Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger\Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed\Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (2 page)

‘Happy now?’

Helen was far from happy, but this wasn’t the time to voice it. She was too aware of the dangers Milos represented, and of her own pitiable ability to keep the truth from him. The day had started badly, after that sleepless night on the ferry, and it had suddenly got a whole lot worse.

She got into the car when Milos indicated that she should, but she noticed that he was far from relaxed when he flung open his door and got in beside her. What was he thinking? she fretted. Had he seen anything in Melissa’s face, in her words, to give him pause? Oh, God, what was she going to do if he had?

Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she got into the vehicle and she concentrated on pulling it down as Milos thrust the car into drive and depressed the accelerator. But she couldn’t help being aware of him beside her, of his lean strength coiled behind the wheel, of his long fingers on the controls. Long fingers that had once …

‘I’m gonna have a car like this when I’m older,’ declared Melissa from the back seat, and Helen wondered if she’d sensed the tension between them.

‘You’ll have to do some work first,’ she said, anything to distract herself. ‘Cars like this cost money.’

‘I could always find myself a rich husband,’ remarked her daughter irrepressibly. ‘Even one who’s more than twice my age.’

Helen sucked in a breath. But she refused to let herself be drawn by Melissa’s unsubtle reference to her employer. ‘Do—er—do you live at Aghios Petros, too?’ she asked, addressing Milos, and, although she sensed his reluctance, he was forced to look her way.

‘I live—not too far from there,’ he replied at last. ‘But I don’t spend all the year on Santoros. I also have a home in Athens.’

‘You do?’ Helen was surprised. If he did work for her father, he was evidently paid very well.

‘My family isn’t involved in winemaking,’ he told her flatly, successfully shattering her preconceived ideas about him. ‘My father owns—ships.’

‘Ships?’ It was Melissa who broke in again. ‘What? Like that leaky old crate that brought us from Crete?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen cast another impatient look at her daughter, but Milos had apparently had enough of her insolence. ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘Not ferry boats,
thespinis
.’ He emphasised the word. ‘Tankers. Oil-tankers. Regrettably, I am one of those rich old men you spoke of so scornfully a few minutes ago.’

T
HE
villa stood on a rise above terraced slopes burgeoning with green vines. A long drive wound between cypress and olive trees, with the flowering blooms of tamarisk bushes edging the road. It was a fairly large dwelling with hanging eaves, overgrown with flowering vines and bougainvillea.

‘Is this it?’

Melissa was leaning forward now, her elbow digging into the back of her mother’s neck, and Milos wondered what the hell Sam would make of his granddaughter. She was obviously going to be nothing like he’d expected.

‘Mum!’

Helen had said nothing and Melissa prompted her to speak. ‘I think this must be your grandfather’s house,’ she said, glancing sideways at Milos. ‘Those are vineyards, aren’t they?’

‘
Ineh
—they are,’ he agreed. ‘This is the
Ambeli Kouras
.’

‘Ambeli Kouros?’
Once again, Melissa had to have her say. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen tried to restrain her, but Milos decided she was wasting her time. ‘It means the Kouros vineyard,’ he told her patiently. ‘Kouros was your grandfather’s wife’s family name. When he took over, he retained it.’

Melissa was reflective for a moment. ‘My grandfather’s wife,’ she said at last. ‘That would be
that evil bitch Maya
, right?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Melissa—’

Helen was obviously horrified, but Milos recognised
Helen’s mother’s voice in that description. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘So be warned. Maya doesn’t take any prisoners.’

Melissa huffed, but she sat back on her seat, clearly disappointed she hadn’t aroused a more explosive reaction. Helen felt obliged to intervene. ‘I’m afraid Maya’s name isn’t particularly welcome in my family,’ she said. ‘I have to admit, my mother didn’t want me to come.’

So, what’s new? thought Milos drily. Sheila Campbell hadn’t liked him either. ‘I expect she doesn’t trust Sam,’ he ventured mildly. ‘Either that, or she thinks it’s too soon for you to be thinking of starting over.’

‘You mean, since Richard died?’ Helen queried, her lips folding together in a thin line. ‘No. She—er—she’s of the opinion that I should get married again.’ And he could make what he liked of that! she seemed to add silently.

‘Yeah, she wants Mum to marry a wrinkly,’ put in Melissa, before Milos could make any comment. Which was just as well. Helen’s statement had thrown him for six. ‘Mark Greenaway. He must be sixty if he’s a day. Like I’d want him for a
daddy
!’

Helen caught her breath. ‘Mark is not a wrinkly,’ she protested hotly. ‘And he’s nowhere near sixty.’ She cast Milos an awkward glance. ‘He’s my boss. He owns an engineering company and I’m his personal assistant.’

‘Really?’ Milos managed to sound only marginally interested. ‘Does he have family, too?’

‘If you mean, is he married, then no,’ said Helen stiffly. ‘He’s a widower, without any children of his own.’

‘Oh, bliss!’ muttered Melissa contemptuously. ‘The man’s a wimp and you know it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dad never did any work, you’d never have considered taking a job with him.’

‘That’s not true!’

Helen was embarrassed, and Milos wondered how she could let her daughter get away with saying what she did.

It was as if Helen was scared of what Melissa might do next, and, judging by the girl’s attitude, she might have a point.

Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, Milos dragged his eyes away. Was it only nervousness that was stopping her from making any attempt to get out of the car, or was there something else she wanted to say?

His stomach tightened, but before he could identify the reason Melissa broke the uneasy silence that had fallen. ‘Well, duh—are we getting out or what?’ she asked, and Milos steeled his expression and swung open his door.

By the time he’d circled the car, Helen had got out, too, her long legs, in the ridiculously high heels, attracting his unwilling gaze.
‘Iseh kala?’
he probed. ‘Are you okay?’

There’d been a reluctant concern in his voice and she responded to it. Though not in the way he’d anticipated. ‘Do you care?’ she exclaimed, exposing her real feelings for the first time. ‘Do you care about anyone but yourself? Forget it, Milos. It’s too late to pretend you have a conscience now.’

Milos’s jaw dropped, but the angry retort that sprang to his lips was stifled by the sight of Melissa clambering over the seats to the front of the car.

‘Do you mind?’ she demanded as he stared at her now instead of her mother. ‘I want to get out. You’re in the way.’

Milos was too stunned by the way she was trashing his vehicle to do anything but reach for Helen’s hand with the intention of drawing her aside so that the girl could open the door.

But he’d acted without thinking, and before his fingertips could register the silky feel of her skin or the palpitating pulse at her wrist Helen had yanked her arm away, rubbing her hand as if he’d contaminated her.

‘Don’t—don’t touch me!’ she said accusingly, and for
once he was grateful to Melissa’s overloud, ‘Thanks a bunch!’ for drowning out her mother’s choked words.

They’d been given rooms at the back of the villa. Pale tiled floors, high ceilings, and lots of dark wood furniture, contrasting their coolness with the shimmering heat outside. A balcony with white painted chairs and a table invited inspection, and beyond the hillside fell away to the coastal plain.

What a view, thought Helen, cupping the back of her neck with hands that were still damp from the emotions she’d felt earlier when she’d met her father’s second wife. Dealing with Milos had been hard enough, but Maya had proved another matter entirely.

It was obvious she didn’t want them here. She’d made that perfectly plain, despite her almost sickening treatment of Milos. He was evidently
persona grata
at the villa. They were not, and she’d wasted no time in letting them know it.

But what had really shocked Helen was the news that her father was working. Working! When she’d imagined him wheelchair-ridden or worse. That was the impression he’d given her in his letters. That he desperately wanted to see her again before he—

Before he, what? He’d stopped short at saying he was actually dying, she remembered. He’d just let her believe he was seriously ill; that he didn’t know how long he had left.

‘What do you think?’ Melissa had come to lean in the doorway of her room that adjoined Helen’s suite. For once, there was a look of uncertainty on her young face. ‘Are we gonna stay or do we just spit in his eye and catch the next ferry out of here?’

‘Melissa!’ Helen spoke automatically, but her heart wasn’t really in it. The girl was only voicing things she’d
thought of herself. Was staying here really an option? Being brought here under false pretences didn’t augur well for her future relationship with her father.

‘Well, you’re not exactly enthusiastic about it, are you?’ Melissa countered. She nodded towards her mother’s suitcase. ‘You haven’t even started to unpack.’

‘And you have?’

Helen swung about to face her and Melissa pulled a face. ‘Hey, a few tees and a spare pair of jeans don’t need much unpacking. I unzip my pack, haul out my stuff, and shove it in a drawer. That’s it.’

Helen’s mouth compressed. ‘You haven’t just brought jeans and tee shirts!’

‘Haven’t I?’

Helen gave up. ‘Have it your own way,’ she said, too weary to even remember how optimistic she’d been about taking this trip. It wasn’t just for her father, she acknowledged. It was for her and Melissa, too. Anything to get her daughter away from the unfavourable influences that were making life so difficult at home.

She walked towards a chest of drawers where one of the maids had left a tray of coffee and some fresh lemonade. ‘D’you want a drink?’

‘I guess.’ Melissa regarded her wearily now, pushing herself away from the door and slouching across the room. ‘What’s up?’

‘You have to ask?’ Helen shook her head. ‘Well, let’s see, my daughter—my delightful daughter—has done her best to humiliate me; I discover the father I haven’t seen for sixteen years has been lying to me; and his wife has made it clear she doesn’t want us here. Need I go on?’

Melissa shrugged. ‘Do I look like I care?’

‘Oh, right.’ Helen took off her jacket and pulled the hem of her cream silk top out of the waistband of her skirt and used it to fan her midriff. ‘So, you’d stay?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

‘I’ve just told you that we’re not wanted here.’

‘So?’

‘So—unlike you, I don’t like confrontation.’

‘Get over it, Mum.’ Melissa helped herself to a glass of lemonade before continuing, ‘In any case, I thought you were pretty hard on Milos. If it wasn’t for him, we’d prob’ly still be standing outside in the blazing sun. Maya was in no hurry to invite us in, was she?’

‘I don’t need Milos Stephanides’s help,’ said Helen tensely, and then struggled to control herself. But the last thing she needed right now was to get into a discussion with Melissa about Milos. She was too nervous, too on edge. She might easily say something she’d regret.

Cradling the cup of coffee she’d poured herself between her palms, she moved back to the windows. Meeting him again had proved far harder than she’d ever imagined. She should have got over him by now, but she was no longer so sure she had.

And how pathetic was that?

‘D’you think he and Maya are, like, doing it?’ asked Melissa suddenly, her reflection appearing in the glass of the window beside her mother’s, and Helen turned to give her a horrified look.

‘Doing what?’ she exclaimed, but she was very much afraid she knew what the child meant. Maya had been fulsomely glad to see him.

‘Hey, do I need to draw you a picture?’ Melissa grimaced. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘No.’ Helen wouldn’t make it easy for her. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well, duh—I don’t mean her and your old man, do I?’

Helen stared at her. ‘You’re suggesting that Milos—that Milos and Maya might be—’

‘Getting it on?’ finished Melissa helpfully, when her mother faltered. ‘Yeah. Why not? Didn’t you see the way
she was all over him? Like a rash! And he’s not married. He said so.’

‘She is.’

‘And your point is?’

Helen was emphatic. ‘No.’

‘Hello? Don’t tell me you think your queen of a stepmother wouldn’t do such a thing.’ Melissa shook her head. ‘Get real, Helen. It wouldn’t be the first time she broke up a relationship.’

Her mother was aghast, but all she could say was, ‘Don’t call me Helen.’

‘What do I call you, then? Dumb?’ Melissa groaned. ‘Mum, this guy’s a babe magnet. Just ‘cos Maya’s already got a husband doesn’t mean she can’t have a bit on the side as well.’

‘Melissa!’ Helen nearly choked on her coffee. ‘You appal me, you really do.’

The girl shrugged. ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

Helen gasped. ‘She was pleased to see him, that’s all.’

‘Wasn’t she just?’ Melissa snorted. ‘Whatever. The guy’s hot. Even you must have noticed. Or have you forgotten what it’s like to—?’

‘That will do.’ Helen couldn’t listen to any more. She took a steadying breath and changed the subject. ‘Is your room nice?’

‘Nice?’ Melissa finished the lemonade in her glass and returned it to the tray. ‘You’re determined not to treat me like an adult, aren’t you?’

‘Because you’re not an adult, Melissa. You’re thirteen, not twenty-three.’

‘I’ll be fourteen soon. Why can’t you remember that?’

‘Oh, I remember exactly how old you are,’ said Helen with feeling. Did she ever? Then in a spirit of compromise, ‘So you think we should stay?’

‘Do kids have a vote?’

‘Of course, you do.’ Helen sighed. ‘I thought you might want to meet your grandfather.’

Melissa pulled a face. ‘Like I need another old man in my life!’

‘So what are you saying?’

‘Well, we’re here, aren’t we? And this place isn’t bad. And our staying will definitely get up Maya’s nose.’

Helen couldn’t prevent the smile that tugged at her lips. ‘You’re impossible!’

‘But you love me anyway,’ said Melissa, dodging her mother’s playful nudge. Then as the sound of a car accelerating up the villa reached their ears she arched a mocking brow. ‘Hey, is that who I think it is?’

Helen’s stomach contracted. She had no doubt that the car belonged to her father. Someone, Maya probably, had informed him of their arrival, and he’d evidently dropped whatever it was he’d been doing to return to the house.

Immediately, the prospect of unpacking, of doing as Melissa had suggested and staying here, lost its appeal. Dear God, what was she going to say to him? How many more lies was he planning to tell her? What excuse could he possibly make for hinting that he only had a short time to live?

Melissa, who had dashed out onto the balcony to try and see the new arrival, returned with a disappointed face. ‘You can’t see the drive from here,’ she said. ‘Do you think it’s him?’

‘If you mean, do I think it’s your grandfather, then, yes, I think so,’ said Helen tersely. And, as if just noticing her daughter’s appearance, she added, ‘Don’t you have anything more suitable to wear? Shorts, for example?’

‘Yeah, right. Like I’m going to dress like a dork!’ Melissa was disgusted. ‘And don’t take your bad temper out on me. It’s not my fault.’

Helen’s anger subsided as quickly as it had appeared. ‘I just wish you didn’t always wear black!’

‘It’s a fashion statement,’ said Melissa airily, making for the door. ‘Anyway, I’m going to see what’s going on downstairs. I don’t want that evil bitch queering the pitch.’

‘Stay where you are.’ Helen moved quickly to intercept her. ‘You are not leaving this room on your own.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And watch your language where your grandfather’s wife is concerned. Stop trying to be a poor imitation of your grandmother.’

Melissa’s cheeks turned a little pink. ‘I don’t know why you’re defending her,’ she muttered. ‘She ruined your life, didn’t she?’

‘Maybe.’ Helen wasn’t prepared to argue the point. Then, giving in, ‘Oh, give me a minute to use the bathroom and we’ll both go and get it over with.’

Melissa frowned. ‘You’re really not looking forward to this, are you?’