Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger\Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed\Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (14 page)

‘There’s no need for that.’ Before he’d actually given any thought to what he was about to do, Milos reached out and took the girl’s hand. ‘You’re looking good,’ he said, pleased when her eyes brightened considerably. ‘Is that a new outfit?’

‘Rhea bought it for me,’ she answered, glancing down at the cropped top and miniskirt that were liberally splashed in shades of red and orange. ‘Do you really like it? It’s not what I usually go for.’

‘I’d noticed,’ said Milos drily, but his lips twitched with amusement. He hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted to see his daughter again, too. ‘So—would you like to come back to Vassilios with me?’

Melissa nodded eagerly. ‘Rhea, too?’

‘Of course,’ said Milos, realising anything else would look very suspicious. They’d be thinking he had designs on his own daughter, he thought impatiently. When all he really wanted to do was talk to her about her mother.

‘That’d be great,’ said Melissa, pulling her hand away from his and heading for the stairs. ‘I’ll go and tell Rhea.’

‘I suppose you realise you’re only pandering to that child’s wishes,’ Maya muttered as Melissa bounded off to find the other girl, and Milos sighed.

‘She’s lonely,’ he said, not wanting to get into an argument with his cousin.

‘Aren’t we all?’ retorted Maya resentfully. ‘Since that woman and her daughter came here, Sam’s had no time for Alex and me at all.’

‘That’s not true, Maya.’ Unknown to them, Sam had
come in the outer door as she was speaking and now he gave his wife a reproachful look. ‘But Helen and I have got so many years to make up. Surely you don’t begrudge her a few weeks of my time?’

Maya looked embarrassed now. ‘No,’ she mumbled, showing she wasn’t entirely without feelings. ‘I know you mean well, Sam. But how long do you expect them to stay? I understood they were coming for a few days, two weeks at the most. Instead of which, you’re talking as if you’d like them to live here.’

‘I would.’ Sam was honest enough to admit it. ‘But that’s not going to happen, is it? Her mother’s never going to agree to that. So I’m making the most of what I have.’

Milos envied Sam his uncomplicated optimism. He was only just beginning to realise exactly what he’d lost. He should have spoken, he chided himself, before he’d left for Athens. If he hadn’t been so absorbed in his own needs, his own desires, he’d have told Helen he wanted her and their daughter.

An hour later, he got his chance to speak to Rhea. With Melissa splashing about in the pool at Vassilios they were able to talk without being overheard.

‘So what exactly happened?’ he asked, referring to Sheila Campbell’s accident. ‘Do you know?’

‘Well, according to her father, Helen’s mother was reversing out of her drive at the time. She was apparently hit by a van coming along the road. It caught her on the side and she was crushed against the steering wheel.’

Milos winced. ‘
Theos
, it was serious then?’

‘Why, yes.’ Rhea glanced at him. ‘Did you think it wasn’t?’

‘Oh …’ Milos shook his head. ‘It was just something Maya said. I got the impression from her that—’

‘She thought it was a put-up job,’ Rhea finished for him drily. ‘Yes, I’ve heard that, too, but it’s not true.’

Milos hesitated. ‘So—has Sam heard from her since she got back to England?’

‘Just once,’ said Rhea, frowning as she spread sun cream liberally over her arms. ‘She rang her father after she’d been to the hospital for the first time. She said that no one could tell her how long her mother was likely to stay there.’

Milos closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them again to find Rhea watching him closely. ‘You’re sorry she’s not here,’ she said, and it wasn’t a question. ‘Why do I get the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me?’

‘I can’t imagine.’ But Milos’s eyes turned towards the pool as he spoke, the memory of the events of four days ago bringing a tightening to his jaw. ‘However, I might suggest you and Melissa stay here until her mother returns. There’s more room, for one thing, and you can see how much Melissa loves the water.’

Rhea gave him an ironic look. ‘Like that’s going to happen,’ she said, and Milos thought with a pang that as much as his sister was influencing Melissa, Melissa was influencing her, too. ‘Her grandfather’s never going to agree to it,’ she continued. ‘However Maya feels about it, he’s determined to maintain a presence in their lives from now on.’

‘I’m not disputing that.’

But Milos’s tone betrayed his irritation and Rhea cast him a considering stare. ‘Are you in love with Helen?’ she demanded. ‘If you are, don’t you think I should know about it? I am your sister, after all. Particularly as it’s apparently been going on for several years.’

Milos’s gaze swung back to her. ‘I’m sure Helen didn’t tell you that.’

‘No.’ Rhea sighed. ‘But I got her to admit you’d first met years ago.’

Milos frowned. ‘So what are you saying?’

Rhea flushed now. ‘Well, only that you didn’t mention
it when you introduced us. Is it a secret? Is it because she was married at the time?’

Milos was appalled. Trying to calm his racing pulse, he said, ‘What exactly did she tell you?’

Rhea shrugged. ‘Well, she admitted she was married when you got to know one another.’ Her eyes narrowed teasingly. ‘You dark horse, Milos. I do believe you two had an affair.’

Milos shook his head. ‘There was no affair.’

‘But something was going on. Admit it.’ Rhea stared at him with knowing eyes. ‘I’m not stupid, Milos. Nor am I a little girl any more. When she admitted you two had met when you went to England, it was a simple matter to put two and two together.’

‘And make three,’ said Milos shortly. ‘Forget it, Rhea. You’ve got it all wrong.’

‘How? And why did you say three?’ She frowned. ‘Don’t you mean five?’

‘No, I mean three,’ said Milos harshly. ‘
Theos
, Rhea, I don’t know what Helen’s told you, but she wasn’t married when we met. She wasn’t even pregnant, if you understand what I’m saying.’

Much later that evening, Milos sat alone on the terrace, drinking his way through a bottle of his father’s Scotch. Aristotle always demanded single malt whisky when he came to visit, and Milos usually kept several bottles on the premises.

Tonight, however, he felt in need of something stronger than his usual glass of ouzo. He was in a foul mood, brought on by the knowledge that he’d unintentionally bared his soul to Rhea. He hadn’t intended to tell her about Melissa, but somehow he hadn’t been able to prevent himself. The need to defend both his and Helen’s reputations overcoming any latent doubts he might have had.

And his sister had been marvellously supportive, even though she’d admitted she’d not noticed the resemblance between her and Melissa herself. Which hadn’t exactly reassured him, torn as he was by his own doubts in the matter. What if he had made a mistake? What if Melissa was Richard Shaw’s daughter, after all?

The only advantage he’d gained, if it was an advantage, was that Rhea had persuaded Sam to let the two girls spend the night at Vassilios. She had made the excuse of wanting to talk to Milos about her studies, and Sam had agreed that Melissa might benefit from a change of scene, too.

The two girls were both in bed, now, his housekeeper enjoying the novelty of having guests in the house for a change. Andrea had children and grandchildren of her own, and she was always delighted when one of Milos’s siblings stayed over.

Milos poured himself another drink and glanced at his watch. In the light from the lanterns that were hung across the terrace, he could see it was after midnight. Time he was in bed, he thought, though he wasn’t truly tired. He was weary, of course, after the events of the last few days, but he suspected his mind was too active to rest.

‘Milos.’

He hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Not unnaturally, as Melissa was barefoot. Wearing only a skimpy pair of Rhea’s pyjamas, she was hovering near the entrance to the villa and he wondered how long she had been standing there watching him.

‘Hey,’ he said, putting his ill humour aside and getting up from the lounge chair where he had been sitting. ‘What are you doing out of bed?’

‘I couldn’t sleep,’ said Melissa, taking a tentative step forward. ‘Can I come and sit with you for a while?’

Milos refrained from saying he’d just been about to retire himself. Instead, he gestured towards the chair beside him
and waited until she was seated before offering her some juice. ‘I won’t offer you cola. That’s not good for sleeping,’ he said. ‘But there are cans of orange juice in the cooler over there, if you want one.’

‘I’m fine.’ Melissa eased back on her chair stretching her bare legs out in front of her. ‘Hmm, this is nice. I thought there’d be lots of insects and stuff.’

‘Give it time,’ said Milos drily, resuming his seat. ‘So—why couldn’t you sleep? Are you worrying about your grandmother?’

‘I guess.’ Melissa hunched her shoulders. ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’

Milos didn’t want to give her any false hopes, but he couldn’t destroy them either. ‘I’m sure she will,’ he said, remembering it was less than a year since she’d had to deal with the death of the man she’d always believed to be her father. And in similar circumstances. ‘Doctors can do wonders these days.’

‘You think?’ Melissa sniffed. ‘I hope you’re right.’ She hesitated and then continued, ‘She loves me, you see. Gran, I mean. And apart from her and Mum, there is nobody else.’

Milos’s heart went out to her. ‘I’m sure that’s not true,’ he said, wishing his own hands weren’t tied in this way. ‘There are lots of people who care about you. What about your grandfather?’

‘Sam?’ Melissa considered for a moment, but then she shook her head. ‘No, there’s just Mum and Gran,’ she said, with a daunting conviction. ‘I hate accidents, don’t you? There’s no warning or anything. Just—just a telephone call from the hospital.’

Milos sighed, realising he would have to bite the bullet. ‘I suppose it’s hard on you,’ he said gently. ‘After what happened to—to your father.’

‘You mean Richard.’ Melissa’s head sunk lower into her shoulders as she spoke. ‘Richard Shaw wasn’t my father,’ she added, barely audibly. ‘He told me so at least two years before he died.’

I
T WAS
after ten o’clock when Helen arrived home. Although visiting hours at the hospital had ended some time ago, Helen had stopped off to buy some groceries they’d need when her mother came home.

The nurse in charge of her mother’s case had been optimistic that Sheila Campbell might be able to return home in the next couple of days. The wound to her head was healing nicely, and although she still had a severe headache, a broken arm, and various cuts and bruises, none of them was life threatening.

Which hadn’t seemed the case when Helen had first seen her. Sheila had been unconscious when she’d been brought to the hospital, and there’d been talk of skull fractures and possible coma. Her head wound had bled profusely, though Helen had been assured that this wasn’t unusual. Nevertheless, her mother had certainly looked as bad as Helen’s imagination had painted her.

During the past few days, however, the situation had changed considerably. As soon as Sheila had regained consciousness, it had become obvious her injuries weren’t life-threatening as had originally been feared. In no time at all, she’d been ordering the nurses about, demanding the kind of treatment reserved for the more serious cases. She’d actually been outraged when they’d moved her out of the Intensive Care Unit, and installed her in the main ward.

This evening, Helen had been advised to prepare for her mother’s discharge from the hospital. As soon as the specialist who’d been treating her was satisfied she was in no danger, she could go. The nurse had also warned Helen that
Sheila would need a few days to get used to looking after herself, and that if Helen had a job she should arrange for a week’s leave of absence to help her mother out.

Which meant Helen would not be able to return to Santoros. She should be grateful for that, she thought. Things between her and Milos had been getting too intense. Sitting beside her mother’s bed while Sheila slept, she’d had plenty of time to worry about the future. Despite the fact that she wanted to spend more time with her father, it was probably wiser not to make promises she couldn’t keep.

As she fumbled in her bag for her key she sensed someone behind her. Chiding herself for not getting her key out in the taxi she’d taken from the supermarket, she swung round, recklessly prepared to use her shopping as a weapon if she had to.

She dropped the plastic carrier a moment later. With cartons of butter and tins of soup spilling all over the garden path, she looked up into Milos’s face and burst immediately into tears.

Milos didn’t attempt to comfort her. Instead, he found her key and opened the door so that she could step inside. Then he set about gathering her scattered groceries together, filling the bag she’d dropped from nerveless fingers just a couple of minutes ago.

Dragging a tissue from her pocket, Helen dashed her tears away, humiliated that he of all people should see her like this. But it had all been too much: the shock of her mother’s accident and the aftermath, and now Milos’s appearance. She supposed she was desperately in need of someone to comfort her. But she doubted she’d get any comfort from him.

What was he doing here?

Switching on the light, she stumbled down the hall into the kitchen. She purposely avoided looking at her reflection
in the unlit windows behind her, knowing she was definitely not looking her best. But she had spent the last few days running back and forward from the hospital. She’d had little time to think about her appearance, little time to do anything except live from day to day.

She heard the front door close and footsteps coming down the hall. Making a determined effort to school her features, she turned on the kitchen light and swung to face him. ‘Thanks,’ she said as he set the carrier on the top of one of the units. ‘But that was a stupid thing to do.’

‘Would it have been any less stupid if I’d spoken to you?’ he asked, and Helen gave her shoulders a careless shrug.

‘Probably not,’ she agreed tersely. ‘A phone call would have been more reasonable.’ She squared her shoulders and faced him. ‘What are you doing coming here at this time of night?’

Milos sighed. ‘It wouldn’t have been this time of night, as you put it, if you’d got home at the expected hour,’ he said mildly. ‘How was I to know you’d go shopping so late?’

‘I was at the hospital till eight o’clock,’ Helen said defensively. Her lips persisted in quivering as she spoke, and she pressed them together for a moment in an effort to calm herself. ‘You—haven’t been there, have you?’ she added anxiously, and Milos gave her an old-fashioned look.

‘No.’

She was relieved. She could just imagine what her mother would have thought if Milos had turned up there, unannounced.

‘But I have been waiting here for you since—oh—’ he glanced at his watch ‘—about a quarter past eight, I guess.’

Helen stared at him in disbelief. ‘Why would you wait two hours to see me?’

Once again, Milos’s expression told her what he thought
of her question. But he chose not to provoke her. ‘I thought it was time we talked,’ he said. ‘We’ve succeeded in avoiding the issue so far, but, hopefully, we’ll have no interruptions tonight.’

Now Helen’s whole body stiffened. ‘C-couldn’t it have waited until the morning?’ she asked, unbuttoning her jacket and then buttoning it again. ‘I am rather tired.’

‘I can see that.’ He didn’t spare her. ‘This has been a traumatic time for you; I know that.’ He paused. ‘How is your mother, by the way? We heard she was much better.’

‘We?’ Helen swallowed. ‘Who’s we?’

‘Your father, Melissa and me. Sam phoned the hospital this morning before I left. They said she was progressing well.’

‘Then you don’t need me to tell you how she is,’ said Helen tartly, reaching for the kettle and carrying it to the sink. ‘I’m going to make myself some tea. Do you want some?’

‘How could I refuse such a generous offer?’ he remarked drily. ‘Then can we get to the point of this visit? I’m pretty tired—and cold—myself.’

‘Oh!’ Helen realised she hadn’t given a thought to the fact that it was a cool, drizzly evening outside and he was used to temperatures in the seventies, at least. ‘I’m sorry. Would you like me to put the heating on?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Milos assured her. ‘A drink will suffice just as well.’

‘Well, we don’t have anything alcoholic, I’m afraid.’

‘As I say, tea will do,’ he said, his irritation showing now. Then, with a frown, ‘Have you had anything to eat this evening?’

Helen shrugged. ‘I’ve had a sandwich.’

‘A sandwich?’ Milos sounded disgusted. ‘And have you been living on sandwiches since you got back?’

Helen pursed her lips. ‘I think that’s my affair, don’t
you? Just because you think we have some unfinished business—’

‘I don’t think it,’ he snapped, and she was briefly stunned by the anguish in his face. ‘
Theos
, Helen, how much longer do you think you can go on with this?’

‘On with what?’

‘Don’t—don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You’re a liar,’ he said harshly. He took a deep breath. ‘Were you ever going to tell me that Melissa’s my daughter?’

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?’