The Greek s Convenient Mistress Read online

  He claimed not to be her grandfather’s lackey.

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered. ‘What do you want?’

  Costas stared into the sparking, troubled eyes of the girl before him and wished he could leave her to grieve in peace. She was wound up tighter than a spring.

  He’d released his hold on her reluctantly, on his guard in case she lashed out. If there’d been a knife to hand she’d probably have swept it up and plunged it straight into his heart. She’d looked like a Fury, eager for vengeance. But the next moment she was heartbreakingly vulnerable.

  He felt her grief as a palpable force, heard it in the savage, scouring breaths she took. He exhaled slowly, schooling his face against the pity he knew she wouldn’t want to see.

  Not for the first time he wished he’d never become entangled with the Liakos family. They were nothing but trouble. Had always been trouble for him. And for her, this girl with the fine lines of pain dragging her mouth down and etching deep around her eyes.

  He thrust his hand through his hair and silently cursed this appalling mess.

  But he couldn’t walk away. He had no choice but to continue. Even though it meant forcing his problems onto a distraught girl.

  A pang of guilt pierced his chest. He should give her time. Respect her need to mourn.

  But time was the one luxury he didn’t possess.

  She was right to be cautious, Costas decided grimly as tension hummed through him. This situation had never been simple. And now, since he’d met her, it had become even more complex. Dangerous.

  He needed this woman. She was his only hope of diverting the monstrous disaster that loomed ever closer.

  But now, to his horror, there was more.

  He could barely believe it, didn’t want to believe it. It should be impossible. But he couldn’t ignore the sheer potency of his physical craving for her. Of all women!

  It was unique. Inappropriate. It was a complication he didn’t need. He didn’t have time for lust. Especially not for a grief-stricken girl who saw him as some sort of ogre.

  Especially not for a girl from the house of Liakos.

  He’d learned that particular lesson long ago.

  Look at her! She wore paint-smeared jeans and a baggy shirt. Her trainers were stained and worn and her hair had probably never seen a stylist’s scissors.

  Yet he couldn’t drag his ravenous gaze from her. The elegance of her delicate bone structure stole his breath. Her wide-as-innocence honey-gold eyes, her ripe mouth. Beneath the cotton of her shirt he could see her proud, high breasts. Hell! He could almost feel them against his palms, firm and round and tempting. And those ancient jeans clung to her like a second skin, showing off long, slender legs.

  He couldn’t believe it. Where was his honour? His respect for her grief?

  His sense of self-preservation?

  ‘Who are you?’ she whispered again and he saw a spark of fear in her expression.

  ‘My name is Costas Vassilis Palamidis,’ he said quickly, spreading his hands in an open gesture. ‘I live in Crete. I am a respectable businessman.’ In other circumstances he’d have found the novelty amusing, being forced to present his credentials. But there was nothing humorous here.

  ‘I need to speak with you. Is there somewhere else we can talk?’ He looked around the room, realising that the untidy remains must be from a large post-funeral gathering.

  Damn. It was brutal, forcing this on her now, so soon after her loss. But what choice did he have? There was no time for compassion if it meant delay.

  ‘Outside perhaps?’ He gestured towards the back yard. Anywhere away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of mourning that pervaded the house.

  She looked at him with wary eyes, clearly unconvinced.

  ‘It’s been a long journey and some fresh air would be welcome,’ he urged. ‘It will take a little time to explain.’

  Eventually she nodded slowly. ‘There’s a park just around the corner. We’ll go there.’

  She looked so fragile he doubted she’d make it to the front door, let alone down the street. ‘Surely that’s too far. We could—’

  ‘You were the one who wanted to talk, Mr Palamidis. This is your chance. Take it or leave it.’

  Her chin notched up belligerently and faint colour washed her cheeks. Animation, or temper, suited this passionate woman. It was a pity that, given the circumstances, he would not be exploring a more personal acquaintance with her.

  Finally he nodded. If she collapsed and he had to carry her back, then so be it.

  ‘Of course, Ms Paterson. That will suit admirably.’

  Five minutes later Sophie settled back on the weathered park bench and stifled a groan. He’d been right. She should have stayed at home rather than pretend to an energy she didn’t have.

  But at least here they were in a public place. And the crisp autumn air felt good in her lungs.

  The thought of staying in the house, where this man’s presence dominated the very atmosphere, had been unthinkable. It wasn’t just his size. It was the way he unsettled her. The indefinable sense of authority that emanated from him. And made her want to put as much distance between them as possible.

  Surreptitiously she shot a glance at her companion as he stood a few metres away, answering a call on his phone. From the top of his black-as-night hair to the tips of his glossy, handmade shoes, he was the epitome of discreet wealth, she now realised.

  He turned his head abruptly and met her eyes. Instantly heat licked across her cheeks. Yet she read nothing in his expression, not a shred of emotion. His face might have been carved from living rock, a study in masculine power and strength with that commanding blade of a nose and those arrogant eyebrows.

  So why had her pulse begun to race?

  ‘My apologies, Ms Paterson,’ he said as he snapped the phone shut and sat down. ‘It was a call I had to take.’

  Sophie nodded, wondering why she should feel so uncomfortable with him sitting almost a metre away.

  ‘My name’s Sophie,’ she said quickly to cover her nervousness. ‘I prefer that to Ms Paterson.’

  He inclined his head. ‘And, as you know, I am Costas.’

  ‘You haven’t really answered me. Who are you?’ His height wasn’t typical of the Greek men she’d known. And his aura of brooding mastery, of carefully leashed force, set him apart. His features were severe, harsh, but more than handsome. He was unique, would stand out in any crowd.

  Why was he here? Her life, and her mother’s since settling in Australia, had been ordinary with a capital O.

  ‘Did you know your mother had a sister?’ he countered.

  ‘Yes. She and my mum were twins.’

  ‘Your aunt had one daughter, Fotini.’ Something in his tone made her watch him intently. His lips had compressed tautly, curved down at the corners. His eyes were bleak.

  ‘A few years ago Fotini and I married, which makes us, you and I, related by marriage.’

  ‘Cousins-in-law,’ she whispered, wondering why she found the expression on his face so disturbing. She’d never seen this man anything but controlled. Yet something about his set jaw and the desolation in his eyes told her he clamped down hard on the strongest of emotions.

  ‘Your wife, Fotini, is she here with you in Sydney?’

  ‘My wife died in a car smash last year.’

  Now she understood the expression of repressed pain on his face. He was still grieving. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured.

  Sophie wondered how she’d feel about her own loss in a year’s time. Everyone said the pain would be easier to bear later. That the happy memories would one day outweigh the ponderous weight of grief that pinned her down till sometimes she felt she could barely breathe.

  She looked at the man beside her. Time didn’t seem to have healed his wounds.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said stiffly. Then after a moment he added, ‘We have a little girl. Eleni.’

  She heard the love in his voice as he spoke and watched his feature
s relax. His lips curved into a fleeting, devastating smile. Gone was the granite-hard expression, the grimly restrained power. Instead, to her shock, Sophie saw a face that was…handsome? No, not that. Nor simply attractive. It was compelling. A face any woman could stare at for hours, imagining all sorts of wonderful, crazily sensual things.

  Sophie snagged a short, startled breath and looked away, letting her feet scuff the grass.

  ‘So you do have a family in Greece,’ he said. ‘There are second cousins. There’s little Eleni. And me…’

  No! No matter what he said, Sophie would never be able to think of this man as a relative. She frowned. The idea was just too preposterous. Too unsettling.

  ‘And there’s your grandfather, Petros Liakos.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’

  ‘Whether you want to discuss him or not, you need to understand,’ Costas said.

  Sophie refused to meet his gaze and stared instead across the park, watching wrens flit out of a nearby bush.

  ‘Your grandfather isn’t well.’

  ‘Is that why you came?’ Anger rose, constricting her chest. ‘Because the old man’s sick and wants his family at long last?’ She shook her head. ‘Why should I care about the man who broke my mother’s heart with his selfishness? You’ve come a long way for nothing, Mr Palamidis.’

  ‘Costas,’ he said. ‘We’re family after all, if only by marriage.’

  She let the silence grow between them. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘No, I’m not here for that. But your grandfather’s condition is serious.’ He paused. ‘He had a severe stroke. He’s in hospital.’

  Sophie was surprised to feel a pang of shock at his words. Of…regret. Could it be? Regret for the man who’d turned against her mother all those years ago?

  Sophie’s lips thinned as she dredged up the ready anger. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything like pity for him. He didn’t deserve it.

  ‘Do you understand?’ Costas asked.

  ‘Of course I understand,’ she snapped. ‘What do you want me to do? Fly to Greece and hold his hand?’

  She swung round to face him, all the repressed fury and despair of the last weeks fuelling her passion. ‘It’s more than he did for my mother. For twenty-five years he pretended she didn’t exist. All because she’d had the temerity to marry for love and not in some antiquated arranged marriage! Can you believe it?’

  She glared up at him. ‘He cut her out of his life completely. Didn’t relent with the news that she’d married. Didn’t care that he had a grandchild. Was probably disappointed I was only a girl.’

  She drew a rasping breath. ‘And when she’s dying he refuses to call and speak to her.’ Her voice broke on a rising note and she turned from his piercing gaze, dragging a tissue out of her back pocket and blowing her nose.

  ‘Do you have any idea how much it would have meant to my mother to be reconciled with him? To be forgiven?’ She stuffed the tissue away and blinked desperately to clear her vision. ‘As if she’d committed some crime.’

  ‘Your grandfather is a traditionalist,’ Costas said. ‘He believes in the old ways: the absolute authority of the head of the family, the importance of obedient children, the benefits of a marriage approved by both families.’

  She looked into his give-nothing-away eyes and his hard face and suspected not much had changed. Costas Palamidis was a man who wore his authority like a badge of identity. Of his blatant masculinity.

  ‘Is that how you married into the Liakos family?’ she asked, trying to sound offhand. ‘The Palamidis and Liakos clans decided there was benefit in a merger?’

  His eyes blazed dark fire and for a moment she felt as if she’d stepped off a cliff without a safety rope. She shivered, for all her bravado, acknowledging an atavistic fear at the idea of rousing this man to angry retaliation.

  ‘The marriage had the blessing of both families,’ he said eventually, tonelessly. ‘It was not an elopement.’

  Which didn’t answer her question. Sophie stared into his face and saw the warning signs of a strong man keeping his temper tightly leashed.

  That was answer enough. Just looking at him, she knew Costas Palamidis wouldn’t settle for anything, especially a wife, unless it was exactly what he desired. He’d get what he wanted every time and be damned to the consequences. The idea of him needing help to get a bride was laughable.

  Sophie would bet her cousin, Fotini, had been charming, gorgeous and utterly captivated by her bold, devastatingly masculine husband. No doubt she’d been at his beck and call, deferring to him in everything, like a good, traditional Greek wife was apparently supposed to do.

  ‘Thanks for coming all this way with your news,’ she said at last, ‘but as you can see I…’

  What? Don’t care?

  No, she couldn’t lie. There was a part of her that felt regret at the old man’s pain. A sneaking sympathy for him, looking death in the face and deciding, far too late, that he had done the wrong thing by his daughter.

  The realisation made her feel like a traitor.

  ‘It’s too late to build bridges,’ she said quickly. ‘I’ve never been part of the Liakos family and there’s no point pretending now that I am.’

  She was her own person. Sophie Paterson. Strong, capable, independent. She didn’t need some long-lost family in Greece. Instead she had friends, an address book full of them. And she had a career to start, a life to get on with.

  Yet right now she wanted nothing more than to lean against this silent stranger and sob her eyes out till some of the pain went away. To let his obvious strength enfold and support her.

  What was happening to her?

  This weakness would pass. It must, she decided as she bit down hard on her quivering lower lip.

  ‘You’ve made your feelings abundantly clear.’ His deep voice scraped across her raw nerves so she shivered. ‘But it’s not that simple to disconnect from your family.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ She swung round on the seat. For all his calm composure, there was an inner tension about him that screamed its presence. Immediately she shrank back, suddenly aware of how very little she knew about him. Of exactly how much larger and tougher he was.

  ‘Don’t look like that,’ he growled. ‘I don’t bite.’

  She shivered at the immediate, preposterous idea of him bending that proud head towards her and scraping his strong white teeth over the ultra-sensitive skin at the side of her neck.

  Where the heck had that come from?

  Her breathing notched up its pace and her heart thudded hard against her ribcage. Sophie whipped round away from him, horrified that he might have registered the flash of awareness still rippling through her.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. She was off balance. The funeral, the lack of sleep, were taking their toll.

  ‘Sophia—’

  ‘Sophie,’ she corrected automatically. She’d rejected the original version of her name as soon as she was old enough to realise it belonged to the world of that far-away family who’d treated her mother so appallingly.

  ‘Sophie.’ He paused and she wondered what was coming next. He sounded as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘I came to find your mother because it seemed she was the only person left who might be able to help.’

  ‘Why her?’

  ‘Because she’s family.’ He sighed and from the corner of her eye she saw him thrust his hand back through his immaculate hair.

  ‘My daughter is very ill.’ His voice now was brusque to the point of harshness. ‘She needs a bone-marrow transplant. I hoped your mother might be a match to donate what Eleni needs.’

  The words, so prosaic, so simple, dropped between them with all the finesse of a bomb.

  Appalled, Sophie felt the words sink in. She found herself facing him, aware for the first time that some of his formidable reserve must be a product of his need to clamp down on an unbearable mix of anguished emotions.

  ‘You’r
e not compatible yourself?’ she asked, then realised the answer was obvious. He wouldn’t be here if he’d been able to help his little girl.

  But she wasn’t prepared for the wave of anger that swept through him. His hands clenched dangerously and his whole body seemed to stiffen. There was no mistaking the expression in his eyes this time. Fury. And pain.

  Silently he shook his head.

  ‘And no one in your family—?’

  ‘No one in the Palamidis family is a suitable donor,’ he cut across her tentative question. ‘Nor are any of your relatives.’ He paused, dragging in a deliberate breath that made his chest and shoulders rise.

  He must feel so helpless. And there was no doubt in her mind that Costas Palamidis was a man accustomed to controlling his world, not being at its mercy.

  Sophie’s heart sank as she realised how dire the situation was. If the girl’s own father wasn’t a match for her marrow type, how likely was it that she would be?

  He might have read her mind. His voice was grim as he continued. ‘Nor did we have luck finding a match in the database of potential donors. But your mother and her sister were identical twins. So there’s a possibility.’

  ‘You think I might be able to donate bone marrow?’

  ‘That’s why I’m here.’ He spread his fingers across his thighs, stretching the fine wool of his dark suit. ‘Nothing else would have dragged me away from Eleni now.’

  Sophie felt the weight of his expectation, his hope, press down on her, even heavier than the burden of grief she already carried. She had a horrible premonition that he was doomed to disappointment.

  How desperate he must have been to fly to Australia, not even knowing if her mother was here. And how distraught when she’d hung up on him and deleted his messages. No wonder he’d looked like an avenging angel when he’d stormed the house and demanded to see her mother!

  She shivered and wrapped her arms tight round her body as a sense of deep foreboding chilled her.

  All his expectations, all his dark, potent energy, had shifted focus. He wanted her.