The Greek's Forbidden Princess Page 6

  Amelie swallowed and forced herself to face the truth. There’d been something about being held in his arms. A spike of...need, of desire.

  Firmly she told herself it was an echo of the past. For though she’d once believed herself falling in love with him, they’d never embraced, never kissed. She’d once wanted that so badly; of course she was curious about how his touch would feel.

  Now she knew. She could put it behind her, couldn’t she?

  She spun on her foot, ready to seek him out, only to find the man himself standing in the shadow of the broad roof, watching her. He looked imposing and implacable in faded jeans and a black short-sleeved shirt that revealed bronzed, powerful arms. His glossy dark hair was tousled as if he’d run his hands through it and immediately Amelie wondered how it would feel against her fingers. Soft and silky or thick and springy?

  Her heart sped to a lopsided gallop and she clasped her hands before her as if to stop herself reaching out.

  How long had he been there?

  What was going on behind that impenetrable expression?

  ‘Lambis,’ she faltered, thrown by the little thrill of excitement that whispered through her as she said his name. ‘I was just about to look for you.’

  ‘The boy is all right?’ Was that concern in his voice? Maybe he did care after all.

  ‘He’s fine. Still sleeping, in fact.’

  Lambis nodded but said nothing. Not even a polite enquiry about how she’d slept. Which was as well as she’d found it hard to settle, even with the sound of the sea as a lullaby.

  What had she expected? Smiles and casual conversation? There’d never been anything casual about Lambis. He’d always been intense, controlled. But once, surely, there’d been kindness and moments of tenderness. She remembered the rare sound of his laughter wrapping around her, captivating and enticing.

  Amelie blinked and dragged her mind back to the present.

  ‘I have a favour to ask.’

  One dark eyebrow rose.

  She repressed a huff of annoyance. ‘Nothing too difficult. I need to get some clothes.’

  A second eyebrow rose. ‘There’s no need to dress to impress.’

  Amelie shook her head. ‘I’m not interested in impressing anyone here.’ She stared straight into those hooded eyes. ‘We left in rather a hurry. I wasn’t sure what to pack and—’

  Lambis shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. The movement tugged at the dark cotton of his shirt as his shoulders and biceps bunched. ‘Whatever you wear is fine. There are no fashion police here.’

  She clung to her patience with an effort. Did he really think she cared so much about her appearance? True, she always took care to look neat and stylish in public, but surely he didn’t think she was hung up on clothes? Hadn’t he seen her yesterday in Anna’s oversized jacket and boots, bundled up like a bag lady?

  ‘What I’m trying to explain is that neither Seb nor I have swimsuits or broad-brimmed hats or anything for the beach. Seb loves swimming, or he used to. Spending time in the water might help him.’ She tilted her jaw in challenge. ‘We could, of course, swim in our underwear but it would be more comfortable and convenient if I could buy a few things. Unless you have spare beachwear?’

  The house was beautifully furnished, with every small detail attended to, right down to fresh flowers and deliciously aromatic bath oils. It wouldn’t surprise her if there was a room full of beach gear for guests.

  ‘I’m not in the habit of keeping women’s swimsuits.’

  Which meant he was ruthless about ensuring his lovers’ belongings were cleared out when each affair ended. Or perhaps they had no need for clothes while they were with him.

  A little shimmy of...something raced through Amelie and heat spilled low in her abdomen.

  Or maybe he just didn’t invite women to his home. That was more likely. She couldn’t believe a man as virile as Lambis, with that air of leashed power, would ever be short of female company. But it would always be on his terms.

  ‘In that case, is there somewhere I can buy clothes? The town on the other side of the island, perhaps?’

  He shook his head. ‘Too small. You’d need to go to the mainland or one of the larger islands.’ He paused and Amelie felt the weight of his assessing gaze. ‘I suppose you’d like to fly out to shop?’

  ‘No, thank you.’ She repressed a shiver at the idea of facing a crowd of tourists with cameras. Just one stray snap, one person who identified her as Princess Amelie, and the paparazzi would be searching the area for her and Seb. ‘I don’t want to risk being seen.’

  He nodded. ‘If you’re after something simple and don’t mind someone else buying for you, my housekeeper could put in an order. Our seafood is caught here on the island and most of the vegetables are grown locally but we get supplies by boat too. I can’t guarantee the clothes would be up to your usual standard but—’

  ‘That sounds perfect, thank you. It doesn’t need to be haute couture. We just need something simple we can use at the beach. I’ll go and talk to her about it now.’

  * * *

  Late that afternoon Lambis stood on the terrace watching the pair on the beach. The quiet little boy and the svelte, glorious naiad chatting as she built a sandcastle.

  It was a quiet, charming scene, but there was nothing quiet or soothing about its impact. Apart from the fact Sébastien was as animated as a doll, there was Amelie.

  Not haute couture, she’d said. Something simple. Yet she looked a million dollars in that swimsuit, like a sexy mermaid out to entice some poor, foolish mortal.

  Reason told him she hadn’t chosen the outfit herself. He’d bet half his fortune it had been chosen by Costa, the guy who brought their supplies. It was definitely a man’s choice. That bright lime bikini, outrageously brief and with side ties at the hip, made a man fantasise about tugging it undone and watching it fall.

  Heat sparked in Lambis’s belly and his groin tightened. He’d known Amelie for years, meeting her on his visits to Irini in St Galla. In that time he’d seen Amelie in ball gowns and designer dresses, in sedate suits and in mourning. He’d never seen her like this.

  He leaned back against the wall of the villa, the effort of supporting himself too much.

  All the world knew she was beautiful. He’d long ago realised she was too desirable for his peace of mind. She didn’t wear revealing clothes but there’d been no mistaking her slim, womanly shape. Yet the sight of all that pale gold flesh, of those curves and hollows, of her breasts just on the verge of spilling from their confinement. And that waist, so narrow Lambis’s hands itched at the thought he could probably span it.

  He sucked oxygen into lungs so cramped it felt as if someone had tightened a lasso around them. His pulse thudded at his temple and his groin.

  All day he’d locked himself away in the office, burying himself in work till his dormant conscience woke and urged him to spend time with his guests.

  Not that he believed that would make a difference to Sébastien, but if it made Amelie feel better he’d do it.

  Except nothing could make him go down there now. Not with an arousal the size of Mount Parnassus making every step painful. He might have managed to convince Amelie all those years ago that he wasn’t interested in her, but the woman had eyes in her head. She’d take one look and know he wanted her.

  Then where would they be?

  She’d probably run a mile. Or if, miracle of miracles, she was willing to forgive his boorish behaviour, and the electric attraction he felt wasn’t one-sided...

  No. He couldn’t even think it. A liaison with Amelie would be disastrous. He could never give her what she wanted. And he feared what being with her might do to his own carefully controlled and compartmentalised life.

  He turned and walked slowly inside, the familiar bitter tang of regret on his tongue.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE DAYS FELL into a routine. Every morning as dawn broke, like now, Lambis headed to the sea for a vigorous swim to c
lear the cobwebs of a night with too little sleep. By the time Amelie and Sébastien appeared he was always in his office. Evangelos Enterprises handled everything from close personal protection of VIPs to security for major events—international conferences to rock concerts and most things in between.

  Business was booming, and demanding, yet it didn’t hold his full attention.

  Each day he’d emerge to lunch with his guests. It was his one gesture towards placating Amelie and her demand that he help her nephew.

  Lambis knew there was nothing he could do for Sébastien, and it was confirmed daily when the boy avoided his gaze. There was no more tagging behind Lambis as he’d once done, leaving Lambis torn between relief and familiar guilt that he’d failed the child.

  The rest of the day and evening was devoted to work and trying to avoid thinking about Amelie. With little success. The woman sneaked into his thoughts time and again, even though she’d given up demanding he do more for the boy.

  Even now, as he powered through the clear waters of the bay, his head was filled with her, not his business. Not the trip he should be taking to LA soon, or the opportunities opening up in Asia, or any of the other issues demanding attention.

  Lambis stopped, treading water, and flicked moisture from his hair. It was late, the sun already high as the silvery sheen of early morning gave way to the bright blue glare of another perfect day.

  Amelie and Sébastien would be up and about soon.

  On that thought he swam for the shore, cleaving easily through the crystal water. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to head to his gym for a long workout this afternoon. He’d spent too much time cooped up. No wonder he felt fractious. He’d always been a physical kind of guy, happiest when active, which was why following in his father’s footsteps to become a bodyguard working for Irini’s billionaire father had suited him down to the ground.

  Hiding behind his desk wasn’t his style.

  Hiding. Had it come to that?

  He hit the shallows and put his feet down, striding up onto the white sand beach. He drew in a breath, feeling the satisfied buzz he always got from exercise, the sun on his back and the scent of fresh salt air in his lungs.

  He was actually smiling, till he saw the small figure curled up on the sand.

  His heart knocked hard at his ribs and he faltered.

  Sébastien sat with his knees up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs, right beside the towel Lambis had brought from the house.

  The boy didn’t meet his eyes but looked at a point just past him.

  Only once recently had Sébastien met his gaze, when Lambis had a face full of snow. Then there’d been a tickle of...something behind the pale, blank face. His eyes had looked alive again. Now there was nothing.

  That memory, and the urge to reach out and help the kid, ate at him. For once Lambis ignored the clamouring voice that urged him to turn and leave the boy where he was, alone but safe.

  ‘Hello, Seb.’ He cleared his throat and even so his voice came out rough. ‘You’re up early.’

  Lambis picked up the towel and made himself stand beside the kid, rubbing his saturated hair.

  ‘You’re not going for a swim?’ No response. He should be used to it but his heart clenched at the child’s complete unresponsiveness. Did he even hear Lambis’s words or was he lost completely in a world of grief and shock?

  How hard it must be for Amelie to see her nephew like this. Every day, every hour, must take a toll, not just on her patience but on her strength and optimism. How did she keep going?

  Lambis had no idea. He’d given up on optimism a long time ago.

  He turned to survey the bay as he towelled his shoulders and torso. ‘It’s the best time of day for swimming. The water is a perfect temperature.’

  Who was he kidding? Idle chatter had never been his style. He didn’t have the skills to coax a traumatised child from his shell. As for Amelie’s belief the kid had connected with him...once maybe. But there was no evidence of it now. Even if Lambis wanted to cultivate a relationship, which he didn’t, he hadn’t a clue how to go about it.

  Once he’d had the knack. The glimmer of that memory was like the slice of a bright blade, slashing to the bone and deeper, right to his heart.

  Lambis stood still, not even breathing, as he absorbed the familiar pain. It was long ago and whatever capacity he’d had for human connection, for tenderness, had been lost in the maelstrom of pain that had upended his life.

  Losing both wife and child changed a man.

  A distant buzz reached his ears and he frowned. Not a plane, and no one on the small island had a powerful speedboat. He turned, surveying the headland to the south. Sure enough, seconds later, a sleek powerboat erupted into the bay, still far enough out not to impinge on their privacy, but an unwelcome intrusion to the pristine morning.

  Lambis raised his hand to shadow his eyes as he looked into the sun. The boat didn’t veer towards the shore, nor did it slow. Chances were it was simply some holidaymaker from a distant island, out early with their expensive new toy. But he’d take no chances. He’d have it identified and tracked. Nothing, no one, would violate Amelie and Sébastien’s privacy here.

  He was already planning his first call when something, not a sound but a changed quality in the air, made him tense and turn.

  It was Sébastien, no longer sitting curled up, but on his feet. His mouth had dropped open and his eyes stared as he tracked the speedboat. His skinny little body shook and his breathing was harsh.

  Asthma attack? Allergic reaction?

  Instantly, heart in mouth, Lambis was on his knees beside the boy, fighting back panic and dark memories. ‘Sébastien? What is it?’ Then, more slowly, forcing a tone of calm, ‘Look at me, Seb. Can you catch your breath? Shake your head if you can’t.’

  In the split second while he waited for confirmation, Lambis was forming a plan. Carry the boy to the house, call the hospital, then onto the chopper and into the air.

  Sébastien didn’t look to him. His attention was on the boat. His open mouth worked. Not as if he were gasping for air, but almost as if he were speaking.

  Lambis leaned closer, feeling for a fever but finding none. There was no sound except that grinding breath, an almost silent groan of air as if the very earth had ripped open. It made the hairs at Lambis’s nape stand up.

  Then, abruptly it hit him. The over-bright gleam in the little boy’s staring eyes. The unspoken word his lips formed.

  Mama.

  He was remembering his parents. And another speedboat, not red but white and Royal St Gallan green, as befitted a boat belonging to the King.

  That boat had sped across another bay, struck a submerged obstacle, veered dangerously and, before the proud new owner could correct its direction, hit rocks. The explosion that ripped the boat apart had been heard right through the capital of St Galla. Sébastien had stood with his aunt on the pier, watching.

  Lambis gripped the child’s shoulders as the boat disappeared around the next headland.

  ‘It’s all right, Seb. It’s all right.’

  The kid was stiff, every muscle straining, as the tremor grew to a terrible shudder. His breathing grew even more laboured, yet Lambis knew now it was emotional pain tearing at him, not some allergic reaction.

  ‘You’re thinking of your mother and father.’ He dropped his voice to a low croon, the sort he’d once used for lullabies. A tone he’d have sworn he’d forgotten. ‘It’s not them, agori mou. Truly.’ The child’s distress engulfed him.

  Did Sébastien even understand his parents were gone for ever?

  Lambis saw the brimming green eyes, felt the raw, aching gasps racking the small body and gave up wondering about the right approach. Instead he acted on instinct, wrapping his arms around Sébastien’s thin frame, lifting him off his feet and into his embrace as he sat down on the sun-warmed sand.

  Tears came. Bright streams of grief, pouring silently down those too-pale cheeks.

  Su
ch soul-deep loss, such dazed heartbreak was something Lambis could relate to. This wasn’t the time for words, but for the physical comfort of being held.

  Briefly Lambis wondered if it would have made a difference, years ago, if there’d been anyone to hold him. Then the fleeting thought disintegrated as he put all his energies into comforting Irini’s boy.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he crooned, rocking that thin little body. ‘It’s okay.’ When of course it patently wasn’t. ‘I’m here and Aunt Amelie is too. Everything’s going to be okay.’

  The child was fragile in his hold and something deep-seated in Lambis’s chest seemed to loosen and tear. Lambis began whispering in Greek, for the words of solace and love came more easily in his mother tongue. And maybe Sébastien understood, for Irini had often spoken to him in Greek.

  For the first time in years Lambis didn’t guard his speech. He let dammed emotions break free. His only concern was this small scrap of humanity held close in his arms.

  It seemed to work. That terrible tension in Sébastien’s small frame eased, the shuddering, racking breaths eventually grew quieter, even if the stream of tears flowed ceaselessly.

  Then the child did something that gutted him. He snuggled into Lambis’s hold, hands curled up against his bony little chin as he turned his head into Lambis’s chest.

  For a second Lambis stilled, undone by the simple familiarity of the moment. Then, as ever, he shoved memory to the back of his mind and crooned again to the child who needed him.

  * * *

  Amelie stopped a few steps away. She’d been on her way from the house when she heard the boat and saw Seb’s reaction. But long before she could reach him Lambis had rescued him.

  Now, watching how the big man sheltered the tiny boy, those massive shoulders curved protectively around the child, buried emotions erupted.

  She’d thought he hadn’t cared, that Lambis was genuinely cold-hearted. How wrong she’d been. His voice, a continual stream of soft sound, was thick with emotion. She couldn’t understand the words, but they spoke to the need deep within both Seb and her. The need for love and support. For comfort and sharing.