by Anne Mather
Helen’s jaw sagged. ‘Wh—what did you say?’
‘I asked when you were going to tell me that I’m Melissa’s father,’ he said roughly. ‘You needn’t deny it. I’ve known for a while. Did you honestly think you could bring her to Santoros without me seeing the resemblance for myself?’
Helen had to sit down. Groping for one of the ladder-backed chairs that were set around the dinette table, she sank into it before her legs gave out on her completely. He knew, she thought despairingly. He knew Melissa was his daughter. Oh, God, had he told her, too?
The kettle was boiling, but Helen didn’t have the strength to deal with it. With a muffled oath, Milos brushed past her. ‘Tea?’ he demanded, looking back at her, and she gestured shakily towards the tea caddy.
‘There are teabags in there,’ she said. ‘The—the teapot’s beside it.’
‘I can see that.’ He spoke flatly, and with enviable sureness he dropped a couple of bags into the pot and scalded them with the boiling water. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Milk and sugar?’
By the time he pushed a mug of the hot beverage towards her, Helen was feeling strong enough to lift it to her lips and take a restoring sip. It was good, and reviving, and when Milos pulled out the chair opposite and straddled it she was able to look at him without breaking down.
‘Have—have you told Melissa?’ she asked, unable to prevent the question, and Milos regarded her with dark, accusing eyes.
‘I suppose that is what you’d expect me to do,’ he said coldly. ‘After all, I’m the man who got you pregnant and abandoned you.’
Helen trembled. ‘So—so did you?’
‘Tell Melissa?’ She nodded and his lips twisted contemptuously. ‘Fisika okhi! Of course not. Contrary to the opinion you evidently have of me, I respect you too much for that. Though why I should after everything that’s happened quite frankly amazes me.’
Helen moistened her lips. ‘Thank you.’
Milos swore then and she started back in some alarm. ‘Is that all you have to say?’ he demanded. ‘Thank you? Theos, Helen, don’t you think I deserve more than that?’
Helen’s eyes flickered to his and away again. ‘I’m not going to apologise for what I did,’ she said huskily. ‘I thought you were married, remember?’
‘How could I forget?’ Milos scowled, his hands flexing and unflexing against the back of the chair. ‘I haven’t forgotten Eleni’s part in this. If I had, you’d be facing something more than my anger, believe me.’
Helen shook her head. ‘Is there any point in trying to explain why—why I did what I did and married Richard?’
‘I’m listening, aren’t I?’
‘I suppose.’ She sighed. ‘It seemed the only solution. Richard was willing to marry me, and I took the easy way out.’
‘And did Shaw believe you were expecting his child?’ demanded Milos harshly, and Helen flinched.
‘No! He knew it wasn’t—she wasn’t. Richard was my boyfriend, but we’d never slept together.’ She bent her head. ‘But you know that.’
‘Yeah.’ Milos’s scowl deepened. ‘So when did he change his mind?’
‘Change his mind?’ Helen was confused. ‘Change his mind about what?’
‘About his role as Melissa’s father. When did he decide to tell her the truth?’
Helen was stunned. ‘He didn’t. He wouldn’t.’ She licked her dry lips. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Melissa still believes Richard was her father.’
‘No.’ Milos’s denial was earth-shattering. ‘No, she doesn’t.’
Helen could sit still no longer. Whereas before she’d felt weak and enervated, now agitation was giving her a panicky kind of energy that demanded release. Pacing from one side of the kitchen to the other, she tried to come to terms with what he’d told her. But she couldn’t believe it. Wouldn’t believe it. Why would Richard do a thing like that? And if he had, why hadn’t Melissa ever mentioned it to her?
Pressing her hands together, she considered the alternatives. As far as she knew, her mother had never doubted Melissa’s parentage. Hadn’t she always complained that she was her father’s daughter, particularly when she was getting into trouble at school?
Which reminded her of how Richard had always refused to accept any responsibility for Melissa’s behaviour. Despite maintaining an outward appearance of unity, in the privacy of their bedroom he’d never left Helen in any doubt that he blamed her for Melissa’s attitude.
An attitude that had grown so much worse in recent months, Helen remembered anxiously. Oh, God, could it possibly be true? Had Richard told Melissa she was the illegitimate result of some liaison her mother had had before—or even after—they were married?
Recrossing the room again so that she could look into Milos’s face, Helen chose her words with care. ‘How—how do you know this?’ She expelled an unsteady breath. ‘Not that I’m saying I believe you, of course. But who would tell you such a thing?’
‘Who do you think?’
Helen blinked. ‘Not—my mother?’
‘How could she?’ Milos quickly got tired of her questions. ‘It was Melissa herself. She told me.’
‘No!’ Helen stared at him in total disbelief. Then other, equally disturbing, thoughts occurred to her. ‘Why would she tell you something like that?’
Milos blew out a breath. ‘Well, not for the reasons you’re considering,’ he replied flatly. ‘And, yes, believe me, I was tempted to tell her who her father really was. But, as I said before, I couldn’t do it. Much as I want to acknowledge her, that information has to come from you, not me.’
Helen felt dazed. She couldn’t take it all in. Her brain was scrambling to try and assimilate what he’d said. Melissa knew; she knew she wasn’t Richard’s daughter. Dear God, when had her late husband dropped that particular pearl of wisdom? Could it conceivably be the reason why Melissa’s behaviour had become so uncontrollable in recent years?
‘Did she tell you when he told her this?’ she asked now, effectively accepting that Milos was telling her the truth.
‘About two years ago.’ Milos loosened the buttons on his suede jacket and rested his chin on his folded arms. ‘She says he warned her not to tell you.’
‘But why?’ The cry was wrung from her. ‘Why would he do a thing like that?’
‘Bitterness? Jealousy? Melissa says he threatened to leave if she so much as hinted that she knew the truth.’ He arched a weary brow. ‘Way to go, Helen. He sounds like a prince.’
Helen shook her head. ‘He was good to me in the beginning,’ she protested. ‘When Melissa was a baby, he seemed happy enough.’
‘Were you?’ asked Milos, looking up at her. ‘Did you never wonder how different it would have been if we’d stayed together?’
Helen gave a scornful laugh. ‘Like that was ever going to happen,’ she exclaimed. ‘Whether you’d known I was having your baby or not.’
‘Why not?’ Milos swung the chair aside and got to his feet. ‘Was I such a hopeless prospect?’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ Helen turned away, unable to look at him when she felt so torn inside. ‘I can just imagine the conversation if I’d rung and told you you were going to be a father.’ She made an effort to imitate his horrified voice. ‘What? It can’t be mine. I wore a condom. What trick are you trying to pull?’
Milos made a bitter sound. ‘That’s some opinion you have of me.’
‘Had. Had.’ Helen couldn’t honestly say she had the same opinion now. Not after the way he’d come to her with Melissa’s confession. ‘But, in any case, my opinion isn’t important. Not now.’ She bent her head. ‘You see, I’d always thought you worked for my father, whereas—whereas—you don’t.’
‘And that’s significant?’
He was behind her now. She could feel the warm draught of his breath on the back of her neck, feel the raw heat of his body sending shivers down her spine.
‘What do you think?’ she asked, trying to maintain her composure. A
nd then, in a futile effort to distract him, she added, ‘You still haven’t told me how Melissa came to confide in you. I didn’t think you knew one another that well.’
‘Oh, we’ve come to know one another better since I got back from Athens,’ said Milos softly, his hand skimming the shoulders of her jacket and causing her to flinch. ‘When I discovered you’d gone back to England, it was an opportunity I couldn’t miss.’
‘I’ll bet,’ muttered Helen bitterly, and heard his sudden intake of breath.
‘Do you blame me?’ he asked, his fingers straying to the curve of her neck with disturbing familiarity. ‘You may not like it, but Melissa and I seem to get along very well.’
Helen caught her breath. ‘I’m surprised my father encouraged you,’ she said. ‘Didn’t he think it was a little strange that you wanted to spend time with her?’
Milos sighed. ‘It wasn’t quite like that,’ he said. ‘I had the excuse that I wanted to see Rhea. She’s been staying at the vineyard, keeping Melissa company while you’ve been away.’
‘I see.’ Helen tried not to be distracted by his provocative fingers. ‘That was kind of her,’ she said, the word escaping on a nervous gasp.
‘Rhea is kind,’ said Milos, his thumb finding the pulse that fluttered just below her ear. ‘All the Stephanideses can be kind—if you let them.’
‘That includes you, I suppose.’
‘Especially me,’ Milos agreed, tipping her head back until it rested against his shoulder. ‘Do you want me to prove it?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ Twisting away, Helen put some much-needed space between them. ‘Just tell me what you want from me,’ she added, wrapping protective arms about her waist. ‘I’m tired. It’s too late to be playing word games.’
‘It’s no game,’ said Milos flatly, regarding her with narrowed eyes. ‘I thought you might be glad to see me. Apparently I was wrong.’
Helen shook her head. ‘If you mean because of what happened at Vassilios—’
‘Of course I mean because of what happened at Vassilios,’ he broke in harshly. ‘Theos, how could you have any doubts?’
Helen took a trembling breath. ‘I thought you came to tell me that you knew about Melissa.’
‘That, too. And to ask if you knew about what your husband had said.’
‘I didn’t.’
‘Don’t worry. I believe you.’ His scowl appeared. ‘But I dared to think we had other things to talk about. Or am I being totally insensitive? I guess your mother’s accident hasn’t left much room for anything else.’
Helen quivered. If he only knew!
‘You—you still haven’t told me how Melissa came to confide in you,’ she said, unable to voice how she was really feeling, and then gulped when Milos uttered an anguished cry.
‘Goddammit,’ he said, ‘can’t you forget about Melissa, just for a moment? I’m tired, too, but I’m not going anywhere until we have a chance to talk about us!’
‘Us?’ she echoed faintly. Her heart was hammering crazily against her ribs.
‘Yes, us,’ said Milos thickly, reaching for her. His hand caught her face, tipping it up to him. Then he covered her mouth with his.
She hadn’t expected him to kiss her. Indeed, there had been such fire in his eyes that she hadn’t known what he intended. In consequence, she wasn’t prepared for it, wasn’t ready for the hot wet passion that consumed her or the hungry tongue he thrust into her mouth. She had no will, no barriers to raise against him, and he plundered her lips with all the heat and sensuality of his nature.
Her head swam and she clutched him helplessly, needing his strength to prevent her from collapsing at his feet. He parted his legs to draw her closer and almost of its own volition her body curled into his, seeking his warmth and protection, with the wanton need she’d been denying for so long.
The kiss seemed to go on for ever and they were both panting and breathless when Milos finally lifted his head. ‘Theos,’ he said hoarsely, ‘you drive me crazy!’ And then, with another muffled oath, he stepped back and raked both hands through his hair.
Helen stood there feeling totally bereft. For a moment, she had forgotten everything: the reasons he’d given her for being here, her mother’s accident; even her own grounds for not trusting him. Her lips felt swollen, and any make-up she’d been wearing had probably transferred itself to his mouth. But she realised now it hadn’t meant anything. He’d been angry and he’d punished her in the only way he knew how.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘Tell me I’m a bastard. That is what you’re thinking, isn’t it? It’s what you’ve always thought about me.’
‘You’re wrong.’ Helen chose her words with care. ‘I just don’t know why you did it.’ She paused. ‘Do you hate me so much?’
‘I don’t hate you!’ Milos groaned, cupping the back of his neck with both hands, his jacket swinging open over his flat stomach. She knew his stomach was taut and hard and liberally ribbed with muscle. She’d felt it when he’d pulled her against him. She knew she’d also detected the hardening pressure in his groin when he’d thrust his thigh between her shaking legs. ‘I sometimes wish I did.’
‘Then—’
‘Look, I’ll tell you about Melissa, if that’s what you want,’ he muttered, before she could go on. Groping behind him for the chair he’d been straddling earlier, he dropped down into it, propping his elbows on his knees, his chin cradled between his cupped hands. ‘The night I got back from Athens, Rhea persuaded Sam to let the two girls spend the night at Vassilios. I couldn’t sleep because—well, because I couldn’t sleep, okay? Melissa couldn’t either, so—we talked.’
Helen wished she had a chair to sit on, too, but she stayed where she was. ‘What did you talk about?’ she asked, wishing she didn’t feel such a need to protect him. He looked so weary, she thought. She couldn’t help worrying about how long it was since he’d shaved or slept, or had something to eat.
Milos grimaced now. ‘What do you think we talked about?’ he asked, and with difficulty she tried to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘You; her grandmother; the accident. She was concerned that the old lady might be going to die. She said that you and your mother were the only two people who really cared about her.’ His lips twisted. ‘And how do you think that made me feel?’
Helen could imagine. ‘Pretty bad,’ she murmured, and he gave her a telling look.
‘At least,’ he said. ‘So I compromised my beliefs by asking about her father. I said it must be hard having to deal with another accident so soon after her father had died.’
Helen swallowed. ‘And she said?’
‘That Richard wasn’t her father,’ said Milos grimly. ‘I guess she’s been wanting to tell someone that for a long time.’
‘Oh, God!’ Helen pressed her hands to her cheeks. ‘I wish I’d known.’
‘So do I,’ said Milos bitterly. ‘But we don’t always get what we want, do we?’
Helen felt devastated. More devastated than she’d felt when he’d first revealed what Melissa had said. She was unhappily aware that she was to blame, much more than he was. She’d been so busy trying to hold the family together that she’d lost sight of what was going on right under her nose.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trembling as she stood in front of him. ‘You’ve every right to be angry with me.’
Milos groaned. ‘I’m not angry with you,’ he protested, reaching out once again and capturing her hand. He pulled her to stand between his spread thighs. ‘But you realise now why I couldn’t wait for you to come back to Santoros. I had to talk to you. I had to tell you.’
Helen hesitated. ‘I—I may not be able to come back to Santoros,’ she said. ‘My mother’s being released from hospital in a day or two, and I’ve got to be here for her.’
Milos gave a heavy sigh. ‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ he said flatly. He carried her hand to his lips and pressed his mouth against her palm. ‘So—I need you to assure me that you’ll tell Melissa that I’m he
r father when—when she gets back from the island. Not immediately, perhaps.’ She felt his tongue only moments before he added. ‘But I think you owe me that, if nothing else.’
Helen nodded. ‘I’ll tell her.’
‘Thank you.’ Milos looked up at her wearily. ‘Would you believe me if I told you something else?’
Helen shivered, her whole being concentrated on his face. His hand gripping hers made her intensely aware of the connection between them, and, while she could tell herself this was just another game he was playing, she knew she’d never forgive herself if she was wrong.
‘Try me,’ she said, her breasts tightening in anticipation. There was an ache in the pit of her stomach and, in spite of herself, moisture was pooling between her legs. She tried telling herself he was only here because he wanted something from her, but the truth was he’d confounded every preconception she’d had about him so far.
‘Okay.’ Milos took both of her hands in his now and drew her closer. ‘I hoped we might be able to salvage something from the mess I’ve made of both our lives.’
Helen caught her breath. ‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
Milos frowned now. ‘Do what?’
‘Pretend that you’re attracted to me, to persuade me to let you have access to Melissa.’ Helen held up her head. ‘She’s your daughter, Milos. You have every right to demand an equal share of her time.’
There was silence for a moment, and then Milos pushed Helen away and got abruptly to his feet. ‘You—’ He bit back an expletive, raking his scalp with shaking fingers. ‘Do you honestly think I’d go so far as to make love to you to force you to acknowledge the truth?’
Helen’s legs felt decidedly unsteady. ‘I don’t know what to think, do I?’ she defended herself. ‘I don’t know you well enough to decide.’
‘Then perhaps you should,’ said Milos, brushing past her. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. It’s getting late and I’m dead on my feet. Maybe we can talk again tomorrow. I’ll give you a ring in the morning. When I’ve got my head together. When what I’m saying makes a little more sense.’
‘Milos …’ Helen said his name and then, guessing he might misunderstand, she added quickly, ‘You don’t have to go. Not if you don’t want to. I mean—we have plenty of spare beds here.’