Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the

publishing industry, having written over one hundred

and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than

forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance

for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful,

passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

The Greek Tycoon’s Pregnant Wife
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

JANE let herself into her apartment and headed straight for the fridge. It might be empty of anything to eat, but she knew she’d left a half-pack of colas on the shelf. Pulling out one of the chilled cans, she flipped the tab and drank. Then, savouring its coolness on her tongue, she kicked off her shoes and walked back into the living area.

It was good to be home, she thought, looking round the large space that served as both living and dining room. She was glad now she’d had the builder knock down the wall that had once separated the two rooms. Together with a small service kitchen, her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom, it had been her home for the past five years.

She’d dropped her suitcase in the small entry hall and as she went to retrieve it, she saw the message light blinking on her answering machine. Her mother, she thought resignedly. Mrs Lang would be anxious to hear that her daughter had arrived home safely. Even though she was familiar with the internet and would no doubt have checked flight arrivals at Heathrow, she still needed the confirmation of Jane’s voice to assure her that all was well.

Sighing, Jane pressed the key to retrieve her messages and waited patiently for Mrs Lang’s recorded voice to speak. Her friends knew she was away, and all business calls would be routed to the gallery. So she was unprepared when a disturbingly familiar male voice spoke her name.

‘Jane? Jane, are you there? If you are, pick up, will you? Ineh poli simandiko.’ It’s important.

Jane sank down weakly onto the small ottoman she kept beside the phone. Despite her determination never to let Demetri Souvakis into her life again, she couldn’t deny that his rich dark voice with its distinctive accent still had the power to turn her weak at the knees.

But then, it wasn’t his voice that had made him a millionaire several times over before his twenty-fifth birthday. That had come from his heritage and his complete ruthlessness in business, she reminded herself, a ruthlessness that had somehow spilled over into his private life.

Jane expelled an unsteady breath now and was still trying to calm her racing pulse when a second message started. ‘It’s me, Jane,’ he said. ‘Your husband. Theos, I know you’re there. Don’t make me have to come looking for you. Can’t we at least deal with one another like civilised adults?’

That helped. The arrogance in his voice, the way he just assumed she’d be available whenever he chose to contact her. And how could he call himself her husband when for the past five years he hadn’t cared if she was dead or alive?

Her nails dug into her palms in her efforts to control the anger that swept through her, but that didn’t stop the painful memories from tearing her hard-won objectivity to shreds. How dared he contact her now as if he had some right to do so? As far as she was concerned, she’d cut him out of her life.

Well, almost.

She sighed. She remembered when she’d first encountered his father at the gallery where she’d worked in London. Leo Souvakis had been so charming, so polite. He’d explained that he was looking for a piece of sculpture to take back to Greece, a bronze, if possible, to match the other pieces he’d collected over the years.

Jane had only been working at the gallery for a short time, but already she’d begun to show an aptitude for recognising talent when she saw it. And the delicate sculpture of the goddess Diana by a virtually unknown artist seemed an appropriate choice to make.

Leo Souvakis had been delighted, both by the piece and by Jane, and they’d been discussing the relative merits of oriental pottery and porcelain when Demetri Souvakis had appeared…

Jane shook her head. She so much didn’t want to think about this now. She’d just come back from a very successful trip to Australia and Thailand and what she really wanted to do was go to bed. She’d been travelling for the better part of fourteen hours, the unexpected layover in Dubai not part of her agenda.

She was just about to get up, determined not to be intimidated, when a third message began. ‘Jane? Are you there, darling? I thought you told me you’d be home by eight o’clock. It’s half-past now and I’m getting worried. Ring me as soon as you get in. I’ll be waiting.’

Putting all thought of her other calls to the back of her mind, Jane reached for the receiver. Pressing the pre-set key, she waited only a couple of rings before her mother picked up. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she said, trying to inject a note of confidence into her voice. ‘Sorry you’ve been worried. The plane made an unscheduled stop in Dubai.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Mrs Lang sounded relieved. ‘I thought it might be something like that. So, are you OK? Did you have a good trip? You’ll have to tell me all about it over lunch.’

Lunch? Jane only just managed to suppress a groan. There was no way she was going to feel up to having lunch with her mother today. ‘Not today,’ she said apologetically, knowing Mrs Lang wouldn’t take kindly to her refusal. ‘I’m beat, Mum. I need at least eight hours of sleep before I do anything else.’

Her mother tutted. ‘Eight hours. Really, Jane, I rarely get more than four hours a night! Didn’t you sleep on the plane?’

‘Not much.’ Jane wished she were less honest. ‘How about lunch tomorrow, Mum? That’ll give me time to come round.’

There was silence for a moment, and then Mrs Lang said, ‘You’ve been away for almost three weeks, Jane. I’d have thought you’d want to see your mother. Particularly as you know I’m stuck in this house most of the day.’

Whose fault is that? Jane was tempted to ask, but she didn’t want to start an argument. ‘Why don’t you ask Lucy to have lunch with you?’ she suggested instead. ‘I’m sure she’d jump at the chance.’

‘I’m sure she would, too.’ But Mrs Lang was not enthusiastic. ‘Besides, if your sister comes here for lunch, I’ll have Paul and Jessica running all over the house.’

‘They are your grandchildren, Mum.’

‘Yes, and they’re totally undisciplined.’

‘Oh, Mum…’

‘Anyway, if you can’t be bothered to visit your mother, I’ll have to make do with my own company.’ Mrs Lang sniffed. ‘What a shame! I wanted to tell you who came to see me last week.’

Demetri!

Jane expelled a calming breath. ‘You had a visitor?’ she asked, trying to sound only vaguely interested. ‘Well, that was nice.’

‘It wasn’t nice at all,’ her mother snapped angrily. Then, with a sound of impatience, ‘Oh, I suppose he told you. Is he the reason I’m being put off until tomorrow?’

‘No!’ Jane caught her breath. ‘But I assume you’re talking about Demetri. He left a couple of messages on my machine. When he couldn’t get an answer, he must have guessed you’d know where I was.’

‘Which, of course, I did.’

‘Did you tell him?’ Jane was wary.

‘I said you were abroad,’ declared Mrs Lang tersely. ‘I hope you didn’t expect me to lie for you, Jane.’

‘No.’ Jane sighed. ‘Did he say what he wanted to speak to me about?’

‘As I said earlier, if you want to hear all about it, you’ll have to wait until you have time for me in your busy schedule. You know I don’t like discussing family matters over the phone.’ She paused. ‘I’ll expect you tomorrow, shall I?’

Jane gritted her teeth. She so didn’t need this. She’d had a successful trip and she’d been looking forward to taking a couple of days break before having to return to the gallery. Now she felt compelled to go and see her mother, if only to find out what this was all about.

‘How about supper?’ she asked, knowing Mrs Lang was going to love this. Having her eldest daughter over a barrel was one of the joys of her life. It so rarely happened these days, although when Jane had been living with Demetri she’d constantly been aware that her mother was waiting for the marriage to fail. When it had, she’d been there to pick up the pieces, though Jane had known there’d been a measure of satisfaction in being proved right once again.

‘Supper?’ she echoed now. She considered. ‘Tonight, you mean?’

It was a game, Jane knew, but she was too tired to play it. ‘Whenever suits you,’ she said wearily. ‘Leave a message when you’ve made up your mind.’

‘Now, is that any way to treat your mother?’ But Mrs Lang seemed to realise it was time to back off. ‘Tonight will be fine, darling,’ she said serenely. ‘Shall we say seven o’clock? Or is that too early for you?’

‘Seven’s OK.’ Jane’s tone was flat. ‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll see you then.’

It was a relief to hang up the receiver and, when the phone rang again before she could move away, she snatched it up with a definite edge to her voice. But it was only a cold call, asking her if she was interested in buying a new kitchen, and she slammed it down with a definite feeling of exploitation.

Of course, she realised belatedly, it could have been Demetri, but she didn’t think that was likely. Demetri was no doubt in London on business and he’d have no time to think about his estranged wife if he had meetings to attend. She would come fairly low on his agenda. As she’d always done, she thought bitterly. Judging by his tone of voice, she had no reason to think he’d changed.

Sighing, she abandoned any idea of unpacking until later and trailed into the bathroom to take a quick shower. She looked exhausted, she thought, tucking strands of honey-blonde hair back behind her ears. Gazing into the mirror, she wondered how much she’d changed in the last five years. There were tiny lines fanning out from the corners of her eyes, but her skin was still smooth in other places. Of course, she’d gained a couple of inches around her hips, which was annoying, but her breasts were firm even if they’d filled out, too.

Oh, well, who cares? she thought, too tired to even dry herself properly after her shower. Twisting her still damp hair into a loose knot on top of her head, she tumbled naked between the sheets. And not even her worries about why Demetri might want to see her could keep her eyes open.

The phone awakened her. At least, she thought it was the phone, but when she groped for the extension beside the bed the ringing still went on. It was the doorbell, she realised. Someone wanted access to one of the apartments and was probably ringing every bell in the building until they got lucky.

Sighing, she flopped back against the pillows and looked at the clock on the bedside cabinet. It was almost noon. She’d slept for less than four hours, but that was something, she supposed. Amazingly, she didn’t feel as tired as she’d done when she flew east. Coping with jet lag was always easier in this direction.

The bell rang again and, throwing back the covers, Jane slipped her arms into the sleeves of a green silk wrapper. Then, padding across the living room to the intercom, she lifted the handset. ‘Yes?’

‘Jane?’ It was Demetri, and her stomach made a sickening dive. ‘Jane, I know it’s you. Hristo, will you open the door?’

Jane didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt frozen. The faint sense of disorientation she’d felt when she’d first woken up seemed to be paralysing her ability to speak. It was too soon, she thought. She needed time to pull herself together. If she’d ever considered encountering her estranged husband again, she’d assumed it would be on her terms, not his.

‘Jane!’ She heard him swear in his own language. ‘Jane, I know you’re in there. Your mother was kind enough to tell me you’d be home today.’ His voice was becoming more impatient. ‘Come on, open the door. Do you want me to be arrested for soliciting or some such thing?’

Anyone less likely to allow himself to be arrested for soliciting Jane could hardly imagine. Demetri Souvakis was far too sure of himself for that. Besides which, that was just an excuse to get her to press the release button. Her fellow flatmates were evidently out at work—or shopping in the case of Mrs Dalladay—and she was his only means of access.

‘I’m not even dressed yet, Demetri,’ she blurted at last, aware that her voice had a breathy sound to it. It was all she could think of to say, but it wasn’t enough.

‘Aghapita, seeing you naked is nothing new to me,’ he reminded her drily. ‘Come. I’ve been trying to reach you for the better part of a week. We can’t all spend half the day in bed.’

That got her juices flowing again. ‘I’ve just flown over six thousand miles, Demetri,’ she told him tartly. ‘And if I remember correctly, you don’t do jet lag very well yourself.’

‘Ah, yes. Signomi. Sorry.’ But he didn’t sound it. ‘I guess that was thoughtless. Put it down to frustration. I’m not very good at that either.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Jane tried to sound sardonic. ‘How are you, Demetri? Still as impatient as ever, I see.’

‘Theos, I have been patient, ghineka. Now, are you going to open up, or must I break down this—’ there was a pause while he obviously endeavoured to control his anger ‘—this door?’

Jane’s jaw took on a stubborn curve. She badly wanted to call his bluff. Only the embarrassment she would suffer if he made good on his threat deterred her, and without another word she jabbed a finger onto the button.

There was a low buzz as the door downstairs was released and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Heavy footsteps, climbing the stairs with a speed that had her retreating to the far side of the living room. She’d left the door ajar and, although she told herself she didn’t care what he thought of her, it occurred to her belatedly that she hadn’t even brushed her hair since she’d tumbled so unexpectedly out of bed.

She was finger-combing it behind her ears when Demetri appeared in the doorway. Tall and lean, with the thick dark hair of his ancestors, he too looked older, she reassured herself. But despite the threads of grey at his temples, his face, with its familiar trace of dark stubble, was tougher, harder than she remembered, but just as attractive.

His presence had lost none of its impact, reminding her of the day he strode into the gallery, looking for his father. When the old man had introduced them he’d been polite, but hardly flattering, treating her with a cool indifference she’d half resented then.

Now Demetri paused in the doorway, and then stepped into the apartment. So this was where she lived, he thought broodingly. He’d heard she was doing well at her job. He couldn’t help admiring the huge expanse of living space that swept from the front to the back of the old Victorian building. The sun pouring in from the windows at each end filling the place with a watery light.

But for all his irritation at the way she’d kept him waiting outside, it was to Jane that his eyes were irresistibly drawn. She stood the width of the room away, her arms wrapped protectively about herself. She was wearing a silk robe that she was holding tightly around her. As if he’d threatened her, he reflected, disliking the notion. For pity’s sake, what was she expecting him to do? Jump her bones?

‘Jane,’ he said, before that idea could take hold and destroy his detachment, and her lips, which she’d been pressing together, relaxed a little. She looked good, he thought unwillingly. Too good to a man who was planning to marry another woman as soon as he was free. But then, Jane had always had that effect on him. It was why he’d married her, for God’s sake. Why he’d been so reluctant to find another woman to take her place.

Why his mother had been so opposed to him doing this himself!

‘Demetri,’ Jane responded stiffly, and when he leaned against the door to close it she stood a little taller, as if bracing herself for whatever was to come.

She wasn’t wearing any make-up, of course, and he suspected the colour in her cheeks owed more to a mental rather than a physical source. Green eyes, which used to haunt his sleep, as clear as the mountain-fed lakes on Kalithi.

‘How have you been?’ he asked, straightening away from the door, and Jane’s mouth went a little dry when he moved further into the room. He had an indolent grace of movement that made anything he wore look like a designer item, though she guessed the casual cargo pants and black leather jacket were the real thing.

He was still wearing his wedding ring, she noticed. The wedding ring she’d bought him when they’d exchanged their vows in the small chapel on Kalithi, the island his family owned and where he lived when he wasn’t flying around the world attending to the demands of his shipping empire. His father had retired before they’d married, much against his mother’s wishes. But then, she’d never wanted Demetri to marry an English girl, particularly one who had opinions of her own.

‘I’m OK,’ she said now, forcing a tight smile. ‘Tired, of course. But then, I haven’t had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours.’

‘And I woke you up?’ Demetri came to stand beside one of a pair of mulberry printed sofas that faced each other across a taupe rug. It was the only floor covering at this end of the room, the stripped maple floor requiring little adornment. A dark brow arched in reluctant apology. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘Are you?’ Jane gave an indifferent shrug. ‘So, do you want to tell me what you’re doing here, Demetri? You didn’t come here just to pass the time of day. You said it was important.’

Demetri averted his eyes, concentrating instead on his fingers massaging one of the sofa cushions. ‘It is,’ he said flatly. Then he lifted his head again, giving her a look out of night-dark eyes, causing a shiver of apprehension to slide down her spine. ‘I want a divorce, Jane. Is that straight enough for you?’

CHAPTER TWO

NOW it was Jane’s turn to look away from his cold stare. Despite her best efforts, she was trembling, and she hoped like hell that he couldn’t see it.

It wasn’t a total shock to her, of course. For years after their separation she’d lived with the very real expectation that sooner or later Demetri was going to want his freedom. She was sure his mother would persuade him, if no one else. And she’d wanted it, too, in those days. But somehow, with the passage of time, she’d actually begun to believe that it was never going to happen.

‘You OK?’

Dammit, he had noticed. And he was coming across the room towards her. Jane had to get out of there, and fast, before he started feeling sorry for her. She didn’t think she could bear that.

‘Let me get dressed,’ she said, speaking without breathing, knowing that if she sucked in a gulp of air the sobs that were rising in her throat would choke her.

‘Janie…’

The name he used to call her when he was making love to her was almost her undoing. ‘Just give me a minute,’ she said and, opening the door into her bedroom, she closed it firmly behind her.

But once she was alone, she couldn’t prevent the storm of emotion that engulfed her. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks and, with her nose running too, she groped her way across the room to the bathroom. Grabbing a handful of tissues from the box she kept there, she endeavoured to staunch the salty flow, sinking down onto the toilet seat and burying her face in her hands.

‘Agapita—’

She didn’t know how long she’d been sitting there when he spoke. Dear God! Her head jerked up in disbelief. Demetri was standing in the bathroom doorway watching her and she knew she’d never felt so humiliated in her life.

‘Get out!’ she choked, struggling to get to her feet. ‘How—how dare you come in here? You have no right to invade my privacy like this.’

Demetri merely sighed and propped his shoulder against the frame of the door. Then he regarded her with disturbing gentleness. ‘I dare because I care about you,’ he said, his accent thickening with emotion. ‘Theos, Janie, how was I to know you’d react like this? I’d have thought you’d be glad to get me out of your life.’

Jane sniffed. ‘I am.’

‘It looks like it.’

‘Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Demetri. I’ve just flown halfway around the world and I’m exhausted.’ It was an effort but she managed a tight smile. ‘It was a shock. I don’t deny it. But I’m not crying because I’m—heartbroken. Far from it.’

Demetri didn’t look convinced. ‘So—what? You usually break down like this when you get back from a trip? Is that what you’re saying?’

‘Don’t be even more of a jerk than you have to be,’ Jane retorted, struggling to regain a little of her composure. ‘OK. What do you want me to say, Demetri? That I’m—crushed? Desolated? That hearing the arrogant louse I married is going to inflict himself on some other poor female has devastated me?’ She managed a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t hold your breath.’

Despite himself, Demetri was angered by her words. He’d come to find her with the best of intentions, he told himself, and now here she was, tearing his good will to shreds. That was so like Jane: shooting first and regretting it later. Only something told him that this time she wasn’t about to back down.

He straightened. ‘You’re an ungrateful bitch, do you know that?’ he snapped, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

‘So you’ve told me,’ she retorted, scrubbing her cheeks with the tissues one last time before flushing them down the lavatory.

‘Well, perhaps you ought to curb your tongue,’ he muttered. ‘My lawyer tells me that in the circumstances, I don’t have to offer you anything by way of a settlement.’

Jane’s lips parted. ‘I don’t want your money. I never did!’ she exclaimed scornfully. ‘Just get out of here. I want to get dressed.’

Demetri stared at her. For all her air of bravado, he was fairly sure she wasn’t half as confident as she was trying to appear. Those incredible green eyes still shimmered with unshed tears, and her mouth—the mouth he’d kissed so many times—couldn’t quite hide its tremor.

And, although her words had irritated him beyond all reason, he found himself saying, ‘If that’s what you want?’

‘What else is there?’

Tilting her head up to his, Jane stared back at him and he felt an unwilling twinge of admiration for the way she was handling herself now. A twinge of admiration, yes—and something else, something he didn’t even want to put a name to. Something that had him suddenly moving to close the space between them.

The bath was at her back and Jane had nowhere to go. So when he put out his hand and looped his fingers behind her neck, she could only stand there and let him look down at her with what she was sure was a mixture of amusement and derision in his eyes.

‘How about this?’ he suggested, his voice rougher than before, and, before she could anticipate what he was about to do, he’d bent towards her and covered her mouth with his.

Jane didn’t know how she stopped her legs from buckling beneath her. It was so long since Demetri had touched her, so long since she’d felt those long fingers against her skin. Heat was coming off him in waves, enveloping her in its sensual embrace, and, although she’d determined not to close her eyes, seeing the closeness of his long lashes, the dusky shadow of his jawline, she so much wanted to do so and sink into his kiss.

But how could that be? A moment ago they’d been dumping on one another, and now—now she was letting him touch her, kiss her, push his thigh between her legs as if she wasn’t throbbing there already.

It had to be because she’d been crying, she told herself, trying to rationalise something that refused to be rationalised. She was always twice as emotional when she’d been crying and Demetri knew that very well. Oh, yes, who better? He’d made her cry so many times before…

But right now that didn’t seem half as important as it should, and when he said, ‘Ah, mora,’ right against her mouth, her lips parted on a breath of submission. And then his tongue was in her mouth, sweeping intimately over hers, taking possession with a hunger that was far too appealing.

Demetri trailed his lips across her cheek, savouring the lingering taste of her tears. Her skin was soft, smooth, endlessly fascinating, and he slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close against him.

Sanity seemed to have deserted him. The reasons why he’d come here blurred by the depth of his sudden desire. His hand found the cord of her robe, loosened it, allowed the sides to fall apart. Then he was gazing at full round breasts, their peaks as hard in the flesh as they’d looked outlined beneath the silk.

With heavy-lidded eyes he watched himself cup one swollen globe in his hand, let his thumb rub over the sensitive nipple with an urgency that bordered on violence, and he swore. ‘Skata, Jane,’ he groaned, suspecting even then that he was going to regret this. But, Theos, she was where he wanted her to be, nestled against him, causing him a hard-on that was in danger of giving him a heart attack if he didn’t relieve the pressure soon.

Jane swayed, her own emotions rushing dangerously close to meltdown. She couldn’t let him do this, she told herself. She had to get away from him. But when she moaned into his mouth, Demetri sensed she wanted him to go on.

Her robe was off her shoulders now, and, when he swept her up into his arms and carried her into the adjoining bedroom, she felt it slip away onto the floor. Then she was on her back on the bed that was still warm from when she’d left it. Demetri was tearing off his jacket and T-shirt, exposing the muscled strength of his hard brown flesh to her distracted gaze.

He came down beside her, straddling her body with powerful thighs, the revealing bulge of his erection tenting the suddenly tight crotch of his trousers. ‘Demetri,’ she breathed weakly, half in protest, and for an answer he bent and took one straining nipple into his mouth.

It was too much. Jane couldn’t fight him any more. With Demetri suckling her breast, she was already throbbing with the need for him to touch her in other, wetter, places. She wanted to reach out and stroke him, to trace the line of soft hair that disappeared into his waistband. But when she reached for his zip, he stopped her.

‘Soon, agapi mou,’ he said, shifting back so he could unfasten his trousers and tug them off. ‘Just not too soon, hmm?’

If he’d been wearing any underwear, it disappeared along with his trousers and Jane could see his manhood rearing proudly from its nest of dark hair. Then he parted her legs and lowered his head, laving her with his tongue until he had her twisting and turning beneath him.

‘Theos, you taste so sweet,’ he muttered thickly. ‘Shall I make you come?’

‘Not—not without you,’ she said, her voice unsteady, yet not too wrapped up in her own needs not to know she wanted him inside her when she climaxed.

‘Iseh etimi,’ he groaned. Are you ready? And with one swift, hard lunge he thrust into her, his thick length stretching her and filling her so completely that she let out a breathless cry. Then, with his body hair brushing her thighs, he expelled a hoarse breath. ‘You’re so tight. Did I hurt you?’

‘I’m OK,’ she assured him huskily, her muscles quickening automatically about him. ‘Just—just do it, Demetri. Don’t—wait…’

As if he could, thought Demetri grimly. It was hard enough to control the urge he had to slam himself into her until it was done. Only the desire to savour the moment had him rocking back on his heels, looking down at the point where their bodies were joined so completely. However crazy this might be, he’d never wanted her more than he did right now.

‘Demetri,’ she protested weakly, and with a groan he pushed into her again. She closed about him, slick and tight, and the driving need for satisfaction blanked his mind.

‘Ineh ereos,’ he said thickly. You’re beautiful. Then rocking back again, ‘Theos, I don’t want this to end.’

‘Me neither,’ she confessed, but that didn’t stop her from lifting her legs to wind them about his hips. Then he felt the convulsion as she lost control and holding back became academic.

Her liquid heat drenched him, more than enough to send him over the edge. He moaned as the force of his release spilled from him. Shuddering with mindless pleasure, he emptied himself into her, and then slumped across her body in a total state of abandon.

Demetri opened his eyes to the sound of a shower running. For a moment he stared up at the ceiling above his head, seeing nothing familiar in its papered surface, sure he’d never seen a ceiling in that particular shade of peach before.

Then his eyes lowered to the windows, tall casement windows, shaded by ruched Roman blinds in a contrasting shade of lime green. The blinds were drawn against the daylight that was visible in a line above the sill.

Totally unfamiliar.

Yet suddenly totally recognisable.

Demetri sucked in a jagged breath, pushed himself into an upright position and looked about the room with unbelieving eyes. God, he was in Jane’s apartment, Jane’s bed! What in hell had he been thinking of? He’d come here to ask her for a divorce, not to have sex with her, for pity’s sake.

He closed his eyes again, hoping against hope that it was all some crazy dream, that when he opened them again he’d be back in his own bedroom in Kalithi, with the sound of the Mediterranean a gentle murmur in his ears.

But it wasn’t to be. When he lifted his lids for a second time, it was to find he was still occupying Jane’s bed, a single sheet, which he suspected she’d thrown over him, covering him from hip to thigh.

Which was just as well, he reflected, conscious that an awareness of his surroundings had done nothing to quell an arousal that was as vigorous as it was inappropriate. Hristo, he was supposed to be thinking of a way to get out of this with his dignity intact, not allowing his mind to wander into the bathroom and the delights of sharing Jane’s shower.

Forcing himself to get out of bed, he groped for his boxers and pulled them on. Then, without giving himself time to think, he tugged his T-shirt over his head and stepped into his trousers, only cursing when he hurt himself fastening his zip.

The shower ceased abruptly, and, although he was tempted to wait and see what she’d be wearing when she came out of the bathroom, common sense had him snatching up his shoes and jacket and letting himself out of the bedroom before he made another mistake.

In the living room, he pushed his feet into his loafers and pulled on his jacket. Then he combed slightly unsteady fingers through his hair. Theos, he thought, looking about him, how had it happened? How had a simple conversation turned into a sensual assault on his senses?

Why had he been fool enough to go in there? Why hadn’t he waited until she’d composed herself and then completed the interview with speed and objectivity? It was what she’d said she wanted, for heaven’s sake. And when she’d first quit the room, he’d assumed she’d gone to get dressed and nothing else. It was only as the minutes had slipped by and there’d been no sound from the bedroom that he’d become suspicious.

Anxious, even, he conceded wryly. Jane had always been able to do that to him. In the three years they’d been together, he’d lost count of the number of occasions when she’d walked out on him. The fact was, he’d usually gone after her, desperate to assure himself that she was all right. Just like today.

He sighed. Even so, finding her in tears like that shouldn’t have affected him as much as it had. It wasn’t his fault they weren’t still together, and if him asking for a divorce meant that much to her, why hadn’t she tried to see him again before the situation had deteriorated as badly as it had?

None of it made any sense, not least the pleasure he’d gained from making love to her just now. He hated to admit it, but he hadn’t enjoyed himself so much since the last time they’d been together.

Having sex with other women had never done it for him. And, although when Jane had left him he’d told himself it would be easy enough to replace her, he never had. He’d lost count of the number of women his mother had paraded in front of him, hoping to persuade him that remaining single wasn’t an option for him. But his marriage to Jane had spoiled him for other woman, and he’d begun to believe that whatever happened he would never have that kind of sexual satisfaction again.

But now he had.

With her!

Although he’d sat down on the sofa to put on his shoes, now he got to his feet again. He couldn’t sit still, not when his whole world was in turmoil. This was supposed to have been a short meeting, the courtesy of telling her himself instead of allowing her to learn the truth from his London solicitor. Instead, as his mother had feared, he’d allowed her to get under his skin, again.

He paced across to the windows, peering out at his limousine, parked at the front of the house. The chauffeur, who worked for Souvakis International, would be wondering what he was doing. But he knew better than to make any comments to his employer or anyone else.

The sound of a door opening behind him had him swinging round almost guiltily. Another sensation that was new to him. It occurred to him then that perhaps he ought to have left before she’d finished her shower. In spite of the fact that they hadn’t finished their discussion, it could have waited until tomorrow or the next day. Now it was too late.

Jane came into the room rather tentatively. She’d taken the time to dry and straighten her hair and now it hung silky smooth to her shoulders. She’d put on a dark green T-shirt that clung to her breasts, and low-rise jeans exposed a delicate wedge of creamy pale skin.

She looked just as good to him now as she’d done before, thought Demetri grimly. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have wondered if she’d worn the outfit deliberately to emphasise her eyes. She certainly looked tantalising, but her expression wasn’t encouraging. Her eyes were guarded, cold, watching him with a wariness that bordered on contempt.

‘You’re still here,’ she said, when he didn’t speak. Then, making her way across the room, ‘D’you want coffee?’

Coffee?

Demetri didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted. Only minutes before she’d been writhing beneath him, and now she was offering him coffee, as if they’d just been passing the time of day instead of having hot, sweaty sex.

‘Efkharisto, then thelo.’ Not for me, thank you. Demetri spoke tersely, following her across the room to where a small counter separated an equally small service kitchen from the rest of the room. He hesitated, and then added unwillingly, ‘You are OK?’

Jane turned from filling a filter with coffee. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ she countered, though this time he noticed she broke their gaze. ‘Go and sit down. I won’t be long.’

‘I’d rather not.’ Demetri took a deep breath. ‘Are we going to talk about this?’

Jane concentrated on setting the jug on the hotplate. Then, when it was placed to her satisfaction, she opened a cupboard above her head and took down a porcelain mug. Glancing fleetingly in his direction, the mug in her hand, she said, ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?’

‘I’m sure.’ Demetri could feel impatience digging away at his good nature. What the hell was she trying to do? Pretend it had never happened? ‘Jane, look at me,’ he said sharply. ‘No, not like that. Really look at me. What are you thinking? Tell me!’

CHAPTER THREE

JANE found it impossible to do as he asked. OK, she knew that nothing had changed really. Just because they’d had sex—pretty phenomenal sex, as it happened—didn’t make a scrap of difference to Demetri. Sex was what he did. Particularly when he wanted something from her. It had always been a damn good means of getting his own way in the past. And he must be thinking she was such a pushover. He’d only had to tumble her onto the bed and she’d been practically begging him to do it.

She’d been so stupid, she thought bitterly. If only he hadn’t chosen to come here at a time when she was not only exhausted from her trip, but expecting her period as well. She was always overly emotional at this time of the month. And his deliberate kindness had been the last straw.

‘I’m not thinking anything,’ she lied now, as the water dripped through the filter. Then, turning the tables, ‘What about you? What are you thinking, Demetri?’

Believe me, you don’t want to know, Demetri reflected drily, aware that his thoughts ran along the lines of taking her back to bed. But he’d be crazy to admit that. It would expose a weakness and he was already feeling far too exposed as it was.

‘I’m thinking—I should apologise,’ he declared at last, choosing the least provocative option. ‘I—never intended this to happen.’

‘Well, that makes two of us,’ said Jane at once and Demetri felt a fist twisting in his gut. Did she have to sound so dismissive? Couldn’t she at least have admitted that she’d been partially to blame?

But that wasn’t going to happen, he realised, and, leaving the counter, he walked back to the position he’d previously occupied beside the window. His limousine still stood there and he wished he could just get into the car and drive away. He wanted to forget what had happened, forget that when he’d come here he’d been looking for closure. Closure! His lips twisted. Instead, he’d torn away a veneer and left what felt like an open wound.

‘So?’ He heard her voice and turned to find Jane had come to perch on the arm of one of the sofas. She was holding a mug filled with black coffee and she lifted enquiring eyes to his face. ‘Do I take it there’s someone else?’

It was such a ludicrous question in the circumstances. Demetri was tempted to say ‘Damn you!’ and walk out. He felt so foolish having to admit that that was the reason he’d come here. That he was intending to marry someone else when he was free.

But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was what was expected of him as his father’s eldest son. When Leonidas Souvakis retired, he’d handed the control of Souvakis International to him. And such power held responsibilities, not all of them to do with the company itself.

‘My father’s dying,’ he said at last, deciding he didn’t owe her any consideration. But even so, he was unprepared for the way the colour drained out of her face.

‘Leo is dying?’ she echoed faintly. ‘My God, why didn’t you tell me?’ Her soft lips parted in mute denial. ‘I can’t believe it. He was so—so fit; so strong.’

‘Cancer is no respecter of strength or otherwise,’ responded Demetri flatly. ‘He found a lump. He did nothing about it. He said he was too busy.’ He shrugged. ‘When he did go and see the doctor, it was too late to operate.’

‘Oh, God!’ Jane put down her cup and pressed both hands to her cheeks. Her eyes were once again filled with tears. ‘Poor Leo. He’s such a good man, a kind man. He was always kind to me. He made me welcome when your mother never did.’

Demetri said nothing. He knew that what she’d said was true. His mother had never wanted him to marry an English girl. Their values were so different, she’d insisted. And ultimately she’d been proved to be right.

Now Jane attempted to pull herself together. ‘How long have you known?’ she asked, wondering what this had to do with Demetri wanting a divorce. She paused, trying to find a connection. ‘Does he want to see me?’

Demetri was taken aback. Although he had no doubt that Leo Souvakis would have liked to see his daughter-in-law again, his mother would never agree to it. For the past five years she’d persistently begged her son to go and see a priest and try to arrange an annulment of his marriage to Jane. She was sure Father Panaystakis would do everything in his power to get some special dispensation from the church.

But, ironically, Demetri had been in no hurry to sever his relationship. It had been convenient in all sorts of ways. Not least to discourage any gold-digging female from getting the wrong idea. Now remaining unattached was no longer an option and only a divorce would do.

His silence must have given Jane her answer, however, because now she said, ‘Then I don’t understand. What does your father’s illness have to do with you asking for a divorce?’

Demetri’s sigh was heavy. He pushed his balled fists into his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels before he spoke. ‘Mi pateras—my father,’ he corrected himself, ‘wants a grandchild. Grandchildren. With Yanis a priest and Stefan not interested in women, the responsibility falls to me.’

‘How archaic!’ Jane was sardonic. Then she frowned. ‘But what about—’ she hesitated ‘—the boy?’

‘Ianthe’s son?’ Demetri was matter-of-fact, and Jane’s nails dug into her palms. ‘Marc died. I thought you knew.’

Jane was incensed. ‘And you thought this, why? We haven’t exactly kept in touch, Demetri.’

He shrugged as if acknowledging her words. ‘Poli kala, Marc caught pneumonia when he was only a few days old.’ His voice was tight. ‘The doctors tried to save him, but he was too small, too premature. He didn’t stand a chance.’

Jane caught her breath. ‘Poor Ianthe,’ she said, finding she meant it.

‘Neh, poor Ianthe,’ echoed Demetri, though there was a distinct edge of bitterness to his tone. ‘She didn’t deserve that.’

‘No.’ Jane shook her head, reaching for her coffee again. She took a gulp, grateful for the rush of caffeine. ‘So now I suppose you two are planning on getting married at last.’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Your mother will be pleased.’

Demetri’s thin—yet oh, so sensual—lips curled into a scowl. ‘No,’ he told her harshly. ‘I was never interested in Ianthe, despite what you believed. I intend to marry Ariadne Pavlos. You may remember the Pavlos family. Ariadne and I have been friends since we were children. She has recently returned from an extended visit to the United States.’

‘How nice!’ Jane tried not to let her true feelings show. Ariadne’s mother, Sofia Pavlos, was a friend of Demetri’s mother, she remembered. Someone else who hadn’t approved of their marriage. She moistened her lips. ‘Does Ariadne know about Ianthe’s baby, too?’

‘She knows enough,’ said Demetri shortly, realising he was getting into deep water. The past was the past and there was no point in raking it all up now. He shouldn’t have come here. He should have taken his lawyer’s advice and let him handle it. But he hadn’t realised how dangerous it would be for him to get involved with Jane again.

‘Look,’ he said, when the silence had become unbearable, ‘I’ve got to get going.’ He sucked in a breath before adding, ‘I’m sure you hate me now, but I really didn’t intend to—to—’

‘Seduce me?’

‘No.’ Demetri was angry. ‘It was hardly a seduction. You met me halfway.’

Jane’s colour deepened. ‘All right. Perhaps that was unjustified. But it wouldn’t be the first time you used—it—against me.’

Demetri swore then. ‘What do you expect me to say, Jane? I came here to warn you about the divorce, that’s all. I didn’t expect to find you half-naked.’

Jane gasped. ‘What?’ she choked. ‘I’m so irresistible I got under your guard?’

‘Something like that,’ muttered Demetri, aware that he wasn’t doing himself any favours. He straightened and moved towards the door. ‘I’ll have my lawyer contact you with all the details. Despite—well, despite your attitude, I won’t contest any settlement your lawyer asks for.’

Jane sprang up from the sofa, almost spilling her coffee in the process. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t want any of your money, Demetri!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I’m quite capable of supporting myself, thank you.’

‘Ala—’

‘Forget it!’ Without giving him any further time to defend himself, she strode towards the outer door and jerked it open. ‘Get out of here, Demetri. Before I say something I’ll regret.’

Demetri flew back to Kalithi that afternoon.

He had planned to stay a couple more days. He’d been invited to attend a meeting of the Association of Oil Producers the following morning, but he’d had his assistant call and offer his apologies instead. His father wouldn’t be pleased. He’d been delighted that the Souvakis Corporation had garnered such respect in the oil-producing countries, and it had also proved he had been judicious in handing control of the organisation to his son.

Demetri wasn’t so sure, however. He’d already realised that being head of an organisation like Souvakis International demanded a considerable amount of his time. It might even be said that the responsibilities he’d taken on eight years ago had played no small part in the breakdown of his marriage. If he and Jane had had more time to talk about what had happened, more time for him to persuade her he was innocent of the charge she’d levelled against him, she might not have walked out as she did. But she’d believed that he was to blame for Ianthe’s pregnancy, and without proof he’d been unable to convince her otherwise.

It was already dark when the powerful little Cessna landed on the island. The airstrip was a private one, owned by the Souvakis family, and although the island attracted tourists, they came by ferry, landing at the small port of Kalithi in the south of the island.

Headlights scanning the runway were an indication that his father had got the message he’d sent earlier, though he guessed the old man would want to know exactly why he had avoided speaking to him personally.

His own personal assistant, Theo Vasilis, had travelled with him, and it was he who was first off the plane, organising the transport that would take them to the Souvakis estate. A sleek four-wheel-drive vehicle stood at the edge of the tarmac, waiting for the preliminaries of landing to be over. Then, when Demetri strode across the apron to get into it, he discovered it wasn’t his father’s chauffeur who was driving. Ariadne Pavlos was seated behind the wheel, her glossy lips parted in a smile that was both welcoming and slightly smug.

‘Eh,’ she said, when Demetri climbed into the vehicle beside her. ‘A nice surprise, no?’

Demetri’s jaw tightened momentarily, the knowledge that he would have preferred not to have to deal with Ariadne tonight giving him pause. But then, realising why he was feeling this way, he forced a smile and leant across the console to kiss her. ‘A very nice surprise,’ he said untruthfully. ‘Have you been waiting long?’

‘Only about six years,’ she responded artfully, her tongue making contact with his before he could pull away. ‘You have missed me, yes?’

Demetri turned to fasten his seat belt. ‘What do you think?’ he asked, avoiding a direct reply. Then, in an effort to change the subject, ‘How is my father? Not too pleased that I cut the oil conference, I’ll bet.’

‘He is—OK.’ Ariadne spoke indifferently, glancing round with some impatience when Theo Vasilis deposited their luggage rather heavily into the back of the car. ‘Prosekheh!’ she exclaimed irritably. Be careful. Then her eyes widened even further when Theo swung open the rear door and climbed into the back. Her head swung round to Demetri. ‘Must he come with us?’

‘Why not?’ Demetri’s response was innocent enough, but he couldn’t deny a sense of relief that Theo was coming along. He nodded towards the laptop the other man was carrying. ‘My father will expect a report on the meetings we’ve had while we’ve been in London.’

‘The meetings with your wife?’ suggested Ariadne silkily, her dark eyes alight with malice. ‘Oh, yes. I will be interested to hear about those myself.’

Demetri expelled a long breath. ‘Not that meeting,’ he said flatly. ‘The meetings we had with business associates.’

‘Ah, but those meetings are so boring, no?’ said Ariadne archly. ‘Tell me about your wife. Is she going to be difficult, do you think?’

Difficult! Demetri stifled the groan of frustration that rose inside him. But, ‘Not difficult, no,’ he told her, and then turned again to Theo in the back seat. ‘Did you collect all the papers from the plane?’

His meaning couldn’t have been plainer and, although Ariadne tossed her head as she reached for the ignition, she knew better than to pursue the matter now. There’d be time enough later, Demetri could almost hear her thinking. And dammit, why not? It was because of her—and his father’s illness—that he’d gone to see Jane in the first place.

Leaving the airport behind, they drove along the narrow country lane that led to the Souvakis estate. There was little to see in the car’s headlights but the coarse grass that grew alongside the road and the occasional stunted cypress. But Demetri knew that running parallel with the track were the sand dunes and beyond that the blue-green waters of the Aegean. It was spring in the islands and it would be good to wake up tomorrow morning and hear the murmur of the ocean instead of the hum of traffic outside his window.

But thinking of London wasn’t the wisest thing to do in the circumstances. It reminded him too much of what had happened earlier in the day. And he couldn’t help but compare Ariadne’s dark, somewhat sultry, good looks with his wife’s fair-skinned beauty. They were so different, he thought, not welcoming the comparison: Ariadne, full-figured and voluptuous, and Jane, tall, slender, hiding her sensuous nature behind a tantalising façade of cool composure.

He squashed that thought, saying tersely, ‘Did you attend your cousin’s wedding?’

‘Julia? But, of course.’ Ariadne shrugged as the tall wooden gates that marked the entrance to the estate came into view. She flashed the car’s headlights, and a man appeared from the white-painted gatehouse to one side of the gates, hurriedly releasing the latch and throwing them wide. ‘Naturally, I was the only woman there without an escort. Thia Thermia said I should not have allowed you to go away at such a time.’

‘She would.’ Demetri’s mouth compressed. He wasn’t unduly worried what Thermia Adonides thought of him. She was also Ianthe’s mother and because of that she already disapproved of him. He’d been amazed that she hadn’t attempted to thwart his and Ariadne’s relationship, but evidently the advantages of his wealth far outweighed any misgivings she might retain.

Demetri raised a hand to Georgiou, the gatekeeper, as they drove past, and then the powerful vehicle was accelerating up the long, winding drive to the main house. The villa, which stood on a small plateau overlooking the ocean, was still occupied by his parents. Demetri had built his own house on the property, but since Jane’s departure he tended to spend much of his time elsewhere.

His mother often complained that they saw little of him, and it was true that until his father’s illness, Demetri had spent little time at home. He worked hard, and there was no denying that his work had saved his sanity. If he’d played hard, too, he’d told himself he deserved it. He’d been certain he’d never succumb to any other woman’s appeal.

And he hadn’t. It was only when he’d discovered his father’s illness was terminal that he’d been persuaded to consider marrying again. Ariadne was the perfect candidate: she was single, she was Greek and his mother approved of her.

A paved forecourt fronted the cluster of buildings that comprised barns and garages as well as his parents’ home. Ariadne brought the car to a halt and turned off the engine. But when Theo sprang out and Demetri made to open his door, her hand on his arm arrested him.

‘Wait,’ she said huskily. ‘Talk to me, Demetri. Tell me you haven’t changed your mind.’

Demetri stared at her, the lights that encircled the courtyard illuminating the anxious expression in her dark eyes. ‘Changed my mind?’ he echoed, suddenly feeling horribly guilty. He put out his hand and cupped her cheek. ‘Sweetheart, whatever gave you that idea?’

CHAPTER FOUR

WELL, she was pregnant.

Trying to think pragmatically, Jane took a deep breath and pushed the cartridge she’d been examining back into her bag. It was the third positive reaction she’d had in the last two weeks, and, however much she tried to persuade herself that these tests could be faulty, even she didn’t believe it could happen three times in a row.

Dammit!

Smudging back a tear, she sniffed ferociously. How could it have happened? She’d been so sure that when she and Demetri had made—had had sex, she amended, fiercely, her monthly cycle had been too far along for her to conceive. She’d always been so regular in the past. Though she had to admit that when they were living together, she hadn’t left anything to chance.

In the beginning, they’d both agreed that having children could wait. For a year or two, at least. And because Jane wanted to go on working, Demetri had opened a small gallery for her in the town of Kalithi itself. It had meant that she’d been able to keep in contact with Olga, who’d been happy to exchange antiquities and paintings with her erstwhile student.

It had all worked very well, and because she owned the gallery Jane had been able to accompany Demetri on his business trips whenever she chose. It had seemed an idyllic existence, and she’d never been happier.

But then Ianthe had revealed she was pregnant, and her whole house of cards had come tumbling down about her ears. Jane hadn’t been able to forgive Demetri for betraying her, her only relief in the knowledge that they had no children to suffer the break-up of their parents’ marriage.

She sighed. If she was honest, she’d have to admit that taking precautions hadn’t figured too highly in her thoughts when Demetri had kissed her. The sensual brush of his tongue had banished all other thoughts from her head. She’d wanted him, she acknowledged, just as much as he’d wanted her. It had been far too easy to convince herself that he wasn’t just using her for his own ends.

It wasn’t until two weeks later, when she still hadn’t had her period, that she’d even considered the alternative. And even then it had been hard to believe that that reckless consummation had had such a result. It was five weeks now since Demetri had come to her apartment. She’d already received notification that he’d contacted his solicitors about the divorce. Dear God, what was she going to do?

The appearance of her employer forced her to shelve the problem for the moment. Although Olga Ivanovitch was almost seventy, she strode into Jane’s office at the gallery with all the vitality of a much younger woman. A Russian Jew, whose parents had been living in Germany just before the last war, she and her family had fled to England. It was her father who’d founded the gallery, but Olga who had made it a success, moving the premises from Croyden to their present enviable position in the West End.

In long skirts and with a cloak floating freely about her tall generous figure, she looked a little like an ageing flower-child, Jane thought. But Olga had been her mentor, taking her on when all Jane had to commend her was a degree in fine arts from a redbrick university and an enthusiasm Olga had recognised that matched her own.

Now Olga brushed back her mane of incongruously red hair and said impatiently, ‘Did he come?’ And, although she’d lived in England long enough to have mastered the language completely, her accent still remained for artistic effect.

‘He came,’ agreed Jane, knowing at once who Olga was talking about. A famous collector of antiquities had expressed an interest in the set of bronzes Jane had brought back from Bangkok. He’d promised to call at the gallery that morning to examine them again and make his decision.

‘And?’ Olga couldn’t hide her excitement.

‘He bought them,’ Jane responded drily. ‘He wants them packed and delivered by courier to his home in Suffolk.’

‘Wonderful!’ Olga was delighted. ‘And a healthy commission for you, too, leibchen. You have done well. I must send you away again. You have the knack for finding treasure in the most unexpected places.’

Jane managed a small smile, but inside she felt chewed-up, unable to think of anything but the cartridge she’d hidden in her bag. Her hand stole disbelievingly over her flat stomach. Was it possible that Demetri’s baby was already growing inside her? How soon would it be before it became noticeable? How soon before Olga suspected that something was wrong?

And, as if she’d already sensed her employee’s abstraction, Olga rested a hip on Jane’s desk. ‘You are looking pale,’ she said, dark brows drawing together above her long nose. ‘Are you getting enough sleep? Or is that young man of yours keeping you up half the night, hmm?’

Jane shuffled the papers on her desk. ‘I don’t have a young man, Olga. I’ve told you so a dozen times. Alex Hunter and I are just friends.’

‘Does he know that?’

Predictably, now that the news of the bronzes was out of the way, Olga was directing all her attention towards her assistant. How would she react when she found out Jane was having a baby? How would Alex react when she’d already assured him that her relationship with Demetri was over?

Playing for time, she said weakly, ‘I beg your pardon—’

‘Mr Hunter,’ said Olga testily. ‘I was asking if he was aware that you have nothing more than friendship in mind?’

‘Oh…’ Jane made a helpless gesture. ‘Our relationship isn’t that serious. I like Alex. He’s good company. But we’ve only known one another for a comparatively short time.’

‘Long enough.’ Olga was persistent. ‘I worry about you, Jane, I really do. When are you going to put the past behind you and get on with your life?’

‘Oh, I—’

Jane was still trying to think of an answer when Olga spoke again. ‘Isn’t it time you thought about getting a divorce?’

Sometimes Olga’s perception was truly startling, Jane thought incredulously. At any other time, she might have admired her ability to sense what she was thinking. But not today. This was one occasion when Jane would prefer to keep her thoughts to herself.

While she waited for Jane to answer, Olga rummaged in her pocket and drew out a pack of her favourite Gauloise cigarettes. Placing one between her lips, she flicked her lighter, inhaling deeply before blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air above their heads. Jane had never liked the smell of cigarettes and this morning she found it nauseating. Feeling the bile rising in her throat, she made an incoherent little sound and then rushed wildly out of the room.

In the small bathroom that adjoined the gallery, she was violently sick. Leaning against the tiled wall afterwards, a tissue pressed to her mouth, she thought it was a long time since she’d felt so ill. What had she eaten, for God’s sake? She’d only had toast for breakfast, so it couldn’t be that. Mind you, she hadn’t really wanted any breakfast. She’d been feeling distinctly out-of-sorts since she’d got out of bed.

And then, feeling immensely stupid, she realised what was happening. It wasn’t food-poisoning. It wasn’t even the smell of Olga’s cigarette, although heaven knew they were an acquired taste. No, this had to be the start of morning sickness, and if she needed any further confirmation of her condition, this was it.

A tentative tapping at the door roused her. ‘Jane? Jane, are you all right?’ Naturally, it was Olga. ‘Is something wrong?’

Everything, thought Jane heavily, struggling to pull herself together. But she managed to say, ‘No, I’m OK, Olga. I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me and when I smelled your cigarette—’

‘Mein Gott!’ Olga sounded horrified. ‘My cigarette has made you ill?’

‘No. No, not really.’ Jane felt ashamed. She couldn’t let Olga take the blame for something that was her own fault. She opened the door to find the old woman waiting outside, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘Sorry about that.’

Olga said something Jane couldn’t understand and then wrapped her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders. Thankfully, she’d ditched the cigarette but Jane could still smell the scent of tobacco on her clothes.

‘Leibchen,’ she murmured with evident concern. ‘Are you sure you and Mr Hunter are just good friends?’

‘What do you mean?’ Jane tried to sound confused but it didn’t quite come off.

Olga sighed, looking down at her with considering eyes. ‘Because…well, because I am wondering if there might be another reason for you feeling—unwell, no?’

‘Another reason?’ Jane swallowed.

‘Do I have to draw you a picture, leibling?’ Olga turned to take her by the shoulders, making it impossible for Jane to avoid her calculating stare. ‘Is it possible that you might—be fooling yourself?’

‘Fooling myself?’ Jane blew out a breath, wondering if it was worth pretending she didn’t understand. Giving in, she said, ‘Are you suggesting I might be pregnant? Is that what you think?’

Olga shook her head. ‘I’m simply saying it’s a possibility you should consider, no? You wouldn’t be the first young woman to fall for the charms of a handsome young man like Mr Hunter.’

Jane pulled away from her. ‘I’ve told you!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Alex and I—Alex and I have never—’

‘Never?’ Olga was sceptical.

‘Never,’ retorted Jane crossly. ‘Now, can we talk about something else?’ She scrubbed at her mouth one last time and then started back towards her office. ‘Have you given any thought as to where we might find the other pieces Sir George is looking for?’

Olga shrugged, following her more slowly, and Jane knew the old woman still wasn’t convinced of her answer. However, until she’d decided what she was going to do, Jane didn’t feel capable of discussing her situation with anyone. For heaven’s sake, she still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that she was pregnant herself.

But, throughout the rest of the day, Jane found her thoughts constantly drifting to the dilemma she was facing. What was she going to do? How soon would she have to decide whether she was going to keep the baby or not? For, although her salary was generous, there was no way she could afford the cost of child-care in London on her own.

The alternative was to tell Demetri about the baby. But how could she tell her husband she was expecting a baby when he was already preparing to get a divorce? And there were other people involved, not least the woman he hoped to marry. As well as his mother. Jane could well imagine Maria Souvakis’s reaction when she discovered her son had fathered another child. With the despised English girl.

Jane packed up early and left for home, telling Olga she was feeling shivery. She hoped mentioning another ailment would divert her employer’s mind from the suspicions she’d voiced earlier. But feeling the woman’s eyes upon her as she ran down the steps from the gallery, Jane wasn’t confident she’d succeeded.

It was raining and she took the bus home, afraid that if she took the underground the smell of cigarette smoke would make her sick again. And it was such a relief to walk into the quiet, airy spaciousness of her apartment, so good to sink down onto the sofa with a freshly-made cup of tea.

However, she hadn’t been sitting there for very long before the phone rang. Her mother, Jane guessed, assuming that she’d phoned the gallery and Olga had directed her here. It was to be hoped her employer hadn’t decided to confide her fears to Mrs Lang. It might account for the timeliness—or untimeliness—of her call.

She contemplated not answering for all of ten seconds. But the possibility that it might be someone else had her reaching for the receiver. ‘Yes,’ she said, aware that her tone was less than cordial, and then she nearly dropped the instrument when Demetri’s rich, dark voice came on the line.

‘I see your temper hasn’t improved,’ he remarked drily, the slight echo indicating he was calling long-distance. ‘Who has upset you this time?’

Jane caught her breath. Then, gathering her scattered senses, she said, ‘Nobody’s upset me, Demetri. I haven’t spoken to you in weeks.’

Demetri snorted. ‘Always ready with the acid comment,’ he said wryly. ‘I suppose you were expecting me to call.’

Jane frowned. ‘Why would I expect to hear from you?’ she retorted, wondering if there was a letter in today’s mail she’d overlooked. This had to be something to do with the divorce. There was no other reason for Demetri to contact her. That he knew of, at least.

‘I spoke to your mother earlier,’ Demetri explained with more patience than she’d have expected. ‘I didn’t have the gallery’s number so I was forced to contact her. She gave me the number—not without some reluctance, I have to admit—but, as you know, the effort was wasted. You’re an elusive woman, Jane.’ He paused. ‘I trust you’re feeling better.’

Jane moistened her lips. Despite the fact that her mind was buzzing with the reasons why Demetri had rung, she wondered rather apprehensively what Olga might have said. Nothing indiscreet, she assured herself, although Olga wasn’t known for her discretion.

‘Um—I suppose Olga told you I’d gone home because I wasn’t feeling well,’ she ventured cautiously.

‘Something like that,’ Demetri agreed obliquely. ‘I hope it’s nothing serious.’

Serious enough, thought Jane tensely, but Demetri hadn’t rung to discuss her health. ‘Just a cold,’ she said, realising she had to move the conversation along. ‘What did you want, Demetri?’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Your father’s not worse, is he?’

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