The Greek s Convenient Mistress Page 8

  ‘The point is,’ Costas’ words broke across the painful recollections, ‘he hadn’t realised she’d written again. Apparently he was shocked to discover how many letters there were.’

  Sophie said nothing. She refused to have any sympathy for the old man.

  ‘The housekeeper left him in his study.’ Costas paused. ‘When she returned later he’d collapsed across the desk. There were letters and photos spilled onto the floor and his arm was stretched out towards the telephone.’

  Sophie could see the image so vividly she couldn’t see anything else for a moment. Not the bright sky, nor even the man so close beside her.

  ‘You think the news precipitated his stroke?’ Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach, rose like a tide, engulfing her.

  ‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But I felt you should know.’

  ‘I…Thank you.’ Sophie shook her head, trying to clear the whirling thoughts that bombarded her. If her grandfather had been trying to call, how tragic that he hadn’t succeeded. For her mother and for him.

  Sophie shot to her feet and took a few faltering steps away, breathing deeply to counter the shock of this news. For it was a shock. It didn’t change the essentials—her grandfather was obviously an arrogant, domineering old man, too proud for his own good. But still…

  ‘You would prefer I hadn’t told you?’ Costas’ voice had a rough edge that sent a tremor of reaction racing across her skin.

  ‘No. You did the right thing.’ Sophie stared out over the stones of the old city, her vision blurred, her throat closing. She wrapped her arms round herself, trying to hold in the pain of conflicting emotions. Grief for her mother was a constant. But now it melded into something more complex and confusing.

  ‘But the pain is still raw,’ he murmured. ‘Almost too much to bear.’ The words came from just behind her, feathering the tender skin of her neck. She spun round, automatically stepping back so that he stood at arm’s length. Even so his dark gaze mesmerised her, filling her vision.

  The yearning for his touch, for the comfort of his embrace, was almost overpowering. She had to force herself to stand rigidly still, not stumble closer as she so desperately wanted to do.

  ‘You are strong, Sophie. Stronger than you think. Eventually, one day, the hurt will ease.’

  She looked up into his sombre face, letting his words wash over her. It was his expression that held her attention, the fierce concentration on his proud features as he watched her.

  She felt the tension between them spike, the still afternoon air was thick with it. His gaze had never been so unfathomable or more tantalising.

  ‘Whatever your grandfather’s mistakes, they are in the past, they’re behind you.’ he said.

  But it wasn’t that simple. It seemed she had unfinished business with Petros Liakos.

  And now, here, right this minute, she had to find out if she was imagining the unnerving intimacy between herself and Costas. The need to know was a driving force that overwhelmed caution.

  Were his words simply trite encouragement from an acquaintance? Or did he feel what she felt—a strengthening bond of understanding between them?

  She took a single step, closing the gap so that the heat of his body encompassed hers. She shivered, feeling as if she’d stepped into danger. Her nostrils flared as she recognised the warm scent of his skin. It sent a jolt of desire right through her. She tilted her head up towards his. Her heartbeat raced as she saw his mouth just a whisper of breath away from hers.

  Anticipation hummed through her, her body swayed infinitesimally closer. She willed him to reach for her, to tell her he’d felt it too—the sense of rightness when they were together.

  That was what she wanted—wasn’t it? To put an end to this suspense? She’d imagined his embrace so often these last days, the need for it had consumed her, keeping her awake well into the long nights.

  Yet still he stood, looking down at her, neither encouraging nor discouraging. His lips had parted slightly as if ready for the taste of her. Excitement twisted ever tighter in her belly, urging her on. She could kiss him if she just reached up and pressed her mouth against his.

  He expected it too: the gleam in his eyes told her that, as did the throbbing pulse at the base of his neck.

  But he wouldn’t take the initiative. Sophie understood that with sudden, devastating clarity that halted her instinctive move towards him.

  Why? Why wait for her to make the first move? He must read the invitation in her eyes.

  She hesitated on the brink of committing herself.

  And then the answer came to her, like a bolt out of the clear sky, stabbing straight to her heart.

  A shadow stood between them, a shade of the past. Costas looked at her but, she realised, he didn’t see her, not really. He was attracted to her because she reminded him of the woman he’d loved and lost just ten months ago. Her cousin, Fotini.

  Sophie stumbled back a pace, horrified at what she’d almost done. The acrid taste of disappointment filled her mouth.

  ‘What is it?’ He took a step forward and she raised her hand to stop him. The soft linen of his shirt grazed her palm and she dropped her hand as if it burned. She couldn’t touch him. Not now.

  ‘It’s Fotini, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘You look at me like that because you’re thinking of her.’

  Costas met her stunned, hurt gaze and felt as if the ground had opened up beneath his feet. If it weren’t for the pain in Sophie’s eyes, the hurt in her trembling lips, he might have laughed at the absurd idea.

  His body ached with the effort of repressing his desire for her. He’d struggled not to follow his instinct and kiss her senseless as he’d wanted to ever since she’d sat down on that bed of pine needles.

  Vivid images of him and Sophie, together on that soft carpet, had kept him fully occupied. So much so that he hadn’t been able to look at her—had turned instead to stare out into the distance. But the scent of her, the whisper-soft echo of her breath, the knowledge of her being there, so close to him, had tested his self-control beyond all reasonable limits.

  Him pining for Fotini! For the woman who’d destroyed his belief in the possibility of marriage as a partnership. Who’d viewed their wedding simply as a stepping stone to more wealth she could squander. Who’d cruelly rejected her own daughter and taught him a bone-deep distrust of women. Beautiful women in particular.

  He grimaced. He supposed he owed Fotini some thanks. She’d stripped the scales from his eyes. It was that experience alone that kept him sane in the face of the temptation Sophie offered.

  He knew Sophie was no Fotini. Few women could be that self-absorbed and destructive. But since his marriage he understood that what he felt for Sophie was best dealt with in a bedroom: no strings attached.

  Even so some part of him wanted to believe the fantasy he felt when he looked at Sophie—the illusory promise of a real partnership. But that was impossible.

  Physical passion was all he trusted a woman to give him now. And his desire for Sophie had reached such combustible levels.

  If only she weren’t so vulnerable from her mother’s death he’d have suggested a temporary liaison for their mutual pleasure. That was all he would ever offer another woman.

  But he couldn’t in all honour seduce a girl whose grief for her mother was so fresh and painful.

  It had been hell resisting her. And never more so than just now, when she’d stepped close and he’d had to summon every atom of will-power so as not to sweep her close and do something she might regret later.

  ‘You’ve got it wrong.’ His voice emerged as rough as gravel.

  ‘Have I? I’ve seen the photo of your wife in Eleni’s room. I know how similar we are.’

  ‘No!’ He paused, shocked by her mistake, searching for the words to explain without revealing the past which he and his daughter had to live with.

  ‘At first glance, yes, there’s a similarity. But not after that single, initial moment.’

  H
er eyes were wary and he wanted to reach out and fold her close, kiss her till the pain went away and the spark of desire ignited in her eyes.

  He wanted this woman as he’d never wanted before. With a savage, gnawing hunger that threatened his pretensions to being a civilised man.

  Sto Diavolo! She needed protecting from him.

  ‘Fotini will always have an important place as the mother of my daughter,’ he said slowly, choosing his words. ‘But ours was not a love match. We both wanted marriage and it was expected that love would grow with time.’ As it might have done if Fotini had been a different woman.

  ‘But believe me, Sophie,’ he looked down into her drowning, golden-brown eyes, ‘when I look at you it’s only you that I see. I can assure you absolutely that I’m not seeking a replacement for Fotini. And I never will.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SOPHIE PUFFED AS she strode up the path to the house. The walk had been long and tiring but it hadn’t brought the peace she craved.

  She kept replaying in her mind that scene at Phaestos. How close she’d come to making an utter fool of herself. She’d been so needy, reaching out to Costas like that. So sure he felt the spark between them too.

  She stumbled as she recalled his words—his vehemence when he’d declared he never wanted a replacement for Fotini.

  In other words, he didn’t want another woman in his life. He didn’t want her.

  Sophie cringed at the memory, but still she couldn’t let it go. Try as she might to stop it, her mind kept circling back to that confrontation, trying to make sense of what had happened between them.

  He’d been adamant that Sophie didn’t remind him of Fotini and in that, at least, she believed him. The dawning horror on his face at her words had been unmistakable.

  He’d said the marriage wasn’t a love match, but in the next breath had told her no one could replace his wife.

  There was more to this, surely. Something he hadn’t explained.

  But what right did she have to pursue it any further? Her heart squeezed tight in her chest as she faced the fact that she had no rights at all where Costas Palamidis was concerned.

  But Costas was a hard man to ignore and those persistent day-dreams, of her held close in his arms, kept intruding no matter how hard she fought them.

  He was a devoted father, spending much of the day with Eleni. As far as Sophie could tell he stayed on the estate, dealing with urgent business by phone and email. Which meant she had to work hard to avoid him.

  With every cool glance and formal smile he sent her way he made it clear that he didn’t want or need her sympathy or her company. That she was here for one thing only, the precious bone marrow which, if all went well, she’d be able to give his daughter.

  Sophie blinked back the ready tears that were inevitably close these days. It was as if she’d somehow lost an outer protective layer that had muted her emotions during the traumatic weeks of her mother’s illness.

  Now, without its shield, she felt vulnerable, scraped raw by the strong currents of pain and need that tugged her this way and that.

  Her time with Eleni was special, as was the tenuous, but real relationship that was building between them. Eleni was a little darling, full of pluck and with a cheeky sense of humour that Sophie envied.

  As each day passed, she had to fight harder against her feelings for Costas. Back in Sydney it had been anger she’d felt for him, and a touch of fear too, if she was honest. Then had come a reluctant fellow feeling, when she realised what pain he hid behind his iron-hard exterior.

  And through it all a potent awareness unlike anything she’d experienced before.

  Now there was more. A growing tenderness as she watched him battle his inner demons and focus all his energies on his daughter. The sight of the pair of them together, one so big and tough and capable, and the other so fragile, yet so feisty, never failed to wring her heart.

  Her every sense went on alert when he came near. The deep rasp of his voice sent a thrill through her. And, despite his rejection, she knew she’d do anything she could to smooth away the worry lines on his brow and the stiff, unyielding set of his shoulders that told her of the grief he carried. For his daughter. And for his wife.

  Sophie sighed and took the path up to the house.

  She didn’t understand all that he felt for Fotini but of course he still grieved for her.

  What a fool Sophie was. Wanting to help him through the pain that only time could heal.

  As if she had some secret remedy for grief!

  Her own sense of loss was a tangible thing, a deep, still well of pain that woke her early each morning. Yet here in the Palamidis home there was peace too, a sense of purpose that helped her day by day.

  She shook her head. This situation was fraught with emotions and needs she barely understood. All she knew for sure was that she’d stay as long as she was needed.

  Darkness was closing in as she entered the house but it would be a while yet before dinner. She didn’t meet anyone as she crossed the ground floor and headed for the stairs. Evening settled like a blanket on the house, deepening its shadows, as she emerged into her corridor on the first floor.

  Something made her pause, a muffled sound she couldn’t identify. It came from the other wing, where Costas and Eleni had their rooms. Sophie hesitated a moment, then swung round. If Eleni had gone to bed perhaps she was having a bad dream.

  There was no repeat of the noise, just silence as she slowed her steps and stopped outside Eleni’s room.

  Sure enough, there she was, tucked up with a teddy bear in a canopied bed with gossamer hangings that was every little girl’s dream. A night-light glowed already in one corner and a tumble of toys on the huge window-seat was testament to a late play hour.

  Sophie stood in the doorway, one hand on the jamb, as she watched Eleni’s chest rise and fall. Her mouth wore a tiny smile and she’d hooked her plush bear up under one arm so it nestled beneath her chin.

  Something caught in Sophie’s throat as she stood there. A fierce, protective surge of emotion held her still.

  That was why it took a few moments to realise she wasn’t alone. The barest of movements caught her eye and she turned her head to see Costas hunched in a chair behind the door.

  His elbows were on his splayed knees and his head was in his hands.

  He made no sound. Didn’t move. And in the soft light she could almost have sworn that he didn’t even breathe, so still was he.

  But not at peace.

  There was despair in every line of his large frame. In the fingers tunnelled through his shining dark hair, in the slump of his broad shoulders. And in the droop of his neck.

  He looked like a man defeated. A man who’d lost all hope. Not at all like the Costas Palamidis she knew.

  And she couldn’t bear it.

  Softly she took a step towards him, and another. After a bare moment’s hesitation she let her hand fall to his shoulder, moulding the hard ridge of wide muscle above the bone. Its rigidity confirmed what she’d seen. He was close to the end of his tether.

  His head shot up at her touch, his dark gaze fixed on hers with an intensity that made her throat close, her breath catch. There was such fierce pain in his expression.

  She let her hand slide along his broad shoulder to the stiff muscles of his neck, as if she could stroke some of the tension away. The heat of his flesh against hers seemed shockingly intimate.

  She opened her mouth to speak but he put his finger to his lips.

  She glanced across at Eleni, still sleeping soundly. In that moment he moved, clamping his hand over hers and dragging it to his side as he rose from the seat to tower above her. His hand, hard and unyielding, engulfed hers.

  He pulled her out of the room, into the dusky corridor where the shadows lengthened. He didn’t stop till they reached the curve in the hall that turned towards her room. Then he halted abruptly and stood, staring silently down at her.

  His eyes glittered dark as night bu
t she couldn’t discern his expression.

  ‘Are you all right?’ she asked before she had time to think twice. ‘Can I get you anything?’ She took a tiny pace closer, tilting her chin up and trying to read his face, but it gave nothing away. Even his eyes were blank. She could have been looking into chips of pure obsidian for all the emotion she could find there.

  What could she get him anyway? How would a cup of coffee or even a shot of alcohol help a man watching his daughter fight for her life?

  She was foolish even to try reaching out to him. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t want her understanding. Or her presence.

  It was time she left.

  She tugged at his hand to release his hold. But his fingers didn’t loosen their grip.

  ‘Forget I—’

  ‘Yes, there is something,’ he murmured, his voice a low, dark thread of sound that sent a shard of tension through her.

  Sophie stared up at him, saw the moment when his eyes lit with a flash of life. Like fire in a frozen wasteland. But the sight of that blaze brought no comfort.

  Something very like fear trickled inch by inch down her spine as she watched his expression change, his lips curve up into a wolfish smile.

  ‘What—’

  ‘This,’ he hissed as his head plunged down and his lips took hers.

  Fire. Flaring need. A maelstrom of sensations assaulted her. His lips so soft yet so demanding. His searing breath, burning like an invader’s bombardment.

  And deep within her a quivering awareness that this was what she’d wanted from him. This frightening, glorious passion.

  He cupped her face in his big hands, holding it still while he turned his head and slanted his mouth hard over hers. And then he was inside. His tongue boldly seductive, inviting her to respond to his flagrantly erotic invitation.

  And of course she did.

  Swirling heat roared through her, loosening her muscles and her inhibitions. A sweet, yearning ache began deep in her womb and her skin prickled all over. Her nipples tightened.