘By ignoring him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She despises him,’ Jo said flatly. ‘As far as she’s concerned, Dad spending his days pickling his liver is the best thing for him.’

  His brow furrowed. ‘That’s harsh.’

  ‘It’s the truth. She thinks he’s weak and foolish. Maybe she’s right. He was a stockbroker, but he lost his job to the drink when I was a baby.’

  ‘So how do they survive?’ He couldn’t imagine an animal sanctuary made much money.

  ‘Mum’s got a tiny trust fund, and she makes a little from donations to the sanctuary. She bakes a lot of cakes and sells them for high prices which our rich neighbours are happy to pay because they are utterly gorgeous.’

  Not as gorgeous as the mouth doing the talking now, Theseus thought, noticing the faraway look in her eyes as she spoke of the cakes and remembering the longing she’d shown towards the karidopita.

  ‘She sounds like a formidable woman,’ he observed. His own mother had been the opposite of formidable.

  Jo met his eyes. ‘That’s one way of describing her. She’s very blunt with her opinions, and has no time for people she considers to be fools. Most people are scared of her and she knows it—she leaves the cakes in the front room with price tags on and no one has ever tried to short-change her or steal the money box.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll say this much for her, though—she’s dotty about the animals. It’s only creatures who don’t walk on four legs she has no interest in.’

  The waiter returned with their wine and poured them each a glass.

  ‘Do you still live with your parents?’ Theseus asked after taking a sip of the mellow red liquid.

  ‘I’m in Oxford itself now. It’s easier to commute to work.’

  That reminded him of something else she’d once told him. ‘I thought you were moving to London?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Gosh, your memory is on fire tonight.’

  He flashed her a grin, wondering if he’d imagined the flicker of fright that had crossed over her face.

  ‘So what happened to London?’ he asked, watching as she reached for her glass of wine and noting the tremor in her hands. She reminded him of a jumpy cat walking on freshly tossed hot coals.

  She looked out over the mountains. ‘Life. But never mind about me—tell me about the business you run with your brothers. You invest in young start-up companies?’

  He eyed her contemplatively. Yes. The jumpy cat analogy perfectly described her at this moment. Her discomfort had come on so suddenly it made him suspicious—until he reminded himself that he had no right to her secrets.

  Jo was in his employ. The fact that they had once made love half a decade ago didn’t mean he had the right to know everything about her.

  Yet the more he was with her, the more he wanted to peel back every secret until she was stripped bare before him.

  Did she have a lover? Instinct told him no—she wasn’t the kind of woman to kiss a man if she was involved with someone else—but there was something going on with her...something she had no intention of sharing with him.

  He took another sip of wine and pulled his errant thoughts back under control.

  No more intimacies. This was not a seduction.

  There would be no peeling back of anything; not secrets nor clothes.

  So he told her about the business, keeping the conversation throughout their meal light and easy. By the time they’d finished their starters and main course—the pair of them having shared a generous souvlaki platter filled with marinated pork and chicken skewers, roasted vegetables, hot pitta, salads and tzatziki—and ordered coffee, she was as relaxed as he’d seen her on his island. So relaxed that when she declined dessert he held himself back from asking if her refusal of sweet foods was related to her mother’s cakes.

  And he’d relaxed too. With each sip of wine and every bite of food he’d felt the weight he lived with lift until it was just them. Two people who couldn�
��t keep their eyes off each other.

  Jo truly was glorious, with her autumn leaf hair thick around her shoulders, a lock falling around her cleavage. It would take no effort to lean across the table and slowly sweep it away, to trace his fingers over her satin skin...

  ‘What?’ she asked, one brow raised.

  She must have read something in his expression, for her eyes suddenly widened and she grabbed her glass, holding it up like a shield.

  Another memory flashed through his mind, of lying on his bed with her, his head cushioned on those wonderful breasts...

  She’d been awake, book in hand, when he’d knocked on her chalet door. Her friends had been fast asleep.

  When he’d swigged from his bottle of gin, shrugged his shoulders helplessly and said, ‘I think I need a friend,’ she’d stared at him, taking in his disarrayed state, then giving the most loving, sympathetic smile he’d ever been on the receiving end of.

  ‘Come on,’ she’d said, putting her book down and taking his hand to lead him back to his own chalet.

  The bed being the only place to sit, she’d climbed on and sat against the headboard. He’d leaned into her. She’d laced her fingers through his hair and let him talk.

  He still couldn’t pinpoint when the mood had changed. He’d been drunk, but there had come a moment when he’d suddenly become aware of the erratic thud of her heart. He’d tilted his head to look at her and realised that while he’d been talking so self-indulgently his head had been resting on her comforting breasts. Breasts separated from him by nothing but a thin white T-shirt.

  She’d worn no bra.

  She’d smiled with those stunning blue-grey eyes and suddenly he’d known he could lose himself in them.

  And just like that he’d been in a full state of arousal.

  Forget comforting. She wasn’t comforting. She was the sexiest creature on the planet and his desire for her in that moment had been the most concentrated, intense desire he’d ever experienced.

  By the time he’d pulled her T-shirt off and wriggled out of his shorts he’d been ready to devour her. And he had done just that.

  He’d fallen asleep as soon as it was over and had slept until she’d gently woken him to say that the ferry was approaching the island.

  ‘That night in Illya,’ he asked quietly, ‘was I your first?’

  ‘My first?’

  ‘Lover.’

  Understanding flashed over her and she covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘I was, wasn’t I?’

  She gave the barest of nods. ‘I’m surprised you remember anything.’

  Her face was suffused with colour. Abruptly she got to her feet, knocking into the table as she did so, spilling water from her glass.

  ‘I need to use the ladies’,’ she said starkly.

  He captured her wrist and stared at her, concerned. ‘Are you okay?’

  She nodded, but her eyes were wild. She tugged her hand free. ‘I won’t be long.’

  Puzzled, he watched her flee inside.

  No sooner had the door shut behind her than her phone began to vibrate and dance on the table.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JOANNE STARED AT her reflection in the lavish ladies’ restroom—which was mercifully empty—and prayed for courage. Her hands were clammy, her skin burned and a heavy beat played in her head.

  She had to tell him. Tonight. Forget waiting until the biography was finished. Things had gone too far to keep it hidden from him any longer. He was seducing her with his every word and every look.

  She hadn’t tasted a morsel of her food; could hardly remember what she’d had. Her senses had been too busy relishing the taste of his earlier kisses, the whispers of which still lay on her tongue and lips. She could still feel his huge hand warm on her wrist.

  She inhaled deeply a couple of times before smoothing her hair and straightening her dress. She would drink her coffee, Nikos would drive them back to the palace and then, as soon as they were alone, she would tell Theseus the truth.

  She slipped back into the club’s restaurant and weaved her way through the tables of beautiful people, all looking at her with unabashed curiosity. She heard their whispers as she passed: this stranger in their midst was the guest of one of Agon’s most eligible bachelors.

  Avoiding Theseus’s eyes, she took her seat and reached for her coffee, which had been brought in her absence.

  Before she could plead a headache and ask if they could return to the palace, Theseus said, ‘Jonathan called.’

  Startled, she looked at him.

  Impassively he handed over her phone. ‘He called when you were in the bathroom.’

  In her rush to escape from him and in the haze she’d fallen into she’d left her phone exposed on the table.

  She swallowed, her heart immediately starting to hammer. ‘Did you answer it?’

  ‘Yes. I thought it might be important.’ Curiosity rang from his dark eyes. And something else...something darker.

  ‘What did he say?’ she croaked, fighting the cold paralysis sweeping through her.

  ‘Only that he was calling for a chat and that his scanner’s broken, so he’ll give you Toby’s pictures when you get home.’

  Jo felt the colour drain from her face at hearing him vocalise their son’s name, the blood abandoning her head and leaving a cold fog in its place.

  She hadn’t told Jonathan or Cathy about finding Toby’s father. She hadn’t told anyone.

  This was it. This was where the truth came out.

  A pulse flickered in Theseus’s jaw. ‘So who are they?’

  ‘Jonathan’s my brother.’

  ‘And Toby? Is he your nephew?’

  It was a struggle to breathe. Her body didn’t know what it was doing. She was hot and cold, thrumming and paralysed all at once.

  Hot. Cold. Hot. Cold.

  Fat tears welled in her eyes and spilled over before she had the chance to feel them form.

  She took the biggest, most painful breath of her life.

  ‘Toby is my son.’

  The shock on his face was so stark it was clear that hadn’t been the answer he’d expected. ‘You have a child?’

  She nodded and swiped the tears away, only to find them replaced with more.

  He rubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I had no idea. You have a child...? How old is he?’

  She wrapped her arms around herself and whispered, ‘Four.’

  His hand froze on his head. Slowly his gaze drifted to fix on her, then stilled, his expression like those on the statues of the fierce Minoan gods that lined the palace corridors.

  Her stomach churned as she watched him make the connection.

  An age passed before he showed any sign of movement other than the narrowing of his unblinking eyes. Slowly he brought his hand down from his head to grip his glass, which still had a little red wine in it. Without taking his eyes from her face he knocked it back, emptied the remnants of the bottle into the glass and knocked that back too.

  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and got to his feet.

  When he spoke, his words were laced with a snarl. ‘Get up. We leave now.’

  * * *

  He was a father.

  Those four words were all Theseus could focus on.

  He’d known there was something in her life that was putting her on edge, but the truth was nothing like he’d imagined.

  Jo had a child.

  And he was the father.

  He’d been on the brink of tossing away his vow of celibacy for a lying, deceptive...

  Theos. He had a four-year-old boy out there—a child of his blood.

  He hadn’t needed to do more than rudimentary maths to know the
child was his. One look at Jo’s terrified, tearful face had confirmed the truth.

  She’d denied him their son’s existence.

  She was sitting in the back of the stretch Mercedes alone while he rode in front with Nikos, who wisely hadn’t uttered a word since they’d come out of Club Giroud. The partition was up. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  His control hung by the tiniest of threads. There were so many emotions playing through him it was as if a tsunami had been set loose in his chest.

  When they arrived back at the palace he got straight out of the car and yanked open the back door. ‘Get out.’

  Not looking at her, or waiting to see if she obeyed, Theseus unlocked the door to his private apartment and held it open for her.

  As she walked past him he caught a whiff of that feminine scent that had been driving him crazy all week and his loathing ratcheted up another notch.

  When they were alone in his apartment he slammed the door shut behind him and faced her.

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ she said, jumping in before he could say anything. She stood in the middle of the living area, her arms folded across her chest, her face as white as a freshly laundered sheet. ‘I swear.’

  ‘I’m sure you were,’ he said with deliberate silkiness. ‘Tell me, when were you planning on telling me? When my son was ten? When I was on my deathbed?’

  ‘When the biography was finished.’

  ‘You should have told me the minute you landed on Agon.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘You’ve had a whole week to tell me the truth. A whole week during which you have lied to me—so many lies. You sicken me.’

  She blanched under the assault of his words, but straightened and kept her composure. ‘I didn’t know who you were until a week ago. I spent five years searching for an engineer called Theo, not a prince called Theseus. I thought Theo was Toby’s father. When I realised, I had to do what was right for Toby. I had to protect him.’

  He stopped his voice turning into a roar by the skin of his teeth. ‘Protect him from me? His own father?’

  ‘Yes! Look at you! You’re a prince from a hugely powerful family with a reputation for ferocity. I didn’t know you—I still don’t. When I arrived here you were a stranger in Theo’s skin. I had to be sure you posed no risk. To be honest, I’m still not sure. But I knew today that I had to tell you.’