“You’ve never had a mistress?” Samantha asked.

Demetrios took a deep breath. “Yes, I have had mistresses.”

He felt her tense under his hands and he held her harder, determined to make her listen. “But they have not lived with me. I have not woken up in the morning and shared breakfast with them in this house. I have never wanted that.”

“And now you do?” Sam’s voice shook and she hated herself for it, for wanting to believe him.

“Yes, now I do.”

SANDRA MARTON is an author who used to tell stories to her dolls when she was a little girl. Today, readers around the world fall in love with her sexy, dynamic heroes and outspoken, independent heroines. Her books have topped bestseller lists and won many awards. Sandra loves dressing up for a night out with her husband as much as she loves putting on her hiking boots for a walk in a south-western desert or a north-eastern forest. You can write to her at P.O. Box 295, Storrs, Connecticut, USA (please enclose a self-addressed envelope and postage for reply), or visit her Web site at www.sandramarton.com.

The Pregnant Mistress is the seventh book in her well-loved miniseries THE BARONS.

The Pregnant Mistress
Sandra Marton

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

SAMANTHA BREWSTER was bone-weary even though she’d slept like a corpse the night before, but crossing too many time zones always did her in.

Why wait for a better moment to slip away?

The party was going full steam. Carin’s and Rafe’s guests crowded the living room; the band was playing a hot samba and everybody was having a blast. Surely nobody would notice if she left, not even her ever-diligent mother and sisters.

Sam took a sip of her caparhinia, savoring the sweet taste of the rum, and put the glass on one of the little tables scattered over the moonlit terrace. She’d done the right thing by making an obligatory appearance at the festivities. Now she could go upstairs, kick off her spiked heels, trade her green silk cropped top and trousers for a T-shirt and a pair of cotton panties and tumble into bed. That was all she wanted to do, after spending forty-plus hours waiting in terminals and getting on and off airplanes. Jakarta to Honolulu, Honolulu to San Francisco, San Francisco to New York because she’d wanted to make a quick stop in her apartment, and then New York to Sao Paulo…

Just thinking about it made her want to curl up right there on the flagstone terrace and sleep.

Sam grinned. She could just imagine her sisters’ reactions if she did. And her mother’s. Marta would be horrified, more horrified than she’d been a couple of hours ago when Sam had teased her about what she planned on wearing to Carin’s and Rafe’s party.

“Jeans and a T-shirt?” Marta had said, staring at Sam as if she were a changeling who’d been dumped on the doorstep at birth. “To your sister’s fifth anniversary party? Honestly, Samantha…”

“Honestly, Mom, Sam’s kidding.” Carin had shot a beseeching look at her over their mother’s head. “Isn’t that right, Sam? You’re just joking.”

“Of course she is,” Amanda had said quickly, flashing the same ‘oh please, don’t make a scene’ look.

Too bad, Sam thought ruefully. Marriage changed people. Once upon a time, her sisters would have known a gag when they heard it. Of course, she’d been joking. Even she knew better than to turn up at a party like this in jeans. It was just that she was tired to start with and when she realized her ever-hopeful family was still trying to get her Settled Down and Married, well, she’d gone from tired to cranky in the blink of an eye.

So, okay. Sam ran her hands through her hair even though she knew it wouldn’t do much good. The humid Brazilian night had turned the tumbling auburn waves into a mass of wild curls despite enough hair spray to lacquer the entire chorus line in a Las Vegas production but she supposed she looked civilized enough to go back through the living room, nodding and smiling to anybody foolish enough to try and engage her in conversation. She could probably even assure Carin she was having a wonderful time, if she bumped into her. All she had to do was make it through the hall, to the stairs, and…

Sam’s breath caught.

A man had just entered the living room. He was tall, with the kind of wide-shouldered, lean-hipped, long-legged body that did justice to his black tux. His hair was the color of midnight, his eyes were blue or gray—it was hard to tell, at this distance—and were set in a face that was all hard lines and chiseled bones.

He was, to put it bluntly, a gorgeous specimen. A woman would have to be dead not to notice. Suddenly Sam didn’t feel quite so tired anymore.

If her sisters wanted to play matchmaker, why didn’t they set her up with someone like this? Not that it would get them the desired result. Handsome or not—and on a scale from one to ten, this guy was an absolute twelve—she wasn’t interested in settling down…and that, Sam thought with a sigh, was the reason her family never steered her to hunks.

Men who looked like this weren’t Suitable. They didn’t have Marriage on their minds any more than she did. She’d heard the speech often in the days when she’d still been foolish enough to take the latest man in her life to some family function.

“He’s charming,” Marta would say during the inevitable post-mortem, “and handsome, of course. But, darling, you know he’s not husband material. He’s, well, he’s Unsuitable.”

Well, yes. Unsuitable for marriage, maybe, but marriage wasn’t the only reason a woman would want a man. And Sam would tell her mother she was right, that Jason or Brad or Charlie was definitely not a man who would ever Marry and Settle Down and that was fine because she wasn’t a woman who was interested in those things, either.

Unfortunately, her mother just wouldn’t believe it. Neither would her sisters, now that they were married. Sam had become her sisters’ Project. They’d taken up their mother’s cause. That was why she knew, in her bones, that somewhere in this crowd lurked the newest in the long list of men who were Eminently Suitable, someone her family was convinced she would just adore.

Mister Eminently Suitable. Mister Deadly Dull.

Sam took her glass from the table and sipped at her drink. The hell she would.

She wouldn’t adore any man with marriage on his mind, who’d want to clip her wings, put her into a gilded cage, turn her from a world-class translator fluent in half a dozen languages into a kitchen-class housefrau with a hundred recipes at her fingertips.

Her family actually thought that would make her happy. It was the reason they kept introducing her to the Eminently Suitable men they believed capable of transforming and reforming her. Last time, Marta had come up with a stodgy academic twenty years her senior. The time before that, it had been a widowed rancher who’d given her a fascinating evening telling her all about the finer points of bull semen.

The truth was that both men had been nice enough, but Sam wasn’t looking for nice. She was looking for freedom, adventure, and an occasional liaison with the kind of man who could make her blood heat without even touching her.

Someone like the Twelve who’d strolled through the door a few minutes ago.

Sam scanned the room. Where was he? Ah. There he was, talking with a blonde who looked as if she’d be happy if he’d strip her naked right then and there. No. Her sisters wouldn’t introduce her to anyone like him. Since their marriages, they seemed to think they were the only Brewster women who could safely be involved with dangerously sexy types.

“The kinds of men you date won’t ever settle down,” Amanda had said primly at breakfast, and Sam had thought, sadly, Mandy, Mandy, what happened to you? Was her sister turning into a Marta-clone?

“That’s right,” Sam had replied, just as seriously. “That’s what makes them so much more interesting.”

Carin had sighed, and Amanda had sighed, and the only thing that had saved them all was that Sam had sighed, too, with all the drama she could muster. Her sisters had tried to look stern but, thank goodness, they hadn’t been able to pull it off. All three of them had started to giggle and, finally, they’d laughed so hard that Rafe and Nick had asked them to be let in on the joke, which had only made them laugh harder.

Later, Sam saw the four of them with their heads together, deep in a low-pitched conversation that stopped abruptly when they spotted her. Her brothers-in-law—Twelves, the both of them—had colored and said hello, wasn’t it a beautiful day, and Sam had known, known, that they were all part of the Get Samantha Married conspiracy.

The proof, if she’d needed any, had come a couple of hours later.

“You’ve been to Greece, haven’t you, Sam?” Nick had said casually over lunch.

“Uh-huh.” Sam had speared a grape tomato with her fork. “Beautiful place.”

Everyone had stilled. “It is,” Nick had said to the rest of the table. “A beautiful place.” And they all nodded before conversation resumed.

A little while later Rafe had strolled by while she was stretched on a chaise longue, pretending to read but really napping under the hot kiss of the sun.

“So,” he’d said brightly, “do you speak Greek?”

“Tourist Greek, I guess. You know, ‘Where is the toilet? How much does that cost?’ That kind of stuff.” Sam had pushed her sunglasses down her nose and looked at him over the rims. “Why? Is there a reason I should?”

“No, no,” he’d replied quickly. Too quickly. That was why warning bells rang in her head when first Carin and then Amanda just happened to stop by her room as she dressed for the party and agreed, with studied nonchalance, that it was truly a pity she didn’t speak Greek because one of the guests, an old friend of Rafe’s and Nick’s, was from Greece.

“Well, of course, I’ve never met Mr. Karas but I should think he’d have appreciated it if someone spoke his language,” Carin had murmured, studying her carefully manicured nails.

“Interesting,” Sam had said politely. “That the gentleman should be a friend of Rafe’s and Nick’s and speak only Greek. I’d have thought English was sort of the lingua franca that the three of them would have in common.”

Her sisters had tripped over their own words, hastily explaining that Demetrios Karas spoke English, of course.

“Ah,” Sam had replied, as if she hadn’t already figured out their plan, “is that his name? Demetrios Karas?”

Yes. It was. And he was a Shipping Magnate—Sam could almost hear the capitalization—and even though she didn’t speak Greek, it would be kind of her—

“And such a help to Rafe and me,” Carin had added, with a bright smile.

“—kind of you, Sam, if you’d try and make Mr. Karas feel comfortable by spending a little time with him tonight.”

Sam sighed and folded her hands around her half-empty glass.

What she was going to do was make herself comfortable by going to her room. Tomorrow, she’d tell her sisters she’d waited as long as she could but the estimable Mr. Karas had not arrived by the time exhaustion overcame her. That much was certainly true. She had yet to spot any short, overweight, overaged Eminently Suitable shipping magnates, and she didn’t want to. The probability was that she was too tired to be polite to Demetrios Karas if and when he swooped down on her.

Though, if she were in the mood, she could probably dredge up a smile for the hunk who’d wandered in a little while ago.

She wasn’t. She really was tired and besides, her determined family would be watching and who knew what they’d do if they saw her flirting with a dark, dangerous, sexy stud? Still, it didn’t hurt to see what he was up to…There he was, surrounded this time by a little covey of females. Two blondes, a brunette and one whose hair was highlighted so many shades that she looked like a used paintbrush. All of them were gazing up at the man as if they wanted to eat him, whole.

What a fine idea, Sam thought dreamily.

Whoops! Oh, yes. She was tired, for sure. She liked men and she liked sex, but she wasn’t given to daydreaming about…

Uh-oh. Carin had just rushed into the living room. She gave a gave a squeal of delight and launched herself at Mr. Twelve…who looked over Carin’s dark head, straight at Samantha.

Sam’s pulse sky-rocketed. His eyes were, indeed, the hot blue of a summer sky on the Côte d’Azur. They swept her from head to foot, then climbed again until they met hers and locked. Carin leaned back in his arms, said something. He laughed, turned his attention to her…and it was all over.

Sam let out her breath. All over? It had never been. He couldn’t see her, not on the dark terrace.

She swung away, moved further into the darkness. Tired, she thought with a tiny shudder, that was what it was. Her hand trembled as she lifted her glass and brought it to her lips. It was ridiculous to feel so shaky. A good thing she was alone out here. It was a magnificent night, fragrant with flowers that bloomed in the pots set on the flagstone floor and lit by a full moon that rode high over the Brazilian prairie. Too hot, she’d heard one woman say of the weather, but to Sam it felt just right.

“Hello.”

Her heart kicked against her ribs. She spun around…but it wasn’t him. And it couldn’t be the Greek. This was a tall, pleasant-looking guy with sandy hair. Very civilized. Civilized? What an odd distinction to attach to a person she didn’t even know. Everybody here was civilized, the women in their elegant gowns, the men in their tuxes. How much more civilized could you get? Still, there was something—well, something less than civilized about the man she’d been watching, a hint of raw, even primitive power…

Sam blinked and put out her hand. “Hi. I’m Samantha Brewster.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, unless…I’m sure it’s not, but just reassure me. Your name isn’t Demetrios, is it?”

He laughed. “No way! I’m Jack Adams. I went to school with Nick al Rashid. And you’re his sister-in-law, Samantha.”

How many Eminently Suitables were wandering around tonight, Sam thought grimly, clutching her name in their reliable, stultifying hands?

“Ah,” she said politely, “then you must know his wife. My sister.”

Jack did. He and Sam talked about Philadelphia, where he lived, and New York, where she lived. They talked about Indonesia, where she’d just been, and New Jersey, where he’d just been. Then Jack fell silent, cleared his throat and said it would be nice to get together sometime, maybe when he was in Manhattan on business.

“I’d love to,” Sam said, “but I’m hardly ever home. I do a lot of traveling.”

Jack’s smile turned cool. “Yeah,” he said, “so I’ve heard.” He excused himself, went inside and melted into the crowd.

Sam took a sip of her caparhinia.

Well, hell. She hadn’t wanted to be impolite and she’d ended up being unkind, instead. She hadn’t meant to be; she’d just pulled out the first excuse that came to mind but now that she thought about it, telling someone not to call you because you did a lot of traveling ranked right up there with “Sorry, but I can’t see you tonight. I have to wash my hair.”

It wasn’t her fault. Not really. She was just wary, that was all. It was her sisters’ fault. The two of them needed to start minding their own business instead of hers.

She probably shouldn’t have flown down to Rio de Ouro for this party, not after three months translating Italian into English and English into Italian as the language liaison for ethnologists from Rome and San Francisco, but she hadn’t wanted to miss Carin’s and Rafe’s fifth anniversary or her niece’s fifth birthday. The two events were only separated by a few days, a fact that neither her sister nor brother-in-law ever denied, and who could blame them, when they were so obviously still crazy in love? If only Carin wasn’t convinced love was the universal panacea.

“I met Rafe at a party just like this one,” she’d chirped this morning.

“So did I,” Amanda had chirped back. “Met Nick at a party, I mean.”

Sam gave a sigh and peered into the living room again. Carin was nowhere in sight. She could chance a quick exit…But the man was still there. He was talking with someone whose name she couldn’t remember. The Twelve smiled. So did the other man. They shook hands and the other guy wandered off…

Samantha’s heart thudded.

There was no doubt about it. The stranger was looking at her. Directly at her, while a little smile curved over his mouth, and now he was coming towards the terrace, towards her, making his way through the crowded room…

“Demetrios!”

Sam’s eyes widened. The booming voice belonged to her brother-in-law but the man who responded to it by stopping dead in his tracks and turning towards Rafe was no rotund, over-aged Lothario.

It was Mr. Twelve.

She watched, openmouthed, as he and her brother-in-law clasped hands, then laughed and threw their arms around each other in a bear hug.

“When did you get here, Demetrios?”

Demetrios. Demetrios Karas. Sam could hardly get her mind around the reality. This gorgeous creature was the man her sisters wanted her to meet? Not a toad that marriage would turn into a prince? This tall, handsome, dangerously sexy-looking man was their idea of Mister Eminently Suitable?

Only two women floating on the euphoria of wedded bliss would come up with such a plan. Demetrios Karas was no more marriage material than she was. What was that old saying? It took one to know one. Well, she knew. The man was a confirmed bachelor, a state of mind Sam understood, completely.

She stepped quickly back into the darkness and bit her lip to keep from bursting into laughter. Here she’d been skulking around because she didn’t want to be shoved into the arms of someone like the professor or the rancher, men who’d expect her to cook a hot meal at the end of a long, dull day of knitting or crocheting or whatever it was the wives of men like that did and all the time her sisters’ quarry had been the best-looking male on three continents.

Make that four continents.

Marriage must have turned her sisters’s brains to mush.

Surely, they knew this man was not marriage material. He would cherish his freedom just as much as she cherished hers. Actually, she wouldn’t even date someone like this. Oh, he might be fun for an evening but that would about do it. The smile. The swagger. He’d be self-centered, hot-tempered…and Greek. Really Greek, as in old-world, I-am-male, you-are-female, macho.

Sam rolled her eyes.

Just wait until she got hold of Carin and Amanda in the morning. Her brothers-in-law, too. And her mother, who’d done more than her fair share of trying to find her The Right Man. Get out of my life, she’d tell the bunch of them. No more matchmaking. No more setting me up. No more—

“Samantha.”

Rafe purred her name in that wonderful Brazilian accent of his. Sam took a deep breath and turned towards him.

“Rafe,” she said calmly. She smiled, rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. “What a lovely party.”

“Carin arranged it all,” he said proudly.

“Well, she did a wonderful job.”

Rafe nodded. Then he tucked his hands in his trouser pockets and cleared his throat. “So. Have you met everyone?”

Here we go, she thought. “How could I?” she said, with wide-eyed innocence. “You have a zillion guests. I couldn’t possibly meet everyone.”

“Ah. No, of course not. But you should come inside, Sam, so you can—so you can meet some of them.”

She stared at her usually unflappable brother-in-law. A flush spread across his tanned cheeks and she sighed.

“Rafe,” she said gently, “I do not wish to meet Demetrios Karas.”

“Carin thinks…”

“Carin should stop thinking. About me, anyway.” Sam softened her words with a smile. “I’m happy as I am. Honestly.”

Her brother-in-law looked relieved. “I know it. I tried telling that to her, but…”

“You didn’t say anything to him, did you? To Karas?”

“Certainly not,” Rafe said briskly.

“Well, that’s good.” Sam fluttered her lashes. “Because I’d hate to have him think of me as goods in the marketplace, if I should decide to go over and introduce myself.”

“But you just said—”

“I said I didn’t want to meet him. I meant as a marriage prospect.” She dropped her voice to a theatrical whisper. “Actually, he wouldn’t be a very good one.”

“He would agree with you, I am certain,” Rafe said, and smiled.

“But he’d make a great evening’s entertainment.”

“Samantha!”

Sam laughed. “I’m joking.”

Of course she was. It was all a joke. The matchmaking. The handsome stranger with the groupies hanging all over him. The attraction she’d imagined she felt to him and the idea that he’d been looking at her. Even if he had noticed her, even if he were her type, what did it matter? She wasn’t in the mood to get involved with anybody, not for an evening, not for a week, not for a long time. She wanted some peace and quiet while she came down after the months in Indonesia. Some simple translating arrangement that would keep her in New York for a bit. Then, perhaps, she’d be in the mood to meet someone and enjoy him until the next job took her someplace else.

“…if you’ll forgive me.”

Sam focused her eyes on Rafe. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get that.”

“I said I was going to find my wife and see if I can steal her for myself for a little while. That is, if you’ll excuse me…?”

She smiled. “Of course. Actually, when you do find Carin, would you give her a message? Would you tell her the party’s marvelous but I’m completely wiped out, and I’m going to call it a night?”

“Of course.” Rafe kissed her temple. “Boa noite, Sam.”

“Good night, Rafe.”

That was precisely what she was going to do. No slinking around on the dark terrace, either. She’d go straight through the house. She’d been behaving like a schoolgirl, trying to avoid Demetrios Karas. And so much for imagining he’d been watching her, coming to claim her…

To claim her?

Sam rolled her eyes. Enough was enough. She needed a good night’s sleep and she was going to get one. She smoothed back her hair, lifted her chin, put a polite smile on her face, walked briskly into the crowded living room…

And went in search of Demetrios Karas.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE was beautiful, this woman with hair the color of autumn and eyes the deep green of the open sea.

Demetrios had noticed her as soon as he entered the room.

She was a vision of femininity in silk a shade just paler than her eyes. A short top—cropped, his last mistress had called the style—skimmed her breasts. Her trousers matched the pale green top. Ordinarily, he didn’t care for women in trousers, but these…

Idly, his eyes traveled the length of her body.

These were different. They began just below her navel, clung to her hips and thighs before falling to her ankles. Her shoes were the same pale green and seemed to be made of nothing but straps and slender, delicately spiked heels.

Only a saint would not have imagined her wearing just the heels and, perhaps, a scrap or two of tantalizingly placed lace, and no one would ever propose him for canonization.

That he should instantly envision her that way had not surprised him. What did was the swift reaction of his body. It was so sophomoric, so unexpected, that he’d turned away from her, half in amusement, half in annoyance, concentrated on envisioning barren stretches of ice-choked tundra, and plunged into conversation with a woman who’d just called his name.

It didn’t help. He said yes, no, and maybe; smiled when it seemed a smile was appropriate, but his mind was on the auburn-haired woman. Why was she so removed? Music was playing, people were talking and laughing. Rafe’s party was a roaring success and yet she kept herself separate. She stood on the threshold of the terrace, as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to stay or leave, with a glass in her hand and an indefinable look on her face. Was it boredom? Polite indifference? Whatever it was, she would have drawn every man in the room except for the way she held herself.

Keep away, her posture said, I’m not interested.

Still, Demetrios couldn’t imagine she had come alone. Wasn’t there a man with her? Each time he looked at the terrace, he saw her still standing there, alone.

The only way to get answers to his questions was to go to her and ask them. That look of world-weariness didn’t put him off. On the contrary, it piqued his interest.

He waited for a lull in conversation, made an excuse and started towards her, but he didn’t get very far. He knew a number of people at this party. Voices called out to him. Hands—especially female hands—reached for his arm. There was no way to avoid saying hello and yes, he was fine and no, he would not be going to Gstaad or the Canaries…or, he’d almost said to the last woman who’d batted her lashes at him, or to anyplace he was likely to run into her.

They had enjoyed each other in the past, but the affair had been over for a long time.

The redhead on the terrace didn’t look like she’d cling to a man once the flame between them had died…but that was probably just wishful thinking. Experience had taught him that women were incapable of enjoying something for the moment without trying to build a life around it.

Still, it was pleasant to imagine such a possibility, the perfect woman, one who’d be as beautiful as a rare orchid and as self-sufficient as a desert cactus.

Unfortunately, such a creature had yet to be conceived. Women were either beautiful or sturdy. There was no way to blend the qualities and since he was most definitely a man who preferred beauty to durability, he’d suffered through his fair share of relationships that ended badly. More than his fair share, some might say.

Just once, Demetrios thought as the woman clinging to his arm chattered on, just once he’d like to meet a woman who knew her own mind, who would admit to desire with honesty and forsake the need for games…And then he felt a sudden tingling. He looked up, just quickly enough to see the redhead watching him with an intensity that made him want to push past the idiotic female babbling at him, shoulder through the crowd, take the redhead in his arms and carry her off.

Of course, he hadn’t done it. Civilized men didn’t do such things.

So he waited, ended the conversation and started towards her again, but the fates were against him. When Rafe called his name, what else could he do but respond? They’d been friends for years. Still, once they’d gone through the hellos and how have you beens, Demetrios decided to be blunt. You could do that, with a man.

“Rafe,” he said, with a little smile, “let’s catch up on old times later. Tomorrow, perhaps. How does that sound?”

Rafe grinned and clapped him on the back. “It sounds as if you have your eye on someone. Who is she?”

Demetrios grinned, too. “I don’t know her name yet. I’ve only seen her.”

“Well, point her out. What sort of friend would I be if I couldn’t help?”

“She’s right…” There, he started to say, but she wasn’t. He glimpsed a flash of green silk, nothing more. The mystery woman had faded into the darkness of the terrace. “She was right there. Never mind.” He smiled. “There are some things a man should do for himself.”

“And I’m sure you’ll succeed,” Rafe said, smiling back. “Nick says you used to put him to shame, in the old days.”

“I’m glad he admits it, but then, he’s an old married man now.”

“Happily married,” Rafe said, and cleared his throat. “As I am. And I’m sure you will be, too, when you find the right woman.”

Demetrios could almost hear his mental alarm start ringing. The expression on Rafe’s face had become serious. No, he thought, no. Surely a friend would not try to…

“So,” Rafe said, far too briskly, “have you met all my wife’s family?”

“Marriage has dulled your brain.” Demetrios grinned. “I’ve done business with Jonas, remember? At Espada, where I met his wife and sons. And, of course, I know Nick’s Amanda, and your beautiful Carin.”

“Then, uh, then the only one of the Barons you haven’t met is Sam.”

“Sam?” Demetrios frowned. “I don’t recall Jonas having a son named Sam.”

“No, no. Sam is short for Samantha.”

“Ah,” Demetrios said, as if he understood when, in fact, he hadn’t the slightest idea what his friend was talking about. “I knew the old man had a stepdaughter, but—”

“Sam isn’t Jonas’s daughter.” Rafe cleared his throat again. “Samantha isn’t actually a Baron. She is a Brewster. My wife’s youngest sister.”

“Ah,” Demetrios said again, and glanced towards the terrace. Was she still out there? She had to be. He had to meet her. In a room filled with beauty, hers had shone as brightly as the beacon that marked the anchorage of his private island in the Aegean. “Rafe, my friend—”

“Sam is here, somewhere. Why don’t you let me find her and introduce you?”

Hell. That was what this was all about. Rafael Alvares, who bred world-class horses and captained a Brazilian financial empire, had been given the role of matchmaker. It was pathetic, what happened to a man, once a woman put a ring through his nose.

“That sounds, uh, it sounds wonderful,” Demetrios said heartily. “But, ah, but I have to step out for a moment.” He patted the pocket where he kept his cell phone. “I have to, uh, to make a call to New York. And it’s so noisy in here…”

“You’ll like her. I know you will.”

“Yes. Well, I’m sure I would, but—”

“She’s your type of woman.”

“Really.” Demetrios raised an eyebrow.

“Absolutely. You might not think so, at first. Sam is a challenge.”

Meaning, she was bad-tempered.

“She’s hot-tempered, with a mind of her own.”

Meaning, no man had yet been found who could tolerate her. Demetrios had come to understand the language of those who wanted to end his happy bachelorhood. That the words should spew from the mouth of a friend didn’t make them any less deadly.

“She sounds…fascinating,” he said politely. “And I’m certain she is as beautiful as your wife.”

Rafe seemed to think about it. “No,” he said, after a minute, “I must admit, Sam doesn’t look anything like Carin. She doesn’t look like Amanda, either.”

Worse and worse. His old friend was trying to fix him up with an over-the-hill grouch who bore a man’s name and had none of the beauty of her sisters.

“Well,” Demetrios said, lying through his teeth, “she sounds delightful—but I have to make that call. And I see some people I know. Let me make the call, say hello, and then I’ll certainly get back to you so you can introduce me to your sister-in-law.”

Rafe sighed. “No, you won’t.”

“Don’t give me that look. I’m not trying to, ah, to avoid meeting this—this paragon. I simply—”

“You’re simply not ready to lose your beloved freedom.” Rafe’s sigh became a smile. “It’s all right, Demetrios. I said as much to Carin, but she insisted you and Sam would be a perfect match. What can I tell you, my friend? You know how women are.”

“All too well,” Demetrios said, sighing with relief. “That’s why I’m happy to remain single.”

Rafe walked away. He started towards the terrace only to be waylaid yet again, this time by a blonde with whom he’d had a long-forgotten liaison.

“Darling,” she squealed, and he kissed her cheek when she tilted her face to his, but there was a limit to his patience.

“Forgive me,” he said, with a show of teeth he hoped would appear to be a smile, “but I really must—”

And then a hint of fragrance drifted towards him. Jasmine? Lilac?

“Hello.”

The voice was soft, husky, and touched with amusement. Demetrios felt all his senses go on alert. Only one woman at this party had the power to turn him on with a simple word; he knew, instantly, it was she. He turned slowly, wondering if the reality of her would match his fantasies…

Yes. God, yes. She was more than beautiful. She was magnificent. Eyes a man could get lost in. A mouth that begged to be kissed. Hair that glinted with the fire of the sun.

“How lovely you are,” he said softly.

She laughed. “How direct you are.”

“I’ve been watching you. And you’ve been watching me. Why should either of us pretend?” He moved a step closer. “I’ve spent the entire evening trying to get to your side.”

She smiled and held out a glass. Until then, he hadn’t even noticed that she held one in each hand, both filled with crushed ice and pale golden liquid.

“In that case, you must be thirsty.”

Demetrios smiled. “Don’t tell me…caparhinias?”

“I thought you asked me not to tell you.” Their fingers brushed as he took one of the glasses from her and a charge of electricity flashed through him. Through her, too. He saw her eyes suddenly darken and knew she must have felt the same hot surge. “Do you like what I’ve brought you, Mr. Karas?”

“Yes,” he said in a low voice, his eyes locked on hers, knowing she wasn’t talking about the caparhinias. “Very much.”

“Good.” She smiled, lifted her drink to her lips and took a sip of the sugary rum concoction. “I thought you might.”

She was a flirt. A tease. And yet, she was blunt about what she wanted. The combination was dazzling. He wanted to take her into his arms, carry her through the house, up the stairs to his bed…

“Demetrios?” a voice behind him whined.

Hell. “One moment,” he said softly, and turned to the blonde. “I’m sorry,” he said politely. “But I’m busy.”

He was being rude. He knew it, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman…

She was gone. But where? The terrace. Yes. He saw a flash of green silk being swallowed up by the darkness. He put his glass on a table and shouldered his way through the crowd, ignoring everything but the woman.

There she was, hurrying down the wide steps that led to the gently sloping lawn.

“Wait!”

Her pace quickened, until she was almost running. Demetrios cursed, went after her, caught her as she reached a shadowed gazebo. He clasped her shoulders and swung her towards him. Moonlight lit her face.

“Why did you run away? Are you afraid of me?” Gently, he cupped her face in his hands, his fingers stroking the curve of her cheekbones. “There’s no reason to be. I won’t hurt you.”

Sam stared up at him. There was no way to explain. What could she tell him? That she’d only been teasing, at first, because it was fun to know she’d been coming on to the evening’s unknowing quarry? That what had started as fun had changed? That she could imagine going to bed with him, wanted to go to bed with him, but that not even she, for all her talk, fell into bed so fast? It was out of the question anyway. Her entire family had pointed her in his direction. She doubted if he’d want to hear that.

Sam moistened her lips. “I’m sorry if I misled you. But I’m—I’m tired. And—”

“And, you don’t know me. That’s the problem, isn’t it?” His gaze fell to her lips, then rose. “You could know me,” he said softly. “One kiss. That is all it would take, and then we would both know all we need to know.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t think. Not tonight.”

Slowly, he lowered his head to hers. Despite his words, she knew he was giving her time to end the game before it was too late.

His eyes were pools of indigo, half shielded by thick, black lashes.

I could drown in his eyes, she thought, and then his mouth brushed hers like a whisper of moonlight, brushed it again and again, and with a little sigh, Sam gave up thinking, closed her eyes, parted her lips and welcomed his kiss.

He tasted of wine and of moonlight, of a thousand forgotten dreams and of a quest that had never quite been fulfilled. And despite everything, she knew, as he kissed her, that she wanted more.

Unbidden, the word whispered from her lips. “More.”

Demetrios groaned. More. Yes. He would give her more. He would give her everything, take everything. He brought her closer, slipped his hands up her throat, felt the urgent pulsing of her blood, cupped her face and lifted it to his.

Samantha leaned into him, wanting the feel of him against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. He slid his hands down her shoulders and she trembled at the rough brush of his fingers against her bare skin, moaned when he gathered her tightly in his arms.

Her hands lifted, wrapped around his neck, and he knew she was surrendering herself to him, to the night, to passion. He bit lightly at her bottom lip, then soothed the tiny hurt with his tongue. She tasted of rum and sugar, of heat and desire, and he groaned again and fell back against the wall, taking her with him, sweeping his hand possessively down her body. He cupped her breast, swallowed her cry as the silk-covered nipple rose against his palm, curved his hand around her hip.

“Matya mou,” he said thickly, turning so that their positions were reversed and it was she who leaned against the gazebo. He moved into the vee of her legs and she arched against him, moved against him, and he knew he was as close to losing himself as he had ever been in all the years since he’d left boyhood behind.

“Wait,” he whispered, but she was touching him, sliding her hands under his jacket, tearing at his shirt so that the studs popped free and fell to the ground. He caught his breath at the feel of her cool fingers against his skin, and he clasped her wrists in one hand while he stepped back and tried to regain his sanity, but she gave a little whimper of distress that fueled his hunger. He understood her need. It was the same for him, the urgency to touch and taste that was almost pain, but he would not permit himself such a total loss of control. He could wait. He would take her where there was privacy, where there was a bed, a place to be alone.

He brushed a light kiss on her swollen mouth and wound his fingers through hers.

“My room,” he said, but she shook her head wildly.

“No. Not in the house. I can’t—I don’t—”

She didn’t want to run the risk of seeing people. God knew, neither did he. “The stables,” he said, and before she could reply, he led her from the gazebo towards the outbuildings.

“Wait,” she said, just as he had moments before, and he thought she had changed her mind, thought what he would do if she had, but she stopped only long enough to kick off her shoes. He scooped them up and they ran through the damp grass side by side. She was laughing softly, and he stopped, swung her into his arms and kissed her.

A cloud hid the moon, leaving the sky touched only with the fire of the stars, but Demetrios knew his way. There was a small office just off the stables. He and Rafe had sealed a deal in it. It was not elaborate. A desk. A chair. A couch. An old leather couch. Not big, but big enough for a man and a woman to make love.

He would take her there, undress her, sink into the lushness of her mouth, into the heat of her body. With the first frantic hunger eased, he would hold her in his arms, caress her. The crowd would thin, the party would end, and they would go to the house then, to his room, lose themselves in each other through the long, hot Brazilian night.

The stable was dark and pleasantly scented with horse and leather. An animal snorted as the door swung shut behind them.

Demetrios drew Samantha towards the office at the rear of the building.

“Demetrios?” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said thickly. She knew his name? He didn’t know hers. He thought of asking, but what did it matter at this moment? Instead, he took her hand, brought it to his erection. “Feel what you do to me, o kalóz mou.” He heard her breath catch as her fingers curled over his hardness.

“Feel what you do to me,” she said, and she lifted his hand to her breast.

Her silk-covered nipple, hard as a pearl, pressed against his palm. He groaned, kissed her deeply, savoring the sweetness of her mouth while he drew her down onto the couch and gathered her into his arms. She moaned, pressed fevered kisses to his jaw, wound her arms around his neck and, for a heartbeat, the frenzy within him eased. He felt a sudden need to hold her, just hold her, to learn the sweet secrets of her body before slaking his desire.

“Tell me your name,” he said softly. “I want to know—”

Impatiently, she moved against him, moved again, and he was lost. He slid his hand along the warm, exposed flesh between her breasts and her navel, eased his hand under the waistband of her trousers, down and down, groaning at the first brush of silken curls, capturing her mouth with his when she cried out…

Lights blazed on in the stable. The woman in his arms froze. “Oh, God,” she said in a frantic whisper, and her sinuous movements turned to frenzied attempts to push him away. “Get off me! Don’t you see the lights? Someone is—”

“Shh.” He put his lips to her ear. “Don’t talk. Whoever it is will leave.”

Leave? Sam squeezed her eyes shut. Please, yes. They had to leave…

“…delighted you are prepared to make up your mind about the colt, Nick,” Rafe Alvares said, and chuckled. “I have had an offer. An excellent one, and I’m tempted to accept it.”

“The hell you will,” Nicholas al Rashid replied, with lazy humor. “Doesn’t being your brother-in-law count for anything?”

Both men laughed. Their footsteps sounded on the planked floor. Sam buried her face in Demetrios’s throat.

“There he is. A fine animal. As handsome as ever.”

Nick sighed. “More handsome than ever. All right. It’s a deal. Ship him to my farm in Greenwich.”

“As soon as I can make the arrangements.”

“They’ll go now,” Demetrios whispered—and followed it with an oath. He was wrong. The men weren’t leaving. The footsteps were drawing closer. Closer…

He sat up quickly, whipped off his jacket and draped it around Sam’s shoulders. Then he shot to his feet and stood in front of her, blocking her from view.

The light in the little office came on. “Let’s celebrate,” Rafe said, “with a brandy. Or would you prefer…Demetrios?”

“Demetrios?” Nick said, his voice a puzzled echo of Rafe’s. There was a moment’s silence, and then he cleared his throat. “Oh.”

Oh, indeed, Sam thought, and wished, with all her heart, that she were dead.

“Have we, uh, have we interrupted something?”

She squeezed her eyes shut in an old parody of the children’s game. If she couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see her. They really couldn’t, she told herself frantically. Demetrios hadn’t moved. He was a protective wall, and she was huddled deep in his jacket with her knees drawn up, her face buried against them, but she had never felt more exposed in her life.

“Let’s step outside,” he said. There was a shuffle of feet, the creak of the door half closing, then the sound of Demetrios’s voice saying calmly, almost lazily, “Actually, you have interrupted something,” as if were all some sort of joke.

Sam curled her hands into fists.

“Damn,” Nick murmured. “Sorry, Karas.”

Sam’s heart pounded like a drum. Go away. Go away. Go away!

Rafe cleared his throat. “I had no idea that you—that you were…” He cleared his throat again. “Well. I can see why you didn’t want to meet my wife’s sis…Damn! Never mind.”

“Right,” Nick said quickly, “never mind. We’ll see you later, Demetrios. Rafe? Let’s go.”

Sam held her breath until she heard the footsteps recede. The lights went off, the door banged shut and she scrambled to her feet just as Demetrios hurried towards her.

“Kalóz mou,” he said, reaching for her…

She slammed a fist against his chest. “Don’t—don’t ‘kalóz mou’ me! And don’t touch me, either!”

“Sweetheart. I am sorry. I regret that we were interrupted, but—”

“Yes. I’ll just bet you do.”

She glared at him, her blood hot with rage. He was talking in a soft, soothing voice, trying to talk her back onto that couch, but that wasn’t going to happen. How could she have done this? She’d almost slept with a stranger—a stranger who hadn’t wanted to meet her. Wasn’t that what Rafe had just said? That Demetrios hadn’t wanted to meet his wife’s sister?

The man who’d almost bedded her hadn’t wanted to meet her. Okay, he didn’t know she was the woman he hadn’t wanted to meet. Maybe that made a difference. Maybe her logic was flawed but dammit, who cared about logic? She’d been humiliated, embarrassed…and the man who was arrogance and self-conceit personified was still talking.

“Oh, shut up,” Sam said, and brushed past him. She tried to, anyway, but he put out his arm and stopped her.

“Have you heard a thing I said?”

His faint accent, so softly sexy a little while ago, had thickened. Sam blew her hair back from her forehead.

“This is all your fault. If you were any kind of gentleman—”

“Ah. I see. You wish to pretend you had no part in this.”

“I’m not the one who dragged me into this—this barn.”

“One,” he said coldly, “it is a stable. Two, if I were not a gentleman, there might be some debate as to who dragged who.”

“Whom,” Sam snapped.

“Three,” Demetrios said, his voice cutting across hers, “we are only here because you refused to go into the house.”

“Yes. Yes, I did. I, at least, have some sense of propriety.”

“That is surely the reason you climbed all over me at the gazebo.”

He wasn’t just arrogant, he was insufferable. Sam thought about slapping him but really, he wasn’t worth the effort. Exhaustion, she thought furiously, as she pushed past him and headed for the stable door. It was all a case of exhaustion.

“You have my jacket,” he said sharply. “Or are you in the habit of taking souvenirs?”

She swung towards him and flung a string of curses she’d just learned in Egypt in his face. Demetrios glowered; a horse in a nearby stall gave a soft whinny and looked on with interest.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” Sam replied, smiling brightly, “that I hoped your descendents would all be carrion-eating jackals, and that you’d lose all your teeth and go bald by the time you’re thirty-five. Good night. I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t.”

“You’re right. It hasn’t.”

“As for your precious jacket…” She shrugged the item in question from her shoulders and held it out in a two-fingered grasp. Demetrios looked from her face to the jacket to the horse in its stall…

“No,” he said, but it was too late. The jacket dropped. The horse snorted. And the woman he’d been fool enough to have thought he wanted strode towards the door.

“Good night,” Sam said pleasantly, and batted the door open with her hand.

A single, harsh word floated out into the night. It was Greek, but she didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what it meant. Sam dusted her hands off as she strode towards the house. The jacket had, undoubtedly, found its hoped-for target, something that was the inevitable product of horses and stables.

There was justice in this world after all.

Demetrios glared at the closed door. Then, teeth clenched, he leaned into the stall and carefully retrieved his jacket. He carried it as the woman had, by two fingers, until he reached the door where he dropped it into a trash container.

He had never learned her name, but it wasn’t necessary. As far as he was concerned, it might as well be Circe. She was a sorceress. A tease. Hell, she was a bitch…And yet, as he stepped out into the warm night and thought of the curses she’d uttered, his lips began to twitch.

Descendents that were jackals were bad enough, but that he should be toothless and bald in another two years? He began to chuckle, and then to laugh out loud. She was not the first woman to have cursed him, though it had always been because he was the one heading for the door. Certainly, none had ever done it so creatively.

As for Nick and Rafe…Demetrios sighed. He was going to have to come up with some kind of explanation. He was sure they’d be waiting for him. They’d want details, the name of the woman, why he’d taken her to the stables instead of to his bedroom…

Why he’d had to dump his jacket in the trash.

Well, they were in for a disappointment. He wasn’t going to tell them much of anything. The assignation—the almost assignation—had begun as passion and ended as farce, but he had no wish to share it, not even for the good-natured laughter it would surely bring. It had been far too private.

As for Circe…whoever she was, she was quite a woman.

Whistling softly, even smiling—which, he had to admit, was an odd thing to do, considering the less than satisfactory end to what had begun as a fascinating evening—Demetrios tucked his hands into his pockets and strolled towards the house.

CHAPTER THREE

ALMOST four weeks later, the phone in Sam’s apartment rang just as she was pouring her first cup of morning coffee.

She put down the pot, glanced at the clock and picked up the receiver. “Good morning, Amanda,” she said sweetly.

Her sister gave a dramatic groan. “Please don’t tell me they’ve perfected video calling. Not at this hour of the morning.”

Sam laughed. “This hour of the morning is how I knew it was you. Nobody else would call me at five after seven.”

“Anybody with a four-year-old would. Besides, I wanted to be sure and get you before you left for the day. Didn’t you say you had a job interview on tap?”

“Two of them,” Sam said, tucking the phone against her shoulder so she could open the fridge and get out the cream. “The first one’s in just a couple of hours, so—”

“So, you can’t talk long. Yes, I know. That’s been your excuse ever since we got back from Brazil.”

“It isn’t an excuse,” Sam said quickly. Too quickly, she thought, and told herself to slow down. “I’ve been busy, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Well, what’s on that frantic schedule of yours today?”

“A couple of meetings this morning. Which means—”

“Which means,” Amanda said pleasantly, “you and I can get together for lunch. Remember that little place off Madison?”

“Where walking through the door and inhaling puts a thousand calories on your hips?”

“Haven’t you heard the latest scientific facts, sister mine? A blast of sunshine reduces the calorie count. And, in case you haven’t noticed, spring has finally sprung. Take a peep out your window. That big yellow ball hanging over the East River is sun.”

“It’s pollution. And honestly, Mandy, I don’t see how I can make it. I’m seeing somebody at the UN at nine—”

“You’re going to work at the United Nations? I thought you hated being bottled up indoors.”

“It’s a private job. Some letters that need translating. And then, at eleven, there’s a professor at Hunter who stumbled across some poems by a nineteenth century—”

“Fascinating,” Amanda said politely. “But I thought you didn’t do that. Translate poetry and letters, I mean. I thought you preferred on-the-spot things. You know, Mr. Pavarotti, meet Mr. Jagger. That kind of stuff.”

Sam laughed as she stirred a dollop of cream into her coffee. “Well, that’s what I prefer, but my bank account isn’t as finicky as my brain—especially when I haven’t picked up a decent job since—since I got back from that weekend at Carin’s.”

What an idiot! Surely, after all this time, she could trust herself to say “Brazil” without dredging up memories of that humiliating episode with Demetrios Karas.

“Really?”

“Really. Nobody seems to need translations in French or German or Italian or Spanish or—”

“Borneoese?”

Sam laughed again. “You just invented a language. Anyway, what I did in Borneo was translate from Italian to English and from English to Italian. There was this pair of ethnologists, see, and one spoke…” She sighed. “Trust me. I don’t do what you just dubbed Borneoese.”

“Or Greek,” Amanda said pleasantly.

Every nerve cell in Sam’s body went on alert. “Why would I need to speak Greek?”

“You wouldn’t. I just mentioned it. I mean, you said—”

“I know what I said. And what you said. And you said, Greek.”

“Samantha, honestly, stop being so defensive. Have you had your morning coffee?”

Sam stared down into her rapidly cooling cup. “No.”

“Well, you see? That’s what you get for trying to talk to me before you get your caffeine levels where they should be.”

“Amanda. You are the one who called me.”

“So I did, although I don’t know why you should be such a grump, considering that I’m inviting you to a sinfully scrumptious lunch where I’m going to tell you about your next job.”

Sam stood up straight. “Translating?”

“Of course. What other kind of job would Nick offer you?”

“Your husband needs a translator?”

“A business acquaintance of his needs one. Well, actually, a friend. And it’s your kind of thing, Sam, nothing to do with dusty old letters or poetry.”

“Well, that’s great!” Sam lifted her cup and drank some coffee. “Who’ll I be working with? Where? In what languages?”

“I don’t really know the details. You can get all that from Nick. He said he’d meet us at The Lazy Daisy and fill you in.”

“Okay. Fine.” Sam cleared her throat. “Uh, so, speaking of Nick…Did he, um, did he enjoy the weekend at Rio de Ouro?”

“Doesn’t he always? You know what good friends he and Rafe are.”

“Oh, sure.” Sam ran the tip of her tongue over her lips. “And—and I’m sure he saw other friends that weekend, too. I mean, they all know each other, don’t they? Nick. Rafe. And—and other people.”

“All of a sudden, I have the feeling I’m the one in need of a translator. What are you talking about?”

What, indeed? Sam shut her eyes and rubbed a finger across the bridge of her nose. If Demetrios Karas had figured out who she was, if he’d told either of her brothers-in-law about his—his encounter with her, she’d have known it. Rafe and Nick would have confronted her like the protective big brothers they’d become.

By now, her sisters and their husbands would have been all over her.

No, her family was clueless and they were going to stay that way. What had happened was history, and so was Demetrios Karas. Just thinking it made the day improve.

“Sam?”

“You don’t need a translator,” Sam said briskly. “It’s me. I need that caffeine you mentioned before I can carry on even a halfway intelligent conversation. I’ll see you at The Lazy Daisy.”

“Wonderful. I’ll reserve a table in the solarium so we can enjoy this gorgeous sunshine.”

But by late morning, the sun had gone into hiding.

The sky was a leaden gray when Sam hurried towards Hunter College for her appointment; by the time she left the college, it was raining. Fat drops pattered against the pavement as thunder rolled across the city. Sam eyed the traffic, but she knew better than to stand around and get wet in the futile hope of snagging a taxi. Someday, somebody would solve the mystery and figure out where cabs hid when the weather turned soggy. In the meantime, there was no choice but to make a run for the restaurant.

She was thoroughly drenched when she finally ducked under The Lazy Daisy’s royal-blue canopy. The captain hurried towards her as she stepped through the smoked-glass doors.

“I’m meeting someone,” Sam said, out of breath from the mad sprint.

“Certainly, Miss Brewster.”

She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirrored walls as he helped her out of her coat. What a mess! She had a faint resemblance to something left too long in the wet, but it didn’t matter. She’d already finished her business appointments. Neither Amanda nor Nick would care if she looked like something the cat had dragged in.

“This way, please, Miss Brewster. Her Highness is waiting for you.”

Sam fell in behind the captain and tried not to grin. She had no illusions about him remembering her from a visit nearly six months earlier. It was Amanda’s presence that had done it. Her sister didn’t actually have a title, not since Nick had renounced the throne of his homeland, but you couldn’t tell that to some of the world-class snobs who became New York head waiters.

Despite the rain, Amanda had taken a table in the solarium as she’d promised. The rest of the area was deserted. Evidently, nobody else wanted to sit inside a glass room while rain poured from the skies but the scene was cozy enough and Amanda looked warm and content as she sat in a candle-lit booth.

She waved when she saw Sam. “There you are,” she said happily, rising so they could exchange hugs. They sat down, smiling at each other, talking about Amanda’s children, Sam’s much-loved nephew and niece, pausing only when the sommelier appeared with a bottle of wine.

“I ordered a syrah,” Amanda said. “Is that okay with you? I figured red wine goes with cool, wet weather.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam smiled. “So does sitting underwater in a solarium.”

“Do you mind? It’s so private, and besides, there’s something wonderfully decadent about…Oh, Sam. Just look at your hair!”

“Fortunately,” Sam said dryly, “I don’t have to. You’re the one stuck with the view of me masquerading as Medusa.”

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it. All those curls…It’s glorious! You ought to wear it this way all the time. It’s so sexy.”

Gravely, the sommelier offered Amanda the cork. She smiled and waved it away. “I trust you, George,” she said. “Just pour, please. My sister and I are parched.” When the glasses were filled, she leaned forward. “How’d your appointments go?”

Sam sighed, lifted her glass and took an appreciative sip. “Let’s put it this way. It’s a good thing Nick has a job for me.”

“Nothing panned out, huh?’

“Well, the guy at the UN turned out to be the second assistant to the first assistant to….” Sam made a face. “Oh, what’s the difference? The bottom line is that he’s developed a thing for a secretary in the French delegation, and he thought it would be cool if I’d write maybe a dozen love letters for him.”

“He wanted you to write love letters for him?” Amanda stared over the rim of her glass. “As in, you’re Cyrano and he’s whoever the other guy was in that old play?”

“Uh-huh. He couldn’t believe it when I said thanks but no thanks, that I was a translator, not a Miss Lonely Hearts who wrote letters for the lovelorn.” Sam drank some more of her wine. “So, then I went to see the guy with the poems. Only it turned out he doesn’t have poems.”

“No?”

“No. He has a poem.”

“A poem, as in one?”

“Yup. A sonnet. Fourteen lines, written by some obscure Spanish poet in the nineteen twenties. How long would it take me to translate it? he asked. How about you ask someone in the Spanish department? I answered. Better half a minute of their time than mine.”

“Do I detect a touch of bitterness?” Amanda said, arching a delicate eyebrow.

Sam dug into her purse, took out her appointment list and tore it in half. “Two meetings. An entire morning. And what do I have to show for it? Nada. Niente. Nichts.”

Amanda winced. “It’s a good thing I’m buying lunch.”

“It’s even better that you have a job to offer me. Do you know any of the details? I mean, if some bozo’s going to push a memo under my nose, ask me to translate it…”

“No, no. I’m sure it’s more involved than that. Nick said this might take weeks, even months, something about an international conglomerate. French money, Italian money…Who knows what?” She sat back, smiling, as their waiter handed them oversize menus. “Sounds as if it’s right up your alley.”

“The man’s a friend of Nick’s?”

“Uh-huh. Mmm. What’ll we have? The duck is wonderful here.”

“Foreign?”

“I don’t think so,” Amanda said, her eyes still on the menu. “Isn’t the best duck usually local? From Long Island?”

A chill tiptoed up Sam’s spine. Her sister was up to something. The only question was, What? “Amanda?”

“Yes?”

“Why won’t you talk about this man?”

“I told you. I don’t have details. Ah. They have seared scallops. I just love—”

“You must know something. Is he an American? Or is he a foreigner?”

“Both, actually.” Amanda lifted the menu higher. All Sam could see of her sister was the top of her head. “Which shall I have, the duck or the scallops? Decisions, decisions.” Her tone was artificially bright. “I know,” she said, folding the menu and waving for the waiter. “We’ll get both, and we can share.”

Sam paid no attention as her sister placed the order. Why should she suddenly think of Demetrios Karas? She’d thought of him before, far too often, but always when there was time to relish how he’d looked when she’d dropped his jacket into that stall. Why think of him now, in the midst of what was going to be a pleasant lunch?

“Well,” Amanda said briskly, “that’s done. Now tell me how you’ve been. And what you’ve been doing, who you’ve been seeing—”

“Answer the question, please. Who’s the man who needs a translator?”

“I told you. A friend of—”

“Am I supposed to believe that he’s nameless?”

“Sam.” Amanda leaned forward. “Cross my heart and hope to die—”

“That’s what you always said when we were kids and you were about to tell me a lie.”

“For goodness’ sake,” Amanda said with indignation, “we aren’t kids anymore. Besides, you made it perfectly clear that night at Carin’s that the last person in the world you wanted to bother with was Demetrios Karas, so why on earth would I try and set you up with him again?”

Sam stared at her sister. “I didn’t mention Demetrios Karas.”

Amanda blinked. “Didn’t you? I could have sworn you just said—”

“I didn’t,” Sam said flatly.

“Well.” Amanda smiled, picked up her glass, then put it down. “Well, you said you thought I was trying to fix you up. And I guess I just thought of the last time that happened. And—”

“Actually,” Sam said softly, her gaze fixed on her sister, “I didn’t say that, either. I simply asked who it was that needed a translator. You were the one who started babbling about not fixing me up with the highly esteemed Mr. Karas.”

“Really, Sam—”

“Really, Amanda. What’s going on?”

“Nothing. For goodness’ sake, here I am, trying to give you some good news—”

“What does it have to do with that man?”

“What…Ah. Here’s our lunch.”

Deftly, Amanda divided the scallops and the slices of duck breast. Sam watched her through narrowed eyes.

“You know what man,” she said, after a few minutes. “Demetrios Karas.” Her sister’s face went from pale pink to deep rose. It was not, Sam thought coldly, a good sign. “This is about him, isn’t it?”

Amanda sighed, put down her knife and fork and touched her napkin to her lips. “Look, you’re making a big deal out of nothing. Yes, okay. What happened was, Nick had dinner with Demetrios a couple of nights ago. And Demetrios said—”

“Whatever he said, it was a lie!”

“For goodness’ sake. Why would Demetrios lie?”

“I didn’t even tell him my name!”

“What?”

“Did he describe me to Nick? Did Nick figure out that…? Amanda. The man’s a liar.”

“But why would he lie? Honestly, Samantha—”

“Oh, that’s it. Take his side instead of mine.”

“Will you calm down?” Amanda looked around them, then leaned over the table. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I want nothing to do with Demetrios Karas! I don’t like him. And I especially don’t like being set up by my very own sister.” Sam plunked her napkin on the table. “Enjoy your lunch. I’m out of here.”

“Are you nuts?” Amanda grabbed Sam’s wrist as she began to slide across the booth. “You’re acting like…” She paused, cocked her head. “You don’t like him? But you said you’d never met him.”

“Never mind what I said. I’m telling you that I want nothing to do with—”

“Uh, am I interrupting something?”

Sam jerked her head up. Nicholas al Rashid stood beside their table, a smile on his handsome face. A tentative smile, anyway, Sam thought furiously. Maybe he wasn’t as dense as his wife. Maybe he’d already figured out that she wasn’t to be played with.

“Nick,” Amanda said, and let out a breath. “Darling, would you please tell my sister that she’s behaving like an idiot?”

“Nicholas,” Sam said curtly, “whose idea was this? Amanda’s? Or yours?”

Nick gave his wife a bewildered look. “What’s she talking about?”

“I don’t know. I started to tell her about Demetrios and she exploded.”

Sam tugged her hand free, shot to her feet and glared at Nick. “Actually, I don’t care whose idea it was. You can just tell Demetrios Karas that—”

“Tell him what?” a voice said, and Sam froze. There was only one man who could take a couple of simple words and make them sound as if he were murmuring them into a sated woman’s ear as she lay in his arms.

Please, she thought, oh please, let this not be happening. Let the floor open and swallow me whole…

But it was happening. Demetrios Karas had joined Nick beside the table. Sam held her breath. His gaze swept over her, moved past her to Amanda…and returned to fix on her face. She’d always wondered if people’s jaws really dropped in astonishment. Now, looking at him, she knew that they did.

He was as stunned to see her as she was to see him.

Then—then, nobody knew what had happened. Not Nick. Not Amanda. Her knees went weak with relief, but it was short-lived. They would know, in a couple of minutes.

“Sam?” Nick said softly.

Her brother-in-law slid his arm around her waist. She looked up at him, heart thumping.

“You okay?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I just…”

Just what? She had only two choices, turn tail and run or stick out the next embarrassing moments. There was no real choice. She’d never run from anything in her life…anything but this man. All these weeks, she’d told herself she’d come to her senses that night and put a stop to what had been about to happen. Now, faced with the living, breathing reality of Demetrios Karas, she was forced to admit the truth.

Fate had permitted her to escape him that night, but it wasn’t going to give her a second chance. She was going to have to deal with this and do it without flinching.

“Nick,” she said, on a deep breath. “Mandy. I know you meant well, but—”

“So, Nicholas. You told me your sister-in-law was a talented linguist. You neglected to mention that she is also a beautiful woman.”

Sam blinked. Demetrios had recovered his composure. The self-confident smile was back—but the glitter in his eyes was hard as ice.

“Save your breath,” she said coolly. “I’m not that easy to impress.”

The intake of Amanda’s breath seemed to echo in the room. “Sam!” she hissed, but Demetrios laughed.

“And she is direct, too. How charming.”

“This man and I already know each other,” Sam said. Her chin lifted. “And he’s wasting his time if he thinks he can make me think anything less of him than I already do.”

“Surely,” Demetrios said, his smile fading, “the lady will accept my apologies for what happened that night at Rio de Ouro.”

“Rio de Ouro?” Amanda looked from Demetrios to Sam. “Do you two know each other? Sam? You never said anything. I mean, all of us wanted—we hoped—and now it turns out—it turns out—”

“Perhaps I’ve given the wrong impression.” Demetrios’s voice was smooth as silk. “We met, but only briefly. And, before we really got to know each other, I was, ah, distracted. By the time I returned, your sister was gone. Isn’t that right, Samantha?”

What kind of game was he playing? “No,” Sam said, glaring at him. “And it’s Miss Brewster.”

“Sam,” Amanda said nervously, “what’s the matter with you? Demetrios, really, I apologize. My sister’s had a, uh, a difficult day. She went on two job interviews—”

“Amanda!”

“—two interviews, one with a guy who wanted her to write love letters for him and another with some jerk who had a poem to translate. Both job offers were so much below her capability that it’s pathetic.” Amanda flashed a wary look at her sister. “Isn’t that right, Sam?”

“Those interviews have nothing to do with this,” Sam said coldly.

“I would hope not.” Demetrios’s smile tilted. “It would be unfortunate if Samantha…sorry. If Miss Brewster were to let her disappointment over her morning affect her dealings with me.”

Nick and Amanda looked from Demetrios to Sam. They might as well have been at a tennis match, Sam thought bitterly. And, in a way, they were right. Demetrios had just sent her a wicked backhand shot. He’d woven a story that sounded plausible, if you didn’t think too much about it. She was a woman with a dented ego; he was a man who’d become inattentive. The self-deprecation was enough to make her want to be sick or to slug him, especially now that he’d added a threat so well-disguised that nobody but she would recognize it for what it was.

Still, the bottom line was that he’d chosen to keep their secret, and heaven knew that was better than blurting out the sleazy truth.

Why had he lied? She wasn’t fool enough to think it had anything to do with his being a gentleman. He wasn’t. He was a rogue in a custom-made suit and yes, maybe that was part of what had attracted her to him that night, but that nonsense was long past.

Wasn’t it?

She shivered. Nick, who still held her in a loose embrace, gave her a quick hug. “Cold?”

“No,” she said brightly, “I’m not. I’m just—I’m just—”

“She’s just still hungry,” Amanda said quickly. She flashed a smile around the little group. “We were about to order dessert when you guys showed up.”

“I am not the least bit interested in dessert. And I don’t think—”

“Don’t think,” Demetrios smiled lazily, just as he had that night. “Women always think too much, when it comes to things that bring pleasure.” His eyes met hers. “Like dessert,” he said smoothly. He moved closer, linked his hand through hers. She jerked at his touch and his fingers tightened on hers in silent warning. “Coffee and something sweet sounds like a fine idea. And then, after your sister and brother-in-law leave, we can have a second cup of coffee and discuss my need for your services.”

“I have no intention of—”

“You know,” Amanda said briskly, “I really don’t want any dessert. Nick? Darling? How about you?”

“Well,” Nick said, looking bewildered, “actually, I thought I might even have a sand…” His voice trailed off as he met his wife’s gaze. “No. No, I don’t.”

“In fact,” Amanda said, “we have to leave. We have an appointment.”

“Right,” Nick stammered, “right. An appointment. How could I have forgotten?”

They were lying, the both of them. Sam knew it. Everyone in the uncomfortable little group knew it, but she couldn’t blame them for wanting to get out of the line of fire though knowing Amanda, she was probably romanticizing the whole thing.

Demetrios’s hand tightened on hers again. Don’t make a fuss, he was telling her, but why would she? The things she had to say to him were best said without an audience, especially one made up of family.

Moments later, after hugs and kisses, handshakes and phony smiles, they were alone. Sam jerked her hand away and glared at Demetrios.

“I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing,” she snapped, “but it won’t get you anywhere.”

“Such anger, Miss Brewster. Such hostility. Could it possibly be a disguise for your real feelings about what happened that night?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Anger is a safer emotion than embarrassment.”

Sam flushed. Maybe he was right, but she’d choke before she admitted it. “You mean, it’s safer than bad judgment. If I hadn’t had that caparhinia—”

“Imagine that. A reserved spinster with a drinking problem.” Demetrios folded his arms. “Your brother-in-law would be fascinated to hear it.”

“I don’t have a problem. I was tired. And surely you don’t expect me to believe Nick described me as a reserved spinster!”

“No. Certainly not. Rafe said that. Nicholas merely said that he had a sister-in-law who was an excellent translator.” He smiled coldly. “I had no reason to think they were describing the woman who’d promised everything and delivered nothing that night in Brazil.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Karas.”

Demetrios took her elbow, deftly maneuvered her into the booth and slid in beside her.

“Your brothers-in-law see you as an intelligent, honorable woman leading a lonely existence. By the time they finished describing you, I pictured a stick in a tweed suit.”

“I am intelligent and honorable,” Sam said, wincing for having said something so nonsensical. “I am certainly not lonely. And if you think of women as stereotypes, that’s your problem, not mine.”

“I had to lie to Nicholas—to my good friend—to protect your, ah, honor.”

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