The Greek s Convenient Mistress

by Annie West

  ‘You’ve made your point,’ Sophie said, and this time her smile was real. ‘It’s been a wonderful day. Thank you.’

  ‘It was my pleasure. Any time. You just ask and I’ll drive you wherever you want to go.’

  Sophie watched as he concentrated on a tight curve in the road. He really was remarkably good-looking. Gorgeous even, with those large, laughing eyes. And he was close enough to her own age for her to relax in his company and enjoy his jokes.

  So why didn’t she feel even a spark of attraction to him?

  Why did his handsome face leave her unmoved, when just the memory of Costas’ hard, passionate features and dark, probing eyes made her feel as if something had unravelled in the pit of her stomach?

  And why did eagerness mix with her trepidation at the prospect of seeing him again?

  Fortunately Yiorgos chose that moment to regale her with another of his stories, distracting her from thoughts she’d rather avoid. And soon she was laughing so much that she didn’t even notice that they’d swung through the security gates to the estate.

  It was only as they rounded a gentle curve in the long private road and the house came into view that she realised they were back.

  And that Costas was waiting for them.

  He stood, arms akimbo, at the head of the steps. A forbidding figure that dominated the scene.

  Sophie’s grin morphed into a rictus stretch of taut lips, all laughter fled. Would she ever see the man and not experience that desperate, melting awareness deep inside?

  He was down the steps and opening the passenger door even as the limousine drew to a gentle halt.

  ‘Where have you been?’ His hand fastened on her elbow, drawing her from her seat as soon as she’d released her seat belt.

  ‘Sightseeing,’ she said, raising her eyes to his. They were unreadable. Pure, impenetrable black. But the scowl on his face needed no interpretation. He was furious. His brows tilted down at a ferocious angle and the grip on her elbow was more than supportive. It was like a vice, clamped hard round her arm.

  She shrugged, but he didn’t break his hold. Instead he bent low to the open car door and snapped a barrage of staccato Greek at his chauffeur. It was too rapid for her to understand, but she could tell by the suddenly sombre look on Yiorgos’ face that it was far from pleasant.

  What was Costas’ problem?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she interrupted, ‘I didn’t know you needed the car today.’

  Costas straightened to stare down at her. A flash of dark emotion in his eyes made her shiver. The controlled energy he projected made her hackles rise. She sensed he was waiting for the right moment to pounce.

  ‘I didn’t,’ he cut in succinctly. ‘And I have more than one car, should I need one. But I would have appreciated knowing where you were. I expected you back hours ago.’

  What? He’d been worried about her? Surely not. Not when he glared at her so disapprovingly.

  ‘I didn’t know I had to report my movements to you.’

  She was damned if she’d apologise again. He’d offered the use of the car and now he was annoyed she’d used it. Was he worried his precious bone-marrow donor might disappear off the island if he didn’t keep tabs on her?

  ‘Why did you switch the cellphone off? What were you up to all that time?’ He thrust his head close to hers. She could see the tic of a rapid pulse at the base of his clenched jaw; smell the natural, masculine scent of him in her nostrils.

  And feel the traitorous weakness of her reaction to him. The recognition of it was like a betrayal. How could she?

  ‘We went into the mountains this afternoon, Kyrie Palamidis,’ Yiorgos said from inside the car. ‘We lost the signal.’

  ‘And you could always have left a message,’ she interrupted, ‘if it was anything important.’

  Costas flicked her a momentary glance then said something curtly dismissive to Yiorgos and slammed the car door shut. He still held her arm in a tight grip as the engine purred into life and the car headed round the corner of the house towards the garages.

  ‘Did you know that Yiorgos is engaged to be married?’ he said in a lethally quiet voice.

  She frowned. What had that to do with anything?

  ‘Did you know?’ His fingers bit into her flesh and she winced. Immediately he loosened his grip. But he didn’t release her.

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She glared up at him, wondering what the hell was going on.

  He nodded once. ‘Then perhaps I should tell you that his fiancée is a very possessive, very jealous young woman.’

  For a couple of seconds Sophie stared at him, her jaw sagging as the implications of his words permeated her brain. He was warning her off? What did he think she was, some sort of seductress who’d gone straight from the boss to the chauffeur?

  Nausea churned her stomach, welled in her throat. His tone was as icy as his eyes were hot, and she felt as if he’d just slapped her, hard.

  In that instant she realised just what sort of woman Costas thought her.

  ‘Get your hands off me!’ she hissed.

  Surprisingly, this time he complied, leaving her free to escape up the stairs, almost stumbling in her haste to seek sanctuary.

  Well done, Palamidis. Costas watched her scramble inside as if the hound of Hades himself were after her.

  Sto Diavolo! He couldn’t have done worse if he’d tried!

  He planted his feet wide, refusing to give in to the instinct that told him to race after her and gather her close. The last thing she needed was him invading her space. Not when he’d hurt her again, insulted her out of sheer, bloody, dog-in-the-manger jealousy.

  It had taken just one glance at her smiling face, the carefree laughter in her eyes as she responded to Yiorgos, and the look on his driver’s face as he watched her, and Costas had lost it.

  Jealous of his driver!

  She was so beautiful when she smiled like that, all vestige of strain disappearing from her face, that it had struck him like a blow, deep and devastating in his chest. It hurt, knowing she’d never look at him in that way, smile so freely and approvingly. He’d sacrificed that last night when he’d behaved like a thug.

  But no man could fail to recognise the male appreciation in Yiorgos’ eyes as he turned on the charm for her. More than appreciation. There’d been speculation. And it was that look that had drawn Costas’ simmering anger to the surface, making him lash out indiscriminately.

  He shook his head. He should have saved his anger for Yiorgos. Hell, the guy was a practised womaniser with a reputation envied by half the local men.

  Costas would have a few choice words with him soon.

  And in future he, Costas, would drive Sophie wherever she wanted to go.

  He straightened his shoulders and started up the steps. In the meantime he had an apology to make.

  Eventually he located her, emerging from a downstairs powder room. Her shoulders were hunched and her eyes skittered from his. Her mouth was a taut line of pain in her overly pale face.

  He’d done that. Damn his possessive masculine ego!

  ‘Sophie…’ He reached for her hand but she jerked away, retreating a step till she’d backed up to a wall.

  Sick to the stomach, he let his hand drop to his side.

  ‘What do you want?’ Her tone was weary. She stared at a point somewhere near his chin.

  ‘I need to apologise.’ The words were rough, dragged from him by the sight of her hurt.

  Fleetingly her eyes met his and her lips curved in a surprised circle that tightened the curl of need deep in the pit of his stomach. He drew a long breath.

  ‘I was annoyed with my driver, not you,’ he said. ‘He should have known to keep in contact. In future you have only to ask and I’ll take you wherever you wish to go.’

  Silence.

  ‘I’m sorry you thought I was implying—’

  ‘What? That I was a tramp?’

  She met his eyes now and the turbulent mix of emotions he saw there, the
anguish and the shocked fury, seared his conscience.

  She hurried on before he could formulate a response. ‘That because I’d decided not to go to bed with you last night, I must be eager for a little fun and games with someone else?’ Her voice was a searing, agonised whisper. ‘What do you think I am? A bitch on heat?’

  ‘Sophie, I—’

  ‘Keep away from me.’ She slapped away the hand he hadn’t even noticed he’d held out to her.

  There were tears in her eyes and her lower lip trembled. Pain twisted deep inside him as he watched her obvious distress. He’d done that to her, damn his black soul. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her hurt away.

  ‘I said, stay away,’ she hissed, as he closed the distance between them, reaching out to bracket her with his hands, flat on the wall beside her head. The tantalising shimmer of liquid gold in her eyes ensnared him. Her delicate, fresh scent encompassed him, and the warmth of her luscious body drew him like a magnet.

  He hefted one massive breath and struggled against the compulsion to reach out and claim her. To brand her as his own.

  ‘That’s the problem, Sophie. I can’t keep my distance. Not any more.’ He dragged in another juddering breath. ‘Don’t you understand?’

  He stared down into her wide stunned eyes and knew he was lost.

  ‘Why do you think I was so furious with Yiorgos?’

  ‘Because you thought I was seducing him,’ she said flatly.

  He shook his head.

  She shifted her weight and shot a glance over his shoulder. ‘I need to go and—’

  ‘Why, Sophie?’ he demanded.

  Slowly, as if she fought with every ounce of her strength, she lifted her eyes to his. She looked impossibly weary. ‘Because you don’t want me out of your sight,’ she whispered slowly then looked away.

  He nodded, acknowledging the surge of ravening hunger that even now tore at the frayed remnants of his self-control. A good thing his hands were planted firmly against the plaster. It helped him resist the desire to use them to shape her face, her fragile neck, her delicate curves.

  ‘And why is that?’ he whispered, focusing on her convulsive swallow, on the way she tugged at her lower lip with her teeth.

  ‘Because I’m the only person who might be able to help Eleni,’ she murmured at last, still refusing to meet his gaze.

  ‘Wrong.’

  Her gaze shot up again at the single word. The instant connection between them was like a jolt of electricity, charging the air with pulsing anticipation.

  ‘It’s because I’m jealous,’ he admitted, stripping his soul bare. His voice was a low animal growl that matched perfectly the savage possessiveness welling inside him. ‘I’m jealous of anyone who has you to themselves when I don’t.’

  Her eyes widened and her mouth gaped and he wanted, more than anything, the ultimate luxury of taking her lush, enticing lips with his. His whole body trembled with barely repressed desire. Sweat hazed his skin at the effort it took to keep still, keep from sweeping her into his embrace and burying his face in her sweetly scented hair.

  ‘Do you understand, Sophie?’ His voice was raw, all pretence at civilised gloss scoured away by this elemental hunger. ‘I was jealous of my driver because he spent the day alone with you. I didn’t think for a minute you might be seducing him.’

  He paused, gathering his courage.

  ‘I wanted you to be seducing me.’

  The stark admission reverberated in the still air between them. Blatant. Inescapable. Overpowering.

  He’d never felt so driven, so desperate for a woman’s touch. And even more, for her understanding.

  He saw the warm colour flood her face, accentuate the high contours of her cheekbones. And he felt an answering heat, pooling low in his groin. Her eyes were wide, so clear and enticing that he felt he could lose himself in their promise, just as he wanted to lose himself in the heady temptation of her body.

  He inhaled the scent of her, like beckoning spring after a long, cold winter. Enticing, promising, seductive.

  He heard her soft breaths, short and rapid. And he could taste her already on his tongue. After last night he’d craved that taste with a frenzied longing that appalled him.

  He had only to lift a hand, cup her face as he closed the distance between them and—

  ‘Kyrie Palamidis.’ The quiet voice of his housekeeper shattered the stillness.

  The world tilted and shifted into focus again.

  Till that moment it had been as if nothing else existed. There was only this space where he and Sophie stood, bound by a passion so strong it eclipsed all his puny self-control.

  He blinked, drew himself up and turned.

  The housekeeper stood at the end of the hall, near the door to the servants’ quarters. She held a cordless phone in her hands and her eyes were wide with astonishment. Hastily she looked away.

  In all the years she’d worked for him she’d never seen him with any woman other than Fotini. Even before his marriage, he hadn’t been in the habit of seducing guests in his home.

  ‘It’s the hospital on the phone,’ she explained.

  Costas’ heart leapt right up into his throat at her words.

  The moment of reckoning had arrived. Something—fear—clutched at his chest, squeezing so tight that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  He felt Sophie’s eyes on him and pushed back his shoulders, forced himself to move, to accept whatever news awaited.

  He’d done what he could. Now he had to summon the strength to endure what he must.

  He paced over and took the phone with a brief word of thanks. Then he turned and met Sophie’s stare across the room.

  ‘Costas Palamidis speaking,’ he said, automatically switching to Greek.

  ‘We have the result, sir.’ He recognised the voice of Eleni’s doctor. ‘We’d like you to bring your daughter in for treatment as soon as possible. We believe the donor you found is compatible. We’ll proceed with the transplant.’

  CHAPTER TEN

  COSTAS STARED THROUGH THE glass wall panel and felt a lump the size of a football lodge in his chest. He swallowed hard and forced down the welling emotion.

  He’d coped with the trauma of the transplant procedure and the hard days that followed, helpless to do more than stay with Eleni through her discomfort. Through her raw, aching tiredness and the inevitable tears and upsets.

  He’d done what he had to. Kept his emotions in check. He’d cajoled, encouraged, consoled.

  And he’d been astounded at his little girl’s strength and determination. She was so tiny. So incredibly fragile. Yet she had the heart of a lion. Possessed a fearlessness that far outstripped his own strength.

  Through the long weeks since the transplant he’d held it all together: delegating control of his business empire, fending off Press intrusions, fielding endless queries from friends and relatives, doing what had to be done.

  So why suddenly now did the sight of his daughter strike him so hard that it felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and tried to rip it out?

  He braced himself against the wall, dragging in a tortured breath that sawed painfully into his lungs.

  His palm was slippery with sweat. His arm trembled as he fought to brace himself. The cold, bitter taste of fear filled his mouth.

  Even now no one knew if the transplant would save Eleni.

  He raised his head and looked again into his daughter’s hospital room. She was propped up against a bank of pillows, her tiny frame pathetically thin. Yet a smile lurked at the corners of her mouth and her eyes danced. She looked down at the huge picture book spread before her and said something he couldn’t hear.

  It must have been a joke. Even through the glass he heard the woman beside her give an answering laugh.

  Sophie.

  He couldn’t see her smile—it was hidden by the surgical mask she wore. But he saw the way her eyes crinkled in delight at Eleni’s comment. The way she tipped back her head, laughing with her
whole body.

  The ache inside him deepened, twisted. His pulse ratcheted up a notch, as it always did when she was near.

  Sophie and Eleni. Eleni and Sophie.

  He shook his head, as if he could clear the whirling tumble of emotions and half-formed thoughts bombarding him.

  He’d seen them together before. Sophie visited every day. Eleni wanted her there, so she was one of the few people allowed into the quarantined room.

  The pair of them had grown ever closer. That was obvious even though Sophie tried to time her visits to avoid him: for the rare occasions when he was snatching a nap or meeting with doctors.

  Not that he could blame her. They hadn’t been alone together since the afternoon he’d confronted her with his jealous rage.

  After that it was a wonder she hadn’t left. Technically there was nothing to keep her in Greece. Yet she hadn’t taken him up on his offer of a flight to Sydney. Instead she’d stayed on.

  For Eleni.

  She certainly hadn’t remained in Crete to be near him. Costas knew he’d been a brute. An unreasoning, foul-tempered lout. Yet he knew that, faced again with the same circumstances, he’d probably behave exactly the same.

  ‘Costa?’

  He swung round to see his mother hurrying towards him down the corridor.

  ‘Has something happened? You look so—’

  ‘Nothing’s happened,’ he reassured her. He straightened and turned his back on the wall of glass. ‘There’s no change. She seems to be doing reasonably well.’

  ‘Then what’s wrong?’ She allowed herself to be drawn into his embrace and kissed him soundly on both cheeks.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he lied.

  His mother glanced into Eleni’s room and smiled. ‘It’s good to see them together—they have a real bond. At first glance that girl is so like Fotini it’s astounding. But the differences are strong beneath the surface.’

  ‘We won’t go there,’ he murmured, but even to his own ears it sounded like a growl. He turned to the glass panel, seeing Sophie close the book and look up to find him watching her. Her whole body stilled.