British Bachelors: Gorgeous and Impossible: My Greek Island Fling / Back in the Lion's Den / We'll Always Have Paris

He shook his head and shuffled the photograph back into the same position, straightening the edges so that each of the clippings and photographs were exactly aligned in a neat column down one side. ‘I don’t expect you to understand how important this biography is to me, but she is not here to defend herself any more. Now that’s my job.’

Lexi stared at Mark in silence for a moment, the air between them bristling with tension and anxiety.

How could she make him understand that she knew exactly what it was like to live two lives? People envied her her celebrity lifestyle, the constant travel, the vibrancy and excitement of her work. They had no clue whatsoever that under the happy, chatty exterior was a girl doing everything she could to fight off the despair of her life. Her desperate need to have children and a family of her own, and the sure knowledge that it was looking less and less likely ever to happen. Adam had been her best chance. And now he was gone … Oh, yes, she knew about acting a part.

‘You think I don’t understand? Oh, Mark, how very wrong you are. I know only too well how hard it is to learn to live with that kind of pain.’

She watched as he inhaled deeply before replying. ‘How stupid and selfish of me,’ he said eventually in a low voice. ‘I sometimes forget that other people have lost family members and survived. It was especially insensitive after what you’ve just been telling me about your father.’

‘Oh, it happens in the very best of families,’ she said with a sad smile. ‘Your mother died a few months ago, while I’ve had almost twenty years to work through the fact that my father abandoned us. And that pain does not go away.’

‘You sound very resigned—almost forgiving. I’m not sure I could be.’

‘Then I’m a very good actress. I’ve never forgiven him and I don’t know if I ever can. A girl has to know her limitations, and this is one of mine. Not going to happen. Can we move on?’

Lexi looked up into Mark’s eyes as she asked the question, just as he looked into hers. And in the few seconds of complete silence that followed something clicked across the electrically charged space between them.

‘And just when I thought you were perfection,’ he whispered, in a voice which was so rich and low and seductive that the tingles went into overdrive.

Lexi casually formed the fingers of both her hands into a tent shape, raised an eyebrow and stared at him through the triangular gap between her fingers.

‘There you have it. I have flaws, after all. You must be incredibly disappointed that a respectable agency sent you a defective ghost writer. You should ask for a discount immediately. And I shall officially hand back my halo and declare myself human and fallible.’

Mark smiled. ‘I rather like the idea. Perhaps there is hope for the rest of us?’

‘Really? In that case,’ she breathed in a low, hoarse voice, ‘let’s talk about your baby photos.’

And Mark immediately swallowed the wrong way and sprayed coffee all over his school reports.

They had hardly stopped for over three hours. He had made coffee. Lexi had made suggestions, dodging back and forth to the kitchen to bring snacks.

And, together, somehow they had sorted out the huge suitcase bursting with various pieces of paper and photographs that he had brought with him from London into two stacks, roughly labelled as either ‘career’ or ‘home life.’ A cardboard box was placed in the middle for anything which had to be sorted out later.

And his head was bursting with frustration, unease and unbridled admiration.

Lexi was not only dedicated and enthusiastic, but she possessed such a natural delight and genuine passion for discovering each new aspect of his mother’s life and experience that it was infectious. It was as though every single scrap of trivia was a precious item of buried treasure—an ancient artefact that deserved to be handled with the ultimate care and pored over in meticulous detail.

It had been Lexi’s idea to start sorting the career stack first, so she knew the scope and complexity of the project right from the start.

Just standing next to her, trying to organise newspaper clippings and press releases into date order, made him feel that they might just be able to create some order out of the magpie’s nest of thirty years’ worth of memorabilia.

He couldn’t remember most of the movie events that his mother had attended when he was a boy, so photographs from the red carpet were excellent markers—and yet, for him, they felt totally repetitive. Another pretty dress. Another handsome male lead. Yet another interview with the same newspaper. Saying the same things over and over again.

But Lexi saw each image in a completely different way. Every time she picked a photograph up she seemed to give a tiny gasp of delight. Every snippet of gossip about the actors and their lives, or the background to each story, was new and fresh and exciting in her eyes. Each line provided a new insight into the character of the woman who’d been a leading lady in the USA and in the British movie and TV world for so many years that she had practically become an institution.

Dates, names, public appearances, TV interviews—everything was recorded and checked against the film-company records through the power of the internet, then tabulated in date order, creating a miraculous list which they both agreed might not be totally complete, but gave the documented highlights.

And from this tiny table, in this small villa on Paxos, in only three hours, they had managed to create a potted history of his mother’s movie career. All backed up by photographs and paper records. Ready to use, primed to create a timeline for the acting life of Crystal Leighton.

Which was something very close to amazing.

He wondered if Lexi realised that when she was reading intently she tapped her pen against her chin and pushed her bottom lip out in a sensuous pout, and sometimes she started humming a pop tune under her breath—before realising what she was doing and turning it into a chuckle because it had surprised her.

Every time she walked past him her floral fragrance seemed to reach out towards him and draw him closer to her, like a moth to a flame. It was totally intoxicating, totally overwhelming. And yet he hadn’t asked her to wash it off. That would have been rude.

The problem was, working so closely together around such a small table meant that their bodies frequently touched. Sleeve on sleeve, leg on leg—or, in his case, long leg against thigh.

And at that moment, almost as though she’d heard his innermost thoughts, Lexi lifted up the first folder of the second stack and brushed his arm with her wrist. That small contact was somehow enough to set his senses on fire.

Worse, a single colour photograph slipped out from between the pages and fell onto the desk. Two boys grinned back at Mark from the matte surface—the older boy proud and strong, chin raised, his arm loosely draped across the back and shoulder of his younger brother, who was laughing adoringly at the person taking the photograph.

Mark remembered the football match at boarding school as though it were yesterday. Edmund had scored two goals and been made man of the match. Nothing new there. Except that for once in his life nerdy Mark Belmont had come out from the wings and sailed the ball past the head of the goalkeeper from a rival school.

And, best of all, his mother had seen him score the winning goal and taken the photograph. She had always made time in her schedule if she could to attend school sports days.

Edmund had called him a show-off, of course. And maybe he’d been right. Mark had wanted to prove to at least one of his parents that he could be sporty when he wanted.

He inhaled slowly through his nose, but just as Lexi stretched her hand out towards the photograph he picked it up and pushed it back on the pile.

Not now. He was not ready to do that. Not yet.

But there was no escaping his companion’s attention to detail. Lexi instantly dived into the stack and retrieved the photograph.

‘Is this your brother?’ she asked.

He took a moment and gave a quick nod. ‘Yes. Edmund was eighteen months older than me. This was taken at our boarding school. The Belmont boys had just scored all three of the goals. We were the heroes of the hour …’ His voice trailed away.

Out of the corner of his eye he realised that she was standing quite silent and still. Until then it hadn’t dawned on him that her body was usually in constant motion. Her hands, shoulders and hips had been jiggling around every second of the day, which was probably why she was so slender. This girl lived on adrenaline.

But not now. Now she was just waiting—waiting for him to tell her about Edmund.

He picked up the photograph and gently laid it to the far right of the table. Recent history. Too recent as far as he was concerned.

‘He died seven years ago in a polo accident in Argentina.’

If he was expecting revulsion, or some snide comment, he was wrong. Instead Lexi gently laid her fingertips on the back of his hand in a fleeting moment of total compassion. And he felt every cell of his skin open up and welcome her in.

‘Your poor mother,’ Lexi whispered, only inches away from him.

He turned his head slightly. Her eyes were scanning his face as if she was looking for something and not finding it.

‘That must have been so heartbreaking. I can’t imagine what it’s like to raise a child to manhood and then lose him.’

Her gaze slid down his face and focused on a family snap of his mother. Not a studio press release or a publicity shot. This was a photo he had taken with his pocket camera when his mother had been manning the cake stall at a local garden fête. She was wearing a simple floral tea dress with a white daisy from the garden stuck behind one ear. But what made her really beautiful was the totally natural expression of happiness she wore.

It was just as hard as he’d thought it might be, looking at the photograph and remembering her laughing and chatting and waving at him to put down the camera and enjoy himself.

Lexi ran a fingertip ever so gently across the surface of the print. He steeled himself, ready to answer her question about how the famous actress Crystal Leighton had come to be working behind the counter of a country village fête.

That was why, when she did ask a question, it knocked him slightly off-balance.

‘How old is your sister?

‘Cassie? Twenty-seven,’ he replied, puzzled. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I’m going to need to talk to her about Edmund. I know she’s a lot younger, but I’m sure she can remember her eldest brother very clearly.’

‘So can I,’ he retorted. ‘We were at school together—more like twins than brothers.’

‘And that’s the point. You’re too close. You can’t possibly be objective, and I wouldn’t expect you to be. He was your best friend and then you lost him—and that’s hard. I’m so sorry. You must miss him terribly,’ she whispered, and her teeth started to gnaw on her full lower lip in distress.

The deep shudder came from within his chest, and it must have been so loud that Lexi heard it. Because she smiled a half smile of understanding and regret and looked away. As though she was giving him a moment to compose himself.

Just the thought of that generous gesture flicked a switch inside his head that went from the calm controlled setting straight to the righteous anger mode.

This woman, this stranger who had walked into his life less than twenty-four hours earlier, was giving him a moment to bring his pain back under control.

Nothing she could have done would have made him more furious.

How dared she presume that he was unable to control himself?

That he was unable to do the job he had set himself because of the foolish, sensitive emotions in the gentle heart he had suppressed for all these years?

He’d learned the hard way that the Belmont men did not talk about Edmund and how his death had wrenched them apart. No. Instead they were expected to shoulder the extra responsibilities and obligations and carry on as though Edmund had never existed.

Lexi pressed both hands flat against the table, lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

And, to Mark’s horror, he saw the glint of moisture at the corners of her own eyes—which were not violet after all, he realised, but more of a grey colour in the diffused warm light coming in through the cream-lace curtains from the sunny garden outside. Her eyelashes were not black, like his, but dark brown, with a tint of copper. The same colour as her hair—well, most of it. The places that weren’t streaked with purple highlights.

But it was those amazing eyes that captivated him and dragged him helplessly into their depths. Multiple shades of grey and violet with blue speckles gazed back at him, with the black centres growing darker and wider as her eyes locked onto his and refused to let go. And he simply could not look away.

Those were the same eyes that had stared up at him in total horror that morning in the hospital. The same eyes that were now brimming with compassion and warmth and delight. And he had never seen anything like it before.

His mother had used to say that eyes were the windows to the heart.

And if that was true then Lexi Sloane had a remarkable heart.

But the fact remained—just looking into those eyes took him back to a place which shouted out, loud and clear, one single overpowering word.

Failure.

He had failed to protect his mother.

He had failed to replace Edmund.

He had let his parents down and was still letting them down.

And just the sight of his mother’s pretty face looking back at him from all these photographs was like a knife to the heart.

‘How do you do it?’ he demanded through clenched teeth. ‘How do you do this job for a living? Poring over the pain and suffering of other people’s lives? Do you get some sick pleasure out of it? Or do you use other people’s pain in order to make your own life feel better and safer in some way? Please tell me, because I don’t understand. I just don’t.’

He was trembling now, and so annoyed by his own lack of self-control that he brusquely slipped his hand out from under hers, turned away and strode downstairs to the patio doors, pulled them open sharply and stepped outside onto the cool shaded terrace.

Well, that was clever. Well done, Mark. Very slick. Taking your problems out on the nearest person, just like your dad would.

He closed his eyes and fought to control his breathing. Minutes seemed to stretch into hours until he heard the gentle tapping of Lexi’s light footsteps on the tile floor behind him.

She came and stood next to him at the railing, so that they were both looking out across the pool towards the cypress trees and olive groves in total silence.

‘I don’t do this job out of some sick pleasure or self-gratification. Well …’ she shrugged ‘… apart from the fact that I get paid, of course. No. I do it to help my clients record how they came through the traumas of their lives to become the person they are now. And that’s what other people want to read about.’ She half turned at the railing. ‘I was serious when I told you how much I loved reading about other people’s lives. I love meeting people. I love hearing their life stories.’

Her fingers tapped on the varnished wood. ‘Just in case you haven’t noticed, every family in this world suffers pain and loss, and every single person—every one—has to survive horrible trauma which changes their lives forever. That includes me, you and all our families and friends. There is no escape. It’s how we deal with it that makes us who we are. That’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ He shook his head. ‘When did you become an expert in sorting out other people’s lives and their histories for them? You’re hardly perfect yourself—not with your father.’

The temperature of the air dropped ten degrees, and the icy blast hit Mark hard on the forehead and woke him up.

He hadn’t meant to sound bitter or cruel, but suppressed emotion and tiredness swept over him like a wave and he needed a few moments before he could very, very slowly relax his manic hold on the railing and start to breathe again. He was only too aware that Lexi was watching his every move in silence.

‘I apologise for that outburst, Miss Sloane. It was uncalled for and unnecessary. I thought that we could get past what happened at the hospital but apparently I was mistaken. I can quite understand if you would prefer not to work with me after my rudeness. In fact, if you pack your bags now, you should be able to catch the ferry which leaves at four. I’ll make sure your hire car is picked up at the harbour, and that the agency pays your full fee. Thank you for your help this morning.’

CHAPTER SIX

LEXI stared at him as the hot sun beat down on her shoulders.

Yesterday Mark had listened to the truth about her father and still given her a chance to work with him. Now he had thrown her heritage back in her face—and then apologised to her for it.

He was the most contrary, annoying and confusing man she had met in a long time. But under that bravado something told her that he was okay. Intensely private, ambushed into having her at his house, but okay.

And she was not giving up on him.

‘Oh, I’m well aware that I am very far from perfect. Stubborn, too. Put those two things together and the result is that I’m not going anywhere,’ she replied with a lilting voice, and raised both hands, palms forward. ‘This happens all the time. Who in their right mind wants to talk about the pain of the past? It’s human nature to push all this turmoil into a box and lock the lid down tight so we can get on with our daily lives.’

And I should know.

She glanced from side to side, but the only living creatures within sight were the four cats along the wall. ‘I’m not allowed to talk about other clients, because those confidentiality agreements I sign are completely watertight, but believe me—I’ve worked with some people and I don’t know how they get through the day with all the baggage they’re carrying. I thought I had problems until I worked with real survivors.’

‘Is that what we are? Survivors?’

‘Every single one of us. Every day. And there’s nothing we can do about it. Although I do know one thing.’

He slowly exhaled. ‘I can hardly wait to hear it.’

‘I’m famished!’ she exclaimed with an overly dramatic sigh, in an attempt to break the tense atmosphere with a change of topic. ‘Can I suggest we break for lunch before we start on your mum’s personal life? Because I have a feeling …’ she looked at him with a grimace ‘… that we may need some fortification to get through it. And my body armour is back in London.’

‘Famished?’ Mark replied, blinking for a few seconds as though his brain was trying to process the words. Then his shoulders seemed to drop several inches, his back straightened and his head lifted. ‘Of course. In that case it’s my turn to provide lunch. Prepare to have your taste buds tantalised by one of the excellent tavernas on the coast. How does a big bowl of crisp Greek salad followed by succulent freshly caught sea bass and chips sound? But there’s one condition. We don’t talk about our jobs or why you’re here. Do we have a deal?’

Lexi’s mouth watered at the thought of it. Her last proper meal had been in Hong Kong two days earlier. Although lunch for two in a beautiful restaurant by the ocean could be mighty distracting if it meant sitting across the table from Mark for several hours, sharing delicious food.

‘Lunch in a restaurant?’ She baulked. ‘Do we have the time?’ She thought in panic of the mountain of paperwork they’d just left behind. ‘There’s a lot of work to do here.’

‘Which is why the fresh sea air will do both of us a world of good. I’ve been cooped up inside for the last three days. I need a break and a change of scene.’

‘Why don’t you go on your own?’ She smiled, nodding her head. ‘It’ll take me a few hours to read through these typed pages in detail. I’ll be quite happy with bread and salad.’

‘You can do that later,’ he shot back and looked at her through narrowed eyes. ‘Unless, of course, there’s another reason why you’d prefer not to eat lunch in public with me. Jealous boyfriend? Secret fiancé? Or simply worried about my table manners?’

He tilted his head and the tingles hit her the second those blue eyes twinkled in her direction.

‘Just say the word and I can provide excellent references for both my sobriety and my familiarity with cutlery.’

Lexi rolled her eyes. Mark was clearly determined to avoid what they had left behind in that suitcase of memories, so she relented enough to step back from the balustrade and shake her head.

‘No jealous boyfriends—or girlfriends, for that matter—no secret fiancé, and I’m confident that your table manners will be excellent. Okay, we have a deal.’ Her face softened. ‘However, there is one tiny problem.’

His eyebrows lifted.

‘Oh, yes, I know it’s hard to believe. I hate to admit this, but I didn’t have the heart to move the kittens out of the car last night. Can we walk there? Catch the bus?’

Mark pushed his right hand into his pocket and took a step closer, filling the air between them with a few inches of warm masculine scent. He pulled out a set of keys and swung them into his left hand. ‘No problem. I’m ready to go. How about you?’

‘You mean now? I need a few minutes to get changed and grab a bag,’ Lexi replied and twirled her forefinger towards her head. ‘And do my hair and put some make-up on.’

He looked at her open-mouthed for a few seconds, and then did a complete head-to-toe scan of every item of clothing that she was wearing. And actually smiled as he was doing it.

Lexi crossed her arms and glared at him. She felt as though his X-ray vision actually bored right through her trousers and the off-the-shoulder tunic to the brand-new red-lace lingerie beneath. Her neck was burning with embarrassment, her palms were sweating, and the longer he looked the more heated she became. This was not doing much good for her composure.

‘Oh, I really wouldn’t worry about that,’ he murmured. ‘Especially about your hair.’

‘What’s wrong with my hair?’ Lexi asked, flicking her hair out from inside her collar and away from the back of her neck. ‘Is there a dress code where we’re going?’

A peal of pure exuberant laughter came out of Mark’s mouth and echoed around the garden. The sound was so astonishing, so warm and natural, that Lexi blinked twice to make sure she was looking at the same person. Where had that come from?

And could she please hear it again? Because his whole face had been transformed into a smiling, almost happy version of the usual handsome-but-stern exterior. And her poor foolish heart jumped up and did a merry jig just from looking at him.

She’d thought Mark handsome before, but this was taking it to a new level.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Mark replied, looking rather sheepish at his outburst of jollity. And then he held out his hand towards her, as though he was daring her to come with him.

‘I’m going to need five minutes,’ she said, trying to sound bright and enthusiastic as she slid past him and tried to ignore his hand. ‘Just enough time for you to bring the car around.’

‘You don’t need five minutes,’ he replied with a grin, grabbing her hand and half dragging her off the patio and onto the gravel drive. ‘And who said anything about a car?’

‘Your carriage awaits, madam.’

Lexi stared at the motorcycle, then at the boyish black crash helmet Mark was holding, then back to the motorcycle. She stepped out onto the gravel and walked slowly around the vehicle, examining it from a number of angles.

Mark waited patiently for a few seconds as Lexi stopped and nodded her head several times, before declaring, ‘This is a scooter.’