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“Poppy’s condition remains unchanged.” He turned to where various decanters stood on a side table alongside a silver ice bucket containing an open bottle of champagne. “May I offer you something to drink?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Am I allowed alcohol?”
She hoped she was. Normally not much of a drinker—an occasional glass of wine was her limit—just then she was rattled enough to latch on to anything that might fortify her.
“Let’s ask the expert,” he said, and flung an inquiring glance over his shoulder. “What do you think, Doctor? May she have a little champagne?”
Footsteps, light as a dancer’s, fell into the silence following his question, and a moment later the figure of a woman somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties appeared from the shadows of the moon-washed terrace beyond the French doors. “I don’t see why not. A glass or two of wine isn’t going to make any difference one way or the other.”
“Glahss,” she’d said, her well-modulated voice overlaid with a distinctly English accent.
Approaching Dimitrios, she held out her own empty crystal flute. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind a refill myself, if you’re offering. Might as well take advantage of a night off. It doesn’t happen often enough to go uncelebrated.”
Blond, petite and elegant in a pencil-slim black skirt and pale-pink blouse, she barely reached Dimitrios’s shoulder. Beside her, Brianna felt like an Amazon.
Dimitrios cupped her elbow and favored her with a smile so warm, it was a wonder the woman didn’t melt on the spot. “My dear lady, you may have as many refills as you please.” Then, managing to tear his attention away long enough to spare Brianna a cursory glance, supplied, “This is Doctor Noelle Manning, Brianna. She’s the head of the transplant team looking after my daughter. I decided it was a good idea for you to meet her as soon as possible, since she’s obviously much better able than I am to answer any questions you might have. And this,” he continued, swinging his gaze back to the diminutive Noelle with all due speed, “is my late wife’s sister, Brianna Connelly. You might have heard of her.”
He made it sound as if Brianna topped the FBI’s Most Wanted list, but if Noelle Manning noticed, she chose not to comment.
“Both heard of and seen in all my favorite magazines. Hers is not a face easily forgotten.” The doctor smiled and extended her delicate little hand. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how pleased I am to meet you, or how much is riding on your decision to come here.”
In the course of her career, Brianna had met more than a few dukes, princesses, reigning monarchs and celebrities. None had left her feeling as tongue-tied and awkward as this tiny, self-assured woman. “Thank you,” she managed, trying not to stumble over her reply. “I hope I’ll be able to help.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
“When will you begin the tests?”
“We’ll give you a few days to recover from your journey, then get started.” She steered Brianna to a couch beside the fireplace, took a seat on the one across from it and, tilting her head, asked, “How much do you know about the procedure, Brianna?”
“About as much as I know about my niece’s illness, which is next to nothing.”
“Brianna has other priorities,” Dimitrios remarked, pouring the champagne. “Aplastic anemia and bone marrow transplants don’t fall within her range of interests.”
“How would you know?” Brianna shot back, the barely concealed contempt she’d noted in his voice cutting as sharply as a knife sliding between her ribs.
He sauntered over to hand them their drinks, then dropped down on the couch next to Noelle Manning, close enough that his knee almost touched hers. “I know my daughter will turn three in another month, and this will be the first time you’ve met her.”
“And I explained the reason for that when you phoned.”
“I know only what you choose to tell me.”
“I think we all understand that time has a habit of slipping away from us,” Noelle interrupted smoothly. “What matters is that you’re here now, Brianna, and Dimitrios is very grateful for that.” She pinned him with a forthright stare. “Isn’t that right, Dimitrios?”
“Yes,” he admitted, looking a little shamefaced. “You’re our last hope, Brianna.”
“Well, not quite,” Noelle amended. “There’s always the chance of an anonymous donor being found, but that could take a very long time, and Poppy…”
She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Her meaning was clear enough. Time wasn’t on Poppy’s side.
“I’m quite willing to begin the tests tomorrow,” Brianna said. “In fact, I’d prefer to. Surely the sooner we get started, the better?”
Noelle shook her head. “Donating bone marrow isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Brianna, and it would be unprofessional of me, if not criminally negligent, to allow you to go ahead without first making sure you have a thorough understanding of all that’s involved.”
“If it’s a matter of money—”
“It has nothing to do with money,” Dimitrios cut in sharply. “Your expenses will be covered.”
“But I can afford—”
“So can I.”
He was impossible. Arrogant, intransigent and just plain unpleasant! Why she’d once thought, even for a minute, that he was a man she could love, escaped her.
Pointedly ignoring him, she met Noelle’s calm gaze. “Can we discuss this at another time? Privately?”
“Of course. I was about to suggest exactly that. Tomorrow, if you’re up to it, although I understand if you’d rather wait another day. Crossing ten time zones in twenty-four hours is a bit much.”
“I’ve been doing it for years and trained myself long ago to sleep on airplanes.”
“Then it’s a date. Say about noon? I’ll be through surgery by then.”
“Noon will be fine.”
“Good. You’ll arrange for your driver to bring her to the clinic, won’t you, Dimitrios?”
He grunted assent and stared moodily into his glass. Unperturbed, Noelle smiled and raised hers. “Cheers, then. Here’s to you, Brianna, and a long and happy relationship with your niece.”
About to swallow a mouthful of whatever it was he was drinking, Dimitrios almost choked on it instead.
CHAPTER TWO
HE WAS behaving like a boor, knew it and couldn’t help himself. And all because she hadn’t changed, and watching her, noticing again the perfect posture, the graceful movement of her body, was driving him crazy.
He’d hoped that, like Cecily, she was beginning to lose her looks. Fat chance. If anything, she was more beautiful than ever. The same long, luscious legs and narrow, elegant hands. The same flawless ivory skin and thick, shining fall of ebony hair. The same amazing ice-blue eyes, whose clear, heavily lashed glance could paralyze a man’s mind and leave him drooling like an idiot.
Erika served lamb for dinner. Flavored with rosemary and roasted on a spit over an open fire to succulent tenderness, it was one of his favorites, but that night, he could hardly keep it down. Brianna, of course, ate with her customary restraint, refusing the potatoes and helping herself to only a small portion of the meat, although she made inroads on the salad. She barely touched her wine and passed on the honey-and-fig compote dessert. Only Noelle ate with any relish, packing away a surprising amount of food for such a little woman.
After the meal they returned to the living room, and although neither guest took him up on his offer of metaxa, they both accepted coffee. “What’s it like, being a world-famous model?” Noelle asked, settling herself kitty-corner from Brianna on the couch.
“Very hard work, very long hours and not nearly as glamorous as most people think.”
“Sounds a bit like my life.”
“Hardly,” Brianna said, with exactly the right degree of charming modesty. “I wouldn’t presume to compare the two. Unlike you, I don’t have any special skill or expertise. I’ve certainly never saved a life.”
“You might. And that you’re willing to try puts you on a pedestal in my eyes. As for your not having any special skills, I rather doubt that’s true. It must take enormous patience and stamina to meet the artistic and, I imagine, often conflicting demands of photographers and couturiers.”
Brianna gave an elegant little shrug, a studied response designed to draw attention to her upper body, he was sure. Why else would she have chosen to wear a dress that left one shoulder bare? “On occasion, yes.”
Clearly fascinated by a way of life so far removed from her own, Noelle tucked her legs under her and settled more snugly into the couch. “What drew you to modeling in the first place?”
“My mother got us started when my sister and I were still in diapers, and it more or less took on a life of its own from there. While other children our age played in the sandbox or learned to ride a bike, we traveled from one junior beauty pageant to another.”
“She must have been very proud of you.”
“She marketed us ruthlessly,” Brianna said flatly.
For a second Dimitrios thought he heard an edge of bitter resentment in her reply, then decided he must have been mistaken. She might not have had any choice when she was still a minor, but as an adult, if she didn’t like what she did for a living, she could have chosen something else. She wasn’t completely without brains, was she?
“And did it very successfully,” he remarked, trying to keep his scorn under control. “Admit it, Brianna. You and Cecily became international celebrities before you were in kindergarten.”
“Because, as you very well know, Dimitrios, there were two of us and we looked identical. That’s what made us special.”
“Now there’s only you, but you seem to be doing just fine on your own.”
“Losing a sister is never easy,” Noelle said, flicking him a cautionary glance, “but it must have been particularly difficult to lose a twin. You were very close, I’m sure.”
“When we were children, yes.”
That was just one lie too many for him to stomach. “Oh, come on, Brianna! You were thick as thieves when I met you.”
She turned a slow stare his way. “If you believe that, it just goes to show how little you knew either one of us.”
“I was married to Cecily, remember?”
“I’m hardly likely to forget.”
“Of course you aren’t,” he jeered, knowing that by continuing to goad her, he was pushing his luck, but unable to stop. “After all, look how you aided and abetted her in getting me to the altar.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock, the delectable curve of her lower lip stirring memories of a time when he’d explored it at erotic leisure. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew better than most how she and her twin had impersonated one another when it suited their purpose.
Recovering, she said, “I dropped everything to come here at a moment’s notice because you asked me to, Dimitrios. I can leave just as quickly.”
“This isn’t about you, Dimitrios, it’s about Poppy,” Noelle reminded him, electing herself mediator of a situation fast deteriorating past a point of no return. “Let’s not forget that.”
“Of course not.” He ventured to meet his sister-in-law’s icy-blue stare. “Forgive me, Brianna. I’m worried sick about Poppy, but that hardly justifies my belaboring you with it.”
“I understand.” Again, she tilted one shoulder in that tempting little shrug. “I’d have come sooner, if I’d known.”
“You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” Noelle set her cup and saucer on the coffee table and unfolded her legs from beneath her. “And, pleasant though it is sitting here and being spoiled, I’d better be off and catch up on my sleep. I enjoyed meeting you, Brianna.”
Smiling, Brianna rose in one fluid movement. “I enjoyed it, too.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, at noon?”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
“Excellent! Walk me out, Dimitrios?”
“Sure.”
Noelle waited until they reached her car and were well out of earshot of anyone in the house, before rounding on him. “Tell me, Dimitrios Giannakis, just how badly do you want your daughter to get well again?”
“More than anything in the world, as you very well know.”
“Then I suggest you keep your tongue and your temper on a very short leash. Your behavior tonight was inexcusable.”
“You might not think so, if you knew the history between Brianna and me.”
“I don’t give a rat’s behind about your history! The only person I care about is Poppy, and I will not sit idly by and watch you systematically sabotage what might turn out to be her best chance of recovery.”
“Brianna isn’t all she seems.”
“Really? I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and she struck me as a very nice, sincere woman.”
“You didn’t see past the beautiful face.”
“I’m not the one hung up on her looks, Dimitrios. You are. And I strongly recommend you get over it.”
“Easier said than done,” he grumbled, helping her into her car. “She’s a carbon copy of her sister.”
Noelle laughed. “Identical twins usually are, dear!” she said and, engaging the gears, roared off into the night.
No sooner had they disappeared outside than Brianna escaped upstairs to her room. She and Dimitrios were like oil and water, never meant to mix. If Noelle Manning hadn’t been there to referee, they’d have been at each other’s throats by now. But they had to find a way to get along, and she could only hope a good night’s rest would leave them both more kindly disposed toward each other by morning.
Erika or one of her minions had turned down the bed, switched on a reading lamp and left two English-language magazines on the nightstand. The French windows in the sitting area stood open, their filmy white drapes pulled back and hanging still as mist at each side. Over the arm of the love seat lay a shawl of softest mohair. A sterling silver tray holding an exquisite bone china hot chocolate pot and mug waited on the coffee table. Regardless of whether or not she approved, Erika was obeying to the letter her instructions to treat the guest like royalty.
But then, from what Brianna had seen, palatial was the key word at the villa Giannakis. She’d barely been able to concentrate on the evening meal, she’d been so bowled over by the magnificence of the setting. His dining room must have been fifteen by thirty feet, with a marble-tiled floor and priceless Savonnerie rug. Original artwork worth a king’s ransom hung on the walls.
The table, large enough to seat twenty with ease, consisted of a square slab of beveled glass supported by pillars fashioned after Doric columns. Five chairs upholstered in rich cranberry fabric lined each side. A fabulous old carved sideboard and sleek sterling candelabra completed the decor, resulting in a marriage of antique and modern; of classic elegance and good taste.
A sharp departure from her penthouse which, although overlooking the strait separating the mainland from Vancouver Island, and furnished with its own kind of elegance, didn’t compare to this place, which oozed comfort and opulence at every turn. And yet she’d have given anything to be back there now, mistress of her own fate.
But that wasn’t an option. She was here in Dimitrios’s home, if not exactly a prisoner, then certainly not a cherished guest, either.
Too keyed up to sleep, Brianna kicked off her shoes, tucked the shawl around her shoulders and stepped out on her deck. Moonlight spilled over the sea and dappled the garden with shadows. Apart from the soft sigh of waves on the beach below, the night was utterly quiet, utterly peaceful—until a rap at the door shattered it, that was.
“Brianna,” Dimitrios announced, too loudly for her to pretend she hadn’t heard him, “it is I.”
How painfully formal and grammatically correct, she thought wryly, refusing to acknowledge the frisson of apprehension his voice inspired. “If you’ve come to continue needling me,” she began, opening the door, “you can take yourself and your—”
“I have come to apologize. Again. And to ask if we can forget the past, not just for Poppy’s sake, but for yours and mine. This business of donating bone marrow amounts to more than a few minutes in a doctor’s office. The tests are exhaustive, and I have no wish to make your time here any more unpleasant than it has to be.”
“Well, if tonight’s any example…”
“It’s not. I’m afraid I’m never at my best after I come back from the hospital, but that scarcely excuses my taking out my anxiety on others, especially not you.” He offered his hand. “May we please start over?”
She could cope with his hostility, his bad behavior. Let him snipe and rant until the earth stopped turning, if he chose. He couldn’t hurt her that way, not anymore. But in his present conciliatory mode, he was downright dangerous. Enough that the resentment she’d harbored all these years suddenly seemed not so well-founded, after all, and how stupid a conclusion was that when all the evidence pointed to the contrary? “I’m not sure it’s possible,” she said, struggling to shore up her sagging defenses.
