The Greek s Convenient Mistress

by Annie West

  ‘Yes, kyrie, she went out some time ago, towards the sea, I think.’ His housekeeper paused, frowning. ‘She didn’t look well. She was so pale, and she hasn’t eaten anything, not even a morsel.’

  Foreboding slammed into him, carving a hollow in his stomach. He’d known something was wrong. Had sensed it as soon as he’d failed to find Sophie in the house.

  ‘Ah, here she is now,’ said the housekeeper, tilting her head. Then he heard it, the sound of the front door and Sophie’s light step across the foyer. ‘Shall I—?’

  ‘No. It’s all right.’ He was already turning away, ignoring the speculative gleam in his housekeeper’s eyes.

  He strode down the hallway, but Sophie had disappeared from the entrance hall. He took the stairs two at a time, an atavistic presentiment of trouble urging him to hurry.

  He pushed open her door and there she was, wearing the clothes he’d chosen for her this morning. And somehow that fact was even more intimate than all last night’s desperate loving.

  Home. I’ve come home at last.

  Something warm and tender, a stunning new sensation, curved tight in his chest as he looked at her. It held him spellbound for one long moment.

  Then common sense reasserted itself and he breathed again.

  Lust. That was what he felt. Simple. Uncomplicated. Easily assuaged.

  Her hair fanned round her shoulders as she spun to face him. He remembered the scent of those tresses, the impossibly soft texture of them sliding through his hands, teasing his flesh.

  His automatic step towards her ended abruptly and he pulled up short, surveying her drawn face. His hand dropped to his side and a different sort of tension clamped his body into immobility.

  Her face was a rigid mask. Her mouth clamped hard as if in pain. And her eyes—they were huge and shadowed.

  ‘Sophie? What’s wrong?’ A piercing shard of fear sliced into him as he looked into her eyes. She was hurting, surely. He could barely believe it was the same woman he’d left warm, willing and satisfied in his bed.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong.’ Her voice was light and high, but brittle as glass.

  She opened her wardrobe door and bent to deposit a pair of sandals inside. When she turned round there was a wash of colour high on her cheekbones. It only accentuated the unusual pallor of her face.

  What on earth was going on?

  ‘Where have you been?’ he demanded. Something must have happened in his absence.

  ‘Just down to the beach.’ She spun on her foot and headed for the bathroom, a bundle of clothes in her arms.

  He’d taken just two paces when she came back, her hands empty this time.

  ‘I was collecting my clothes from last night.’

  Now the sweep of colour extended down her throat. She didn’t meet his eyes but stood alone, staring blankly over his shoulder as if the sight of him pained her.

  He frowned, trying to ignore the urgent clamour of his senses that urged him to march over and sweep her into his arms. He wanted to comfort her, for something was clearly, awfully wrong. Yet the way she held herself, as if a single touch might shatter her, held him back.

  ‘You’re back early,’ she said at last and he heard the faintest echo of something—sarcasm—in her tone.

  Ah, that was it. She objected to being left alone all day—was feeling neglected.

  Costas brushed aside the voice of his conscience—the voice that agreed with her. That insisted he’d behaved appallingly.

  This was no hard-edged business rival he faced, nor was it the immature, self-centred woman he’d made the mistake of marrying. This was Sophie: sweet, honest and caring.

  But that didn’t matter, he told himself again. He’d done the right thing. He didn’t have time for emotional entanglements. He was simply being honest with her, making sure she didn’t read too much into their intimacy.

  Perhaps in his haste to get away, to put the situation in perspective and make sense of his intense reaction to her, he’d been brutal. But that could be remedied.

  His pulse quickened at the prospect of soothing her ruffled ego.

  ‘I had a lot to do,’ he began.

  ‘Of course.’ She nodded. ‘The hospital. And your business. You must have work to catch up on after all the time you’ve spent away from it.’

  His brows pulled together in a frown as he tried to read her blank expression. An uncomfortable sensation clawed at him.

  Guilt? After all, he’d manufactured those meetings this afternoon—seeking an excuse to keep away. He didn’t do business personally in Heraklion any more. He worked from offices in Athens and New York, or here at home, where the latest telecommunications equipment allowed him to keep in touch with his worldwide enterprises.

  He wasn’t accustomed to using subterfuge. The feeling made him uncomfortable.

  ‘You’re not annoyed?’

  He scrutinised her reaction, strangely piqued that she should accept his neglect so easily. Where was her fire? Where was the passionate, intense woman who’d captured his…interest…from the first?

  ‘Why should I be annoyed?’ She stared straight back at him and shrugged, wide-eyed and with palms spread towards him. ‘You’re a very important man with a commercial empire to run. And I…’ She swallowed suddenly and blinked. ‘I was tired. I slept for hours.’

  Something wasn’t right. Despite her direct look, despite her words, something was definitely amiss. He took a step towards her.

  ‘But I must admit,’ she said quickly, jutting her chin, ‘where I come from it’s customary at least to thank the woman you’ve spent the night with.’ Her eyes blazed now, scorching him where he stood. ‘To do it in person is best. But a note or at least a phone call would suffice. It’s considered bad manners to lope off without a word.’

  Her words rooted him to the spot. Not because of the searing temper he read behind them—that was almost welcome after her unnatural calm. But the implication of what she’d said—where I come from…

  She was lecturing him on post-coital etiquette—with the insouciance of a woman who knew just what she was talking about.

  A surge of white-hot jealousy rocked him. It was so intense and immediate that he clenched his fists against the need to find a violent outlet for his feelings.

  How many men had shared her bed in Australia?

  Did she care for any of them? Even one of them?

  The thought of Sophie, his Sophie, with another man, ever, was untenable. He shook his head, trying to clear the red fog of rage that blinded him.

  ‘That’s not something you’ll need to worry about again,’ he growled, closing the distance between them with a single stride. ‘There’ll be no more men in your bed.’

  ‘Are you including yourself in that?’ Her brows arched haughtily as she tipped her head up to meet him head-on.

  ‘Don’t play games, Sophie. You know what I mean.’ He gathered in a huge, sustaining breath. The depth of his jealousy, and its suddenness, made his head spin. He reacted instinctively. ‘You’re mine now. There won’t be any other men in your life, much less anywhere near your bed!’

  She glared back at him, her eyes flashing gold fire. Her nostrils flared and her hands fisted on her hips as she stood, toe to toe against him.

  What a woman she was! Beautiful and strong and passionate. The sexiest woman he’d ever known.

  His woman, intoned the possessive voice that had echoed in his ears all through the night.

  ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business,’ she said, her words slow and deliberate.

  He scowled. What sort of nonsense was this? ‘Of course it’s my business. You and I—’

  ‘What makes you think you have exclusive rights over me?’ Her brow pleated in mock-concentration and her head tilted to one side as if to reinforce her point. ‘I don’t remember any discussion of that last night.’

  ‘There was no discussion last night. We didn’t—’

  ‘Then perhaps I should make it clear to you now,�
� she said, just as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’m my own woman, Costas Palamidis. I don’t belong to you. Or to any other man.’ She stared past him, at a point somewhere over his shoulder. ‘Last night doesn’t entitle you to determine anything at all about the way I live my life.’

  The blood pounded loud in Costas’ ears, a deafening roar that almost obliterated the last of her declaration. Almost, but unfortunately not quite.

  She was exerting her independence.

  From him!

  He gritted his teeth against the primitive howl of rage that welled in his throat.

  This woman drove him crazy, awoke the most barbaric of impulses in him. He could fully understand the urge of less civilised men to keep their women cloistered at home. Preferably tied to the bed.

  ‘Surely,’ he said at last in an unsteady voice, ‘you’re not trying to convince me you’re promiscuous.’

  He caught the horrified expression in her eyes and repressed a satisfied smile. ‘I’d find it hard to believe you’re the sort of woman who keeps a couple of guys on a string.’ Despite what he’d originally thought.

  There, he’d called her bluff and it had worked, that was obvious from the sag of her shoulders and the way she bit her lip. He wanted to reach out and brush his fingers over that luscious bottom lip, ease the hurt with the caress of his own mouth. And then perhaps lead her a step or two back towards the mattress, so conveniently located just behind her.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, but her voice was tight. ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  Her gaze slid from his. She took a slow breath and he watched her breasts rise with it. He wanted her naked. Now. His eyes flickered to the bed. He was already planning how he’d have her when her voice jerked him back to the present.

  ‘You made it plain what you wanted from me. A single night, you said.’ Her eyes met his again and something slammed hard into his solar plexus at the expression he saw there. ‘You wanted sex. That’s all. Sex and release.’ Molten gold burned in her eyes, brighter with each word.

  ‘Well, you’ve had your night and now it’s over.’

  ‘You must be joking. Glikia mou!’ He spread his hands in a gesture of amazement. ‘After last night you can’t expect this to stop so easily. The way we were together…it was incredible.’

  A perfunctory smile curved her lips for an instant then disappeared. ‘I’m glad you thought so. But nevertheless it’s over.’

  Costas shook his head, dumbfounded as never before. Sophie was rejecting him? After all that had passed between them last night?

  It was impossible. Unbelievable.

  His eyes narrowed as he took in her wary stance, the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. She was hoaxing. That was it. She was trying to bargain for more. He’d wounded her pride with his clumsy behaviour this morning and now she wanted him to grovel.

  He wouldn’t grovel, but he’d apologise. After all, she deserved it. He’d behaved like a lout.

  ‘Sophie mou.’ He lifted his hand towards her and was stunned when she stepped away from him.

  He frowned. There was no need to play hard to get. He was a reasonable man, after all.

  ‘I apologise for leaving you the way I did this morning. I should have woken you, or rung earlier in the day. I—’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s no need to apologise,’ she interrupted, though the over-bright glitter of her eyes belied her words. ‘Last night was wonderful, but now it’s finished. As you said, we both needed the release. And now we can go our separate ways with no regrets.’

  Slowly the words penetrated his stunned brain. And then déjà vu cannoned into him, like a blow to the gut.

  The expression on her face, the challenging stance and jutting chin. Just so had Fotini looked when he’d confronted her with his concerns about her safety. About her late-night celebrations with dubious new friends, about his suspicions that her herbal ‘pick-me-up’ tablets were something far more dangerous. She’d been defiant, amused, uncaring.

  He swiped a hand over his face, trying to dislodge the memories and the devastating seed of doubt they planted in his mind. Two girls from the same family. Two women from the house of Liakos.

  Was the independent spirit he’d so admired in Sophie a blind for something less palatable?

  No! He didn’t believe it. This was Sophie, sweet and caring. Not Fotini.

  ‘It’s over,’ she reiterated. ‘And now it’s time to move on.’ And with the words she turned away from him, as if to leave.

  His hand shot out and circled her upper arm before she’d even taken a step. Her smooth flesh was warm beneath his fingers, soft as silk. But not as soft as her belly, or the indescribably tender skin of her inner thighs.

  ‘No!’ He stopped, trying to get control over his voice. ‘It’s not over, Sophie.’

  She lifted her face and for an instant her expression was vivid, bright, like the sun in summer. And then a shutter came down, hiding her thoughts.

  Costas groped for words, tried to get his brain into gear. But all he could think of was that she’d done the impossible—had rejected him, decided she wanted no more from him than a one-night stand.

  The seductive, feminine scent of her skin made his nostrils flare and his blood quicken. It only fed his confusion and anger.

  ‘What if you’re pregnant?’ he bit out.

  He saw the flicker of shock in her face. Felt her stiffen beneath his hands. For an instant her eyes blazed with golden light, and then she turned her head away.

  ‘And that would change things?’ Her voice had an oddly muffled quality.

  ‘Sto Diavolo! It would change everything. A child…’ He paused, dragging in a deep breath. He’d said the first thing that had surged into his numbed brain. But now the idea had lodged there.

  How could he want another child when he had Eleni? How could he face the possibility of such trauma again? But despite the fear, he recognised excitement tremble to life in the pit of his stomach.

  A child. His and Sophie’s. An invisible hand squeezed his heart. What a gift that would be.

  ‘You know I take my family responsibilities seriously.’ Somehow he managed to keep his voice even as he looked down at her.

  ‘Then it’s just as well that’s not a possibility.’

  ‘Of course it’s a possibility,’ he thundered. ‘We had unprotected sex, not once, but several times last night.’

  That was what had been at the back of his mind down on the beach, the vague notion of something not right. But it hadn’t stopped him. Lord help him, even if he’d realised at the time, he doubted he’d have been able to pull back from her. His need for Sophie had been elemental, unstoppable.

  He looked down into her staring eyes. Had she been too caught up in their mutual passion to realise he hadn’t used a condom? Inevitably the idea pleased him, softening his temper into something else. His iron hard grip on her arm loosened and he slid his fingers down her tender flesh, stroking. She trembled under his touch as she always did.

  Abruptly she tore herself away and paced over to the windows, presenting him with her hunched shoulders. Something—pain—twisted deep inside him at her rebuff.

  ‘There’s absolutely no chance I’m pregnant,’ she said in a cold, precise voice that speared him like a knife.

  Bright sunlight blurred her outline, and for an instant it was another girl who stood there. Another bloodless voice that echoed between them, taunting him.

  Memories again. Stronger this time.

  He’d married Fotini because he’d decided he needed a wife. But the marriage had held none of the peace, the trust or even companionship that he’d expected would grow with time.

  And now he’d ignored his better judgement, shoved aside every caution and succumbed to the temptation of this woman, Fotini’s cousin. She was like fire in his blood, destroying his logic and his self-control.

  Two girls so different.

  But could there be similarities as well?

  Nausea churned in
his stomach at the possibility.

  ‘What if you’re mistaken, Sophie?’ He forced the words out, sickened by the fact that he even had to ask. ‘What if you are pregnant? Would you expect me to pay for the abortion?’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SOPHIE HAD THOUGHT an hour ago that she could bear the truth. Just. But this was torture. Listening to the man she loved. Yes—the man she loved, lashing her heart with his blatant contempt.

  What more did he want from her?

  He’d taken her body. He’d taken her trust, her love, her tentative hopes and dreams and trampled them underfoot.

  Oh, it hadn’t been his fault. He’d warned her, had been totally honest. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that his need for her was at the most basic, physical level only. He’d left her under no illusion that he wanted a relationship with her.

  It had been her own naïve fault that she’d succumbed to him with such self-destructive passion. Hurting as she was, needing comfort and overwhelmed by feelings she’d never before experienced, she’d turned to him.

  And then, when it was too late, she’d assumed that the situation had changed, that he felt it now too—the bond between them.

  How could he not feel something so powerful?

  She’d given herself joyfully, loved him with her heart and soul, not just her body.

  And today she’d woken to the harsh truth. She’d deluded herself. He simply didn’t love her.

  So she’d gathered the tatters of her self-respect about her and decided not to let him see how much she was hurting. Her plan was to escape, soon, with her dignity intact if possible. She’d remove herself far from his vicinity in the hope that time might heal her battered heart.

  She’d been coping, just, with the trauma of seeing him again. It had been virtually impossible but she’d hidden her emotions as best she could.

  But now he’d turned into a vengeful stranger and she didn’t think she could keep up the pretence of indifference much longer.

  ‘Answer me, Sophie! Would you come to me to fund an abortion?’

  ‘That question doesn’t deserve an answer.’ Stubbornly she stared out the window, eyes blinking at the bright blue cloudless sky. The serene, blazing Greek sun half-blinded her—mocking her pretensions in ever hoping for a future with this man.