The Greek Millionaire’s Mistress

Catherine Spencer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

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 ONE

FROM his position at one side of the orchestra rostrum, Mikos swung his gaze over the crowded ballroom and brought it to rest on the woman edging closer to the table where Angelo held court. Who was she? And how come he hadn’t spotted her before? The party had been in full swing for almost three hours, yet only now, with midnight approaching, had she come to his attention.

She seemed to be alone and, like him, giving the impression she preferred to remain an observer, rather than a participant, of the festivities. The difference was, he was very good at what he did, and only a handful of those present knew that he was more than just Angelo’s executive vice president and most favored confidant.

She, on the other hand, was trying too hard to be inconspicuous. If you wanted to disappear into the background, koritsi mou, he thought, taking in the daring cut of a dress the same shade of misty mauve as the Aegean at dawn, you should have worn something less eye-catching.

Surveying the room one last time, he exchanged a nod with the security guards posted at the doors, then stepped down from the dais and casually made his way to where she stood half-concealed by the ornate drapery in a window alcove. Dark haired and dark eyed, she could have passed for Greek, but he’d been around the international social set long enough to recognize a European when he saw one, and this woman didn’t fit the mold. American, he decided, and addressed her mostly in English. “Kalispera. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

If she was startled at being accosted by a stranger, she didn’t let it show. “I believe you’re right,” she said, her gaze locking fearlessly with his. “But then, I’ve met very few people here tonight.”

He couldn’t quite place her accent, and knew for a fact that he’d never seen her before. Hers was not a face a man would soon forget. “Then allow me to remedy the situation. I’m Mikolas Christopoulos.” And it’s my job to find out everything there is to know about you.

“Very nice to meet you, Mr. Christopoulos,” she said composedly. “I’m Gina Hudson.”

“And you’re not American.”

“No,” she replied, with a laugh more melodic than anything the orchestra could hope to produce. “I’m Canadian. Is that okay with you?”

He ran a mental check of the guest list, pretty sure no Canadians were on it. “Of course it’s okay. Who did you come with?”

“No one. I’m alone, and here on assignment.”

A working woman? Possibly. But one thing he knew for certain: she was not on the Tyros payroll. Apart from anything else, Angelo didn’t believe in hiring women, except as domestics, although he was happy enough, even at eighty, to occupy them in other ways. If this one happened to take his fancy…

Mikos shuddered inwardly at the thought. “To do what?” he inquired, steering her out of Angelo’s line of vision.

“Write an article for a magazine published in Vancouver which, in case you’re not aware, lies on the West Coast of—”

“I’m familiar with Vancouver,” he said, stopping her dead in her attempt to sidetrack him. “I work for Hesperus International which, as I’m sure you know, is owned by the man being honored here tonight. Two of our cruise ships sail to Alaska from Vancouver during the summer season. It’s a beautiful city.”

“Yes.” She smiled. “Spectacular, in fact.”

As are you, he thought. If she’d appeared lovely from a distance, up close she was exquisite. A stunningly beautiful brunette with an hourglass figure, and skin the color of honey. And that smile!

He couldn’t remember the last time a woman’s smile had hit him with such a shock of sexual awareness. Or if he’d ever felt such a compelling urge to run his hand over her skin to discover if its texture matched the satin silk of her dress. Forcing his attention back where it belonged, he remarked, “I’m surprised the residents of Vancouver even know of this event, let alone care about it. How did it come to your notice?”

“We might strike you as people living at the back end of beyond, Mr. Christopoulos,” she said evenly, “but we’re actually quite in touch with the rest of the planet. Angelo Tyros is a world-wide celebrity, and his birthday party has aroused quite a bit of international attention. Considering Vancouver’s large Greek community, plus the fact, as you already pointed out, that his cruise ships sail out of our harbor, it shouldn’t surprise you that we find him newsworthy.”

A beaded bag, dangling from her shoulder by a long silver chain and just large enough to hold a notepad or mini tape recorder, lent some credence to her story. “Well, it’s true that he can make headlines just by blinking,” Mikos allowed. “But for you to travel so far, for so little…”

“I quite agree, which is why, once I’m finished here, I plan to combine business with pleasure and spend a week or two discovering the Greek islands.”

She sounded so convincing, he almost believed her. But he didn’t get paid to be “almost” anything; he had to be one hundred percent sure. Angelo expected no less, and there’d been enough attempts on the old man’s life, as it was. No way was Mikos going to risk exposing him to another, even if the threat this time did come swathed in silk and sex appeal. That kind was the most dangerous of all.

Ignoring the blinding dazzle of camera flashbulbs intent on recording every moment of the evening, Mikos indicated the mob of couples gyrating under the dim lights to the orchestra’s insistent beat, and adopted his most persuasive tone. “But this is a party meant to be enjoyed by everyone, including those, like the two of us, not strictly here for pleasure. So I say, let’s put work aside for a moment, and dance.”

“You’re sure your boss won’t mind?”

He shot a quick look at the head table where Angelo was ogling the cleavage of the woman draped over his shoulder. “I doubt he’ll even notice.”

Following his glance, Gina compressed her lips, apparently not impressed by what she saw, and thereby heightening his suspicion of her. “You’re right. He won’t.”

“Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Just briefly, she hesitated, then, inclining her head, smiled again. “All right. I’d love to.”

“You can leave this here. It’ll be perfectly safe.” He took her little beaded bag and secreted it behind the window drapery. Then, after trading significant glances with Theo Keramidis, a plainclothes security guard stationed a few meters away, he slid his arm around her waist, whisked her onto the dance floor and quickly maneuvered her into the middle of the crowd.

The music pounded, its message one of throbbing, primitive urgency calculated to stir a man’s blood. The heat and press of the bodies surrounding them enforced an intimacy she’d probably have found offensive under any other circumstances. As it was, there was no avoiding physical contact—a fleeting touch here, a dangerously erotic brush there. Not that he minded. With business taken care of, he was more than ready to enjoy the moment for however long it might last, and honest enough to admit that, if he had any say in the matter, it would not end anytime soon.

Plainly put, the second their eyes had met, a very elemental, male-female recognition had arced between him and her. He’d had his share of women. Was well acquainted with the mild exhilaration of a brief affair. But his visceral response to this particular woman was different and spoke of a deeper connection that went beyond the ordinary. Gina Hudson was different, too. So different that, in acknowledging her allure, he knew he ran the risk of compromising his professional integrity.

Since that was something he never permitted himself, no matter how tempting the distraction, the smart thing would be to pass her off to a more impartial member of his team, and let them keep her occupied. Yet when the orchestra swung into a slower, more sultry tempo, he pulled her into his arms and held her close.

She was so petite that his splayed fingers spanned an area from the slight swell of her hip, and past the indent of her waist to the upper edge of her gown. Spread them a centimeter farther apart, and his thumb could test the soft skin between her shoulder blades. Slide his arm more snugly around her, and he’d graze the outer curve of her right breast. The realization shot a surge of heat to his groin and cast a death blow to the caution that was his usual trademark.

Blithely unaware of her effect on him, she glanced up from beneath long, silky eyelashes. “Are you from Athens, Mr. Christopoulos?”

“No,” he said, making a valiant effort to rein in his overactive libido. “I was born in a village in the northwest corner of the country. And I wish you’d call me Mikos.”

“Is that Greek for Michael?”

“A regional variation of the same. My full name is Mikolas.” To avoid collision with a large elderly couple bent on cutting a wide swath through the crowd, he swung her into a sudden reverse turn. From the unhesitating way she followed his lead, they might have been dancing together for years. But the satin whisper of her gown flirting with his trousered thighs, the soft resilience of her breasts against his starched dress shirt, left him fighting to control his breathing.

The music came to an end. “So what else should I know about, Ms. Gina Hudson?” he inquired, forcing himself to concentrate on his prime objective. “How do you spend your time when you’re not covering high society events for your magazine?”

A fleeting uneasiness crossed her face before she was able to camouflage it with another breathless little laugh. “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid.”

But you are, he thought. Exciting…and more than a little evasive.

Keeping his hand in the small of her back, he led her to where her bag lay exactly as he’d left it. She slipped the silver chain over her shoulder again and deftly steered the conversation away from herself. “So how long have you lived in Athens?”

“Ever since my teens, when I came here to work.” He smiled bleakly at the memory of those grueling years. “In other words, a very long, and different, lifetime ago.”

She looked out the window at the traffic streaming along Vassillissis Sofias, and grimaced. “You don’t mind the frantic pace? The noise and pollution?”

“Not as long as I can escape it once in a while. Am I right in thinking you’re not much for city life yourself?”

“I was, once. Now, I live at my family’s home in the Gulf Islands.”

She surprised him with that. He judged her to be in her early to mid-twenties. A tad old, he’d have thought, still to be living at home, but definitely too young to shut herself away on an island. “I have a small place a few kilometers offshore, too,” he remarked conversationally, sparing Theo an inquiring glance and receiving a barely discernible nod in reply, “as well as an apartment here, on Lycabettus Hill.”

To reply, she had to raise her voice over the sudden eruption of laughter from a nearby table. “I’m afraid that doesn’t mean anything to me. I’m not at all familiar with the layout of the city.”

He hadn’t expected she would be. Bringing his mouth close enough to her ear to catch a faint whiff of her perfume, he said, “Then what do you say to my ordering us something cold and refreshing to drink, and I’ll take you up to the hotel roof garden for a bird’s-eye tour of the area? Quite apart from anything else, it’ll be much quieter up there and we can talk without having to shout.”

“Well…” She tilted her head and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “This ballroom is rather noisy.”

“Wait here, then, and I’ll be right back.”

Theo joined him at the bar a few seconds later. “So, what did you find in the bag?” Mikos asked.

“Nothing untoward,” the security guard replied. “A valid Press pass, a little cash and the usual girly stuff—comb, lipstick, mirror, breath mints, that sort of thing.” He patted his jacket pocket. “Oh, and the key to her hotel room. The old-fashioned kind, with the room number engraved on it.”

“Press pass, hmm? She did say she was here on assignment for a magazine.”

“Looks as if she told the truth then, doesn’t it?”

“Certainly does.” His rush of elation was premature, to say the least, but telling himself so didn’t quell it one iota. “Nice work, Theo. Think you can manage without me for a while?”

Theo made no attempt to hide his smirk. “For as long as it takes, and whatever it takes, to find out which hotel she’s staying at.”

The view from the roof of the Grande Bretagne was no doubt impressive. The elegant old hotel, she quickly learned, occupied the most prestigious block in the city center, overlooked Syntagma Square, the House of Parliament and National Gardens, and lay within easy walking distance of such popular tourist spots as the Agora, Plaka, Monastiraki flea market, Acropolis and Presidential Palace.

All very interesting, she was sure, and normally she’d have soaked up the information but, in this instance, she found it difficult to concentrate. Even the ancient, floodlit columns of the Parthenon failed to hold her attention for more than a second or two. And all because, much closer—and far too close for comfort—the sleeve of Mikos Christopoulos’s immaculate dinner jacket repeatedly brushed against her bare arm. His warm breath ruffled her hair. His voice, darker than midnight and more seductive than chocolate, mesmerized her with its foreign intonation. Most disturbing of all, his exceedingly masculine aura enveloped her in a web of sexual awareness that left her trapped like a hapless butterfly pinned to a collector’s mounting board.

Oblivious to his effect on her, he directed her attention to a block of real estate just east of the hotel. “Down there is Kolonaki, one of the most sought-after areas in Athens. Often referred to as Embassy territory, it’s also home to the business district, as well as some high-priced apartment buildings and many trendy coffee houses where the social set likes to hang out.”

“But that’s not where you live, is it?” she asked weakly, less because she really gave a hoot where he lived than because she felt she had to say something to indicate she still had a working brain. “When we were downstairs, you mentioned an apartment in Lika-something Hill.”

“Lycabettus, that’s right.” He cupped her shoulders in his big, warm hands, and turned her slightly to the north. “You can see it quite clearly from here. But I work in Kolonaki, in the Tyros office complex.”

Mention of Angelo Tyros’s name served as a stark reminder of why she was in Greece to begin with. Fighting to keep her tone neutral, she said, “How long have you worked for him?”

“Almost half my life, though not always in my present capacity.”

“So you know him well?”

“As well as anyone does, yes.”

“What kind of man is he—besides rich and famous, that is?”

Mikos gave the question some thought before answering. “Indestructible,” he finally replied. “As you know, he just turned eighty, but he’s still very much a hands-on chairman of the board, at his desk every morning by nine and expecting everyone else to be at theirs. He takes enormous pride in the fact that he’s never missed a day’s work in his life, not when his wife died, nor even when his son and only child was killed in an auto racing accident, some thirty years ago.”

That figures, Gina thought bitterly. What does family matter, compared to the amassing of more wealth? “And you admire such a man?”

“I respect him, I’m grateful to him, and yes, I’m fond of him. Deeply so. I might not always agree with him or the choices he makes, but I wouldn’t be where I am today if it weren’t for Angelo Tyros.”

Nor would my mother!

How she kept the words from flying out of her mouth, she’d never know, but something of her contempt must have shown on her face because Mikos tilted his head to one side, the better to observe her. She’d noticed earlier that his eyes were not the dark brown she’d have expected of a man so classically Greek in every other respect, but a light, clear green. Framed by thick, black lashes, they made an arresting statement in a face already blessed with more than its fair share of masculine beauty. But more than that, they were sharply observant and full of keen intelligence. He wouldn’t be easily fooled.

She’d do well to remember that, she thought, glancing away before she lost herself in the depths of that alluring gaze. If she played her cards right, this man could introduce her to Angelo Tyros, but not if she gave him reason to be suspicious of her motives. Without his help, a journalistic nonentity like herself hadn’t a chance of getting within spitting distance of the old brute. His army of sycophants would see to that, as she’d realized the moment she set foot in the ballroom.

Interpreting her silence as disapproval, Mikos said, “If I’ve given the impression that he’s cold and unfeeling, and more concerned with power than people, let me balance that by saying with absolute sincerity that he’s also capable of great generosity and kindness.”

“I’ll try to remember that when I write my article.”

His voice sank lower, rolling over her skin with the soft abrasion of velvet dragged against the nap to bring every nerve ending in her body to tingling life. “And I will never forget this night, or this moment.”

“Why’s that?” she whispered haltingly.

Again, he brought his hands to her shoulders, but this time ran them up her neck and along the underside of her jaw until they cradled her face. “We both know why, calli mou.”

Well, she didn’t. Not really. Oh, she knew he was going to kiss her. Had known it from the moment they’d stepped out onto the deserted roof garden, just as she’d known she was going to let him because, quite apart from any other consideration, he happened to be handsome as the proverbial Greek god, and so charming that his smile alone was enough to set her entire body vibrating right down to her toes, and it had been such a long time since she’d felt desirable. But in no way did any of that answer the real question, why?

The ballroom had been overflowing with beautiful women clad in the very latest, most sumptuous designer fashions. She had on a dress she’d last worn five years ago, and even in its prime, it hadn’t exactly qualified as being on the cutting edge of haute couture.

Those other women had diamonds threaded through their hair, and draped around their necks and wrists, and swinging from their ears. Her only adornment consisted of a piece of costume jewelry—a big old purple-colored pendant, studded around the perimeter with grimy crystals, which she used to wear when she played dress-up as a little girl. Although its chain had long since been lost or broken, she’d scrubbed its paste gems in ammonia until they sparkled, then attached it to a wide band of black velvet, which she now wore at her throat. It was a pretty enough bauble to suit the occasion, especially in the subdued light of the ballroom, but it didn’t compare to the real thing.

Which brought her back full circle to her original question: Why had Mikos Christopoulos singled out her, a social nobody from Canada, with neither pedigree, position nor money to make her stand out from the crowd?

Grabbing at the remnants of her vanishing sanity, she stammered, “That hardly answers my question, Mikos.”

“No? Then perhaps this does,” he murmured, and lowered his mouth to hers in a kiss that redefined the meaning of the word, at least as it applied to her experience.

She clutched at him, then, because it was either that or slither to the ground in a heap of molten hormones. How was it possible for fire to torch her senses, yet leave behind no scar? How could a man turn the most elementary tool of seduction into an instrument of such exquisite sensory torture that spasms of pleasure shot to the pit of her stomach and left her most secret flesh humming and aching and drenched?

Oh, this was madness! But telling herself so did nothing to stop an inarticulate moan from rising in her throat. Or keep her hands where they properly belonged, planted firmly at his shoulders to ward him off. Instead she wilted against him and wound her arms around his neck, and tunneled her fingers through his smooth, dense hair, and opened her lips to his persuasive tongue and let him do as he pleased with her mouth, and just generally behaved like a trollop.

Remember why you’re here! the dim voice of reason beseeched. You didn’t have to travel all the way to Greece, if all you wanted was sex!

Not even if this is sex transformed into something rare and wonderful? her other, shameless self inquired.

Not even then, you idiot! What kind of woman abandons her cause, the moment a handsome foreigner spares her a second glance?

But this is about more than exotic good looks. It’s about chemistry—alchemy, even. It’s about looking into a man’s eyes and seeing my future written there. It’s about trusting my instincts and recognizing destiny when it comes calling.

Tell that to the mother you left in the care of strangers!

The words slapped her in the face like a dash of cold water.

“Mmm…oh!” She tore her mouth free. Forced her hands to stop their exploration of his hair and pushed them hard against his chest. “I can’t do this! It isn’t right!”

His eyes smoldered in the gloom, primitive green fire warring with civilized restraint. “How can it be wrong, agapiti mou, when I find you so irresistible? We are free to follow our hearts, are we not—or is yours promised to someone else?”

“Of course it isn’t!” she responded heatedly. “If I were involved with another man, I would never cheat on him. But this…what we’re getting into here, well, it’s…!”

She floundered into silence, knowing she could not confide in him. Although he didn’t realize it, he was on the enemy’s side, and when he discovered her true reason for coming to Athens, he’d become her enemy, too. He wouldn’t find her quite so irresistible then.

“Moving too quickly. I understand. We met less than an hour ago, and have tomorrow and as many days after that as you are willing to spend with me, before we must say adio. There is no need to rush so pleasurable a prospect.”

His voice caressed her. Soothed her uneasy conscience. He was neither making nor demanding promises for anything beyond what either was willing to give. The way he saw it, the most they had to offer each other was a week or two of their otherwise separate lives. After that, he would move on to his next conquest and she would return home, possibly a little heart sore, but definitely more fulfilled as a woman than she had been when she left—and hopefully having achieved her covert objective. One of those win-win situations, in other words.

Pack your bags and get on that aircraft, Sam Irving, her doctor, had ordered when he learned she was following his advice after all, even if it wasn’t entirely for the reasons he thought. You’re a young woman in her prime, Gina, and it’s long past time you had a little fun. Discover Greece, have a fling and leave me to take care of things on the homefront.

Good advice, Sam, she decided, a little bubble of happiness erupting inside her.

Smiling at Mikos, she said, “No need at all. I’m enjoying just being up here with you, although I’m surprised we have the place to ourselves. I didn’t think Athenians ever went to bed before dawn.”

“You’re right. As a rule, we’d be just two of many enjoying the night. But for this occasion, the public rooms of the hotel are off-limits to all but those officially invited to attend the birthday celebration.”

“Then can we just sit and get to know one another better? You said earlier that you wouldn’t be where you are today if it weren’t for Angelo Tyros, and I’ve been wondering what you meant by that.”

He shrugged his impeccably tailored shoulders regretfully. “Much though I’d prefer to watch the sun come up with you at my side, I’m afraid I must deny myself the pleasure. I’m officially working and shouldn’t be gone from the party too long.”

Well, so much for finding her irresistible! As long as she was willing to let him seduce her, he had all the time in the world to spare, but the minute she called a halt to the physical side of things, duty called him elsewhere—probably to one of those women she’d earlier noticed salivating over him as if he were a particularly mouthwatering slice of baklava!

“Thanks for reminding me that I’m slacking off, too,” she said, not quite able to keep the sting out of her voice. “I’m being paid to produce an article about the rich and famous, and could be missing all kinds of delicious goings-on downstairs.”

He started to speak, but she was in no mood to listen because her little bubble of happiness had burst and left her flat with disillusionment. She’d been out of circulation too long, that was the trouble. Adopting the role of parent to her poor, lost mother had blunted her social skills, and left her so hungry for a touch of glamour, a soupçon of romance, that she’d lost all perspective the very second Mikos had spared her a second glance.

How could she have been so naive? Sophisticated men like him weren’t interested in cosy chats by moonlight. She ought to be grateful he hadn’t laughed in her face at the mere idea!

Swallowing the absurd lump in her throat, she swept to the elevator and pressed the call button. Mercifully the doors slid open promptly, offering a fast escape. But not quite fast enough. Mikos was right on her heels, ushering her into the car with such charming continental gallantry that it took every iota of willpower for her to maintain a stony-faced mask of indifference.

“I have offended you,” he observed ruefully, as the doors ghosted shut.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, and wished he’d stop staring at her. Didn’t he know that people in elevators were supposed to look at the illuminated numbers on the directory panel, and never at other passengers?

“If that is true,” he replied, after a lengthy pause, “then once things start to quieten down a little, perhaps you’ll join me for a late snack?”

She covered her mouth with her hand and faked a long yawn. “Oh, I doubt that. I’m pretty tired already, and won’t be hanging around once I’ve collected enough material to complete my article.”

“I see.” Another silence followed, this one more protracted, then, “You have a room here, at the Grande Bretagne, do you, Gina?”

She thought of the Grande Bretagne, newly restored to its nineteenth century grandeur, and laughed, a brittle humorless sound that echoed harshly in that confined space. “Hardly! I’m a working woman, remember?”

“But you have adequate accommodation in a decent neighborhood?”

“I’m at the Topikos, just a couple of blocks from the Hilton.” It was nothing splashy, and certainly didn’t compare to the Grande Bretagne, but her room was clean and comfortable, came with its own bathroom and was affordable.

“Then I’ll arrange for a car to take you home when you’re ready to leave.”

“No need,” she said. “It’s not far. I can walk, or take a taxi.”

“I will not allow any such thing. Please let me know when you’ve had enough of the party.”

Fat chance! she almost told him. Fortunately the elevator sighed to a stop and the second the doors slid open, the din from the party swam through, drowning out any possibility of further conversation.

Once inside the ballroom, she waggled her fingers in farewell. “See you later,” she mouthed, and promptly put as much distance between him and her as possible.

Sadly he made no attempt to stop her. Instead, with the careless elegance only the very rich and self-assured dared assume, he sauntered across the imposing lobby and struck up a conversation with a man seated in an alcove.

Well, if Mikolas Christopoulos wasn’t going to give her access to Angelo Tyros, she’d have to do it on her own. Refusing to admit the bitter taste in her mouth sprang from a disappointment that had to do with more than thwarted ambition, she made her way unimpeded to the head table, only to suffer another setback. There was no sign of the Greek billionaire.

“Excuse me, do you speak English?” she asked a woman still seated there.

“A little, yes.”

“Then can you tell me where I might find Mr. Tyros? I was hoping he’d grant me an interview.”

The woman’s eyebrows rose in amusement. “You’re too late, Kyria! Even if he’d have agreed to speak to you, which is doubtful, Angelo left some time ago. He is eighty, after all!”

Oh, great! Just wonderful!

No denying her letdown this time. It burned her throat raw.

She’d started out on such a high note. Been greeted on her arrival at the Grande Bretagne by a cloaked doorman who’d ushered her into the lobby as if she were royalty. Somehow caught the eye of the most attractive man in the room, who’d singled her out for his undivided attention, only to dump her as soon as he realized she wasn’t up for a quick grope between the potted palms. And matters had gone steadily downhill ever since. All in all, the evening had been a complete bust.

Discouraged and exhausted suddenly, she circled back to the ballroom’s exit, grateful to see that although the faithful four continued to stand guard against gatecrashers, Mikos was nowhere in sight.

At least, that was her assumption until, when she was halfway across the Persian carpet adorning the lobby, a hand closed over her shoulder and that dark, rich voice that had so nearly seduced her on the roof, murmured in her ear, “And just where do you think you’re going, Ms. Hudson?”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE’D thought she was tired, that falling into bed and sleeping without fear of what she might wake up to was exactly what she both needed and wanted. But the sun was well-risen and already flushing the tall buildings of downtown Athens with color when she finally arrived back at her hotel room, just after eight o-clock the next morning.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” she’d told Mikos, pushing aside yet another pesky photographer and making her determined way through the rotating doors of the Grande Bretagne to the street outside, “but I’m heading back to my hotel.”

Undeterred, he’d followed her. “We decided you’d let me know when you were ready to do that.”

“No,” she corrected him stonily. “You decided, not I.”

He raised his left hand and snapped his fingers imperiously. That, it seemed, was all it took for a small black Mercedes limousine to materialize from the shadows and cruise to a stop at the curb. “Just as well one of us has some sense then, isn’t it?” he said, and held open the rear door in refuse-me-at-your-peril invitation.

Although she’d have loved to defy him and stalk haughtily off into the night under her own steam, in truth she was glad of the excuse to be off her feet. Strappy rhinestone sandals might exemplify the ultimate in elegant evening accessories, but they didn’t lend themselves to hiking. Not only that, she hadn’t worn three inch heels in years, and her feet were aching unmercifully. So she swallowed her pride and slithered into the back seat in a flurry of violet silk chiffon. “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate your consideration.”

“Parakalo! Don’t mention it,” he returned.

Assuming she’d seen the last of him, she leaned forward to give the uniformed chauffeur the name of her hotel, then realized that Mikos had also climbed into the car with every sign of remaining there.

Rattled, she gasped, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Putting an end to this nonsense,” he replied, then switched to Greek in a brief conversation with the driver, at the conclusion of which the man nodded compliantly, raised the smoked-glass panel between him and his passengers and eased the car into the traffic still clogging the road.

Gina wasn’t familiar with the layout of Athens, but one glance out of the dark-tinted side window was enough to tell her they weren’t headed toward her hotel. “In case you’re not aware, your driver’s going the wrong way,” she informed Mikos.

“He’s going precisely the right way,” he drawled, unbuttoning his dinner jacket and stretching out his long legs. “I suggest you relax and enjoy the ride.”

For a moment, she was tempted. What woman wouldn’t be, especially one who’d been deprived of the so-called “finer things in life” for far too long? She was ensconced in black leather upholstery as plush and soft as polished marshmallows, in a limousine that purred like a well-bred cat and traveled over the surface of the road as smoothly as a sleek length of satin floating on air.

The neck of a bottle of champagne—Bollinger, she noticed—poked out of a silver ice bucket in the built-in bar. Crystal flutes sparkled in the subdued glow of the rear interior lights. The man seated next to her was sexy and gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. Worldly, sophisticated and charming.

Then it occurred to her that she was headed toward an unknown destination, in a car with a comparative stranger, and could be in very serious trouble. Women traveling alone in foreign lands had been known to disappear without trace, never to be seen again, precisely because they’d behaved as rashly as she just had.

“If you’re thinking of kidnapping me,” she said, sounding distressingly terrified, “you should know that you won’t be able to raise a ransom worth spit. I have no value, monetary or otherwise, to a living soul.” Except, she added silently, to my mother who hasn’t a clue where I am, or what sort of trouble I might be facing. And if even if she had, she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

“Kidnap you?” He stifled a grin, though not quite soon enough for it to pass unnoticed. Teeth like his, she thought sourly, were a dentist’s worst nightmare. Straight, white and flawless, they’d push the poor man to the brink of bankruptcy before he’d find reason to tamper with them. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but now that you mention it, it might not be such a bad idea.”

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing!” she spat.

He angled a long, assessing glance her way. “I find you many things. Amusing, certainly, agapiti mou, but also intriguing, ingenuous—”

“I find you insufferable!”

This time, he laughed out loud, an eruption of sound rumbling rich and low as an earthquake from deep inside his chest. “At least I’ve made some sort of impression,” he said dryly, removing the champagne from the ice bucket.

His hands, darkly tanned against the white cuffs of his dress shirt, were well-shaped, with long, capable fingers. Spellbound, she watched as they stripped the foil from the neck of the bottle and removed the cork with the kind of negligent ease that suggested he was no stranger to the task. The wine foamed in the flutes, tiny volcanoes of bubbles exploding to the surface in effervescent glee.

“What shall we drink to, Gina?” he asked, offering a glass to her.

Exercising a mind of their own that was completely at odds with how common sense dictated they should respond, her fingers reached out and circled the slender stem. “You decide.”

“How about, to getting to know more about one another?”

“When I suggested that, little more than an hour ago, you claimed you had more pressing matters to attend to.”

“I’ve changed my mind since then.”

“You’re not the only one! I now know more than I care to about the kind of man you are,” she replied, “and if you think that by getting me in the back seat of this…this sexmobile, I’m going to lie down and let you have your way with me, you’re in for a rude awakening.”

At first, he seemed bereft of speech. He covered his mouth with his hand, and from the way his champagne trembled in its glass, it was plain enough that he was convulsed with more laughter, albeit silent this time. Finally making an effort to control himself—and not very well at that, judging by the amusement quivering in his voice—he said, “I assure you, I have far too much respect for you to entertain any such notion.”

“Oh.” She digested that for a second, then turned to him, puzzled. “Well then, what do you want?”

“To explain myself to you.”

“You didn’t have to go to such extreme lengths to do that.”

“Really? Are you saying that if I’d tried to speak my mind as you left the hotel, you’d have stopped in midflight and listened?”

“Probably not,” she had to admit. “I was pretty ticked off with you.”

“Exactly! And that’s what encouraged me to spirit you away like this. If you hadn’t cared that our rendezvous on the hotel roof came to such an abrupt end, I wouldn’t have bothered wasting any more of your time, or mine. But…” He fixed her in his gaze and shrugged his broad, beautiful shoulders. “You did care, didn’t you? You felt it, too—that spark of attraction between us, so powerful it defies all reason?”

Mesmerized, she nodded, such a maelstrom of emotion rushing through her at the message she read in his eyes that it took her a moment to pose the question that had gnawed at her for hours. “But in that case, why did you suddenly—?”

“Put an end to things, before they went too far?”

She nodded again.

“Because,” he said, removing her glass before she dropped it, and placing it beside his on the built-in shelf at his side, “I pride myself on being a civilized man who is long past the age where hasty fumbling in a public place is an acceptable way to treat a lady. But you, Gina, you aroused such a hunger in me that I wasn’t sure I could control myself if I remained alone with you any longer.”

At that, a lovely warmth spread through her. “I thought it might be because you’re married.”

“I am not, nor have I ever been married.”

“Oh,” she said, those same bubbles which had streamed so exuberantly in her champagne flute chasing now through her blood.

“Nor,” he continued, “do I plan to seduce you in the back seat of this car. If we are to make love—and that is by no means certain—it will be at a place and time of both our choosing.” His teeth gleamed in another smile. “But if you’ll permit it, I’d very much like to kiss you again.”

Heart stammering with pleasure, she whispered, “I think that can be arranged.”

He took her face between his hands and very slowly let his breath feather over her closed eyes, and her lashes, and down her face to her jaw, before making his deliberate way to her mouth. Once there, his lips closed over hers lightly, decorously even, yet spoke a silent language that promised a depth of passion completely foreign to anything she’d known before.

How easily he made her ache and want and need! Desire gnawed at her, raw and merciless. She felt herself melting, as she had when he’d kissed her on the hotel roof. Heat swirled through her blood. Pooled hot and heavy in the pit of her stomach. Sprang moist as dew in the secret folds of her femininity.

Stop being such a gentleman! she almost begged aloud. Stop holding back!

She was ravenous for him. Wanted him to touch her all over. Wished he’d lower her dress from her shoulders, raise its hem to her waist. Slide his hand inside her underwear. Cup the fullness of her breasts in his palms. Discover the tight buds of her nipples, the hot, tingling flesh between her legs.

More, she wanted to touch him. Run the tips of her fingers down his chest and past the flat planes of his belly. Stray lower into forbidden territory and explore the aroused shape of him. Test its smooth, naked weight in her hand. He would be big and powerful, just like the attraction flaring between them. He would be like no other man she’d ever met. She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.

Her realizing the direction of her thoughts was the only thing that prevented her from acting on her impulses.

Horrified at how close she’d come to embarrassing herself, she pulled away, shocked to the core.

What was wrong with her, that she was behaving like a…a floozy and practically throwing herself at a stranger? Had she been bitten by some exotic foreign bug and contracted brain fever? Admittedly she wasn’t a complete innocent where sex was concerned. She’d lost her virginity at twenty-two to Paul Johnson, her then-fiancé, who’d eventually changed his mind about marrying her when he’d realized it meant taking on her mother, too. But she’d never been “easy,” never cheapened herself with loose behavior.

Of course, some people might say she hadn’t had much choice in the matter because, after Paul broke things off and she went back to the island for good, her social life had pretty much hit rock bottom, especially when it came to dating. The limited number of eligible men she’d met there weren’t interested in a woman forever preoccupied with the doings of a sixty-year-old child.

But this was Athens, Greece, and incredible, beautiful Mikos Christopoulos had kissed her twice, and in doing so had awakened all the pent-up female needs and yearnings she’d suppressed for over five years, and set them free with a vengeance.

It had nothing to do with attraction, although Mikos surely was the most attractive man to walk the earth. It had to do with hunger; with the basic need to be acknowledged as a woman who amounted to more than a daughter and caregiver. But for her to give in to it like this? Never!

“Oh, my…!” she gasped, putting more distance between him and her, and sitting on her hands to keep them from wandering where they most definitely didn’t belong. “I think that’s enough for now.”

He didn’t attempt to dissuade her. If anything, he seemed almost relieved that she’d called a halt to things. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, reaching for the bottle and topping up their champagne.

Bewildered by the mixed messages he was sending—so hot for her one minute, yet able to cool his ardor so effectively the next—she gestured at the luxurious appointments of the limousine. “This isn’t exactly how I expected the evening to end, when I came to the party tonight.”

“Exactly what did you expect, Gina?”

“Why, that I’d go back to my hotel as soon as I’d gathered enough information.”

“Information?”

“For my magazine article.”

“Ah, yes, the magazine article,” he echoed suavely.

Too suavely.

“Yes,” she said, brought up short by the veiled cynicism she detected in his voice. “Don’t you believe me?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” she lied, taking umbrage at his answering her question with one of his own. “But you sound awfully suspicious suddenly.”

“Do I?” He flicked a glance her way, then turned his attention to the bubbles rising in his glass as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever come across.

“Yes,” she said again, and when he made no attempt to deny the fact, continued, “Are you?”

He deliberated at length before replying, “Let me put it this way. I’m not a man easily swayed by a beautiful face or an alluring body. It takes more than that to capture my interest. But I’m so strongly drawn to you that I’m at a loss to know how to deal with it.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to be at a loss about anything or anyone.”

“Normally I’m not. But I’d be lying if I said I find this situation normal. In truth, I consider it to be quite extraordinary.”

“And you don’t like not being in charge.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “I am, as you say in your part of the world, a control freak. It’s what makes me so good at my job.”

“Which is what, exactly? You told me you work for Mr. Tyros, but you never said what it is you do.”

“I’m in management. An executive vice president, in fact.”

Which told her precisely nothing. Well, I didn’t think you were a janitor! she almost retorted, struck by the sense that he’d edited his answer very carefully.

Realistically she supposed it wasn’t surprising. Likely no employee of a high-powered tycoon like Angelo Tyros, was at liberty to share top-level information with an outsider, and she only had to remember his imperious commandeering of the limousine to recognize that Mikos was very top-level indeed. “Do you like your job?” she asked him instead.

The interior car lights were dim, but not enough to hide the grimace that passed over his face. “Not always,” he admitted. “But then, who does? Take you, for instance. Are you entirely happy with what you do every day?”

She turned and looked out of the window, her reasons for coming to Greece suddenly back in the forefront of her mind where they rightly belonged.

Ms. Hudson…Gina, this is very awkward, but I’m quite sure I left my earrings on the dresser before we went out this morning, and they’re not there now….

Gina, is that you? I just caught your mother down on the beach, waist-deep in the water…in November, Gina…!

Seen Maeve? Not since this morning, Gina, no. When did you realize she was missing…?

How did one rate a labor of love, she wondered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. She hated what had happened to her mother. Hated the slow slipping away of the woman who’d once been the mainstay of her life. So, to answer his question, no, she wasn’t happy with what she had to do every day. But not for the reasons he might think.

Turning to face him again, she said, “Some days are better than others. I guess that’s true of every job.”

“Tell me about that.”

“What?”

“Your job. You said you live on one of the Gulf Islands.”

“That’s right.”

“Isn’t that rather inconvenient? If my memory serves correctly, they lie quite some distance from the mainland. I’d have thought that rather limiting for a writer interested in covering the international social set.”

“Many people commute from the islands to Vancouver. I can make it by seaplane in twenty minutes, if I need to.”

“But what made a young woman like you decide to live at home again?”

“How do you know I live at home?”

“You told me so, when we were dancing.”

Oh dear! She’d have to keep a tighter rein on her tongue or he’d definitely become suspicious. Or was it just that he was killing time in idle conversation and hoping she wouldn’t notice that they’d left the city behind and were approaching a bridge spanning a stretch of dark water? A lake? The sea? And if the latter, which one?

Her earlier fears resurfacing suddenly, she said, “Why don’t you tell me where you’re taking me?”

“To a place where we can be alone.”

“We’re already alone.”

“Not quite.” He glanced meaningfully at the smoked glass partition separating them from the driver. “My work is such that I’m seldom able to escape it, but tonight…” He traced the tip of his forefinger lightly over her lower lip, leaving it throbbing for more. “Tonight, I’m playing hooky. With you.”

Soon, they’d crossed the bridge and were passing through a fair-size town where lamps still shone from many houses. “Are we still on the mainland?”

“No. We’re on Evia, our second largest island after Crete. Many Greeks consider it to be the most beautiful, but because it lies so close to the mainland, it’s often overlooked by tourists and, as a result, has retained much of its traditional customs and charm.”

“Is it where you have your weekend place?”

He folded his fingers around hers. “No,” he said again.

The blood raced through her veins, not only because the simple touch of his hand on hers electrified her senses, but also from growing apprehension. Too soon, the lights of the town faded into the night. About fifteen minutes later, they passed through a village. Not long after that, the car cruised to a stop on a deserted stretch of coast road far from any sign of civilization. “Come,” Mikos said, drawing her out of the vehicle, the very second the driver raced around to hold open the door.

She stepped onto the road, stumbling a little in her high heels. Steadying her, Mikos spoke to his chauffeur who, to her dismay, climbed back into the Mercedes, turned the car around and sped back toward the village they’d left behind.

Within seconds, the night was filled with nothing but star-shine, the swish of the restless sea and the erratic thud of her heart. At her side, Mikos stood tall and dark as a monolith, his grip still firm on her elbow. Struggling to keep her tone even, she said, “I’m really not very comfortable with this situation. Exactly what do you have in mind?”

“A walk on the beach. What did you think?”

“That it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and most people are in bed at this hour.”

He laughed softly. “Are you saying you’d rather be in bed with me, Gina?”

The thought had crossed her mind often enough over the course of the evening that she was glad the night hid her blush. “No,” she snapped. “I’m saying that I don’t understand why we’re here.”

“Well, look around you.” He looped his arm over her shoulders and turned her to face the water. “See how the reflection of the stars dances over the sea. Feel how softly the air caresses your skin. Breathe in the scent of the pine trees and oleanders. Then tell me that you’d rather be alone in your hotel room in Athens, a city that never sleeps.”

How could she, when every word he spoke was the indisputable truth? “It is beautiful here.”

He drew her closer so that the rough velvet of his voice rasped intimately against her ear. “Then put your doubts to rest and come with me.”

Did she have any other choice? Did she want one? That she risked breaking both ankles as she tottered behind him down a narrow path to the shore, was answer enough. “I’m wearing high-heeled sandals,” she panted, when at last she reached the beach, “and they don’t lend themselves to navigating rough terrain like this.”

He shrugged. “So take them off,” he said, and before she knew what he was about, he squatted in front of her, his fingers warm around her right ankle. “Lean on me.”

Such was his effect on her, it simply never occurred to her to refuse. Pathetic, docile fool that she was, she complied without protest, resting a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance and raising first one foot, then the other.

“There,” he said, swiftly completing his task. “How’s that?”

The sand drifted cool and soft as flour against the soles of her feet and between her toes. “Heavenly,” she admitted on a sigh of relief. But oh, how disturbing, that he could so easily bend her to his will!

Releasing her left ankle, he grasped the full skirted hem of her dress and slid it up her calf. “Be careful not to trip over this. It would be a pity to see such a lovely thing damaged.”

He sounded matter-of-fact enough, but there was nothing the least bit matter-of-fact about the way she turned limp with pleasure as his fingers whispered impersonally against her leg. “What next?” she asked faintly, bunching the yards of filmy fabric in her fist.

“We’ll walk along the water’s edge and make our way back to the village. It’s only about three kilometers, and won’t take more than half an hour.”

In fact, it took close to two. How did it happen that, during that time, she found herself holding hands with him? That she frequently caught him looking at her as if he couldn’t get enough of the sight of her? That, every once in a while, he grazed his mouth over hers in a fleeting kiss?

When did she abandon the dry sand and decide instead to let the waves splash cool around her ankles, and not care that they sometimes soaked the bottom of her dress? At what point did he remove his shoes and socks, roll his trouser legs up to midcalf and join her?

She couldn’t say, nor did she care. It was enough that, for a few short hours, she believed in fairy tales; in a handsome prince discovering Cinderella and freeing her, just for a little while, from the cares of real life.

Even when the tile roofs of the village rose up against a horizon faintly touched with the hint of dawn, the magic didn’t end. Mikos led her past a fleet of fishing boats rocking against a wooden pier, to a kafenion set right on the beach itself. Its window shutters stood open, releasing the aroma of strong Greek coffee, and spilling yellow light onto several small iron tables and chairs set on a cobbled terrace.

“Have a seat,” Mikos invited, pulling back one of the chairs.

She sat and gave an involuntary shiver. The metal struck cold through the thin stuff of her dress, and now that she wasn’t moving, the morning air struck unpleasantly against her damp legs and feet.

Noticing, he removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders before taking his place opposite. Like her, he was barefoot still. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, his shirt collar open at the throat. Damp and salt-stained, his trouser legs hung in wrinkles about his ankles, their former knife-sharp crease washed away by the sea, but although he might have ruined what was surely a thousand-dollar dinner suit, he still carried himself with that leisurely self-confidence that made him stand out from the crowd.

Just then, the coffee shop owner appeared. “This is probably stronger than what you’re used to,” Mikos remarked, after the man had served them each a glass of water and a thimble-size cup filled with a black, evil-looking brew topped with a light layer of brownish foam, “but it’s how we Greeks like our coffee, especially when we’ve been up all night.”

“It’s fine,” she said, controlling a grimace as it ate a corrosive path over the lining of her stomach. “Um…do you have to work today?”

“No. My weekends are mine to do with as I please. What about you?”

My time’s my own, as well, she thought, swallowing half the contents of the water glass in one gulp. Then remembering why she was supposed to be in Athens, said, “I’ll go over my notes and get started on my article.”

“After you catch up on your sleep, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed, her fairy tale morphing into reality when he didn’t follow up by suggesting they meet later on in the day.

Instead he cradled his demitasse in his hand—the cups hadn’t come with saucers, she noticed—settled his big frame on the uncomfortable little chair with the casual grace of a cat lounging on a cushion, and gave her his undivided attention. “Were you able to get enough material to satisfy your editor?”

You don’t have to bring me back anything, Gina, you know that, Lorne MacDonald, her former boss had told her, when she appealed to him for a press pass to get her into the Tyros birthday bash. I’m happy to help you out any way I can. But if it clears your conscience any, give me something I can publish—names of the rich and famous, what the women wore, what they were eating and drinking, who was cosying up to whom. You know the drill. You did it well and often enough in the old days.

“Not really,” she told Mikos. “I was hoping I’d get the chance to interview Mr. Tyros in person, but I suppose that was expecting too much.”

“Definitely,” he said. “Angelo seldom grants private interviews anymore. But if you have questions, I can probably answer them, so fire away.”

Oh, she had questions, although she seriously doubted he, or anyone but Angelo Tyros himself, could provide the answers! But this much she did know: one way or another, she’d find a way to corner the miserable old goat and force him to meet her demands. She hadn’t depleted her savings account and come all this way, just to go home empty-handed. There was too much at stake.

CHAPTER THREE

HE WATCHED her closely, veiling his scrutiny behind dark, reflective glasses as the sun conveniently inched above the horizon just enough to warrant his wearing them. “Don’t be shy, Gina,” he said. “Ask me anything. Anything at all.”

She took another sip of coffee and shuddered at its taste. “You mentioned he was a widower. Was he married just the one time?”

He couldn’t hold back his grin. His employer’s appetite for women was legendary. At the same time, it struck him as odd that she’d been sent on foreign assignment and not bothered to do her research beforehand. Five minutes on the Internet would reveal that Angelo had definitely been to the altar more than once. “Make that five times,” he told her. “His first wife, the mother of his son, died in her forties. He divorced the second and third within a year of marrying them, the fourth after six months and outlived the fifth who passed away eight years ago.”

“Is he likely to marry again, do you think?”

“It’s entirely possible. Angelo doesn’t like being alone, and he does very much like beautiful women.”

Gina’s laugh, brittle as ice cracking under pressure, struck a discordant note. “In other words, he uses them.”

“No,” he said flatly. “That is not what I said, and I caution you to exercise great accuracy when quoting me.”

Bright spots of color stained her cheeks. Clearly stung by his rebuke, she turned to study the fishermen tending their nets. “I apologize. Rest assured I shall treat my subject with all the respect he deserves,” she replied stiffly.

His jacket had slipped to reveal her long, graceful neck and sweetly rounded shoulders. She wore her hair in a chignon, but several strands had fallen free and curled loosely at her nape.

Finely carved against a background of pale morning sky, her profile could have served as the model for a cameo brooch of matchless delicacy and beauty. Pure Anglo-Saxon elegance—except for the lush, passionate mouth and huge, dark eyes. Those, he decided, curbing a visceral tug of arousal, she must have inherited from some long-ago ancestors of Mediterranean origin.

“I apologize also,” he told her, and meant it. “I’m sorry if I spoke too harshly.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were merely doing what you’re paid to do, and you already told me that Mr. Tyros has earned your undying loyalty. I should have remembered that before I made such a thoughtless remark. Are the fishermen’s nets usually that orange color?”

“That or a deeper terra cotta,” he said, recognizing her question for the deliberate shift of topic that it was, and finding it odd that she’d so easily abandon the subject she claimed had brought her to Greece. “But what has that to do with your assign—?”

Anticipating his question, she cut him off before he could complete it. “Local color,” she said shortly. “It adds credibility to the article. Do they stay out all night—the fishermen, I mean?”

“A good part of it, yes.”

She shook her head, apparently mystified. “Doesn’t anyone in this country sleep at night?”

“Not so much in the summer months, no. Instead we sleep several hours during the day. That way, we avoid the worst of the heat.”

“So it’s quite normal for a little café like this to be open at dawn?”

“Certainly. Any time now, the villagers will come down to buy fish. Once they’ve sold their catch and cleaned up their boats, the men will crowd in here to drink coffee and talk. But I say again, none of this has anything to do with Angelo Tyros. Why have you suddenly lost interest in him, Gina?”

“Oh, I haven’t lost interest in him,” she said, with unexpected fervor. “I’m quite, um, fascinated by everything about him.”

Something didn’t ring true in her reply. Her peculiar little pause wasn’t lost on him, nor the fact that she settled on “fascinated” as if it were the least offensive word she could come up with at short notice. “You almost sound as if you have reason to dislike Angelo,” he remarked, eyeing her intently, “but that hardly makes sense, does it, since you’ve never met him? Or am I wrong to assume that?”

Stooping, she picked up a puppy that had wandered out of the kafenion, and snuggled it on her lap. “Not wrong at all,” she said, without the slightest hesitation this time. “Perhaps what you hear in my voice is disappointment that I’ve not had the pleasure. But that does bring up an interesting point. If he’s so reclusive, why did he authorize such a very public birthday celebration?”

“‘Reclusive’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe him. As I mentioned before, he dislikes being alone and loves to be surrounded by friends. But like other very rich men, he’s made his share of enemies over the years. When he was younger, he took that in stride but, understandably at his age, he’s more cautious now and avoids strangers unless he’s assured they intend him no harm.”

“To the point that he’s afraid to speak to someone as innocuous as me?” Too ladylike to snort with derision at such an idea, she did the next closest thing and wrinkled her elegant little nose. “What does he think I might do, stab him with my pencil?”

“Anything’s possible,” he said, envying the puppy that was pawing at her breasts and trying to lick her neck. “Money is a powerful aphrodisiac to those who don’t have any, and that makes him a target of unscrupulous individuals wherever he goes.”

She put the dog down and picked up her cup again. “What kind of target?”

“Three attempts at extortion in the last month alone. Kidnapping. And, of course, he’s always being hounded by amateur entrepreneurs who come creeping out of the woodwork claiming to be long-lost relatives. If they were all to believed, he’d have sired at least five hundred sons and daughters in the last sixty-six years.”

She choked on her coffee.

“Sorry,” he said, when she managed to regain her breath. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh at the wrong time.”

Except, he belatedly realized, she wasn’t laughing at all. If anything, she was thoroughly rattled, enough that she knocked her bag off the table. It fell open and spilled most of its contents over the terrace. A fortuitous accident, he thought, bending to retrieve a runaway lipstick before the pup ran off with it. When she found her room key was missing, he’d know exactly how to explain it.

Apart from a facial tissue, which she used to mop up the tears pooling at the outer corners of her eyes, she rammed everything back in the bag, and favored him with a bloodshot glare. “Actually,” she wheezed, “I didn’t find it funny. In fact, nothing I’ve so far learned about Angelo Tyros strikes me as amusing. Don’t ask me why, because I can’t give you an answer.”

“Perhaps it’s simply that you’re on overload and exhausted. You might see him in quite a different light after you’ve caught up on your sleep.”

She smothered a yawn. “I am very tired, suddenly.”

“In that case, we’ll head back to the city. The car’s on the road, but it’s a bit of a climb to get up there. Do you want to put on your shoes before tackling it?”

She got up from her chair and made a face. “No, thanks! My feet are still in recovery and probably will be for the next week.”

Stuffing his socks in his trouser pocket, he shoved his feet into his own shoes and reclaimed his jacket. “I guess that leaves me with only one option then,” he said, and ignoring her squeaks of protest, picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder and made his way to where his driver, face betraying no expression, stood holding open the car door.

“That,” she huffed, landing on the back seat in a flurry of silk and indignation, “was completely unnecessary!”

He averted his gaze, dangerously aroused by the shapely length of leg exposed as she tried to put her skirt to rights again. “Not from my point of view, Gina,” he said obliquely.

She didn’t remember curling up against him. Had no recollection at all of his slipping his arm around her and drawing her head down to rest against his shoulder. Only when the blare of traffic horns penetrated her drowsy haze did she become aware of the smooth starched cotton of his shirt against her cheek, the muscled contours of his chest beneath her hand—and everywhere, everywhere that his body touched hers, the velvet heat of his skin.

Opening her eyes, she ventured a glance up at him. He was staring out the window, his expression preoccupied. “I’m not very good company, am I?” she croaked, her voice rusty with sleep.

He swung his gaze to meet hers and a smile lightened his face. “Do you hear me complaining?”

“No.”

But she wished he would. Wished he’d say something along the lines of, We wasted precious time while you slept. Instead, as the car turned into the forecourt of her hotel, his only comment was, “I kept you out too late. You look weary.”

That was reassuring! Straightening, she fiddled self-consciously with her hair; wondered if her mascara had run, or her lipstick smudged. Had she drooled in her sleep? Worse yet, had she snored?

The possibility sent a wash of embarrassment through her. As far as she knew, she didn’t snore, but who was there to tell her differently, when no one shared her bed?

Angling a surreptitious glance at Mikos, she saw that even without socks, with the laces of his shoes untied, his trouser legs all creased, and his shirt not quite as pristine as it had been a few hours before, he still managed to look elegant. Even with the shadow of new beard growth darkening his jaw, and his black hair decidedly mussed, he was still the picture of unparalleled masculine beauty. It wasn’t fair.

The driver snicked open the car door. Mikos swung his long legs out and unfolded to his full six feet plus. Extended his hand. “Gina?”

She nested her palm in his. Felt his fingers close warmly around hers. In one smooth move he had her standing barefoot beside him on the forecourt’s cool paving stones, with her skirt falling in disarray around her ankles. Aware that the window of opportunity was rapidly closing, she searched his clear green eyes for a hint, a shred of hope, that he’d ask to see her again.

“Thank you for a wonderful time,” she said.

He smiled. Stepped closer. Bent his head. Dropped a swift, sweet kiss on her mouth. “Parakalo. Sleep well,” he murmured.

So let down it was all she could do not to burst into tears, she nodded, turned away and was almost at the hotel’s front doors when he suddenly called out, “Gina, wait!”

She spun back to face him, hope percolating through her blood. Her rhinestone sandals dangled from his hand. “Don’t forget these,” he said.

Like a cake taken too soon out of the oven, her moment of optimism sank into a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. Accepting the benighted shoes, she muttered a listless “Thanks,” and quickly entered the hotel before she made a complete fool of herself.

Before the wide glass doors had swung closed behind her, Prince Charming and his limousine had been swallowed up by the noxious fumes of the traffic roaring down the narrow street. So much for fairy tales!

Feeling pathetically sorry for herself, she rode the elevator to her fourth-floor room, only to discover when she got there that she’d lost her key. She had no idea where or when or how it had happened, but she did know it was the last straw and, giving vent to her frustration, she let fly with a solid kick at the door.

The only thing that suffered was her big toe. She hopped on one foot as agonizing pain knifed through the other, and yelped loudly enough to bring a maid scurrying out of the room next door. Taking in the situation with a single glance, she muttered sympathetically in broken English, and used her master key to open Gina’s door. Then, after helping her to the small armchair next to the window, the woman hurried away, and returned a short time later with a large plastic bowl half full of ice cubes.

“You grow big, Kyria,” she announced, eyeing the rapidly swelling toe mournfully. “Better you do this!” And to make sure her message had come across loud and clear, she plunked Gina’s foot in the bowl.

Whether she burst into tears because of the shocking crunch of ice against her injured toe, or because someone was looking after her for a change, or simply from the culmination of a fatigue that had been building for months, was anyone’s guess. All Gina knew was that, one minute she was smiling gamely, and the next she was sobbing against the matronly breast of the chambermaid who stroked her hair and murmured Greek words of comfort that somehow transcended the language barrier.

“I’m so sorry,” Gina hiccuped when she finally gained control again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me since I arrived here, that I’m so emotional all the time.”

“Neh, neh,” the maid crooned. “Neh, katalaveno. I understand.”

Gina smiled wistfully. No, you don’t, she thought, but your saying so makes me feel better anyway.

The maid smiled, too, and poked herself in the chest. “Me lene Apostolia. You?”

Understanding, she replied, “Gina.”

The maid nodded. “You okay now, Gina?”

“Yes. Much better, thanks.” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “You should go. I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me. But thank you again, Apostolia. You’ve been very kind. Efkharisto!”

“Parakalo.” Apostolia gave a final nod and left, closing the door softly behind her.

Gina sat for a few minutes, staring out the window at the looming hulk of the Acropolis. In the blazing light of morning, with her toe throbbing and her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, she saw everything to do with the previous ten hours for what they really were: a glamorous, romantic interlude as ephemeral as stardust. She’d met a man who’d made her feel like a woman again. He’d flirted with her, and shown her a time she’d never forget. But he was no more part of her real world than she’d ever be part of his.

Not only that, she’d sensed an ambivalence about him at times, caused, not as he claimed because he didn’t trust himself, but as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her. It showed in the way he suddenly drew back when everything else about him indicated he wanted more, far more, than he felt able to take.

Why? What was it about her that had made him withhold himself? Had she been too eager? Too transparently hungry? Because heaven knew, nothing frightened a man off faster than a woman so desperate that she might as well have gone after him wielding a net.

I should have been the one applying the brakes, she thought dismally. Pity I didn’t ram my head against the door. It could use having some sense knocked into it.

A glance at the bedside radio clock showed it was eight on Saturday morning, Athens time, which made it nine on Friday evening on Canada’s West Coast. A good time to call home. Her mother would be in bed, leaving Lynn O’Keefe, the temporary care giver, free to talk. Hobbling to the desk, Gina picked up the phone.

Lynn answered on the first ring. “I expected it would be you,” she said. “How’s Athens?”

“Hot, noisy, exotic and exhausting,” Gina replied. “How’s my mom?”

“She had a good day. We walked on the beach this morning and collected shells, then went into town after lunch and ate ice cream in the park.”

“Does she realize I’m gone, do you think? Does she miss me?”

“I don’t think so,” Lynn said kindly. “She’s off in her own world most of the time. You know how it is for her, Gina.”

“Yes,” she said, flooded with sudden guilt at the realization that she hadn’t spared her mother more than a passing thought in the last twelve hours. “But she doesn’t handle change well, and I’m afraid—”

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