One Kiss in... London: A Shameful Consequence / Ruthless Tycoon, Innocent Wife / Falling for her Convenient Husband

‘Did Leo’s crying wake you?’

‘A bit.’

It had.

It had been hell getting to sleep, sensing her in the next room and, like a punishment for the depravity of his own thoughts, every time he finally drifted off to sleep, the baby would wake him, and he would hear the murmur of her voice. He tried not to picture what she was wearing, if anything, tried not to go in there as he heard her settle the babe, tried to ignore the creak of her bed as she climbed back in it.

He had not considered at first that it might be a problem—his mind had been focussed on other things, the news he might have a son, the appalling conditions she was living in, but now they were away from all that, now that she was here in his house, in the next bedroom, suddenly he was remembering all too often, the bliss of their one night.

‘I’m going to work.’

‘Oh.’ She tried to stifle the disappointment in her voice at his abruptness. He didn’t look dressed for work—he hadn’t shaved, he was wearing black jeans and a T-shirt and looked, Connie had thought, rather more casual than usual. There was nothing casual about her thoughts, though. He was sulky and dark and brooding and how she would kill for that smile, or more, for a kiss of those sullen lips.

‘When will you be back?’ And she could have bitten her tongue off, because it sounded as if she was interested, as if it mattered when he returned.

‘Not sure.’

He did not answer to anyone, did not account for his movements—he had built his life around freedom. As he saw the seaplane land by the jetty to collect him he drained his coffee and stood to go then let out a mild curse.

‘What?’

‘I forgot.’

His mind hadn’t particularly been on washing that morning in the shower and he raced in and grabbed the deodorant. He forgot again that life was different when she was near.

He walked out and lifted his shirt to spray the deodorant, a simple movement that millions did each day, but he forgot how aware he was of her and now how aware she was of him. There was the strangest charge to the air as he exposed his stomach, just the flick of her eyes downwards to the olive skin and the black snake of hair, and because he had sprayed one side he had to spray the other, had to pretend he wasn’t hard, had to pretend she had not seen.

Had to walk out without tasting her.

It was a relief that he was gone. The room came back into focus and it looked the same as it had before. There was the kitchen and the coffee pot, too, and there was Leo still in her arms, but how nearly he hadn’t been. How badly she had wanted to put him in his crib and return to the room, to follow on with whatever had been about to take place.

‘So, shoot me.’ She smiled to Leo, who gave her a gummy one back. ‘I fancy your father—it’s hardly the crime of the century.’ She heard the door open, jumped as she turned around, and standing there was Nico, and she knew he couldn’t have heard her, was positive he hadn’t, but she blushed to her roots any way.

‘Actually …’ He did not look at her as he walked to his bedroom, pulled out his case and started to pack some things. ‘Something came up.’ He had decided it at the stone arch, had made his decision and had turned around. ‘I’m going to be away for a few days. There are things I need to attend to on the mainland.’

He did not wait for her response, did not look or say goodbye to Leo. Instead, he walked out of the door, and headed to the jetty, and she would see, because he was quite sure that she was watching, that not once did he turn around—for he dared not to love them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

IT WAS a week of thinking, of lying by the pool and trying to come to a decision as to how she could tell him, and how that moment might present. Every evening she sat doing the jigsaw, her eyes scanning the horizon for a glimpse of his seaplane, but Nico didn’t come home and now Leo was sleeping through, the nights were so long, and she wished, perhaps more than she should, that he would call now and then.

And though he didn’t call, though certainly she missed him, it was also a week of healing, too.

With no Nico around, she was brave enough to pull on the red bikini and the sun felt familiar on her body as she walked outside. The same sun that lit the globe, except here in Xanos it shone as it should. The shadows fell as they always had as she walked across the stone and the sultry, humid scent it delivered to the garden as it warmed it was one she had grown up with. The ocean, too, sounded as it should when she closed her eyes and lay there. She enjoyed chatting with Despina, who desperately missed her niece; and even though they spoke on the phone weekly, it wasn’t the same, Despina said, as having her there.

‘She’ll be back,’ Connie offered, but saw the worry lines in Despina’s kind face deepen.

‘To what?’ She gestured to the opulent view, the hotel and the huge houses. ‘The locals cannot afford to live here—there will be nothing for her to come to soon. And once the houses are torn down …’ she gave a worried shrug ‘ … I won’t be here, either.’

‘Torn down?’

‘That is what Nico said when he hired us. He is having plans drawn up.’ She gave a weary smile. ‘For now we have a job and somewhere to live. Who knows? When it is done, maybe he will keep us on, though we like our little house.’ She smiled properly now when she looked down at Leo, who was lying on a rug in the shade, and then she stood. ‘I’d better get on.’

Bloated when she’d arrived from poor diet and exhaustion, now that Connie slept at night and ate the fruits of Xanos, her body rewarded her with its return. The sun’s rays were not just warming, but shining light on past hurts, till she could see more clearly and, though she would never let herself be treated like that again, she could understand now why Stavros had behaved as he had.

And there was a call to be made.

To the man who would have been her husband. After, she wept in relief that the conversation had been amicable, pleasant even—she had not realised till then that, despite the way he had treated her, she had been scared for him, could see that he had been as trapped as her. But Stavros was happy now, grateful for what had happened even, for he was on the mainland, living the life he had been born to.

A small plane on the horizon had Connie’s heart leap. As it landed by the jetty, she considered putting on her blouse to cover herself, but she needn’t worry as the passenger that stepped out certainly wasn’t Nico.

Blond, stunning, in a black suit and killer stilettos, a mere wisp of a thing tottered along the jetty, pausing every now and then to take photos of the house and then of the ocean. The woman edged her way nearer, till her blonde head disappeared from view and, a moment or two later, Connie heard her clipping in her high heels up the garden.

‘Hi, I’m Charlotte.’ Of course she was, Connie thought with a sinking heart. ‘Nico asked me to get some photos of the hill and the jetty. Gosh …’ she looked down at Leo ‘ … he’s gorgeous.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Aren’t they lovely when they’re that small and can’t answer back at you? It’s a shame it doesn’t last.’

‘Do you have children?’ Connie asked, then wished she hadn’t bothered. That toned, flat stomach and those tiny pert breasts, and the absolutely immaculate hair and make-up dictated the answer.

‘God, no.’ Charlotte let out a laugh. ‘Unless you count Nico—it’s like running around after an angry toddler at the moment. He’s hell bent on getting this next bit of land.’

So he can get busy tearing things down, Connie thought sadly.

‘How is he?’ Charlotte suddenly asked, and, when Connie frowned, she clarified, ‘The baby—is he settling in?’

‘He’s fine.’ She didn’t like sitting here, fat in her red bikini and shiny with oil, as this gorgeous thing stood ice cool in the late afternoon sun. ‘Look, can I get you a drink or anything?’

‘No thanks.’ She gave a cheery smile. ‘There’s plenty on the plane. Nice to meet you.’ She gave a small wave and then clipped off, leaving Connie feeling … She tried to pin it down. Angry wasn’t the word, more … stupid. Stupid to even think that he could ever really want her. Nico wanted freedom, Connie wanted him all. Charlotte was so much more suitable for him, so much more like him.

No wonder he’d lasted barely a week here with her. No doubt he’d fled straight to Charlotte the moment the refugees had been housed. Despina came and took Leo inside, and Connie was still bristling, hating that she wondered when she would see Nico again. She tried hard not to think of him and instead let the sea lull her and the soft sounds of early evening lull her. She could hear Charlotte’s seaplane taking off and its hum in the distance, and closed her eyes, but all she could think of was him.

‘Constantine.’ She jumped as she opened her eyes, flat on her back and wearing so little was so not how she wanted to be seen by him. It had never entered her head that he was here.

‘How come …?’ She wanted to cover herself, but just lay there, looked up at him and couldn’t read the expression on his face. ‘Charlotte didn’t mention you were on your way.’

Charlotte hadn’t known till a couple of moments ago, Nico thought. She’d stepped back on the plane, where he had been waiting, and relayed what he had asked her to check on. ‘He’s fine,’ Charlotte had said, but it simply hadn’t been enough to just hear it. ‘She seems fine’ hadn’t been enough, either. He’d sat on the air-conditioned plane, as Charlotte had taken pictures that weren’t even needed, determined not to go out, except, seeing his home, knowing they were in it, there had been a pull stronger than gravity that had dragged him here. He was resisting it still, even as he stood looking down at her. Never had she looked more beautiful. It was not about weight, or how the bikini set his mind in dangerous directions, but a new confidence in her, the painted nails, the smooth, oiled skin and the luxury of her hair let loose. It looked like a curtain over the lounger and he did not understand why her confidence rattled him so.

‘I’m going inside.’ He walked in and took a long drink of water, resisted going to her bedroom, for he did not want to get involved with the baby and, yes, there was much on his mind.

Work had been busy this week, yet it hadn’t fully occupied him. There had been more fruitless searches in an attempt to sort out the mystery of his life and he had considered staying in Athens, to try and free his head from Constantine and her baby. He had intended to grab freedom while he’d had it, yet there had been a pull to go home and, no matter how he had fought it, no matter how much he had known that they were okay, there had been a need to see them for himself.

He glanced towards the garden and then he saw her climbing off the lounger, and something close to fear clutched him, because the woman who stretched and walked luxuriously towards the house, unaware of male eyes on her, was the woman he had known one day soon she would become.

Constantine had emerged from herself, which meant, as he had promised, soon he must confront her, must find out the truth about Leo. And then what?

They would leave.

Leave because they had to, because this wasn’t his life, this wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t something he could keep.

‘What did you get up to this week?’ he asked as she walked into the kitchen.

‘Slept, sunbaked …’ There was a tinge of guilt in her admission. ‘I’m going to do some gardening next week …’

‘You’re not here to garden.’

‘But I’d enjoy it.’

‘No,’ Nico said. ‘I did not ask what you did and expect a long list to justify your time—I was making conversation. I am glad that you are resting, it is good to see you looking better.’ So very much better, so much, in fact, that it might be prudent if she went and changed, because the flimsy shirt she had put on over her bikini left little to a suddenly active imagination.

‘I rang Stavros.’ He raised his eyes just a little, searched her face for evidence of upset, but she was still calm.

‘How was he?’

‘Well.’ She smiled. ‘And he is happy.’ Nico gave a shrug—he didn’t like Stavros and neither did he like what he had put Constantine through. ‘He has been through some difficult times.’

‘So?’ Nico asked. ‘That does not mean you forgive.’

‘Well, I can. His difficult times have lasted a lot longer than mine—he’s been struggling with this for years. I can see now why he was angry, perhaps mean to me at times …’ Nico looked less than convinced, so she changed the topic to something far lighter, something that still made her smile even now. ‘Actually, I do have some news!’ The sun was coming through the window behind, but it wasn’t as bright as her smile, and it was a Constantine he had never seen, even on their one night together. There was a lightness to her, a calmness, and it reached him, had him smiling back in return. ‘We don’t need a box.’

‘Sorry?’

‘This is your box.’ He had no idea what she talking about. All he could see as she walked over to the table were long brown legs, all he could think of as he walked over to where she stood was the scent of her close up—a feminine scent, a summer scent of oil and woman. She waved at the French windows and he had to force himself to turn his head towards them rather than towards her mouth. ‘It’s the view from here.’

She was right. He looked at the jigsaw and she had been busy. There was the frame of the windows and a dash of red geranium. There was the azure of the pool, the white of the balcony and the red of the flowers. He looked at the jumble of loose pieces, her fingers selecting one and slotting it in as she spoke.

‘Paulo was trimming the bush,’ Constantine explained, ‘and I could see it. Someone has painted the view and then made it into a jigsaw.’

‘Shame,’ Nico said. ‘It would surely be better hung on the wall.’

‘I think it’s fun,’ Constantine said, and that admission surprised even her, for that word hadn’t been in her vocabulary for a very long time. ‘Oh!’ She saw another piece, and her hand moved and collected it. ‘It’s a baby,’ she said, slotting it into its place. He did not care for jigsaws but he was starting to care more for her. He looked at the concentration on her face, the shimmer of her skin, and his next question came from a place he did not know, a place he should not go, but it was a place within that wanted to know.

‘How is Leo?’

‘Wonderful!’ Deliberately she didn’t look up, tried not to seem as if she’d noticed, but her heart tripped faster, for it was the first time he had asked about his baby. Another piece of jigsaw caught her eye and, as nonchalantly as she could, she told him some more. ‘Bathed and fed and fast asleep. I took him in the pool for a little while. Despina said it was too soon, but he laughed and loved it …’

He wished he had seen it.

‘Here’s another one.’ He picked up another piece of the puzzle and slotted it in. ‘Another baby, they must be twins.’ He looked at where she stood, saw her rapid blink and her face redden, and he mistook the reason. He thought she must be suddenly aware of how little she had on, or knew perhaps how much he wanted her.

And he didn’t want to want her.

‘I’m going to get changed.’ His voice was gruffer than intended and Constantine glanced up and frowned.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’

He was far from fine.

Nico was uncomfortable, unsettled, because that walk up the beach, to the stairs, the conversation, for the first time he had felt as if he was coming home—that feeling he had got as he had seen the view of his house had been, Nico now realised, relief.

But it did not soothe him now.

There could be no getting used to it.

He heard a murmur from her room as he walked past, a small wail of distress, and he ignored it. Constantine would get him if he awoke, would soothe him if he cried.

And then it came again and Nico stopped in the hallway.

He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to walk away, yet his feet moved toward her room, to the scent of her, layered with another scent, that sweet, milky, baby scent that was becoming familiar. He had never really looked at the infant, had deliberately tried to separate himself from him.

Because if he was his, what then?

And if he wasn’t?

He moved towards the crib and peered in, with no intention of doing anything, for Nico had never so much as held a baby. But on sight instinctively he knew what was wrong. Leo had lost his thumb. His little hand was caught in the cotton and with heart racing Nico took the baby’s hand and moved it back to his mouth. He smiled at Leo’s relief as he popped his thumb in. His finger pushed up his nose to a snub, his eyelashes so long that they met the curve of his cheek, and Nico’s heart stilled as Leo opened his eyes to his saviour. Huge black eyes stared at Nico, and a smile flitted across the baby’s face. Then, soothed by what he saw, Leo closed his eyes again.

Nico’s heart did beat again but with something that felt like fear, for he recognised him.

Of course he did, Nico told himself, for he was his.

He walked to the bathroom, his breathing hard as if he had been running, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt ill, dizzy, that perhaps he, all six feet two of him, might fall to the floor in a faint.

‘Ridiculous.’

He moved to the sink, ran the taps hard and splashed water on his grey face.

So, the child was his—it could hardly come as a shock. He looked in the mirror to scold himself, to tell himself to pull himself together, but the eyes that looked back, the reflection that stared, only confused him more.

He put his hand to the mirror, and his reflection did the same, which must mean it was him.

He wanted them gone.

He did not love.

And it was love Constantine wanted, not passion or romance or just the house and land and the trappings—it was everything she wanted, and love was the one thing he could not give. This would not last. He lived in the fast lane, he liked his freedom. How soon would he be bored, how soon would she leave?

She would leave. Nico intrinsically knew that, and quite simply he wanted it done. Wanted it over.

He would show her his life, show her firsthand the world he inhabited; he would push her away by her own choice.

Prove how incompatible they were.

She was slicing salad in the kitchen, so confident in her own skin now that she had not gone and dressed. He could see her breasts moving as she sliced, see her brown, sun-kissed stomach, and he could not do this for another night.

He could not let her think this was how he lived. He would show her instead just how impossible they were, push her out of her comfort zone as much as she pushed him out of his.

‘I’m bored eating in.’ He saw her eyes jerk up. ‘We should go out.’ Because that was what he did—he ate out, not home-made salads and jigsaws afterwards, not the walk on the beach she might suggest later tonight.

‘Sure.’ She hesitated for a moment, just surprised, that was all. ‘I’ll get Leo.’

‘Just us.’

She was about to give a smart retort for his abruptness, but conceded she had perhaps misinterpreted his words, and anyway the prospect of a night out was tempting.

‘I’ll see if Despina can babysit.’

When Connie walked over to her house and asked her, Despina said she would be delighted to, of course. Not that Nico seemed particularly pleased by the news when she returned. ‘I’ve rung Charlotte and she’s arranged a table and driver—we leave in half an hour.’

‘Why would we need a driver when you’ve got a car?’ Connie asked, for there there was a sports car in the garage that she’d never seen him take out.

‘I might want a drink.’

‘Then it’s a beautiful evening to walk.’

‘You want to walk to Ravels?’ He looked at where she stood in just a bikini and shirt, and threw her his impossible order, and made sure she understood. ‘It’s quite a distance and I assume you’ll be wearing heels—it’s very smart.’

He wasn’t, Constantine realised, trying to impress her with his choice of venue.

Quite the opposite. Perhaps he was hoping she would change her mind, find an excuse or reason not to go.

Well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, she smiled to him.

‘Then I’d better get ready.’

Why she was putting herself through this? Connie wasn’t sure, except she would not be intimidated by Nico.

From the wrong side of Xanos she may be, and certainly wasn’t the sleek and groomed beauties he was used to dining with, but she refused to sit at home feeling not good enough.

She showered quickly and, realising there was no time to dry her hair as she usually would, she hung her head down and blasted it with a hairdryer. She would decide what to do with it later. She fled to her bedroom, wondering what on earth she should wear, because nothing Despina had brought her would be okay for the restaurant, and she’d worn everything so many times anyway.

It was hopeless. All her own clothes had been stretched out of shape by her pregnancy, except …

Connie pulled her suitcase from under her bed. There, still in the tissue paper, was the dress she should have worn as she was waved off for her honeymoon. Instead, that night had been spent telling Stavros and then her parents that a token wife she could not be.

Unwrapping the tissue paper, all Constantine could really remember of the dress was that it was purple, but as the paper parted she corrected herself. It was a very deep violet and made of the softest virgin cashmere and silk. It had cost a lot more than she had told her parents it had when she had come back from a day shopping with friends in Athens.

Her once guilty purchase was now her saviour, for her spending had been reckless that day, and Constantine blinked as she saw the forgotten underwear she had purchased. After months of being practical, it felt like heaven to pull on the delicate lace panties, and the bliss of a new bra gave Connie a boost in more ways than one.

Please fit.

She pulled the dress over her head and wriggled the soft fabric over curves that hadn’t been there the last time she had tried it on. As it fell over her hips she was almost scared to open her eyes at her own reflection, quite sure it would look terrible now, but as she looked into the mirror, it looked far from terrible. It looked so much better than she recalled—her bust filled out the dress. The bra made her cleavage look endless, and the wrap of the dress hid any last baby bulge.

It was a dress called confidence, and she felt hers return, felt something else, too, a shiver of excitement, an anticipation as to his response.

If he was expecting her to emerge from the bedroom to tell him she had changed her mind, then Nico was in for a shock.

For the first time since that terrible row with her parents, since she had found out she was pregnant and the desperate survival mode she had been plunged into, she opened her make-up bag, took out her hair tongs and plugged them in and then worked on her face. She applied some mineral foundation and rouge, and coaxed a rather dry mascara wand to please give her one last bat of her lashes, and it did. She ran serum through her thick dark hair and, instead of twisting it and putting it up, or tying it back as she always did, she accentuated the curls by twirling them into ringlets. All she needed now was lipstick, her lips smiling as they were reacquainted with the soft, waxy feel. She stepped into heels that had never been worn, and felt as if she was stepping into herself.

‘Despina is here to watch Leo.’ She heard Nico’s sharp summons and looked at her reflection. A devilish smile appeared on her lips.

‘Just coming.’

God, but she’d have killed for some perfume, to waft out of her room in a sultry haze, or for a heavy necklace to accentuate her cleavage, but her only accessory was her smile.

It was a smile that greeted Despina and completely ignored Nico as she stepped into the lounge.