The Greek Boss's Demand (11 page)

And she could honestly say that she was happy with the way things were working out between Nick and Jason. She could never have let Jason go to Greece if he hadn't liked his newfound father, or if Nick hadn't treated him well. But things were working out better than anyone could possibly have predicted. Despite all the cynicism Nick had shown towards family life, he'd taken to his new role admirably. It was clear the two had built a solid foundation on which to develop their relationship further in Greece. That at least was some consolation. For some time soon she'd have to tell Jason that he was going to Greece without her. The better he got to know Nick before then, the more comfortable he'd feel with the whole arrangement.

She sighed and reached for her glass.

‘Tired?' he asked, his voice soft and husky, as if he was trying not to interrupt the evening quiet.

She looked over at him and nodded, surprised he was so in tune with her mood. With the light behind him, his face was in shadow. It should have had the effect of making him more dangerous, but tonight it softened his features, so that they blended in the dim light, and instead of feeling threatened by him she felt warm and comfortable and relaxed.

Maybe it was the wine. The wine combined with a long, exhausting day. Maybe she'd had enough. She put her glass back down, letting her arm rest over the arm of the chair for a second. His hand closed over hers, coaxing her fingers away from the stem of the glass so that his hand completely surrounded hers.

She wasn't surprised. They'd held hands today, just like friends. It was nice, that was all.

His hand was warm. Warm and comfortable, just like he looked, and his thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, matching the rhythm of the waves so that it was almost as if it was the foam from the waves caressing her skin. She closed her eyes and let the sensation wash through her. His gentle massage was as intoxicating as the wine—gentle, slightly sweet, and with an afterglow that warmed her to the core.

He changed grip and let his fingers dance across her palm, tickling and sending waves of tingling sensation up her arm. His hand stroked the skin of her wrist, tracing a line up to her elbow and heating the blood in her veins lying underneath. She breathed deeply, feeling the flesh of her breasts firm and peak,
realising that something was changing. This was suddenly much more than holding hands.

She opened her eyes to see him staring at her. He'd changed too. Now he didn't look warm and comfortable any more. Even with his face in shadow his eyes sparked with desire, and the look he sent her was laden with white heat. Breath caught in her throat as her own desires kicked up a notch in response.

He wanted her.
It was in his eyes and in his touch. And if he kept looking at her that way, touching her that way, then he'd know she wanted him too.

And she didn't want him to know that. Didn't want him to know that even when he was taking her son away from her she was still not immune to his body. It was bad enough facing up to it herself. The last thing she wanted was for him to know it too.

His face dipped to her hand and his mouth brushed her skin, a warm dance of lips and heated breath before settling into a kiss that suggested so much more. She gasped, her heart skipping a beat, as his tongue grazed her skin and promised more heat, more moisture, more contact.

Desire and panic welled up inside her in equal measure. She sat up, tugging her arm from his, and rose unsteadily to her feet.

‘I think it's time you left.'

He looked up at her, his eyes telling her he didn't believe a word. Her own pleaded back.

‘Please,' she stressed.

Then he nodded and rose, smoothing the denim of his jeans. ‘As you wish.'

Her eyes followed the movement and she almost wished they hadn't. The swell of his jeans both inflamed her and told her she'd been right to stop. There was only one place they'd been heading. She'd been there before. For a few brief moments there would be paradise, a world of passion and heightened sensations beyond belief, but afterwards would come regret, the bitter taste of hollow lovemaking, of wasted emotion and empty tomorrows.

So why did she still want him?
Shouldn't it be easier than this, knowing she was right?

He took her hand and she looked up at him, surprised. ‘Come on,' he said, ‘you can still see me to the door.'

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak with the mess of emotions swirling inside, and obediently followed him inside.

He paused outside Jason's room. The door was ajar and a slant of moonlight cut across his bed, glowing across his sleeping face, his lips slightly parted. One arm tucked his teddy in close, the other was flung back, as if reaching for Nick's soccer ball, resting nearby.

They stood shoulder to shoulder in the doorway, watching him sleep, watching his steady breaths and angelic child's face.

And when she looked up at Nick he was staring
down at her with so much unspoken in his eyes that it passed, tremor-like, through her.

‘He is a beautiful boy,' he whispered. ‘Beautiful, like his mother. And strong. You have done a good job looking after him.'

She swallowed as his eyes continued to hold hers. She wanted to say that she hadn't just been looking after him, that bringing up Jason had been her life, her mission, but she didn't want to argue the point. The day had been far too special to spoil it by bickering.

And she had more to think about besides, as his fingers left hers and smoothed across her jeans, gently but insistently pulling her around and closer, so that she soon pressed up against him, so close that she could feel him harden against her belly. Even as her shoulders reared back his mouth came down and claimed hers.

She had expected his kiss to be hard and strong, expected him to try to subdue her with his sudden attack. But as his lips met hers there was no ferocity, no ambush. Instead his mouth gentled, his lips caressed hers, coaxing them to open, inviting her to join with him. The passion was there. She could feel it under the surface. But he was waiting for her.

Somehow that was the most wonderful thing. Maybe he'd stopped thinking of her as an easy target. Maybe he felt something for her after all, even if it was only as the mother of his son. Maybe he didn't just want to take her at his child's door.

Whatever, he was waiting for her to decide, and his generous gesture squeezed her heart, forcing two tears from her eyes.

It wasn't that she didn't want to make love to him. But hadn't he taken enough? Why did he want more? There was no more she could give without losing herself entirely.

Finally, as if sensing her lack of response, he pulled back and sucked in a deep breath, looking down at her, his eyes warm and enquiring. His fingers brushed her face, wiping away the tears. He frowned, and to avoid the questions in his eyes she glanced at Jason.

‘You should go,' she whispered, breathless and dizzy and hoping he would take her advice, and knowing that if he argued the point she would be lost.

He chose not to argue, but let her go and led her to the front door, where he stopped for a moment before turning back. ‘I want you to know Jason will be in excellent hands back in Greece. Dimitri has recommended someone excellent to look after the boy.'

Her back stiffened and she crossed her arms. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Just that I've been away a long time. I have a business to take care of. Obviously I won't be able to spend as much time with him as I would like—at least for a while.'

The comfortable and warm feelings he'd been stirring in her all evening began to slide off. Visions of Jason, alone and abandoned or, even worse, with a stranger in some huge empty mausoleum of a house
plagued her mind. That wasn't the picture Nick had been selling to them both. How could he do that to their son?

‘Maybe you should have thought about that before you decided to steal him away from me.'

It was clear from his eyes what he thought of that, and his words confirmed it. ‘It is hardly stealing to take what is already mine.'

‘But why do it if you know you can't look after him? Why rip him away from his home, his school, his friends, from
me
, when you know you don't have the time to commit to him? Do you really think it's fair to do all that to an eight-year-old boy?'

‘He will have a new school, make new friends, and, as I said, he will have the best carer.'

‘If you have to do that, why not let me come and I'll look after him?'

The thought had sprung from nowhere, but she would do anything to prevent Jason being left alone and afraid in a foreign country. She had no doubt that Nick would treat him well when he was there. They both got on so well with each other. But Nick's cool announcement that he would not have time to devote to Jason terrified her.

Who was this stranger he was about to entrust their child to? He had no idea himself.

‘No.' Nick's abrupt denial cut through her like a frozen knife. ‘That is not an option.'

‘What do you mean—it's “not an option”? You need someone to look after Jason. He'll be happy with
me there. And I'm available.' Couldn't he see how perfect it was? She didn't have to lose Jason. Nick could have him, but she didn't have to lose him. She choked back an ironic laugh. ‘Let's face it, I've no job any more. No way of paying for this house. And when you take Jason I'll have nothing left. It's a perfect option.'

He shook his head. ‘No.'

‘But why?'

He stared, his face angled against the harsh streetlight so that the hard planes, the cold eyes, were back. ‘You need to ask?'

‘So you're punishing me? This is my payback for bringing up Jason by myself? For struggling to give him a home?'

‘Drop the martyr act, Alexandra, it doesn't suit you. If you like it's your payback for keeping my son a secret. For denying me my son for eight years.'

‘Come on! Do you really believe you would have welcomed him back then?'

‘I guess we'll never know—seeing you never bothered to give me the opportunity.' He pulled his car keys from his pocket. ‘I want to know as soon as that passport arrives.'

With that he turned and pointed the remote at his car, unlocking the doors. Then he was gone, in a cloud of rich petrol fumes and burning rubber.

Alex stood at the door for a while, her soul bruised and bloodied and her blood boiling after their latest run-in. So much for not wanting to bicker and risk
spoiling the day. The day and the mood it had engendered in her had been completely and utterly ruined.

Would he never forgive her? Today at times he had felt like a friend, a very good friend, and not long ago she could have led him to her bed if she had so wished.

Clearly he was still attracted to her—enough to share a bed while he was here at least. It was disappointing that her earlier impressions of him were so spot-on.

He wanted her body. He wanted their son. But there was nothing beyond that. He didn't want her.

 

He drove along the coast a long way, not caring where he was going, just wanting the wind to blow away the anxiety churning through his mind and the heat pooling in his groin.

Not that the combination was so much of a novelty. Both conditions seemed to go hand in hand with his dealings with Alexandra.

He hadn't realised how angry he still was. For a while lust had overridden that. Spending all day alongside her had almost been too much to bear. And she would have made love tonight if he had pressed, he was sure—what had stopped her?

Even after their final heated words, he still burned for her. Wanting her was like an ache that never went. Even those years they were apart—the pain had been duller, but it had still been there, brought into sharp
and stark relief the minute she'd walked into the office that morning. If he'd thought last week's day of lovemaking would take away the burning need for her, he had been wrong. The pain was there, like a needle, only growing sharper with every fix.

Her refusal this evening had honed the edge, and even her fiery words as they'd parted couldn't dull the ache. He wanted her, whatever she had done. To deny it was to deny his very existence. But did that mean he had to forgive her?

He'd already missed out on eight years of his son's life. How much more would he have missed if not for his uncle's strange bequest?

And all because she'd lied to him. She'd kept their son a secret—a secret he might not know about now if he hadn't arrived so unexpectedly.

Why was it that lies and secrets featured so strongly in the Santos family line? First his brother and now him. Stavros's wife's lies had cost him his life. Stavros had believed her, had fallen for her lies and paid the ultimate price.

Nick's hands tightened on the steering wheel. His brother had been crazy for the woman, refusing to listen to anyone, to believe anything other than her sordid lies. He'd had to be crazy to accept her claims he was the father. He had been so blind with lust and love he hadn't even insisted on DNA testing, as everyone had advised.

She was a lying, scheming witch and he would make sure she rotted in prison along with her jealous
lover. It was the only thing he could do for his brother now.

They were all the same. Stavros's wife and Alexandra—women who lied their way to what they wanted. Women who made you burn with need and took what they wanted.

She was right. It was payback time. Women like her deserved to be paid back for the lies they had told, for the truths not disclosed, for the harm they had done.

She deserved it.

He knew that, recognised it as truth, and still it didn't ease the congestion in his mind. Still something didn't make sense.

Because one woman had lied to marry into his family, while the other had done all she could to stay right away. One woman had schemed to win money and influence and power, while the other had spent her life scraping by, living on the margin as a single mother. Why would she do that when Nick could have provided for them both?