“Finding my book will take you on a journey in more ways than one.”

Natalia is trembling. She hasn’t left the Di Sione estate in years, but must retrieve her grandfather’s lost book of poems from formidable tycoon Angelos Menas—who’s just mistaken her for his daughter’s new nanny!

The brooding Greek and his precious daughter were scarred in the fire that claimed his wife, and Talia is drawn to the man beneath the damaged exterior. She knows the untold pleasure Angelos offers is limited, but when she leaves with the book, will her heart remain behind on the island?

“I’d like to return to Kallos within the hour.”

Knowing she was sounding stupid, Talia couldn’t keep herself from repeating him yet again. “Kallos...?”

“My home,” Angelos clarified. “Did you not read the advertisement I placed, Miss Di Sione?”

Talia dragged a deep breath into her lungs and tried to force her mind to clear.

She straightened and put the glass of juice on the desk with a clink. “Mr.—Kyrie Mena, I’m afraid this has all gotten a little out of hand...” She felt another blush rising as Angelos’s eyebrows snapped together in irritated confusion. If she told him the real reason for her being here now, he’d be utterly furious. Angelos Mena would be enraged to learn she actually had no intention of or interest in being his daughter’s nanny.

Except...could she really say that? Talia’s gaze slid to Sofia, who was watching her anxiously, her dark hair swinging in front of her face to hide her scarred cheek.

Talia’s heart twisted hard in sympathy, just as it had when she’d first laid eyes on this girl. Sofia wanted her to come, and it was only for six weeks. And surely in six weeks she’d find an opportunity to ask Angelos about the book, even to get him to give her the book. More important, she might be able to help Sofia. At least she could offer her friendship.

Why shouldn’t she accept this job?

The Billionaire’s Legacy

A search for truth and the promise of passion!

For nearly sixty years, Italian billionaire Giovanni Di Sione has kept a shocking secret. Now, nearing the end of his days, he wants his grandchildren to know their true heritage.

He sends them each on a journey to find his “Lost Mistresses,” a collection of love tokens—the only remaining evidence of his lost identity, his lost history...his lost love.

With each item collected, the Di Sione siblings take one step closer to the truth...and embark on a passionate journey that none could have expected!

Find out what happens in

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Di Sione’s Innocent Conquest by Carol Marinelli

The Di Sione Secret Baby by Maya Blake

To Blackmail a Di Sione by Rachael Thomas

The Return of the Di Sione Wife by Caitlin Crews

Di Sione’s Virgin Mistress by Sharon Kendrick

A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure by Kate Hewitt

A Deal for the Di Sione Ring by Jennifer Hayward

The Last Di Sione Claims His Prize by Maisey Yates

Collect all 8 volumes!

A Di Sione for the Greek’s Pleasure

Kate Hewitt

www.millsandboon.co.uk

After spending three years as a die-hard New Yorker, KATE HEWITT now lives in a small village in the English Lake District with her husband, their five children and a golden retriever. In addition to writing intensely emotional stories, she loves reading, baking and playing chess with her son—she has yet to win against him, but she continues to try. Learn more about Kate at kate-hewitt.com.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Billionaire’s Legacy

Title Page

About the Author

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

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I WANT YOU to do something for me.’

Natalia Di Sione smiled at her grandfather as she adjusted the blanket over his legs and sat down across from him. Even though it was the hottest part of a June day, Giovanni Di Sione still shivered slightly in the wind coming off the Long Island Sound.

‘Anything, Nonno,’ Natalia said, using the name she’d called him since she was a little girl.

Giovanni gave her a whimsical smile as he shook his head. ‘You are so quick to agree, Talia, yet you do not know what I am going to ask.’

‘You know I’d do anything for you.’ Giovanni had raised Talia and her siblings after her parents had died in a car accident when she, as the youngest of seven, had been little more than a baby. He was father, mother and grandfather rolled into one, and since she’d been living on the Di Sione estate with him for the last seven years, he was also the closest thing she had to a confidant and best friend.

She knew some of her older siblings had retained a little distance from their hardworking and sometimes remote grandfather, but in the last seven years Talia had embraced him wholly. He’d offered her refuge when she’d crawled back here, wounded in both body and mind. He’d been her salvation.

‘Anything, Talia?’ Giovanni asked, arching one eyebrow in wry challenge. ‘Even, perhaps, leave the estate?’

She laughed lightly. ‘Surely you wouldn’t ask me to do something as terrible as that.’ She pretended to shudder, although the truth was just the prospect of stepping foot outside the lavish gated estate made her insides clench in fear. She liked her ivory tower, the security of knowing she was protected, behind gates, safe. Because she knew what it was like not to feel safe, to feel as if your very life hung by a single, slender thread, and she refused ever to feel that way again...even if it meant living like a prisoner.

She left the villa at most only a few times a year, usually to visit one of her siblings or attend a private viewing at the occasional art exhibition nearby. She avoided cities and even Long Island’s Gold Coast’s small, well-heeled towns, and restricted travel to short jaunts in a chauffeured car.

When Giovanni suggested Talia get out more, she insisted she preferred a quiet life on the estate, with its sprawling villa, rolling manicured lawns and the winking blue of the Long Island Sound in the distance. Why, she teased her grandfather, did she need to go anywhere else?

Giovanni was kind enough not to push. Yet Talia knew he was concerned about her isolation, even if he never said it. She saw how worry often shadowed his eyes or drew his bushy eyebrows together as he watched her pottering about the villa.

‘You know I do not have long left, Talia,’ Giovanni said now, and she merely nodded, not trusting her voice. A few months ago Giovanni had been given a year to live. Considering he was ninety-eight years old and had already beaten cancer once, nearly twenty years ago, a year was a long time. But it wasn’t long enough for Talia.

She couldn’t imagine the villa without Giovanni, his gentle smiles and wise words, his often silent yet steady presence. The huge, elegant rooms would seem emptier than ever, the estate yawning in all directions, inhabited only by her and its skeleton staff. She hated the thought, and so her mind skittered away from it.

‘So what would you like me to do?’ Talia asked. ‘Paint your portrait?’ For the last few years she had built up a small but thriving career painting portraits. For her twenty-first birthday Giovanni had given her a studio on the grounds of the estate, a small, shingled building with a glorious view of the Sound. Clients came to her studio to sit for their portraits, and she enjoyed the social interaction as well as the creative work, all in the secure environment she craved.

‘A portrait?’ Giovanni chuckled. ‘Who would like to see an old man such as me? No, cara, I’d like something else. I’d like you to find something for me.’ He sat back in his chair, his gnarled hands folded in his lap, and watched her, waiting.

‘Find something?’ Talia leaned forward, surprised and curious, as well as more than a little apprehensive. She recognised that knowing gleam in her grandfather’s eyes, the way he went silent, content to let her be the one to ask. ‘Have you lost something, Nonno?’

‘I have lost many things over the years,’ Giovanni answered. Talia heard a touch of sad whimsy in his voice, saw how his face took on a faraway look. A faint smile curved his mouth, as if he was remembering something sweet or perhaps poignant. Then he turned back to Talia. ‘I want you to find one of them. One of my Lost Mistresses.’

Talia knew about Giovanni’s Lost Mistresses; it was a tale cloaked in mystery that she’d grown up on: a collection of precious objects that Giovanni had carried with him into the new world, when he’d emigrated from Italy as a young man. He’d been forced to sell them off one by one to survive, although he’d loved them all dearly. He’d always refused to say any more than that, claiming an old man must have some secrets. Talia suspected Giovanni had many secrets, and now, with a flicker of curiosity, she wondered if he would tell her at least one of them.

‘One of your Lost Mistresses?’ she repeated. ‘But you’ve never actually said what they are. Which one is it?’

‘A book, a very special book, and one that will be very difficult to find.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘And you think I can find it?’

‘Yes, I do. I trust your intelligence and ingenuity, Talia. Your creativity. It shines from your soul.’

She laughed and shook her head, embarrassed and touched. Her grandfather did not often speak so sentimentally, but she knew that the years weighed on him now and she suspected he felt the need to say things he’d kept hidden for so long.

‘What kind of book?’ she asked.

‘A book of love poems, written by an anonymous poet from the Mediterranean. It is called Il Libro d’Amore.’

‘The Book of Love,’ Talia translated. ‘Are there many copies of it available?’

‘A handful perhaps, but the one I possessed was unlike any other, a first edition with a cover of hand-tooled leather. It is truly unique.’

‘And yet you think I can find it?’ Talia said, doubt creeping into her voice. She’d been envisioning doing a quick Internet search, maybe tracking the book down through a used book dealer. But of course Giovanni could do that himself. He’d bought a tablet years ago, and innovative entrepreneur that he’d always been, he regularly surfed the Internet.

But of course he wanted her to do something far more difficult. Something far more important. And she knew she didn’t want to let him down.

Her grandfather hadn’t asked much of her over the years; he’d graciously given her her own private living quarters on his estate when she’d been just nineteen years old and barely able to cope. He’d never pushed her too hard to get out or to try new things, and he’d made her career as an artist possible without ever having to leave the villa. She owed a lot to her nonno.

‘Yes, I want you to find that particular book,’ he said, smiling sadly. ‘There is an inscription on the inside cover: “Dearest Lucia, For ever in my heart, always. B.A.”’ His voice choked a little and he looked down, blinking rapidly, before he gazed back up at Talia with his usual whimsical smile. ‘That is how you will know it is the right one.’

‘Who is Lucia?’ Talia felt oddly moved by the inscription, as well as her grandfather’s obvious and unusual emotion. ‘And who is B.A.? Were they friends of yours?’

‘You could say that, yes. They were very dear to me, and they loved each other very much.’ Giovanni sat back, adjusting the blanket over his legs, his face pale. Talia had been noticing how easily he tired lately; clearly their conversation had worn him out. ‘But that,’ Giovanni said, a note of finality in his voice, ‘is a story for another time.’

‘But what happened to the book?’ Talia asked. ‘Did you sell it when you reached America?’

‘No, I never took it to America. I left it behind, and that is why it will be difficult to find. But I think you are capable, Talia. Even if finding it may take you on a journey in more ways than one.’

‘A journey...’ Talia pressed her lips together. She was pretty sure that finding this book was her grandfather’s way of getting her off the estate, out into life. She knew he’d been wanting her to spread her wings for some time now, and she’d always resisted, insisted she was happy here on the estate. How could she not be? She had everything she wanted right here. She didn’t need more, didn’t want adventure or excitement. Not as she once had.

Because look where that had got her.

‘Nonno...’ she began, and Giovanni shook a finger at her in gentle admonition.

‘You are not going to refuse an old man a dying wish?’

‘Don’t say that—’

‘Cara, it’s true. And I wish to have this book very much. To turn its fragile pages and read of how love surpasses any glory, any tragedy...’ His voice choked once more and Talia bit her lip as guilt flooded through her.

How on earth could she even consider refusing her grandfather’s request, all out of her own selfish fear? How could she say no to Giovanni, her nonno who had taken care of her since she was a baby? Who had been as both mother and father, and lived with her these last seven years, accepting her limitations, loving her anyway?

‘I’ll try, Nonno,’ she said finally, and Giovanni leaned forward to rest his bony hand on top of hers.

‘I know you will, cara,’ he said, his voice hoarse as he smiled at her. ‘I know you will try your hardest. And you will succeed.’

* * *

‘There is one more woman to see you, Kyrie Mena.’

Angelos Mena looked up from his desk and the stack of CVs he’d scanned and then discarded. None of the young women he’d interviewed that afternoon had been remotely appropriate for the position. In fact, he suspected they’d been more interested in cosying up to him than getting to know his daughter, Sofia, just as the last three nannies had been.

His mouth thinning in disgust, he ran his hand through his hair and then shook his head. ‘One more? But that should be all.’ He tapped the discarded pile of papers on his desk. ‘I have no more CVs.’

His assistant, Eleni, spread her hands in helpless ignorance. ‘She has been waiting here for several hours, saying she needs to see you.’

‘She has tenacity, then, at least.’ He pushed away from the desk. ‘You might as well send her in.’

With a click of heels Eleni left his office and Angelos rose to stand by the floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked Athens. Tension knotted the muscles of his shoulders and made his temples throb. He really hadn’t needed the complication of his new nanny delaying her start by six weeks. Finding an acceptable temporary replacement was a challenge he did not relish, especially considering that not one of the dozen women he’d interviewed today had been suitable.

Some had had experience, yes, but when he’d called Sofia in to see if his daughter approved, she’d resisted the women’s cloying attempts at friendship. Even Angelos had been able to see how patently false they were. He’d noticed how several of the women hadn’t wanted to look at Sofia; several others had stared. Both reactions had made his daughter shrink back in shame, and the injustice of it made Angelos seethe with fury. His daughter had nothing to be ashamed about.

Not like he did.

‘Mr Menos?’

Angelos turned around to see a slender young woman standing in the doorway. She looked pale but resolute, her sandy brown hair tousled, the simple pink cotton sundress she wore hopelessly wrinkled. Angelos frowned at the sight of her dishevelment. Clearly she did not dress to impress.

‘And you are?’ he asked, his tone deliberately curt.

‘I’m sorry...um...signomi...but I don’t speak...den...uh...milau...’ She stammered, a flush washing over her face, making her hazel eyes seem luminous in her freckled, heart-shaped face.

‘You don’t speak Greek?’ Angelos finished for her in flawless, clipped English. ‘And yet my daughter’s only language is Greek. How...interesting, Miss...?’ He arched an eyebrow, smiling coldly. He did not have time for another completely unsuitable candidate to witter her way through an interview. Better to have her scurry away now.

‘Miss Natalia Di Sione,’ the woman said. She straightened her spine, fire flashing in those golden-green eyes, surprising Angelos. The woman had spirit. ‘And actually, your daughter does speak a bit of English, if you are referring to the young girl who has been sitting outside the office all afternoon.’

Angelos’s eyebrows snapped together. ‘You have been talking to her?’

‘Yes.’ She eyed him uncertainly, the tip of her tongue coming out to moisten her lips. Angelos acknowledged the tiny gesture with an uncomfortable tightening in his insides that he resolutely ignored. ‘Was I not supposed to?’

‘That is neither here nor there.’ He tapped the pile of CVs on his desk. ‘You have not provided me with a CV, Miss Di Sione.’

‘A CV?’ She looked blank and irritation rose within him. She was clearly unsuitable and hopelessly unprepared. A change from the hard polish of the last few candidates, but irritating nonetheless.

‘I am afraid I do not have time to indulge you, Miss Di Sione,’ he said. ‘You are clearly completely unsuitable for the position.’

‘The position...’ For a moment she looked utterly flummoxed, her forehead crinkling, her mouth pursing. Angelos moved from around his desk and towards the door. As he passed her he caught a whiff of her scent, something clean and simple. Almonds, perhaps. He reached for the door handle. ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Di Sione, but I prefer you don’t waste mine.’

‘But I haven’t even talked to you yet,’ she protested, turning around to face him. She tucked her unruly hair behind her ears, drawing his attention to the long, golden-brown strands, her small, perfectly formed ears.

Good grief. He was staring at her ears. What was wrong with him?

His gaze dropped from her ears to the shoulders that she’d thrown back, and now he noticed her slender yet gently curving body. He yanked his gaze back upwards to her face and determinedly kept it there.

‘I’ve learned enough from our brief conversation. You have no CV, you wear a crumpled dress to a job interview—’

‘I just got off a plane,’ she shot back, and her gaze widened. ‘A job interview...’

‘You are here,’ Angelos bit out, sarcasm edging every word, ‘to interview for the temporary position as nanny?’

‘Nanny? To your daughter?’

‘Who else?’ Angelos exploded, and she nodded quickly.

‘Of course, of course. I... I apologise for not having my CV with me.’ The tip of her tongue touched her lips again and Angelos looked away. ‘I only heard about this...position recently. Could you...could you tell me exactly what it entails?’

He frowned, wanting to dismiss her, needing to, because he knew she was completely unsuitable. And yet...something about her clear gaze, the stiffness of her spine, made him hesitate. ‘You would care for my eight-year-old daughter, Sofia. The nanny I hired has had to look after her ill mother, and she cannot start until the end of August. Therefore I require a replacement for the six weeks until then. This was all in the advertisement?’

She nodded slowly, her hazel eyes wide, sweeping him with that unsettlingly clear gaze. ‘Yes, of course. I remember now.’

His breath released in an impatient hiss. ‘Do you have any child-care experience, Miss Di Sione?’

‘Please, call me Talia. And the answer to that is no.’

He stared at her in disbelief. ‘None?’ She shook her head, her wavy hair falling about her face once more. She tucked it behind her ears, smiling at him almost impishly, and Angelos’s simmering temper came to a boil. She had an unfortunate amount of gall to demand an interview with absolutely no experience to recommend her. He shook his head. ‘You are, as I suspected from the moment you entered this office, wasting my time.’

Talia Di Sione blinked, recoiling a little bit at his tone. Angelos felt no sympathy. Why had the woman come here? She had no CV, no experience, no chance whatsoever. Surely she should have realised that.

‘Perhaps you should ask your daughter if I wasted her time,’ she said quietly, and then Angelos stilled.

* * *

Talia watched Angelos Mena’s pupils flare, his mouth tighten. Animosity and impatience rolled off the man in waves, along with something else. Something disturbing...a power like a magnetic force, making her realise how dangerous this man could be. And yet she didn’t feel remotely threatened, despite all the challenges she’d faced today, leaving her emotionally raw and physically exhausted.

Angelos folded his arms, the fabric of his suit stretching across impressive biceps. If he didn’t look so utterly forbidding, Talia would have considered Angelos Mena a handsome man. Actually, she would have considered him a stunning, sexy and potently virile man. His tall, powerful body was encased in that very expensive-looking suit, and the silver and gold links of a designer wristwatch glinted from one powerful wrist. Crisp dark hair cut very short framed a chiselled face with straight slashes of eyebrows and deep brown eyes that had been glowering at her like banked coals for the entirety of this unfortunate interview.

Not that she’d been expecting to be interviewed. She’d been waiting outside Angelos Mena’s office for four hours, hoping for a chance to meet him and ask him about Il Libro d’Amore. It had taken her several weeks of painstaking research to track down the precious book to the man standing in front of her, and she still wasn’t positive he had it in his possession. The Internet had taken her only so far, and when she’d called Mena Consultancy several times she’d been unable to reach the man himself. She’d left a few vague messages with his PA, wanting to explain what she was looking for in an actual conversation, but judging by Angelos Mena’s attitude now, she didn’t think he’d received any of them. Her name clearly hadn’t rung any bells, and it had only taken ten seconds in the man’s presence to realise that a simple conversation probably wouldn’t get her very far.

But was she really going to try to be hired as Angelos Mena’s daughter’s nanny?

‘I’ll go get her,’ he said in a clipped voice, and as he strode out of the room Talia sank into one of the chairs in front of the desk. Her knees were shaking and her head throbbed. Getting this far had taken all of her physical and mental resources. Nine hours in a plane, sweating and shaking the whole time, and then wandering through the crowded streets of Athens, flinching every time someone so much as jostled her shoulder, fighting back the memories she never let herself think about, the ones that could bring bile to her throat and send her heart rate crashing in panic.

It had been utterly exhausting. And yet... Talia rose from the chair and went to the huge window that overlooked the city. In the distance she could see the crumbling ruins of the ancient Acropolis underneath a hard blue sky, and the sight was powerful enough to make her feel a flicker of awe, a lick of excitement. For a second she could remember how it had felt to be eighteen years old and full of hope and vigour, the whole world stretched out in front of her, shimmering with promise, everything an enticing adventure...

‘Miss Di Sione?’

Talia whirled around, flushing guiltily at the look of disapproval on Angelos Mena’s face. Should she not have looked out the window? Goodness but the man was tightly wired.

‘This is Sofia.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Talia stepped towards the slight girl who blinked owlishly from behind her glasses. Her dark, curly hair framed a lovely, heart-shaped face; most of her right cheek was covered in the puckered red flesh of a scar. While waiting outside Talia had noticed how the girl would let her hair fall in front of her face to hide it, and her heart had twisted with sympathy. She knew what it was like to have scars. It just happened that hers were invisible.

‘Hello, Sofia,’ she said now, smiling, and just as before the girl bent her head forward so her hair slid in front of her face. Angelos frowned.

No, actually, he glowered. Talia quelled at the scowl on his face, and she could only wonder what his daughter felt. She’d watched Sofia covertly as she’d waited to see Angelos; she’d seen how the girl’s gaze followed each woman into the office, and then how her shoulders had slumped when each woman had come out again, usually looking annoyed or embarrassed or both. A couple of times Sofia had been ushered in, and Talia had watched how her slight body had trembled and she’d gripped her hands together, her knuckles showing bony and white, as she’d stepped into that inner sanctum.

After about an hour of waiting, Talia had tried to befriend her. She’d shown her the pad of paper and pack of coloured pencils she always kept in her bag, and for fun she’d done a quick sketch of one of the women who had been waiting, exaggerating her face so she was a caricature, but still recognisable. When Sofia had recognised the woman with her beaky nose and protuberant eyes, hands like claws planted on bony hips, she’d let out a little giggle, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and panicked.

Talia had grinned at her, reassuring and conspiratorial, and slowly Sofia had relaxed, dropping her hand and then pushing the pad of paper towards Talia, silently inviting her to draw another sketch. And so she had.

They’d whiled away a pleasant hour with Talia doing sketches of as many of the women as she could remember before she’d handed the pencils to Sofia and encouraged her to draw something.

Sofia had sketched a sunset, a stretch of golden sand and a wash of blue water.

‘Lovely,’ Talia had murmured.

‘Spiti,’ she’d said, and when Talia had looked blank, she’d translated hesitantly, ‘Home.’

‘Sofia?’ Angelos said now, his tone sharpening. He rested a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, gentle yet heavy, and spoke in Greek to her.

Sofia looked up, smiling shyly. ‘Yassou.’

Angelos spoke again in Greek and then glanced pointedly at Talia. ‘I am telling my daughter that you do not know Greek.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Talia replied lightly. ‘She already knows. We’ve been miming for most of the afternoon, but we’ve managed to get along. And Sofia knows more English than you think, Mr Mena.’

‘Kyrie Mena,’ he corrected, and she nodded, only just keeping from rolling her eyes.

‘Kyrie,’ she agreed, and she didn’t need Angelos Mena’s wince to know she’d butchered the pronunciation.

Angelos spoke again in Greek to Sofia, and his daughter said something back in reply. Although Talia didn’t know what either of them was saying, she could feel both Angelos’s disapproval and Sofia’s anxiety. She stood there, trying to smile even as exhaustion crashed over her again.

What was she doing here, really? She’d come all this way to find her grandfather’s precious book, not interview for a nanny position. If she had any sense she’d stop this farce before it went any further, and explain to Angelos Mena the real reason why she’d come.

And then, no doubt, have him boot her out the door, and any chance to recover Giovanni’s book would be gone for ever.

Angelos was talking to Sofia again in Greek and Talia could feel her vision blur as the headache that had been skirting the fringes of her mind threatened to take over. The room felt hot, the air stale, and her legs were starting to tremble again.

‘Do you mind...’ she murmured, and sank into the chair, dropping her head into her hands as she took several deep breaths.

Angelos broke off his conversation with his daughter to enquire sharply, ‘Miss Di Sione? Are you all right?’

Talia took another deep breath as her vision started to swim.

‘Miss Di Sione?’

‘Talia,’ she corrected him. ‘And no, actually, I think I’m going to faint.’

CHAPTER TWO

ANGELOS SWORE UNDER his breath as the woman in front of him went limp, her head drooping down between her knees.

He shouted for Eleni and then went over to Talia, crouching down by her chair as he put an arm around her shoulders and attempted to prop her up.

‘Sorry,’ she managed as her head lolled against his arm. She felt like a rag doll in his arms, boneless and light. Her hair brushed his cheek.

‘Papa, is she going to be all right?’ Sofia asked anxiously, and Angelos nearly swore again. The last thing his daughter needed was to worry about some stranger.

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, more tersely than he intended. ‘She’s just come over faint for a moment.’

His assistant came hurrying into the room, and Angelos barked out an order for a glass of water. ‘Make it juice,’ he snapped as Eleni headed out to the reception area. ‘Her blood sugar might be low.’

He glanced back at Talia, whose eyes were closed, her once rosy face now pale and bloodless. Her golden lashes fanned her cheeks and her lips parted slightly on a shaky breath. Then her eyes fluttered open and her gaze clashed with Angelos’s. For a second he felt jarred, as if he’d missed the last step on a staircase. He was suddenly conscious of his arm around her shoulders, her breasts pressed against his chest. Then she struggled to sit upright and he let his arm fall away.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t normally do that.’

‘Don’t you?’ he bit out, and she glanced at him uncertainly.

‘No...’

‘The thing is,’ Angelos said, his voice still hard, ‘I don’t know the first thing about you, Miss Di Sione. And yet you want me to entrust my daughter into your care.’

She gazed at him for a moment, the hazel of her eyes so clear he felt a sudden flicker of shame at his curt tone and implied accusation. Then she looked away from him, to Sofia.

‘I’m all right, Sofia,’ she said softly, and Angelos saw his daughter’s expression brighten as she gave Talia a trembling smile.

She was the first woman today, Angelos acknowledged, who had actually cared what his daughter was feeling. Had concerned herself with Sofia at all. And he realised that from the moment Sofia had entered his office, Talia had not made anything of his daughter’s scarred face. She hadn’t overcompensated either way; she’d simply acted as if it hadn’t mattered at all. The realisation made him feel both glad and completely wrong-footed, because it was still obvious to him that Talia Di Sione was utterly unsuitable to be a nanny. No qualifications, no references...he didn’t even know how she’d heard of the job or why she’d shown up for it.

And yet he felt on a gut level that she was the right choice, the only choice. Because she cared about his daughter.

Eleni came in with a crystal glass of apple juice on a tray and Talia took it with a murmured thanks. ‘I’m sorry to be a bother,’ she said, glancing at Angelos from under her lashes as she took a sip of juice. ‘I’m fine now, really.’

‘It’s no bother.’ Angelos paused. Talia was clearly the best choice for the position, and yet still he resisted. He liked things to be clear-cut, to make sense. He appreciated quantitative qualifications, experience over instinct. God knows his instincts had been wrong in the past. He trusted facts now, hard and solid and certain. Emotion, instinctual or otherwise, had no place in his life.

And yet... He watched as Talia smiled at Sofia and said something that made his daughter smile shyly back. Sofia caught his frowning gaze and gave him a hesitant smile and a discreet thumbs-up. This was the first woman she’d approved of. Should he trust his daughter’s instinct as well as his own?

His resolve hardened along with the set of his jaw. He had no choice. He needed to hire a nanny today, so he could return to work and Sofia could be cared for. He turned to Talia. ‘Can you be ready to leave in an hour?’

* * *

Talia blinked, her vision starting to swim again as she took in Angelos’s request. ‘Leave...?’ she repeated, and he gave an impatient nod.

‘I’d like to return to Kallos within the hour.’

Knowing she was sounding stupid, Talia couldn’t keep herself from repeating him yet again. ‘Kallos...?’

‘My home,’ Angelos clarified. ‘Did you not read the advertisement I placed, Miss Di Sione?’

‘Spiti,’ Talia said, remembering Sofia’s drawing, and surprise flickered in Angelos’s mahogany eyes.

‘Yes, home.’ He paused, his gaze sweeping over her in a way that made goose bumps rise on Talia’s arms. ‘So you do know a little Greek.’

‘Very little.’ Talia dragged a deep breath into her lungs and tried to force her mind to clear. She felt a hot tide of embarrassment wash over her to think how weak and helpless she must have looked to Angelos Mena, practically collapsing in his office. It was just that she hadn’t eaten anything for hours, and the emotional and physical exhaustion of dealing with so many strange things had finally overwhelmed her. But she was better now. She’d make herself be.

She straightened, putting the glass of juice on the desk with a clink. ‘Mr—Kyrie Mena, I’m afraid this has all got a little out of hand...’ She felt another blush rising as Angelos’s eyebrows snapped together in irritated confusion. If she told him the real reason for her being here now, he’d be utterly furious. She might have only met the man a few minutes ago, but she knew him well enough to understand that Angelos Mena would be enraged to learn she actually had no intention or interest in being his daughter’s nanny.

Except...could she really say that? Talia’s gaze slid to Sofia, who was watching her anxiously, her dark hair swinging in front of her face to hide her scarred cheek. Sofia met her gaze and gave a fragile smile.

‘Parakalo,’ she whispered, which Talia knew meant please. ‘Come,’ she added, her voice tentative, the English word sounding hesitant on her lips.

Talia’s heart twisted hard in sympathy, just as it had when she’d first laid eyes on this girl. Sofia wanted her to come, and it was only for six weeks. And surely in six weeks she’d find an opportunity to ask Angelos about the book, even to get him to give her the book. More importantly, she might be able to help Sofia. At least she could offer her friendship.

Why shouldn’t she accept this job?

Because it was strange and unexpected, and she’d have to deal with all sorts of things she’d avoided for the last seven years. Because she was in no position to help anyone, when she hadn’t been able to help herself. When she was already out of her depth, suffering panic attacks, afraid of the future.

And never mind her own deficiencies, by accepting this job she’d be deceiving this family, even if it was out of good intentions. She was pretty sure Angelos Mena would see her actions as questionable, perhaps even reprehensible. She was no nanny.

‘I...’ she began, helplessly, because she had no idea what to do. Sofia was gazing at her with puppy dog eyes and Angelos Mena was clearly seething with impatience. How could she refuse? How could she not?

‘You did come here to apply for the position, didn’t you, Miss Di Sione?’ Angelos demanded. ‘I am now offering you the position. Are you prepared to take it or not?’

Still Talia hesitated, caught by Sofia’s silently imploring look. She turned back to Angelos, whose gaze was narrowed, everything about his powerful form exuding impatience and irritation. ‘Yes,’ she said, the word catching in her throat. She cleared her throat, and then lifted her chin. ‘I am.’

The words seemed to set everything in motion, and the next hour was a blur as Angelos barked out orders to his assistant and Talia was shunted back to the reception area with Sofia. She got out her pad and pencils while people bustled around them, and she and Sofia took turns drawing funny pictures, laughing softly together, until Angelos stood before them, hands on trim hips, his dark and commanding gaze fastened on Talia in a way that made every thought evaporate from her brain.

‘Where are your things, Miss Di Sione?’

‘Um, back at the hotel where I checked in.’

‘And that is?’

‘Near the Acropolis...’

Angelos let out a sigh, no more than a hiss of breath. ‘The name of the hotel, please?’

‘The Adriana,’ Talia recalled, wishing she could act a bit more with it in front of Angelos Mena. She’d dealt with plenty of rich and powerful people through her work as a portrait artist, but no one had reduced her to insensible babbling the way Angelos Mena did with his narrowed gaze and overwhelming presence, not to mention his obvious annoyance. He clearly did not suffer fools gladly, and from the moment she’d entered his impressive office she’d felt like a fool.

‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect your bags,’ Angelos said. ‘In the meantime you can wait here with Sofia.’ He strode away without waiting for her reply, and Talia watched him leave. He had not even looked at his daughter, much less spared her a kind word or a smile.

She glanced at Sofia, wondering how they were going to overcome the language barrier for the next six weeks. ‘Perhaps you should teach me some Greek,’ she suggested, and Sofia’s forehead furrowed. ‘Elinika,’ she tried, fishing for the few phrases of Greek she’d learned on the plane trip over here. She touched her mouth to indicate speaking, and Sofia brightened.

‘Ne, ne.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Speak Anglika.’

Talia nodded, smiling in understanding. ‘We can teach each other.’

They spent the next hour teaching each other words and phrases in both English and Greek, amidst much laughter when one of them, usually Talia, got it wrong.

‘Gi-neck-a,’ Talia repeated after Sofia. ‘Now what is that?’ Laughing, Sofia pointed to her. ‘Nanny?’ Talia guessed. ‘American? Foreigner?’

‘Woman,’ Angelos said quietly, and everything in Talia jolted as she turned to look at him. He was standing in front of them, gazing at her with an inscrutable expression, which was better than his usual scowl, although it still made Talia feel uncertain. ‘Gyneka,’ he added, making Talia realise she’d butchered the pronunciation once again. ‘Woman.’ For a second, no more, his gaze remained on Talia; she felt as if he’d pinned her there, so she was unable to look away, or even to breathe.

Then he flicked his gaze away, towards his daughter. Talia couldn’t understand the Greek but the quick jerk of his head towards the elevator conveyed his meaning well enough. It was time to go.

She slipped the pad and pencils back into her bag and stood with Sofia. Angelos turned back to her.

‘The helicopter is ready, and your things have been fetched from the hotel.’

‘Helicopter...’ She stared at him in alarm. ‘You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.’

Angelos frowned. ‘How else would we get to Kallos?’

‘By car?’ she guessed hopefully, and Angelos’s nostrils flared.

‘Kallos is an island, Miss Di Sione. We will travel there by helicopter. It should only take an hour.’

An island. She thought of Sofia’s drawing, the blue water, the beach. Of course it was an island.

She realised she must have been gaping at him because Angelos’s lips compressed as he looked at her. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

‘No, of course not.’ But she was lying, because she could already feel the panic starting its insistent staccato pulse inside her. What on earth was she doing, going goodness knew where with this stranger? In a helicopter?

Her breath hitched and Angelos glanced at her. ‘You aren’t going to faint again?’

‘No,’ Talia said with far more certainty than she felt. In the past twenty-four hours she’d gone about five thousand miles outside her comfort zone. She wasn’t sure she could manage another step.

Then she felt a small, cold hand slide into hers and she looked down to see Sofia smiling at her. ‘Okay?’ she asked, and Talia was touched and humbled by the girl’s obvious concern.

‘Okay,’ she confirmed shakily, and hand in hand they walked towards the lift.

Even with Sofia’s support Talia couldn’t keep the fear from kicking up her heart rate as they took the lift up to the top of the building where a helicopter was waiting on a helipad.

She glanced at Angelos, who was striding towards the machine, the wind from the whirring propellers moulding his shirt and suit jacket close to his body so Talia could see the impressive outline of his well-defined pecs. The helicopter looked small and menacing, its curved windshield looking like the giant eyes of a bug. Talia clutched Sofia’s hand harder.

She really didn’t think she could do this.

Angelos climbed into the helicopter, and then reached down first for Sofia’s hand. Talia watched as the little girl clambered easily inside and then sat down. Angelos turned back to her, the wind whipping about him, his hand outstretched. Talia simply stared.

‘Miss Di Sione,’ he shouted over the noise of the propeller blades. ‘Take my hand.’

Talia’s heart was pounding painfully, and her palms were icy and damp with sweat. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with confined spaces, ones where it was impossible to get out. A closed door, a dark room, a locked car...she avoided them all. And the passenger jet she’d been on a few hours ago had been hard enough, but a helicopter...

And then suddenly she thought of Giovanni smiling at her as he’d given her his instructions. ‘I know you will try your hardest. And you will succeed.’

Taking a deep breath, she reached for Angelos’s hand and then she let him pull her up into the helicopter. She practically collapsed into her seat, her legs rubbery and her heart thudding sickly. She had just managed to jam her seat belt together when the helicopter lifted off the building and began its ascent into a cloudless blue sky, heading for the Aegean Sea.

CHAPTER THREE

ANGELOS STUDIED HIS new nanny, noting dispassionately how pale she’d gone, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the seat and took several deep, even breaths. What on earth was the woman’s problem?

‘Do you suffer from travel sickness?’ he asked abruptly, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the helicopter, and her eyes flew open.

‘No.’

‘Then why do you look so terrible?’

‘You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you,’ she muttered, and Angelos stared at her, nonplussed.

‘You look as if you are about to be sick.’

‘You’d better hope I’m not,’ Talia answered, and he grimaced in distaste.

‘Indeed, I do. It would make for a most unpleasant journey.’

‘That it would.’ Talia let out a shuddering breath as she shifted in her seat. ‘And it’s already pretty awful.’

‘You do not like helicopters.’

‘No.’ She’d closed her eyes again, her face scrunched up, and Angelos inspected her for another moment. Her hair was going curly in the heat and he could see a sprinkling of golden freckles across her nose. He wondered how old she was, and realised afresh how little he knew about her besides her name. What on earth had possessed him to hire her?

Talia opened her eyes and turned to Sofia. ‘You don’t mind helicopters,’ she remarked, and with a bit of playacting, miming the propeller blades and making a face, she communicated her meaning.

Sofia grinned. ‘Home,’ she said in English. ‘I like home.’

‘I like home too,’ Talia said with a sigh. ‘But I’m sure I’ll like yours as well.’ Sofia wrinkled her nose, not understanding, and Talia leaned over and patted her hand before she sank back against the seat and closed her eyes.

Angelos continued to study her for a moment, wondering how she’d ended up in his office. How had she even heard of the advertisement, and why had she come without a CV? Questions, he decided, he would not ask her in the noisy confines of the helicopter, with Sofia trying to catch every word. He would have time to discover just who his new nanny was later, and make sure she was an appropriate companion for his daughter.

His gaze moved to Sofia; she was leaning towards the window, watching the sea slide by. She never liked leaving the safety of Kallos, and she seemed to shrink even more into herself whenever he took her to Athens. He knew people stared at her scarred face, and the attention made Sofia embarrassed and exceedingly shy. He was grateful that Talia Di Sione, for all her idiosyncrasies, had not once made Sofia feel ashamed of her scar.

‘Look, Papa,’ Sofia called in Greek, and he leaned forward to see a sleek white sailboat cutting through the blue-green waters.

‘Beautiful,’ he murmured, and then glanced back at Talia. She still had her eyes closed. Impulsively he reached over and touched her shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she jerked upright as if he’d branded her with a hot poker.

‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I just thought you might appreciate the view.’

‘I’d rather just get onto land,’ Talia muttered, but she obligingly looked out the window of the helicopter, and Angelos watched as her face softened into a smile as she took in the stunning vista of sea and sky.

‘I always wanted to see the Greek islands,’ she said.

‘You have not been here before?’

‘No, this was my first time in Athens.’

‘How long had you been in the city?’

She shot him a wry look. ‘About six hours.’

‘Six hours?’ Angelos frowned. ‘Do you mean you arrived in Athens today?’ She nodded. ‘But what on earth made you apply for the job, having just arrived?’

She looked away, seeming uneasy. Suspicion hardened inside him. What was going on with this woman? ‘It seemed like a good idea,’ she said at last.

Angelos didn’t answer. He could see Sofia looking at them both and he had no intention of pursuing an uncomfortable line of enquiry with Talia Di Sione when his daughter was present. But he would get to the bottom of why she was here.

Fifteen minutes later the helicopter began to make its descent to Kallos. As soon as they’d landed Angelos clambered out of the helicopter, and then reached back a hand for Sofia and then Talia.

He was conscious of how small and slender her hand felt in his as she stepped down onto the rocky earth, shading her eyes with her other hand as she gazed round the island.

‘Is this a private island?’ she asked.

‘Yes, it is my home. But you will have everything you need. The villa is well supplied by nearby Naxos.’

She nodded slowly, letting out a breath she must have been holding for a while. ‘Okay,’ she said, and she sounded as if she were talking to herself. ‘Okay.’

Angelos led the way from the helipad to the villa. The salt-tinged sea breeze buffeted him and the sun was hot above and for a moment he breathed in the air and let himself relax. Let himself believe that he had things under control, that Sofia was safe.

That he’d done the best he could, even when he hadn’t before.

* * *

Talia took several deep breaths of fresh sea air as she followed Angelos and Sofia down the winding path to the sprawling whitewashed villa by the beach. The tension that had been throbbing in her temples since she’d stepped into the helicopter was finally starting to ease.

From the vantage point of the helipad she’d been able to see how small the island was: a large villa with extensive gardens, a staff cottage and a stony, hilly rise to a beach on the other side. Small. But small could be good, she told herself. She didn’t have to feel claustrophobic here. She wasn’t in a closed space, with the open air and sea all around her, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of strange people.

Still she felt tense. She felt like sprinting back to the safety of her grandfather’s estate, the quiet studio with its views of sea and sky, where she could paint in blissful solitude. Where she didn’t have to come up hard against all her old fears and insecurities.

She took a deep breath and tilted her face to the sun. She could do this. She was doing this. She’d survived a plane trip, a taxi ride through a heaving city, a helicopter ride and near constant interactions with strangers. It was more than she’d had to deal with in seven years, and it had exhausted her, but she’d survived.

‘Are you all right?’ Angelos called, and Talia realised she’d stopped walking, and had dropped behind Angelos and Sofia.

‘I’m fine,’ she said, and hurried down the path to join her employer and his daughter.

As they came into the villa, the rooms airy and spacious and light, a housekeeper bustled up to them, exclaiming in Greek as she kissed Sofia on both cheeks. Then she stopped in front of Talia and, planting her hands on ample hips, gave her a thorough once-over with narrowed eyes. She spoke to Angelos, who answered in Greek. Talia had no idea what they were saying, but she suspected she’d come up wanting in the housekeeper’s well-trained eye.

‘Do I pass?’ she asked Angelos when there was a break in the conversation. She’d meant to sound teasing but it came out anxious instead. Tension knotted her stomach muscles again as she realised afresh how strange this all was. And she really didn’t like strange.

Angelos looked startled, and then his mouth compressed in a way she was already finding familiar. ‘My housekeeper’s opinion is of no concern. I have already hired you.’

‘It’s that bad, huh?’ Talia only half joked. At least this time she sounded light, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘I know my dress is wrinkled, but I have been on a plane.’

He inclined his head towards the stairs. ‘Maria will show you your room. You will have time to refresh yourself and dress appropriately before dinner.’

The man had no sense of humour, Talia decided as she followed Maria up the stairs. No sense of compassion or friendliness or sensitivity. He was a machine. A robot. A drone...

She was so busy thinking she almost slammed into Maria’s substantial form as the housekeeper stopped in the doorway of a bedroom.

‘Your room,’ she said in heavily accented English, and Talia peeked around her to see a gorgeous room decorated in sea-green and cream, the louvered shutters of the windows open to the beach.

‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Efharisto.’ Maria grunted her grudging approval at Talia’s passable Greek, and then with her fingers mimed seven o’clock. ‘Dinner at seven?’ Talia guessed, and as the housekeeper nodded and left she wondered if she could take a crash course in Greek.

She moved to the windows, taking in the spectacular sight. Gardens bursting with bougainvillea and heliotrope ran down a sloping hill to the beach, a stretch of white sand that met up with the blue-green water, just like in Sofia’s picture.

The housekeeper had directed Sofia to the kitchen as soon as they arrived, and judging from the tantalising baking smells coming from that direction, Talia had suspected there was a snack in store. Her own stomach growled at the thought and she checked her watch. Two hours until dinner. Time, hopefully, to make herself presentable, although she had a feeling Angelos Mena would judge her wanting no matter what she wore or how much effort she took with her appearance. But at least he’d hired her.

Still Talia relished a soak in the huge marble tub, washing away the grime of nearly twenty-four hours of travel and reviving her tired spirits. She unpacked her single suitcase, realising belatedly that she had not brought nearly enough for six weeks. In fact, she’d packed nothing but serviceable T-shirts and shorts, a single fleece and a pair of jeans, and the crumpled sundress she’d worn on the plane.

Biting her lip, Talia acknowledged she had nothing remotely appropriate to wear for dinner that night. In her normal life she never needed to dress to impress, and her career as an artist meant work wear was usually paint-splattered jeans and old T-shirts. She hadn’t even considered bringing something businesslike to wear for her meeting with Angelos Mena; in truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond surviving the journey. She hadn’t had the heart or head space for more.

Sighing, she wondered if she had time to wash her sundress and let it dry in the sea breeze.

She discovered that she almost had time, when she headed out of her bedroom at five to seven, the dress clean and far less wrinkled, but slightly damp across the shoulders. Hopefully Angelos wouldn’t notice.

The villa was quiet as Talia came down the stairs, the rooms darkened and empty. She peeked into an enormous living room scattered with linen sofas in natural shades, and then a masculine-looking study with a huge mahogany desk and book-lined walls. Finally she found the dining room towards the back of the house; Angelos was already standing in the room, gazing up at a large portrait of a woman hanging on the far wall.

He turned as Talia tiptoed in, his face snapping into its usual frown. ‘You’re late.’

‘I’m sorry. I was looking for the dining room.’

His frown deepened as he took in her outfit. ‘You have not changed.’

‘Actually, I have. I washed my dress and put it back on.’ For some reason that made her blush, and to cover it she did a ridiculous little twirl. ‘Can’t you tell?’ She stopped, her dress swishing around her legs, and saw that Angelos’s frown had morphed into a positive scowl, grooves visible from nose to mouth, eyes dangerously narrowed.

Even scowling, the man was devastatingly attractive. He’d changed his grey business suit for a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. The clothes were basic and should have been boring, but on his powerful frame the white cotton drew Talia’s attention to his broad shoulders, the dark trousers to his trim hips and powerful thighs.

Appalled by her perusal, she yanked her gaze away from his muscular form. She’d been looking at his thighs, for heaven’s sake. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her moment of shameless goggling.

Now she saw the plush velvet chairs and huge polished table set for two. ‘Is Sofia not joining us?’

‘You washed your dress?’ Angelos sounded incredulous and Talia lifted her chin.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I’d be required to wear an evening gown.’ She walked to the place setting at one end of the table, resting her hand on the back of the chair. ‘Where’s Sofia?’

‘She’s eating with Maria.’

‘Is that what usually happens?’ Talia watched as Angelos walked around the table to pull out her chair.

‘In future, you may dine with her if you wish, but tonight I wanted to speak to you alone.’

‘Oh.’ Since he was holding out her chair Talia sat down. She breathed in the woodsy scent of his aftershave as he pushed her chair in; his face was close to hers, close enough to make goose bumps rise on her arms, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. She wondered what his jaw would feel like, if his clean-shaven face would be smooth, or possess a hint of roughness. Like the man himself, urbanity not quite cloaking a cold, ruthless interior.

Angelos walked smoothly around the table and sat down at the opposite end, placing his napkin in his lap with a brisk flourish. Talia did the same. Although she lived in a house that more than rivalled Angelos Mena’s in terms of space and sheer luxury, she still felt awed by his home and his presence. Back on Giovanni’s estate, she took most meals in the kitchen or in her studio while she was working. When she ate with Giovanni, they had a quiet meal listening to the radio or watching TV. She hadn’t been to a dinner party since...well, she couldn’t even remember since when. A Christmas or Thanksgiving meal with her brothers and sisters hadn’t felt as ornate or intimidating as a meal alone with this man.

Maria came in with the first course, a salad of plump tomatoes and slices of cucumber sprinkled with feta cheese. ‘This is very civilised,’ Talia said when the housekeeper had left. ‘Thank you.’

‘May I never be accused of being uncivilised,’ Angelos responded dryly.

Talia watched him covertly as she ate her salad, wondering at this man who, if her research was correct, possessed a priceless volume of poetry and had bid on a second by the same anonymous poet. That was how she’d tracked him down; she’d found an obscure website with a message board where people could post the rare books they were looking for. She’d stumbled across a message posted by an agent acting on Angelos’s behalf, or at least on the behalf of Mena Consultancy. She just hoped it meant that Angelos actually had the book.

What if after everything she’d endured and agreed to, this was nothing more than a wild goose chase?

‘So do you and Sofia live on Kallos all year long?’ she asked.

‘Sofia does. I travel for work. In fact, I have to leave tomorrow.’

So he wouldn’t be here for the six weeks of her stay? Talia felt a wave of relief at the thought, as well as a twinge of disappointment for Sofia. No matter how stern or autocratic Angelos seemed, it couldn’t be good for him to be away from his daughter so much.

‘Isn’t it rather lonely here for a girl her age?’ she asked.

‘Sofia prefers it. She has a tutor who comes in by boat for her lessons, and Maria and the other staff for company. And, of course, now you.’

‘Has she had other nannies?’

‘Yes, but I’m afraid none of them have lasted very long.’ Angelos’s voice was clipped, his gaze shuttered. ‘I hope this next one will be a better fit.’

‘Why haven’t they lasted very long?’ Talia asked, curious. Sofia didn’t seem like a difficult child, and the setting was practically paradise. Surely it was a dream job for anyone looking for a position in child care.

Angelos shrugged. ‘They did not find the situation to their liking. But you are asking all the questions, Miss Di Sione, and I invited you to dinner so I could ask the questions.’

‘And here I thought we were just having a conversation,’ Talia answered lightly, but Angelos did not give so much as a flicker of a smile. She speared a cucumber. ‘Ask away, then,’ she said with an insouciance she didn’t remotely feel. She didn’t want Angelos Mena asking her probing questions, at least not yet. She had no idea how to answer anything. She hated the thought of lying, but total honesty felt impossible at this point. ‘But first,’ she added, ‘I must ask one last thing, and that is that you call me Talia.’

She popped the cucumber in her mouth only to have it stick in her throat as Angelos answered, an edge to his smooth voice, ‘Very well, Talia. I want to ask you just why you came to Athens, and more to the point, to my office, since it obviously wasn’t to seek a position as nanny.’

CHAPTER FOUR

WITH THE CUCUMBER stuck in her throat, Talia erupted into an inelegant fit of coughing. Angelos poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table, watching unsympathetically all the while.

Talia took a few sips, thankful that she’d managed at least to stop coughing. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said on a gasp.

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Angelos’s gaze was narrowed, his lips compressed, his arms folded. He wasn’t exuding warm fuzzies—that was for sure.

Talia took another forkful of salad in order to give her time to think of a reply. How much to admit? She felt instinctively that if she were to talk about her true reason for coming to Greece now, Angelos would have her back on that helicopter so quick her head would be spinning as fast as the propeller blades.

And the truth was, she didn’t want to leave. Not just because she needed to find her grandfather’s book, but for Sofia’s sake as well. Already she was forming a picture of what the little girl’s life here on Kallos had to be like, lonely and isolated, with only a few elderly staff for company.

Kind of like yours, then.

The realisation gave her an uncomfortable jolt. She didn’t think of herself as either lonely or isolated, not with her work for stimulation and her grandfather for company. Perhaps Sofia was happy here, just as she was happy on her grandfather’s estate. Maybe she wasn’t as needed as she’d felt she was...which still left her with no idea how to answer Angelos’s question.

‘Talia? I am waiting.’

Talia jerked her unfocused gaze back to Angelos. He’d laid down his fork and put his hands flat on the table, his dark gaze fastened on hers, hard and unyielding. The man looked seriously annoyed, but even with the irritation flashing in his whisky-brown eyes Talia couldn’t keep from noticing the lean planes of his cheek and jaw, the warm olive tone of his skin. If he’d just smile a bit more, she might start seriously crushing on him.

But considering their situation, it was probably better that he didn’t smile.

‘You’re right that I wasn’t looking to be a nanny,’ Talia said finally, choosing her words with care. ‘I came to Athens for a...a different reason. But when you assumed I was there for the nanny position, it seemed...fortuitous that I apply. And accept.’ That much was true at least.

‘Fortuitous,’ Angelos repeated flatly. ‘How so?’

‘I like Sofia, Mr—Kyrie Mena. She seems a very kind girl. I want to help her, or at least be her friend.’

‘And yet with, by your own admission, absolutely no child-care experience, you think you have the ability, even the expertise, to help her?’

Talia blinked at his scathing tone. ‘I may not have child-care experience, but I know what it is like to be a child—’

‘As does every person on this planet.’

‘I know what it’s like to be lonely,’ she burst out, and then wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t lonely. She’d always told Giovanni she wasn’t, and she’d believed herself. She had.

‘My daughter is not lonely,’ Angelos informed her shortly. ‘She has everything she needs here on Kallos.’

‘Everything?’ Exasperated, Talia shook her head. ‘Then why did you hire me?’

‘I’m asking myself that question as well,’ he retorted. He sat back, taking a measured breath. Talia could feel the crackle of tension in the air. ‘The truth is,’ he continued, ‘I was running out of both time and options. And,’ he conceded grudgingly, ‘Sofia seems to have formed some kind of attachment to you. But I must confess, in our short acquaintance, you have not recommended yourself to me, Miss Di Sione.’

‘Talia.’

‘Talia. You have in fact seemed extraordinarily short-sighted and, dare I say it, flighty—’

‘I think you just dared,’ Talia snapped before she could think better of it. She felt annoyed and bizarrely hurt by his quick and brutal judgement. What did Angelos Mena know about her, really? Only that she hadn’t packed very much and she didn’t do well in helicopters. And for that he felt capable of dismissing her as a person?

‘You disagree with me?’ he enquired, and she let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. No doubt Angelos Mena expected her to bow and scrape and apologise—and for what? Coming over a little dizzy?

‘Of course I do. You don’t know me, Kyrie Mena. You didn’t know I existed until a couple of hours ago. How can you say I’m anything when you’ve barely met me?’

‘I am basing my opinions on what I’ve seen so far. I’m a consultant, Miss—’

‘Talia.’

‘Talia.’ He expelled her name on a hiss of breath. ‘It’s my job to come into a situation and assess it swiftly.’

‘Too swiftly, maybe. What are you basing your judgement on? That I didn’t pack more than one dress or that I was a little nervous in your helicopter?’ She raised her eyebrows in challenge, half amazed at her own daring. She didn’t normally pick a fight, but then she didn’t normally need to. She’d cocooned herself in safety and isolation instead. It felt kind of good to come out swinging. Strangely empowering. She’d much rather stand tall than shrink back. ‘Well?’ she challenged when he didn’t answer. ‘Which is it?’

Angelos leaned back in his chair. ‘I take your point,’ he said after a pause. His face was expressionless, his gaze implacable. Of course it would be too much to expect to see a glimmer of apology in those darkly glowing eyes. ‘But surely you can understand my concern,’ he continued. ‘I am entrusting my daughter, my only child, to your care.’

‘Of course I can understand your concern.’ Talia sighed, the fight going out of her. ‘If I had a daughter, I’d feel the same.’ Angelos had hired her without knowing anything about her. He had the right to ask some questions, to be a bit sceptical. And she was hiding something, just as he suspected. Perhaps if she admitted her interest in the book...but no. She needed him to get to know her first. ‘If you’d like to know more about me,’ she said, trying to smile, ‘then all you have to do is ask.’

He studied her for a moment, his gaze assessing and speculative. Talia suppressed the urge to squirm or fidget under his unnervingly direct and unblinking stare. ‘You’re American,’ he said at last, and she gave a shaky breath of relief at the innocuousness of that statement.

‘Yes.’

‘Where do you come from?’

‘Outside New York City.’

He nodded slowly. ‘You must be in your mid-twenties. You had a job before this?’

‘Yes, and I still have it. I’m an artist.’

‘An artist,’ he repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed. He spoke as if she dabbled in finger paints in her free time.

‘A portrait artist,’ Talia clarified. ‘I work on commissions.’

‘I see.’

What he saw, Talia suspected, was that she was an unemployed airhead who traipsed around the world, being short-sighted and flighty. It was foolish of her to be so rankled, so hurt, by his assessment, and yet she was. No one had ever sized her up and dismissed her so thoroughly before. She’d worked hard for her reputation as a reclusive but talented artist. She hated the thought that Angelos was judging her, and so harshly at that.

‘You said you wished to help my daughter,’ Angelos said after a pause. Again with that direct stare, and Talia forced herself not to look away, to find some way to hide from Angelos Mena’s searching gaze and questions. Being the focus of his full attention felt like standing on a beach, watching as a tidal wave gained in towering power, readying to crash down on you. ‘How do you think you could help her?’ he pressed.

‘By being her friend,’ Talia answered.

His gaze blazed into hers. ‘I am not paying you to be her friend.’

‘Very well,’ Talia answered, trying not to quake under that unyielding stare, ‘perhaps you should tell me what you’re paying me for exactly. You haven’t actually told me what my duties are.’ Angelos had the grace to look slightly discomfited, his gaze thankfully flicking away from hers for a second, giving Talia the courage to add, ‘Not to mention an actual job contract or reference check or any of the usual protocols. I mean,’ she continued as she shrugged expansively, ‘if you want to talk about being short-sighted or, I don’t know, flighty.’

Angelos turned back to her, his lips tightening, his nostrils flared with annoyance, and Talia wondered if she’d gone too far. She didn’t actually want to be fired. She certainly didn’t want to get in that helicopter again anytime soon. But she hadn’t been able to resist pushing back just a little. If Angelos Mena was a different kind of man, he might have even smiled at her pointed joke.

For one tantalising second she imagined that granite gaze softening, those sensual lips curving into an answering smile, that hard body relaxing towards her, and she felt a weird leaping sensation in her middle. She pressed one hand to her stomach to soothe those sudden butterflies. Better for him not to tease. He was so much easier to resist that way.

‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am happy to give you the details now. You are to be a companion to my daughter and provide her with stimulating conversation and activities when she is not at her lessons.’

‘And when is she at her lessons?’

‘Her tutor comes to the island every weekday morning, for a few hours until lunchtime.’

‘Could she not go to a school near here?’ Talia asked. ‘On Naxos, maybe? To be with other children?’

‘She prefers to be on the island.’ Angelos’s tone was final, and despite the iron warning she heard in his voice not to ask any more questions, Talia continued.

‘Is that because of her scarring?’ she asked quietly, and Angelos stilled.

‘What about her scarring?’

‘I noticed she seemed self-conscious about it,’ she explained carefully. ‘And it’s hard for any child to feel different.’

Angelos hesitated, and in the ensuing silence Maria came in to clear the plates. Talia thanked her in clumsy Greek and the woman brusquely nodded her acceptance before turning away. Talia wondered if the housekeeper would ever thaw towards her. She’d seemed suspicious and unimpressed from the moment Talia had stepped into the villa. Someone else who’d judged her and found her wanting.

‘Sofia suffered burns in a fire when she was a baby,’ Angelos said abruptly. Talia opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off before she could frame a syllable. ‘It is a very painful memory for her. We do not discuss it. Ever.’ He held her gaze for one long, taut moment, and Talia’s mouth dried at the implacable look in his eyes. Message received.

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