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Which made her what? Claire wondered dizzily as they both began walking in silence along the terrace towards the door. Pathetically transparent? ‘I …’ Desperately she searched her foggy brain for something casual to say so she could pretend the kiss just hadn’t happened. And found it when the sound of a car engine powering into life reminded her of Desmona. ‘Does Desmona live here in this house?’
‘She has her own apartment in Athens,’ he replied. ‘But she comes to visit my grandmother quite regularly. Claire, listen to me,’ he then urged huskily.
‘Oh, good,’ she cut in, agitatedly aware he was going to say something about that wretched kiss, and equally sure she did not want to hear it. ‘Then I won’t have to watch my back for flying knives,’ she joked, and managed to gain some reassurance from the fact that she could joke while she was feeling like this.
They turned together into a vast hallway with a white ceramic floor, cream walls and a white-painted staircase that swept gracefully upwards to a galleried landing above. It was all very grand. Very—
At which point her brain ground to a stop when she found herself confronted by a long line of shyly smiling and expectant faces.
Oh, what now? she groaned inwardly, eyeing the long row of what could only be the staff needed to run this big house, looking at the uniform neat pale pink dresses and white aprons the females were wearing, while it was white shirts and dark trousers for the men.
Then, on a sudden flashback to a few minutes ago, her face suffused with mortified colour. ‘Do you think they saw us outside?’ she breathed for his ears alone, while having a sudden horrendous vision of them all crowding at the windows to watch Andreas kissing her.
‘If they did,’ he drawled, ‘then we will have no need to labour the game-plan.’
It hit her then just what had been going on outside. That kiss had been part of this deception! No impulse, she realised. But merely part of his precious game-plan to make their liaison appear genuine.
She felt oddly cheated. No, worse than that. She felt used.
‘Shall we get this over with?’ he suggested, while she was still struggling with the appalling proof of just how ruthless this man could be!
With a light touch to the rigid line of her spine he prompted her into motion. For the next five minutes, face after face went by in a blur of smiles and curiously craning necks as his staff tried to get a peep at the sleeping baby lying in the crook of their employer’s arm.
In fact the only face that registered was that of a young girl on the end of the row who reminded her of Althea. She stepped forward and shyly offered to take Melanie from Andreas. While Claire stood by, intensely conscious of everyone’s eyes on her, Andreas exchanged a few words in Greek with the young girl before he handed over Melanie.
‘I don’t believe you put me through that,’ she hissed when eventually he began leading the way up the staircase to the landing above, giving the staff the chance to crowd around the young girl holding Melanie.
‘It was not set up for your benefit but for theirs,’ he came back crushingly. ‘They need to know who it is they are going to be dealing with since you will in effect be the lady of the house.’
Lady of the house? Claire almost tripped over the next stair in trembling dismay! His hand came out to steady her—she didn’t even notice! ‘But I can’t order those people around, Andreas!’ she protested, not noticing either that she had used his name for the first time in her urgency to get her point across. ‘I just wouldn’t know how!’
‘You will get used to it,’ he murmured indifferently.
‘But I don’t want to get used to it!’ she snapped, and at last realised he was touching her again and angrily tugged her arm free.
‘Fine,’ he concurred, letting her go—but only, she suspected, because they had reached the top of the stairs anyway, so she wasn’t likely to trip over again. ‘Then let Lefka do it when she arrives,’ he suggested carelessly.
She had forgotten all about Lefka, who, she had learned in London, presided over whichever household Andreas was staying in. So—yes, she thought in relief, let Lefka do it. And felt her pounding heart settle down to a steadier pace. She was used to dealing with Lefka …
She followed Andreas along a galleried upper landing to a glossy white-painted door that led, she discovered, to a suite of rooms very similar to the suite she had been allocated in his London home, only this suite was decorated in neutral shades of the palest gardenia and grey.
While Claire walked over to the window to check out the view, Andreas walked across the thick carpet to another door and pushed it open.
‘My rooms,’ he announced, bringing her swinging abruptly to face him. ‘But no key,’ he dryly pointed out. ‘So you will just have to trust me to behave myself.’
Was he really insensitive enough to joke about it after that kiss? Claire wondered furiously, and turned her back on him to walk over to the other side of the room where she opened another door, hoping to find a bedroom where Melanie would sleep. But a bathroom done in colours to match the bedroom gleamed cleanly back at her.
‘Where is Melanie going to sleep?’ she turned to ask.
‘In the nursery on the other side of the house,’ he said. ‘I will show you later …’
He was already striding towards the only other door left in the room to open. Claire watched him, wondering what could be left to uncover. She remembered the huge dressing room in the London house and once again was ruefully envisaging her sad wardrobe inside it.
The door came open at his touch, and he turned to Claire. ‘Come and look,’ he invited.
Not a dressing room, then, she assumed, walking curiously forward—only to go still in a state of breathless surprise when she realised that she was not only right and that this was indeed a dressing room, but also that her wardrobe of clothes certainly would be lost inside it—amongst the racks and rails and shelves already filled to bursting with the most exquisite things she had ever seen.
Expensive clothes. Designer clothes. Some of them very formal evening clothes. Yet still the kind of modern clothes any fashion-conscious twenty-one-year-old would die to possess.
‘For me?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Yes,’ he replied, and watched grimly the way her fingers trembled as she lifted them to cover equally tremulous lips.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered.
‘Your response says it for you,’ he responded quietly.
‘I will never be able to wear this much!’ she cried, her eyes beginning to shine with unshed tears of excitement as those same trembling fingers reached out to touch a fine georgette top in smoky mauve with a matching shantung silk skirt to go with it.
‘Try,’ he invited.
Then she suddenly thought just what she was doing. ‘You must think me very mercenary,’ she groaned, turning to find him leaning lazily against the open door, his dark eyes fixed on her expressive face.
‘I think you are exquisite,’ he answered deeply, reaching out to touch his cool fingertips to the satin-smooth heat in one of her cheeks, his expression so unimaginably sombre that it trapped the air inside her chest.
Then he was turning away from her in that now familiarly abrupt way of his. ‘Enjoy,’ he invited with a careless wave of his hand. ‘Enjoy.’
And he was gone, disappearing through the connecting door to his own room, leaving Claire standing there with her own palm now pressed where his fingertips had been. Her thoughts locked on that terrible—terrible expression she had glimpsed on his face before he’d walked away from her.
It hurt so much to see it that she had a sudden urge to run after him, throw her arms around his neck and tell him not to be so sad, for she loved him; surely that had to count for something—?
Is that what I’m doing? Claire asked herself starkly. Am I falling in love with him?
He picks you up off the road, dusts you off, takes you home and feeds you. He then sweeps all your troubles away by replacing them with a whole new set of troubles—and you decide he’s the man to fall in love with?
Sold, she grimly mocked herself. For the price of a big house and a load of designer clothes, to the ruthlessly calculating man in the corner with the attitude problem worth falling in love with!
Well … Her chin came up, the light of a battle entering her eyes, though she knew the battle was now with herself. Marching forward, she firmly knocked on his door then swung it open.
‘I want to talk to my aunt Laura,’ she announced forcefully.
And thereby learned just how he must have felt when she’d walked out of the bathroom in his London home, with her robe hanging open down her naked front!
OK, she allowed as her senses roared into an overdrive she had never, ever before had to contend with. So he wasn’t quite naked. But there was only one piece of clothing left on his big, sleek, muscle-rippling dark golden body for him to take off—and those black silk briefs were not hiding very much!
Certainly not the powerful build of his legs or the kind of muscular torso Atlas himself would envy! Wonderful wide shoulders, she listed bemusedly. Lean, powerful hips, and the dynamic evidence of a—
‘Get the hell out of here!’ he snarled.
Claire almost left her skin behind as she jumped in response. Her eyes flickered then focused too late—much too late—to save her own dignity, never mind his. For it was only then that she realised just where she had been staring!
She whipped out of that room as fast as her shaking legs could take her. Pulling the door shut behind her, she wilted weakly against the wall beside it, squeezing her eyes tight shut so she could beg whoever it was who could make these things happen that they take back the last thirty dreadful seconds!
No chance. She wasn’t even allowed a few minutes to recover her composure before that damn door was shooting open again.
Pausing to scan the room for her, Andreas found her standing there cringing like an idiot against the wall with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. Swinging himself around, he slapped his hands on the wall at either side of her head so he could push his face up close to hers like the dark avenger in search of a victim.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing barging into my room like that?’ he raked at her furiously.
‘I’m sorry,’ she choked, feeling his angry breath warm on her face, but keeping her eyes shut because she still wasn’t ready to take on board how she had been so crass as to stare at his body like that. ‘I didn’t think. I just—’
‘Didn’t think?’ he interrupted. ‘Have you any idea how close you came to completely embarrassing both of us?’
Oh, yes, she thought, with a telling little shudder, she had a very vivid idea how close she had come. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated. ‘I’m sorry—I’m sorry!’
Small white teeth appeared, biting hard into her bottom lip, her only good hand clenching into a fierce fist while she tried very hard to dismiss the image that was still cruelly filling her head.
Another sigh rasped her face. ‘You idiot,’ he murmured, and the anger seemed to be easing out of him. ‘Next time knock and wait until you are invited before opening that door, and save both our blushes.’
‘Ditto,’ she found the presence of mind to counter.
It took him a moment, then he huffed out a laugh. ‘I suppose you do have a point,’ he conceded. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked then. ‘You have gone a really strange shade of puce. Never actually seen a man naked before, hmm?’
He was taunting her! she realised. ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me!’ she flashed, her eyes shooting open in sheer reaction.
Oh, good grief. He was very close. She hadn’t realised just how close until she found herself staring into those devilish black eyes bare inches away. But at least he’d stopped long enough to pull on a robe, she noted with relief.
‘And of course I’ve seen men naked before,’ she lied, lifting her chin to throw the words at him like a challenge. ‘Loads of them as a matter of fact,’ she added for good measure. ‘And you weren’t naked.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he drawled. ‘I certainly felt it.’
His mocking tone sent her eyes tight shut again. This isn’t really happening, she told herself firmly. It’s all just a very bad dream.
This time it was a soft huff of laughter that brushed across her heated face. Then—thankfully—he straightened away from her. ‘Now, what did you want?’
Claire shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ In truth, she couldn’t remember now what had sent her into his room like that.
‘You mentioned your aunt, I seem to remember.’ The rotten swine knew she had forgotten.
‘Where is she?’ she demanded. ‘Why hasn’t she been in touch with me?’
‘Probably because it is more than her job is worth to try,’ he answered laconically.
Claire frowned, beginning to relax a little now he had put a bit more distance between them. ‘If you dislike her so much—’ and it was obvious that he did ‘—then why do you employ her?’
His lips compressed, his dark eyes hooding over in a way that told Claire he wasn’t going to answer that question even before he confirmed it. ‘If you never take anything else from me, Claire, then take this small piece of advice,’ he suggested very seriously. ‘Forget your aunt. Or even that she works for me. She is not worthy of a single one of your thoughts. Now,’ he added, giving her no chance to challenge all of that before he was turning back to his room, ‘I am going for my shower. You have approximately half an hour to prepare yourself for an audience with my grandmother, by the way,’ he told her blithely before shutting himself away.
His grandmother …? Couldn’t he have told her that before?
‘Oh, heck!’ she gasped, and dropped everything else right out of her mind to make room for this much more nerve-racking prospect.
CHAPTER SIX
BOTH nervous and anxious about the coming ordeal, Claire rummaged quickly through the rails of her brand-new wardrobe of clothes, and eventually decided on a misty grey silk-lined linen dress that she felt she could easily slip into. Taking it through to the bedroom, she laid it on the bed.
But it was only while she was tackling the difficult task of pulling on a pair of fine silk hold-up stockings with only one hand to do it with that she suddenly realised there was no way she was going to be able to pull up the zip running the full length of the back of her chosen dress!
Puffing and panting from her excursions, she was standing there in her bra and panties feeling very hot and very flustered, and about to go and select something less difficult to put on, when a light knock sounded on the outer door.
Peering warily around a thin crack in the door, she was so relieved that it wasn’t Andreas catching her in a state of undress yet again that she almost dragged the young maid into her room in her eagerness.
‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she sighed, smiling with relief. ‘Do you speak English?’ she asked hopefully, and at the girl’s nod said, ‘Then will you please help me to do up the zip on the back of this dress?’
Scurrying over to the bed, she snatched up the dress, feeling the seconds ticking ever further onwards towards her next ordeal when what she really wanted to do was lie down and rest because her neck was aching after having to take the weight of her wrist in its sling all day.
Never mind all the stress and tension, she tagged on hectically as she shimmied into the dress. ‘What’s your name?’ she enquired curiously as the zip rasped up her backbone.
‘My name is Lissa,’ the maid replied shyly, probably wondering if Claire had any brains at all, when it had only been an hour ago that she had been introduced to her downstairs.
Which, Claire decided, was probably true because her brains seemed to have gone begging from the moment Andreas had dared to kiss her outside in the garden.
And remembering that right now was stupid! she scolded herself as her insides went haywire at the memory. Then she remembered the most recent scene that thoroughly outranked the one with the kiss. And the two together played merry havoc with just about every sensitive nerve she had in her system.
Oh, stop it! You don’t have time to fall apart at the seams right now! she told herself crossly. She was just slipping her feet into a new pair of grey low-heeled shoes whilst carefully feeding her plastered wrist back into its support when another knock sounded.
At the connecting door.
Both Claire and the maid turned to stare at it, and, as quick as that, the tension was back, singing across the room to ricochet off that closed door and back at her—and that was without so much as setting eyes on the perpetrator of it all!
At least he’s practising what he preaches, she noted wryly when the door remained resolutely shut. She moved to answer it—the little maid scurried in the opposite direction with a mumbled excuse.
Deserting the sinking ship, Claire thought. Then she was gritting her teeth and setting her chin before reaching for the door handle.
It was like opening the door on a hot oven. The power of this man’s newly recognised sexuality flooded over her in burning waves. Stifled by it, she could neither breathe nor think. So she just stood there staring at him while his dark eyes hooded over as they began a slow scan of her from shining head to neatly shod feet.
Then she began to notice that he was wearing the most casual clothes she had seen him in to date. The lightweight chinos hung loosely from his narrow waistline; the white soft cotton knit polo shirt moulded his well remembered torso like a second skin.
No, don’t think of that! she told herself sternly. ‘Will I do?’ she asked, anxiously searching those unrevealing eyes as they made the same journey back up her again.
To her consternation, he emitted a rather odd laugh. And his head gave a small shake as if he couldn’t believe what he was actually seeing. Then those wretched dark eyes flicked downwards again, prompting Claire’s gaze to follow them to discover what it was that was bothering him.
And at last she became aware of the incredible amount of leg the short dress had left on show! Her mind shot off, seeing through this man’s eyes what his ninety-two-year-old grandmother was going to see: a tall, leggy female who must be a brazen hussy to wear a skirt this short! ‘I’ll get changed,’ she announced, turning jerkily away from him.
‘You will not.’ His hand capturing her good one stopped her in her tracks. ‘You will do fine,’ he added softly at her frowning expression.
‘That wasn’t what you were thinking when you first saw me,’ she pointed out candidly.
To her surprise, yet again he uttered one of those odd laughs. ‘You don’t want to know what I was thinking,’ he mocked her dryly. Then, before she could respond to that, he said, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
