‘Tell me you forgot me,’ he ordered, his voice harsh.

‘No.’ The admission came out like a sigh, softly languorous, silken with need and longing.

At last, she thought with a relief so intense it blocked out everything but delight. At last.

She had been waiting for this ever since—ever since she’d seen him standing in the doorway.

Waiting for Luke.

The shock of realisation sent a rush of sensation through her, tightening her breasts and heating the pit of her stomach. For a few stunned seconds she stayed immobile, until the reality of everything hit her in an elemental, all-consuming flood, weakening her knees so that she swayed into him.

He understood the silent surrender, bending his head so she felt the soft whisper of his words against her sensitised lips. ‘Good. Because I could not forget you.’

THE GREEK TYCOONS

Legends are made of men like these!

Modern™ Romance is proud to introduce you to…the all-new Greek tycoons

Modern-day magnates,

as gorgeous and god-like

as their mythological ancestors,

they put the ‘man’ into romance!

This month:

POWERFUL GREEK, HOUSEKEEPER WIFEby Robyn Donald

Can a maid conquer the heart of a Greek tycoon?

Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife

by

Robyn Donald

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ROBYN DONALD can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit. As well as training as a teacher, marrying and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously, especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined Corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.

Recent titles by the same author:

BROODING BILLIONAIRE, IMPOVERISHED PRINCESS

THE VIRGIN AND HIS MAJESTY

RICH, RUTHLESS AND SECRETLY ROYAL*

*part of the Self-Made Millionaires series

Chapter One

IONA GUTHRIE bit back an unladylike expletive and tore off her wet smock, wrinkling her nose at the disgusting stickiness of the liquid that oozed down her front and soaked her to the skin.

‘Now what?’ she demanded of the universe, heading for the elegant little powder room close by the entrance of the penthouse. ‘First the vacuum system dies, then the laundry loses the special linen, probably produced by diamond-decorated silkworms. Now this—ugh! I’m beginning to believe this penthouse is haunted by a demon. So what’s next? An earthquake? A waterspout?’

She pushed back the thick strand of straight ash-blonde hair that had come adrift from her businesslike ponytail, and opened the door. Grimacing, she slung the smock over a towel rail and began to wriggle free of her bra. The scent of the roses in the exquisitely arranged vase permeated the luxurious little room, calming her down a little.

How the other half—no, make that the upper point zero zero zero one per cent—live, she thought, glancing at the flowers.

Fortunately the billionaire businessman for whom the penthouse had been prepared wasn’t due to arrive for several hours yet.

And she’d almost finished the checklist. Iona made a mental note to tell the manager of the apartment complex that the maid needed supervision; one of the hand basins in the master bedroom suite had had a hair in it. She’d picked up the detergent bottle to clean it, only to discover that the lid hadn’t been put on properly.

The view from the window was enough to soothe anyone, even a detergent-soaked lifestyle organiser. Relaxing into the promise of a sunny weekend, Auckland city hummed peacefully below. A warm spring sun beamed down, highlighting the white wakes of pleasure boats on the harbour and gilding islands that faded into the distance.

Iona expelled another long breath and finally managed to shrug free of the loathsomely sticky bra, glancing at her watch when a muted ting from the communications system warned her that the private lift was on its way up.

Good for you, Angie. Dead on time. Her cousin, who was also her boss, was collecting her for the next job, a barbecue one of her clients had suddenly decided to hold that evening.

Her bra landed on the towel rail next to her soggy smock. Pulling a face at her half-naked reflection, she extracted a handful of tissues from her bag before turning on the elegant Italian tap.

She heard the big outer doors slide back, and called out, ‘Come on in,’ as she began to mop the residue of the detergent from her skin.

A moment later she sensed Angie’s presence. Dabbing distastefully at her bare breasts, she said, ‘I won’t be long.’

‘You’d damned well better not be.’

Iona froze. Not Angie—definitely not Angie.

Deep, slightly accented, very much male—a voice chilled by a contempt that sent slivers of ice jostling down her spine.

And familiar…oh, so familiar. That voice still haunted her dreams.

Her head jerked up. In the mirror her stunned gaze met eyes like a lion’s—tawny and arrogantly disdainful in a bold masculine face.

A man straight out of a Greek fable.

Or a Tahitian fantasy…

A shocked sound tore from Iona’s throat when she registered the starkly classic beauty of his features. She swallowed, then croaked, ‘Luke?’

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Luke Michelakis asked in a voice so cold it froze her brain.

Hot colour washed up from her naked breasts as she grabbed at the discarded smock and wrapped it around her, only to see her bra slither onto the floor. ‘I was—I’m checking the place over,’ she muttered. She dragged in a jagged breath and demanded, ‘Why are you here?’

‘I’m staying here,’ he said icily.

‘You are?’ she blurted, heart pounding so heavily in her chest she was afraid he might hear it. Indignation sharpened her tone. ‘Well, you’re not due for another five hours!’

Black brows lifted. For a disturbing few seconds he let his unreadable gaze roam her face, then he stooped, picked up the bra and held it out to her, skin-coloured cotton dangling from a long-fingered olive hand.

‘Th-thank you.’ She snatched the offending scrap of material and tried to regain some shred of dignity. ‘Please go.’

The black lashes drooping over those exotic eyes couldn’t hide a glitter that sent a shameful shiver through Iona.

Nothing of that gleam of awareness showed in his tone when he drawled, ‘Gladly.’

Humiliated, she turned away. Not that there was any refuge—the mirrored walls revealed every inch of her shrinking, exposed skin to his scathing survey.

For a taut, hugely embarrassing second it seemed he was going to stand there and watch her dress.

She said harshly, ‘Go now!’

‘My pleasure,’ he bit out, and left with the lithe, silent menace of a predator.

Weak from shock and relief, Iona slammed and locked the door behind him, then seized the wet bra and struggled back into it. Her bones felt like rubber and she had to draw several difficult breaths before the colour returned to her skin and she could think clearly.

From the moment they’d met, Lukas Michelakis had had that effect on her—he literally took her breath away.

Charisma, she thought wildly. Presence, impact—whatever the term, Luke possessed it in spades. Eighteen months previously it had been the first thing she’d noticed when he’d strode towards her across pristine sands in Tahiti—that, and the authority with which he’d ordered her off, telling her the beach was private.

Luke—here in New Zealand. He was the man she and Angie had cheerfully referred to as the unknown plutocrat.

This penthouse had to be possessed by a demon, and it had set her up nicely. It was probably laughing its evil head off.

She’d just scrambled back into her smock when the doorbell pealed again.

Oh, at last—Angie…

And no sign of Luke as she hurtled out and opened the door. But instead of the calm presence of her cousin, she was confronted by a harried apartment maid holding a bag.

‘The linen from the laundry,’ she informed Iona, eyes widening as she looked past her.

Bracing herself, Iona turned. Tall and tigerish, darkly dominating, Luke paced silently towards them.

‘I’ll show you the rooms to be made up,’ Iona said swiftly. Holding her shoulders so stiffly they protested, she almost frog-marched the maid down the corridor towards the three bedrooms.

‘Who’s the guy?’ the other woman hissed just before Iona left.

‘A guest of the owner,’ Iona said crisply.

‘He can be my guest any time he likes,’ the girl growled, then giggled.

Iona left the room, unconsciously walking quietly. To no avail; a grim-faced Luke appeared and said curtly, ‘I need to talk to you. Come with me.’

Her spine tingled, every nerve in her body sending out a red alert. Ignoring a foolhardy impulse to announce that she didn’t take orders from him, she assembled the tatters of her composure and looked up to meet his hooded, intent gaze.

A dangerous move, she thought in dismay when her body suffused with heat.

It took every scrap of control she could produce to steady her voice. ‘I’m sorry the bedrooms aren’t made up, but the laundry managed to lose the sheets. They’ve just arrived.’

A negligent shrug of broad shoulders informed her he wasn’t interested. He said, ‘I can still see a sticky trail of something on your skin. You’d better finish cleaning up, then I want to see you on the terrace.’ He paused, his expression unreadable, before drawling, ‘I can lend you a shirt if you want one.’

Once—in Tahiti—he’d slung his shirt around her when her shoulders started to burn in the sun, and its removal had led to an erotic interlude that came surging back into her mind only too vividly.

Of course he knew. Colour burned across her cheekbones, and he lifted an arrogant eyebrow, his eyes narrowing in sardonic challenge.

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Iona said, before swinging on her heel and heading back into the powder room. She locked the door behind her, leaned back against it and bit her lip.

Arrogant? Forcing herself to move, she wiped off the detergent.

Arrogant was far too insipid a word to describe Luke Michelakis. She ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to restore its sleekness, and listed words much better suited to the man—words like cynical, dominating, and intimidating…

It was a satisfying exercise, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. Different, infinitely dangerous words refused to budge from her brain.

Sexy. Magnetic. Compelling.

And those words were why eighteen months previously on a hot, deserted beach in Tahiti she’d made the craziest decision in her life. One look at Luke Michelakis had told her he was just what she needed—a man vibrant with charisma, his personality vital enough to rescue her from the emotional desolation that had followed the death of her fiancé, followed soon afterwards by the car crash that took both her parents.

Instinct had whispered that this magnetic Greek would know exactly how to bring her back to life. He’d know how to make a woman scream in rapture—and in his arms, in his bed, she’d feel safe as well as pleasured.

That same perverse instinct had also been sure that because he was handsome and arrogantly sure of himself, he wouldn’t want anything more than an affair.

Instinct—while perfectly correct—hadn’t known the half of it, Iona thought grimly. Luke had not only introduced her to a sensual intensity she’d never imagined, he’d converted what should have been a very temporary fling into an experience that had changed her life. In his arms she’d learned just how wonderful a superb lover could make a woman feel.

And that erotic discovery had backfired big time, bringing bitter guilt. Gavin had died to save her life; she’d mourned him so deeply she’d been hovering on the edge of depression, yet somehow in ten days and nights of passion Luke took not just her body but a piece of her heart. Disgusted with herself, she’d fled Tahiti, determined to banish all memories of the time she’d spent there.

It hadn’t worked, and now here Luke was in New Zealand. Of all the wretched coincidences!

It should comfort her that once she got out of this penthouse they wouldn’t see each other again. Except that his appearance—so unexpected, so embarrassing—had lit fires she’d thought long smothered.

Iona rinsed out her bra, wrung it free of surplus water and put it back on again. Her body heat would soon have it dry. The smock still clung, and she was acutely aware of her breasts beneath it, of skin so sensitive the material seemed to drag against it, of heat burgeoning deep inside her. She took a deep breath before walking steadily out into the hall with her head held high and what felt like a herd of buffaloes rampaging through her stomach.

The hall was empty, but not for long. Silently, his handsome face grim, Luke came pacing through from the drawing room.

Luke watched Iona come towards him, the lights gilding the cool ash-blonde of her hair. Although it had been a year and half since he’d last seen her, everything about her was burnt into his brain—the warmth of her sleek body, the dark mystery of her changeable blue-green eyes, the lush promise of her mouth…

Her wild surrender.

And his searing feeling of betrayal when she’d walked out on him, the conflict that raged between his prized, iron-clad control and a primal awareness that his affair with Iona had been something rare, much more intense than mere holiday madness.

For the first time Luke admitted that one of the reasons he’d come to New Zealand was to see if he could contact her again. Just to make sure she was all right, of course.

He hadn’t expected to find her within a couple of hours of landing. His over-developed sense of responsibility should be satisfied because she was obviously fine.

And certainly not filled with delight to see him again.

But she was still very, very conscious of him.

Setting aside the potent, inconvenient pleasure of that realisation, he said abruptly, ‘It will be best if we talk out of earshot of the maid.’

Iona had resolved to treat him with cool detachment, and in a matching tone she managed, ‘Very well.’

As he escorted her out onto the terrace she realised anew just how lithe he was. Tall, broad-shouldered, he walked with the prowling, noiseless grace of some great beast of prey.

Not the sort of man anyone would ever overlook.

Once out on the terrace, blocked from the sounds of the city by lush plantings, without ceremony he demanded, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m making sure that the apartment is ready for you and your party,’ she said with an attempt at cool detachment.

A black brow climbed. ‘Your employer appears to be a little too trusting. You left the door unlocked—anyone could have come in.’

Iona suspected he was waiting for a defensive response. Well, she wasn’t going to give it to him.

Crisply she replied, ‘The security here is excellent. The bell sounds when the elevator is stopping at this floor, and as you were supposed to arrive much later this afternoon I assumed it was my employer—Ms Makepeace—who’d been let in by the concierge.’

He dismissed her words with another hard-eyed stare. ‘I gather she is not the housekeeper.’

He couldn’t possibly be interested in domestic arrangements. This wasn’t even his apartment; one of Angie’s clients was lending it to Luke while he was in New Zealand. Was he getting some small-minded amusement from emphasising the distance between them?

After all, in Tahiti she’d walked out on him. It had probably never happened to him before.

Or since.

But the man she’d known had not been small-minded. Repressing a rush of too-poignant memories, she replied, ‘You’re right, she’s not the housekeeper. She owns and runs a business organising the lives of people too busy to do it themselves.’

‘In other words, a housekeeper and butler service,’ he observed on a note of irony.

Iona gave him her best, kindest, nursery-schoolteacher smile. ‘More like a manager,’ she corrected. ‘She’s extremely successful—hugely discreet, one hundred per cent dependable, and a perfectionist. Your host asked us to make sure the apartment was ready for you, so I called in this morning to check it out. Unfortunately there were a few minor problems, which are on the way to being fixed now. If you’d arrived at the time you said you would, everything would have been perfect.’

He gave a sudden crack of laughter, and for a moment he was the man she’d known, the man she’d fallen—well, not in love with. No, never that.

In lust with.

Amusement didn’t soften the autocratic lines and angles of Luke’s face, but it did make him more approachable when he said lazily, ‘It was convenient for me to arrive early. The rest of my party will be here at the given time.’

Going by the bedrooms she’d checked there were at least two other people to come. Was he planning to share that big bed with someone? A stupid pang of pain seared through Iona, as though the possibility was a kind of betrayal.

Startled and afraid, she said briskly, ‘All that needs to be done now is for the beds to be made. And if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and help the maid and then you’ll have the apartment to yourself.’

‘It is not necessary,’ he said negligently, eyes intent. A slow smile curled his beautifully chiselled mouth. ‘I am in no hurry to see you go. Tell me how you’ve been since you left Tahiti so swiftly.’

This was exactly the sort of thing ex-lovers might say to each other when they were being civilised and sensible and sophisticated about a past affair.

Well, she was just as capable as Luke of being all those things—perhaps not quite so sophisticated…

Yet it took a considerable amount of control for Iona to say as casually, ‘I’ve been fine, thank you.’

‘You didn’t go back to teaching your little nursery school pupils?’

‘No. I was offered this position.’

She knew she sounded stiff, but she couldn’t be as relaxed as he was. Apart from Gavin he was the only man she’d ever made love to, but, more than that, his heated, generously sensual expertise had drawn her back into the world of the living, the world of emotions and joy and the ability to respond. He’d got too close to her during those passionate days and nights in Tahiti.

She flicked a glance up at him, noting the glimmer of amusement in the tawny eyes. A strange constriction of her heart took her by surprise, as though she’d spent the intervening months waiting for this moment.

It had to be his powerful physical presence. Luke was the best-looking man she’d ever seen, but that wasn’t why her throat had dried. He was so much more than the strong, thrusting bone structure that framed his features, the beautiful lines of the mouth that had given her so much pleasure, the strong, elegant hands…

He interrupted her thoughts with another question. ‘And you enjoy managing other people’s lives for them?’

‘Very much, thank you,’ she said sedately.

Obviously she was only too eager to get the hell out of there. Luke fought back an unexpected spurt of temper. He wasn’t foolish enough to fall in love with his mistresses; experience had taught him not to let down his guard. So Iona’s calm lack of warmth should not only reassure him that she was in control of her life, but allow him to snap the tenuous bonds of an insignificant affair.

Instead he found himself resisting a wild impulse to touch her.

Alarm bells should be screaming, yet it took every shred of self-control not to reach out to her, run the tip of his forefinger around the luscious curve of her top lip, and then down the pale line of her throat, watch her changeable eyes darken into desire.

To prove she was no more immune to him than he was to her…

The doorbell rang. Iona started, then stepped back, blinking shadowed eyes. Luke felt as though he’d been poised on the edge of some dangerous precipice, and realised savagely that he’d just been about to make an idiot of himself.

She swivelled and said huskily, ‘That’s probably Angie—my employer.’

Luke’s voice was cold and deliberate, chilling her right through. ‘I’ll come with you.’

It was Angie. Iona hoped Luke didn’t notice the flicker of unease in the older woman’s expression.

It was masked by the calm professionalism in her tone when she said, ‘I’m Angela Makepeace; you must be one of the guests expected here?’

‘Yes. I am Lukas Michelakis.’

Angie held out her hand. ‘How do you do? I’m sorry, Mr Michelakis, but we were told you wouldn’t be here until late this afternoon.’

Somewhat to Iona’s surprise Luke accepted the courtesy, long tanned fingers enveloping Angie’s in a brisk shake. ‘As you see, I am early,’ he said, as though it were explanation enough.

Angie nodded, and went on, ‘I assume you’ve met Iona?’

‘Iona and I already knew each other,’ he said without expression.

Angie’s glance swivelled to Iona’s still face, then back to the dark countenance of the man towering over her. ‘What a coincidence,’ she said uncertainly.

‘An amazing one.’

Angry at being talked about as though she weren’t there, Iona said abruptly, ‘The beds should be made up by now—I’ll just go and check.’

As she turned away she heard Luke say, ‘I wish to speak to you, Ms Makepeace.’

Angie’s reply was muffled as they moved towards the drawing room. Questions buzzed around Iona’s mind. Why did he want to talk to her cousin?

And what had happened in that final intense moment when his gaze had dropped to her lips and tension had drummed between them, an insistent beat that drowned out every sensible thought in her mind?

Forget it, she told herself angrily, and checked the first and second bedroom. The maid had just finished making up the big king-size one in the master suite; she looked up as Iona came in and gave a swift smile. ‘All done.’

‘Thank you,’ Iona said as she slipped into the bathroom to make sure it was free of any trace of spilt detergent.

It was clear, and she’d just emerged from the suite when she heard her cousin call her name. Angie was on her own.

‘He’s on the phone, and it’s looking good,’ Angie said softly. ‘We might be put on retainer while he’s staying in New Zealand. Why is your smock wet?’

Hurriedly Iona explained, ending, ‘I hope you’ve got a spare one in the car?’

‘Yep.’ She handed over the keys. ‘Your Lukas hoped so too.’

‘He’s not my Lukas!’ He’d never corrected her when she’d called him Luke.

Angie grinned. ‘Go down and get the smock from the back seat, then get changed here.’ Reading Iona’s instinctive objection she said, ‘It’s OK—he suggested it. I’m waiting while he runs a check on the business.’

‘What?’

‘He’s a very rich man,’ Angie said with a shrug. ‘They’re not into trust. Off you go.’

When Iona got back with the clean smock she heard the sound of voices in the drawing room, and hastily shot into the powder room, gratefully pulled the crisp dry garment on and, after stuffing the wet one into her bag, examined the room to make sure it was pristine.

‘Good, not a rose petal out of place,’ she muttered, and came through the door, stopping abruptly when she met Luke’s eyes.

One eyebrow lifted, and his smile was brief as he said, ‘You look much more comfortable.’

‘Thanks for letting me use the room.’

That eyebrow cocked again, giving him a sardonic air. Hard eyes fixed on her face, as though he could read both her thoughts and the emotions rioting through her, he asked, ‘Are you and your employer sisters?’

Iona’s surprise must have shown because his broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. ‘Your colouring is different, but the shape of your face is identical to hers. The curve of your lips also, as well as a certain silken texture to your skin.’

His sculpted mouth curled in a narrow smile, and after a deliberate pause that set her nerves jangling he said lazily, ‘I have never forgotten it.’

Sensation prickled along her nerves, pooled inside her, reminding her of the bold, masculine virility that had swept her into an affair that now seemed like a dangerous fantasy.

It took all of her self-control to be able to say shortly, ‘We’re cousins.’

Chapter Two

GOING down in the lift, Angie said, ‘Where did you meet him, and why haven’t I heard about it?’

Iona had been bracing herself for questions, but even so, she paused as the lift came to a halt in the basement car park. ‘We met in Tahiti,’ she said, keeping her tone casual and matter-of-fact. ‘On the second anniversary of Gavin’s death. I was walking along a deserted beach—’

‘Wallowing in grief and guilt, I bet,’ Angie said astringently. ‘Iona, nobody knew Gavin had a heart weakness. Yes, saving you exhausted him and he drowned, but it was an unexpected, shocking tragedy, not your fault.’

Iona said quietly, ‘Intellectually I knew that, but I just couldn’t accept it.’

Angie unlocked the car and got in. Once they were settled she said, ‘And then your parents were killed by that damned drunk driver. It’s no wonder you were a mess. Then you met Lukas Michelakis in Tahiti?’

‘Yes. Actually when he strode down the beach—like—like the king of the gods—to inform me I was trespassing I was actually relieved. He gave me something else to think about.’ With a vengeance.

Once they were under way, Angie said, ‘And what happened then?’

‘We went around a bit together,’ Iona told her in a flat voice, ‘until I came home again.’

‘And you haven’t been in contact since?’ Angie asked.

‘There was no reason.’

Her cousin took the hint. ‘I read somewhere that he grew up in a very wealthy family.’

‘It figures,’ Iona said evenly. ‘His kind of confidence is bred in the genes.’

‘The article was cagey, but heavy on innuendo—obviously making sure no lawyer could sue the writer or the newspaper. It implied something pretty disastrous happened when he was young—late teens, perhaps?—and he left home to strike out on his own.’

‘Probably with the family’s support not too far in the background.’ Iona didn’t try to hide the cynical note in her words.

‘I doubt if he needed it. It didn’t take him long to turn into an internet czar.’ Angie paused before asking casually, ‘If he needs to call on us, how would you feel about working with him?’

‘Me?’ Iona swallowed an unnecessary panic. ‘A bit self-conscious, that’s all. I was half-naked, mopping detergent off my breasts, when he strode in like a clap of doom just before you arrived, and I suspect he thought it was a set-up—that I’d deliberately stripped to attract his attention.’

‘I suppose it’s happened before,’ Angie said, and gave her a thoughtful sideways glance. ‘I bet he spends a fair part of his life swatting off importunate women.’

During their brief affair he’d more than met Iona halfway.

Repressing disturbing images of tropical folly, she said hastily, ‘I’ll be fine. He relaxed when you turned up.’

Although relaxed wasn’t the word to describe Luke. Even on holiday she’d sensed a leashed, prowling awareness in him, an uncompromising authority that made him both formidable and intimidating.

It was still there, intensified by an ironic detachment she’d not experienced before.

Get over it, she told herself. She still resented the hard contempt of his gaze in the powder room, but that was good, because resentment was a much safer emotion than sighing lustfully after him.

The barbecue Angie had been asked to organise only the day before went on until after midnight and they were both tired when at last they left the beach house an hour’s drive north of Auckland.

Covering a yawn, Iona said, ‘I wish someone would persuade Mrs Parker not to throw any more impromptu parties. I suppose we should have guessed her few close friends would morph into about fifty.’

‘She’ll be paying heavily for springing it on us at such short notice. Besides, it’s work, and we need it,’ Angie said practically.

After a tentative moment Iona asked, ‘How are things?’

Her cousin paused before admitting, ‘You’ve probably guessed the recession’s making inroads into the client list, but we’re surviving.’ Her tone changed. ‘If there’s an emergency in the next two days, can I call on you? The boys are going to a birthday party tomorrow—well, actually it will be today—and tomorrow we’re going to the zoo.’

‘Of course. Give me the work phone,’ Iona said. ‘If I need you I’ll ring you on your personal phone. You need a break and the boys need time with you.’

It took some persuading, but at last she managed to convince Angie to agree.

Inside her tiny studio flat Iona showered and dropped into bed. Sleep came quickly, bringing with it images of a tall, dark man, images that led to dreams. Eventually she woke in a state of high excitement, blood racing through her veins, her body racked by a feverish desire.

Grim-faced and desperate, she willed her heart to settle down and her body to relax. That was how it had started. Tahiti was everything the brochures had promised—wildly, sensuously exotic, filled with beautiful people of both sexes, scented by flowers and lapped by a brilliant turquoise sea, alive with the sound of music and drums and laughter, the hush of waves on the lagoon shores. The glorious islands throbbed with life.

Iona had looked, but been unable to enjoy. Grief had dulled her senses so completely she’d felt totally disconnected from everything.

And then she’d met Luke—Lukas. She’d had no idea who—or what—he was. The moment her gaze clashed with his lion eyes, sensations she’d believed had died for ever had suddenly flared into life, introducing her to hope. A flare of conscious response had set her nerves tingling and heated her body, sharpening her senses so that the world suddenly blazed into a glory of colour and sound and sensuous delight.

Why had he pursued her? She’d asked him once, and he’d laughed.

‘Perhaps the thrill of the chase,’ he admitted without shame. ‘You looked at me with such cool disdain, as though I was less interesting to you than the shell in your hand. I wondered what it would be like to see desire in those intriguing blue-green mermaid’s eyes, as changeable and mysterious as the sea.’

For some foolish reason his words hurt. She covered the momentary stab of pain with a smile, and slid her arms around him. ‘And has it lived up to your expectations?’

His gaze kindled, golden flames dancing in the depths. ‘More than I ever expected; it’s infinitely fascinating to watch. And even more fascinating to experience,’ he said in a low growl, and kissed her.

Lost in swift passion, she’d kissed him back, welcoming the hot tide of hunger that met and matched his.

Their passionate, hedonistic affair had seemed so right in Tahiti, christened Aphrodite’s Isles by the first dazzled European sailors to visit those idyllic shores.

Then one night, as the moon came up over the horizon in a splendour of silver and gold, he’d said, ‘I’m leaving in three days.’ He had smiled lazily at her startled face and kissed the curve of her breast, murmuring against her skin, ‘Come with me.’

Each word had been a caress—a confident one. He’d had no doubt she’d do what he wanted. The fantasy world Iona had been living in crashed around her.

‘I can’t,’ she said, shocked by a swift, aching temptation to give him what he wanted.

His eyes narrowed, focused on her face as intently as a hunter’s scrutiny. ‘Why?’

‘Because this has been—wonderful, but we both know it’s not real life.’ It was surprisingly hard to say, but his words had awakened the common sense she’d abandoned the moment her eyes had met his.

He shrugged again and replied, ‘It could be.’ And when she remained silent, he said a little impatiently, ‘I will, of course, look after you—make sure you don’t lose anything by being with me.’

Knowing what he was offering, she almost flinched. For a while she’d be his lover; while she was with him she’d exist in this sensual dream.

And when it was over she’d go back to New Zealand with memories…

And the possibility of more grief. She’d had enough of that in her life. ‘No,’ she said.

He’d laughed deep in his throat and slid down her body, his mouth questing as he tasted her sleek skin.

Later, when she was quivering with passionate exhaustion in his arms, he murmured, ‘I’m going to enjoy making you change your mind.’

But, back in her own bed at the hotel, she’d dreamed of Gavin and woke weeping. And when she slipped out early to walk along the white sands, she forced herself to face a few unpleasant facts.

Without realising it, she’d selfishly used Luke. Oh, he’d made it obvious from the start that he intended nothing more than a sexual relationship, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

Her swift, reckless surrender to overwhelming passion had betrayed and tarnished the love she’d shared with Gavin. She tried to conjure up the emotions she’d felt for her fiancé, but against the blazing intensity of her relationship with Luke he seemed faded and shadowy, a lovely memory but no longer the foundation of her life.

Shocked at her shallowness, she’d managed to wangle a seat on a plane to New Zealand. Fortunately Angie had been run off her feet with work, and Iona had flung herself into it, grimly ordering her mind to forget. It hadn’t been easy, but she thought she’d coped quite well.

What malevolent fate had brought Luke back into her life again?

At least, she thought just before she dropped back into a restless slumber, unless he had an emergency in the next two days Angie would be dealing with him.

Hours later the tinny, cheerful tattoo of the theme from Bonanza woke her. Groaning, she crawled up from beneath the sheets, blinked blearily at the morning and grabbed the work phone. ‘Sorted. How can I help you?’

A deep voice said, ‘You are not Ms Makepeace.’

Little chills ran down her spine. Her hand tightened on the phone and she had to swallow to ease a suddenly dry throat.

Luke.

No, not Luke. The different names somehow seemed significant. He was not the man she’d made love to in Tahiti. He was Lukas Michelakis, billionaire.

Striving to sound brisk and businesslike, she said, ‘Iona Guthrie speaking. I’m afraid Ms Makepeace can’t come to the telephone right now. How can I help you?’

‘I need someone here, now,’ Luke said evenly. ‘To take care of a three-year-old girl for the day.’

‘What?’ Iona literally couldn’t believe her ears. Luke Michelakis and a small child simply did not go together.

Impatience tinged his words. ‘I am sure you heard correctly.’

Irked by his tone, Iona ignored her whirling thoughts and didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes. Yes, all right, we can do that.’

‘You are sure this person will be reliable and sensible?’

‘Yes.’

‘I need to leave in half an hour.’

Iona’s mouth thinned. ‘I’ll be there as soon as I can, but I’m not going to be able to make it in that time.’

‘You will be here?’

She reacted to his incredulous words with chilly aloofness. ‘L—Mr Michelakis, I’m a trained kindergarten teacher, and the only person you’re likely to get during the weekend at such short notice. The child will be safe in my care.’

‘Oh, call me Luke as you did in Tahiti—we know each other well, you and I,’ he said derisively.

‘So why are you questioning my ability to care for the child?’ The moment the words escaped from her mouth she wished she could call them back.

Sure enough Luke said, ‘Now you’re being deliberately naïve. In Tahiti you were my lover—a very charming and sensuous lover—and nothing more.’

Of course he was right, but his casual statement hurt.

He waited, as if for a comment, and when Iona remained silent he went on brusquely, ‘I have no idea what you will be like with children. And if Chloe is not safe in your care you will pay.’

‘Are you expecting a kidnap attempt?’ Into a taut silence, she said, ‘I certainly wouldn’t be much use if that’s likely to occur.’

‘I am not expecting a kidnap attempt,’ he said coldly.

‘I’m relieved. If all you want is a temporary nanny I can do that. I’m capable and competent when it comes to children. And I like them. I also have a current practising certificate which I’ll be pleased to show you when I arrive.’

The pause seemed to drag on for ever, but finally he said, ‘Very well. It seems I am forced to rely on you for this, so I will expect you here within the half hour. Give me your address. I shall send a car.’

Iona drew in a deep breath, but stifled her intemperate reply when she remembered Angie’s delight at the prospect of an uninterrupted day with her sons. ‘Thank you,’ she snapped.

Angie had said it the night before: this was work, and the business needed the money.

Luke repeated her address after her, then warned, ‘Be ready,’ and hung up.

As she scurried around, assembling a kit that would keep a three-year-old girl interested, questions raced through Iona’s mind. Was little Chloe his daughter? If so, she thought sickly, he must have been married or in a relationship when he’d made love to her in Tahiti.

It should have been a relief to be able to despise him. It certainly explained his antagonism; did he think she’d tell his wife he’d been unfaithful?

Never!

But it seemed unlikely that the mother of his child was with him; if she were, she’d be the one looking after her daughter.

By the time the taxi arrived Iona was ready. She’d had to forego breakfast and a much-needed cup of tea, but her large carry-all had enough in it to keep even a demanding child busy for a day. Stomach clenching, she walked out of the penthouse lift, disconcerted to find Luke in the doorway.

Like a lion lying in wait for an antelope.

Dismayed, Iona ignored the treacherous heat burning along her cheekbones while she replied to his greeting.

A narrowed tawny-gold gaze took in her clothes—cotton trousers that that reached halfway down her calves, a bright T-shirt, sandals. One black brow climbed.

‘Practical,’ he observed cooly, ‘if a little informal.’

‘New Zealanders are noted for their informality,’ she returned in her most professional tone.

‘I recall that very well.’

A lazily sensual note beneath the words raised the tiny hairs on the back of Iona’s neck and sent a forbidden, ruthlessly exciting response shivering through her. Damn him, she thought furiously as flashbacks of the time they’d spent together surged back, drugging and potent.

Blurting the first thing that came to her mind, she asked, ‘When am I going to meet my charge for the day?’

‘Right now,’ he said crisply, and reached out.

For a startled moment Iona thought he intended to take her arm.

A primitive, protective reaction twisted her backwards, but his hand closed around the handles of her bag and he said softly, lethally, ‘You are quite safe. If you want me to touch you again you will have to ask me to do so.’

Iona stiffened. OK, so until she’d fled Tahiti probably no one had ever turned Luke Michelakis down, but she’d never promised him anything; right from the start they’d both known that what they shared was nothing stronger or more permanent than a holiday romance.

She’d just ended it a little sooner than either had expected.

Which didn’t give him any right to be offended.

But then the adored only son of a powerful Greek patriarch would certainly be spoilt. Especially one who looked like some beautiful, vengeful god from ancient times.

And there was the spectre of the child’s absent mother…

Choosing to ignore his terse statement, she relinquished the bag to him.

Cynically amused at her care to avoid touching his fingers, Lukas said, ‘This way.’

For a moment he’d been going to ask her why she’d left him in Tahiti, but she was now his employee—and he’d overstepped the professional bounds already.

Besides, he had not allowed himself to care. He’d learned young that women were naturally treacherous—a lesson cut into his heart when his father’s second wife had engineered his expulsion from the family.

He’d vowed then never to trust another woman, so it would be foolish of him to expect more from Iona.

Aristo Michelakis, his father, had expected his twenty-year-old son to fail, to fall into oblivion. Twelve years later, Lukas allowed himself a swift glance around his opulent surroundings.

He’d been coldly, furiously determined to prove both himself and his innocence of the crime he’d been accused of. That driving need had guided him into a career where his brilliant brain and passion were fully utilised. He had seized his opportunities with a zest that had led to huge success in spite of his father’s attempts to ruin him.

And he had his pick of lovers from the women who’d flocked to him, drawn by his fortune and the face he’d inherited from his father.

Always he’d made sure his lovers expected nothing more from him than good sex and his protection as long as the affair lasted.

Then Chloe had been born—another outcast from the family. She’d brought a new dimension to his life, but his attitude to his lovers remained the same.

So why had Iona stuck in his mind?

Because she had been—different. He set Iona’s bag beside a chair and glanced down at her, resisting an impulse to run a finger across that unsmiling, infuriat-ingly desirable mouth. What would she do if he kissed her? His body tightened in swift, fierce response even as he dismissed the thought.

She was not exactly beautiful, but she’d been a passionate and generous lover, and he’d enjoyed their interlude—perhaps a little too much. It irritated him to admit it, but her abrupt departure had angered him. He had missed her.

However, it was ridiculous—a stupid, unnecessary overreaction—to feel she’d betrayed him.

Acutely aware of his swift glance and his silence, Iona was glad to meet the child she was looking after. Chloe was tall for her age, as befitted the daughter of such a tall man, with large dark eyes, and a mouth that subtly echoed that of her father. It quirked in a fleeting smile for him before she transferred a solemn gaze to Iona, who introduced herself calmly.

‘Hello. My name is Iona Guthrie, and we’ll be spending some time together today while your father has a meeting.’

‘He always goes to meetings.’

The statement, although made entirely without rancour, wrung Iona’s heart.

‘I’m sure he’s very busy, but we’ll have fun together, you and I.’

Chloe scanned Iona’s large bag. ‘Are you going to stay ’cos Neelie’s gone?’

‘Only for today,’ Luke told her.

Who was Neelie? Mother? Nanny?

‘I’ve brought some things you might like to do with me, and a few books you might not have seen before,’ Iona said.

That seemed to satisfy Chloe, who obeyed immediately when her father announced, ‘Take Ms Guthrie out onto the terrace, Chloe, and show her your horse.’

Horse? Surely he didn’t carry around a horse as part of his ménage?

He did. A splendid rocking horse, dappled grey, with flared nostrils and flowing mane, and a saddle and bridle fit for a queen. ‘His name is Pegasus,’ Chloe informed her in that precise, neutral voice.

She glanced up at Iona, who asked, ‘And does he fly, like the horse in the legend?’

It seemed she might have passed some subtle test, for the child smiled at her. ‘Nearly. He used to be Lukas’s horse when he was a little boy.’ Her tone expressed a hint of disbelief, as though she simply couldn’t conceive of her father ever being small enough to ride the horse.

Why did she call him by his first name?

More to the point, where the heck was her mother? Dead? Divorced? Not interested?

None of your business, Iona warned herself, and said gravely, ‘You and your father are very lucky. Pegasus is a magnificent animal.’

‘He’s my best friend.’

Like her father, Chloe spoke excellent English; unlike him she had no trace of an accent. Not, Iona recalled, that Luke had much—really, only the merest hint…

Just enough to imbue every word he said with a subtle under-note of disturbing sensuality that had deepened when they’d made love.

Don’t even think about that!

Iona said, ‘Pegasus is lucky too—to have such a good friend as you. Would you like to show me how well you can ride him?’

After a moment Chloe hitched up her skirt and climbed onto the horse, setting it rocking with a gleeful enthusiasm that warmed Iona’s heart.

‘She is reserved, but not shy,’ her father said from behind.

Startled, Iona swivelled. Dressed in a superbly tailored business suit that showed off his lean, powerful body, he was a formidable presence. A stab of awareness shocked Iona with its swift intensity, reminding her of all the reasons—those foolish, dangerous reasons—she’d embarked on their affair.

Moving out of earshot of the child, she asked in her most practical voice, ‘Is there anything I should know about Chloe before you go?’ When his black brows drew together she added briskly, ‘I gather her mother is not here? No doubt Chloe will be missing her.’

‘You assume too much.’

Iona lifted her head at the touch of hauteur in his words. Something odd was going on here, and if it was likely to affect Chloe she needed to know about it. ‘Very well,’ she said, in a tone that matched his for bluntness, ‘but is there anything I should be aware of?’

Lukas didn’t try to moderate the frown that always made his subordinates tread very carefully. It didn’t seem to affect Iona. Those unusual sea-shaded eyes mirrored both the colour of whatever she wore and her emotions. Today they were a direct, cool blue with a hint of challenge.

Yesterday in the powder room when she’d been half-naked they’d been blue-green, wide and shocked, and then full of mystery.

He’d had to rein in a hunger so elemental and direct it had taken him by surprise.

Why the hell had she run away from him in Tahiti? Because he’d cast his suggestion she stay with him as a proposition rather than a proposal?

Surely she’d realised it was too early in their relationship for an admission of anything more than a passionate hunger? He’d wanted them to get to know each other—discover if their superb compatibility extended beyond the raptures of the bed—but clearly she hadn’t reciprocated those inchoate, hardly formed feelings.

Ruthlessly repressing the sharp twist of sensation in his gut at the memory of just how good they’d been together, he forced his mind back to her question.

Discreet she might be, but he wasn’t going to let her in on any family secrets. He’d had enough of seeing his private life—or fiction about it—splashed across newsprint. If the circumstances of Chloe’s birth and his subsequent adoption of the child ever leaked out, some parts of the media would have a field day.

That he could cope with. What made it imperative that he keep the secret until he could trust Iona was his father’s latest threat—to contest the adoption and demand custody of the daughter Aristo had refused to accept.

Chapter Three

STILL, Lukas reluctantly conceded Iona had a point.

Yesterday he’d ordered his security people to check her and her cousin out; the report had arrived first thing that morning. They were clean—practically saints, he thought sardonically.

After a glance at Chloe’s absorbed little face as she rocked rhythmically on the horse, Luke made up his mind, but even so, he chose his words with care.

‘Her mother has never been part of Chloe’s life.’ She hadn’t even named her. He’d called her Chloe after his maternal grandmother.

Irritated, because the silken allure of Iona’s skin and the grace of her movements still had the power to stir him, he went on more curtly than he’d intended, ‘I have always cared for her, and her nanny has been with her since she was a year old. Unfortunately she was called away to England last night, so it is possible Chloe will talk about Neelie. I have explained the circumstances to her—that Neelie had to go to her sick mother—and she appears to understand and accept that. I have left a contact number beside the telephone; if there is any emergency—but only in an emergency—ring me.’

Her eyes veiled by her lashes, Iona nodded and replied with composure, ‘I don’t panic easily.’

Lukas resisted another flash of hunger, deep and arousing. She didn’t fit the classical standards of beauty—her face was striking rather than pretty—but something about it and her smoothly lissome body still retained a disturbing power to intrigue him.

However, he had responsibilities he couldn’t neglect, and although it was some months since he’d last had a woman it would be inconvenient to embark—re-embark, he corrected cynically—on an affair right now with a woman who’d already caused him enough sleepless nights.

And if he’d learned anything in his life it was to control the urges of his body.

Iona resolutely turned her face away to watch Chloe, absorbed on her flying steed. Luke should mean nothing to her, and neither should the possibility that he’d been married when he’d made love to her with such blazing desire.

Yet she struggled with a foolish sense of betrayal.

Ignoring it, she asked, ‘Roughly what time are you planning to be back?’

‘This meeting should finish at a reasonable time—before five o’clock,’ he told her, a note of austerity in his words telling her he wasn’t used to being questioned. ‘If it threatens to stretch further I—or my PA—will contact you. Do you have an appointment tonight?’

Iona met eyes that were unexpectedly keen. ‘No.’

His expression didn’t change as he turned and called, ‘Chloe, I have to go now.’

The child scrambled down from the rocking horse and came running with outstretched arms. Watching him swoop down to lift her high, Iona relaxed. Luke wasn’t effusive, but his love for his daughter was clear; he held her with great tenderness, and murmured something in a language Iona supposed to be Greek.

Forget the way that voice sends shivers down your spine, she warned herself. Concentrate on Chloe.

Nothing to worry about there—the child’s body language proclaimed her complete faith and trust in her father. Nestled against his big frame, she looked tiny as she gave him his kiss with perfect confidence, and his hard-hewn, handsome face softened.

Somehow that touched a nerve in Iona.

Gently he put Chloe down and straightened up. ‘So, be good for Miss Iona while I’m gone.’ He looked at Iona. ‘I have ordered a snack to arrive at ten for both of you, and lunch will be brought up at midday. Chloe has a nap after lunch for half an hour, and then a drink and some fruit when she wakes.’

‘Lukas, can Miss Iona take me for a swim when I wake up?’

Smiling down at her, he replied, ‘No, because she will not have brought anything to wear in the water.’

His daughter pouted, but didn’t push her luck. Obviously Luke’s decisions were non-negotiable.

Iona said, ‘Actually, I noticed the pool yesterday so I brought my togs.’ She looked at him directly, aware of a swift streak of colour along her cheekbones. In Tahiti she’d swum naked, and from the gleam beneath his lashes she suspected he was remembering. ‘I have a lifesaving certificate.’

For an intimidating moment he was silent before his mouth curved in an oblique smile. ‘I know you are an excellent swimmer. I see no reason why you shouldn’t swim together,’ he conceded to a beaming Chloe, adding, ‘But only if you promise me that when Miss Iona tells you it is time to get out you do not plead to stay in for just a few minutes longer.’

Chloe’s face wrinkled in earnestness. ‘I won’t, Lukas. I will be as good as gold, like Neelie says.’

He looked amused, but spoke directly to Iona. ‘Chloe is an excellent swimmer for her age, but too much time in the water turns her lips blue and makes her shiver.’

During the morning the child’s artless frankness built a picture for Iona of a man who could be stern but wasn’t unfair, and whose arms held all Chloe wanted. She referred to the nanny with affection, but clearly it was her father who was the sum and substance of her life.

The situation nagged at Iona. Perhaps he hadn’t known about the child when they’d had that fling in Tahiti?

But he’d said her mother had never figured in Chloe’s life.

Apart from bearing her and giving birth, Iona thought ironically. Whatever, she told herself severely as she tucked the child into bed for her afternoon nap, it was absolutely none of her business.

While Chloe slept Iona sat out on the terrace with the book she’d been reading for the past few days, exasperated when it no longer held her attention. She got up and walked over to the edge of the terrace and leant against the railing.

Up above, the glinting waters of the harbour clouds marched in ranks across a radiant sky. After Gavin had drowned she hadn’t been able to bear even looking at the sea; she’d deliberately chosen Tahiti for her holiday because the island location made it impossible for her to avoid the ocean. She’d forced herself to accept and overcome her fear.

It had worked, although not in the way she hoped. The bleak sense of responsibility for Gavin’s death had been overwhelmed by the haze of sensuality Luke had woven around her—a sensuality she’d welcomed, enjoyed, basked in…

Driven by restlessness, she turned away and paced around across the terrace. Whoever had designed this garden had created a rooftop paradise, its almost tropical lushness forming a background to a carefully tended magnolia that held breathtaking, opulently rosy goblets up to the sky.

Idly, she bent to sniff a gardenia flower, wondering what it would be like to be truly rich, one of those people whose deep pockets meant that money was the least of their concerns.

People about as far removed as they could be from Angie, who had three full-time workers to worry about as well as her children, and the ever-present burden of the debts her ex-husband had left behind when he’d skipped out of the country.

Angie had admitted last night that things were tough. How tough? Was she secretly hoping Iona might return to her previous career as a nursery teacher?

If so, surely she’d have said something?

Probably not. She and Angie had no other relatives but each other. Angie could be keeping her on from some sense of family duty.

Entirely unnecessary family duty! Iona made up her mind; she’d ask Angie directly, because she could always find a job in a nursery school or a daycare centre. It wouldn’t pay as well as working for Angie, but she’d manage.

Earlier she’d read Chloe one of the books she’d packed, delighted when the story sparked the child’s imagination. They’d acted it out, with Chloe suggesting embellishments, some outrageous, some affecting—like her suggestion that a baby brother be incorporated so the heroine would have someone to play with.

‘Would you like to keep that book for yourself?’ Iona had surprised herself by asking at lunchtime, when she’d noted that Chloe was reluctant to put the book down.

Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, adding conscientiously, ‘Yes, please, Miss Iona.’ She held it out. ‘Can you write in it?’

Touched, Iona said, ‘Of course I can.’ She fished out her pen and printed on the title page: ‘For Chloe, so she remembers a lovely day in Auckland. From Iona.’

But Chloe frowned when Iona read out the dedication. ‘You have to say ‘With love from,” she said.

Iona’s heart stilled a precarious second, then began to beat again. It would be very easy to become fond of this child.

She said, ‘Goodness, how could I have forgotten?’ And inscribed the extra words in the right place.

Chloe beamed. ‘I will be careful of it,’ she promised earnestly.

The book had gone to bed with her after another reading. Now, thinking of the pleasure the simple gift had given the child, Iona smiled, then turned as a voice from behind interrupted her thoughts.

‘I’m awake.’

And ready for the swim she’d been promised.

Chloe’s nanny had brought her up to be self-sufficient; she was already wearing a cute little two-piece, almost covered by a towel draped around her shoulders. A bright yellow cap dangled from one small hand.

Hiding a smile, Iona organised them both into the pool, relaxing a little when she discovered the child was like a small eel in the water. They splashed and played together until a cry of ‘Lukas!’ from Chloe whipped Iona’s head around.

Luke was striding through the glass doors and into the pool enclosure, tall and extremely sophisticated in that killer suit, the sun gleaming blue-black on his arrogantly poised head.

Iona’s spine melted and sharp darts of sensation shot through her. She knew what it was—desire, sweet and treacherous, hauntingly familiar…

Yet different now, deeper and more potent than the purely sensuous sensations he’d previously aroused. Somehow Luke’s obvious love for the child swimming at top speed towards him had worked a change in Iona’s response to him.

A dangerous change, she thought, nerves quivering as she stood up, only to sink back into the water. Her sleek one-piece clung to her like a second skin, tempting her to duck beneath the surface in a stupid, childish reflex.

Luke had seen her naked so often any novelty value had to be long gone, but she was relieved he wasn’t looking her way; in fact, she might just as well not have been there. His whole attention was focused on Chloe, and the smile he gave when he pulled his clamorous daughter out of the pool did something very odd to Iona’s heart.

He said something that lit up the little girl’s face then smiled and wrapped her wet body in the towel like a small, wriggly mummy before hugging her.

Only after he’d kissed her forehead did he look over her sleek black head towards Iona. Acutely and foolishly self-conscious, she stood again, feeling the water stream from her.

‘There is a problem,’ he told her, eyes on her face. Without waiting for an answer he said, ‘This meeting might not finish until late tonight. So you will stay until I come back.’

It was not a request.

‘Very well,’ Iona said, irked by his cool assumption that her time was his to command.

He set Chloe down and commanded, ‘Run off and get back into your clothes. I wish to talk to Miss Iona.’

Chloe raced off, obviously eager not to miss a single precious moment of his presence.

Luke said abruptly, ‘I presume your cousin can bring you clothes for an overnight stay.’

‘No, she’s busy today.’ And when she did get back home with her two tired boys Angie certainly wouldn’t want to be forced to collect clothes from across the city.

Eyes slightly narrowed, he said, ‘In that case I can organise for someone on my staff to fetch them.’

The thought of some unknown person going through her clothes revolted her. ‘No,’ she said definitely, and hauled herself out of the water to give herself time to collect her wits.

And also because for some reason she found it demeaning to be at his feet—below his feet in fact, so that he stood looking down at her like some medieval despot with authority over life and death.

Or the power to take whatever woman he desired.

Somewhere deep inside Iona those long-repressed sensations stirred again, tantalising and decadent.

Frowning, he agreed, ‘I suppose not. So what do you suggest?’

Reminding herself of Angie’s shaky financial situation, Iona bit back impetuous words. ‘I’ve brought a change of clothes,’ she told him. His brows lifted and she said wryly, ‘It’s a sensible precaution if you’re looking after children.’ And her underclothes would dry overnight.

He nodded. ‘Toothbrush? Toothpaste?’

‘I’ll use salt.’ And when he looked startled she added, ‘Or baking soda. It tastes vile but it does the job.’

His mouth twitched. ‘It sounds appalling, but fortunately there is no need for you to suffer. I’ve already organised with the concierge for you to order what you want.’

The slight shrug of her shoulders reminded her she was barefoot and revealing far too much wet skin. Her hair hung in sopping confusion around her face, and water dripped off the end of her nose.

So? she thought defiantly. She didn’t—couldn’t—care what Luke was thinking while he watched her with burnished intent eyes, as opaque as gold.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and change.’

She turned away, only to be stopped in mid-stride by his crisp command. ‘A moment. Stay very still.’

Iona froze, aware of the tickling of some insect on her shoulder. ‘It is only a bee,’ Luke said, and flicked it off, then smoothed over her skin.

The brush of his fingers sent swift needles of pleasure through her before he pulled his hand away, leaving her oddly bereft.

She didn’t dare look at him, and no words would come past the lump in her throat until she’d stepped away and picked up her towel, wrapping it around her waist as though it were armour. ‘Poor thing. It must have fallen into the pool.’

‘Possibly. Or perhaps it thought you were another flower.’

A faint trace of cynicism in his tone made her bold enough to say, ‘In that case it’s got a very poor future, I’m afraid. I hope it didn’t go back into the water.’

His voice sounded cool and faintly speculative when he said, ‘It flew into one of the trees. You worry about a bee?’

‘They sound like summer. And I like honey. Thank you.’

His expression was unreadable. ‘It was nothing. Tonight you will sleep in the bedroom next to Chloe’s. She goes to bed at six-thirty, and usually sleeps without waking until about the same time the next morning.’

‘She sounds the perfect child,’ Iona said lightly, and headed towards the little pavilion where they’d left their towels and a change of clothes. She felt shaky and lightheaded, as though she’d been secretly starving for Luke’s touch, missing some essential part of her life without even realising it.

She had to get a grip. The pavilion beckoned like a small haven. She was almost there when Chloe came dashing out, her clothes pulled on anyhow. If Iona had been the child’s nanny she’d have caught and tidied her, but that could wait.

And so, she thought as she closed the door behind her, could Luke Michelakis.

When she emerged, fully dressed and a little more composed, father and daughter had gone inside. After a moment’s hesitation she followed the sound of voices to Chloe’s room; she hovered before the door, repressing a start when it opened unexpectedly.

‘Chloe’s in the shower,’ her father said. ‘She was shivering so I thought it wise. Come, I’ll show you your room.’

He strode past her and opened the door, standing aside so that she could see into the room. During her inspection of the penthouse she’d wondered who would sleep here. Clearly Chloe’s nanny shared the lifestyle of her employer.

She said, ‘It’s charming, thank you.’

‘I have to thank you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I am extremely grateful to you for staying with Chloe.’

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