His Virgin Mistress

She managed a faint smile. ‘Like you care,’ she said drily, and he admired her courage. ‘Did you?’

Demetri shrugged his bare shoulders. ‘Not very,’ he conceded, just as candidly. Then, dragging his eyes back to her face, ‘Where is my father?’

‘Where do you think he is at this hour of the morning?’ she asked, a delicate flush invading her cheeks. ‘He’s still in bed.’ She paused a moment and then added significantly, ‘Asleep.’

Demetri’s mouth compressed. ‘So, what are you doing up so early? Or is this your only chance to escape?’

‘To escape?’ Her blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘To escape from what, Mr Kastro? Your father and I have a perfect understanding.’

‘Do you?’ Demetri was annoyed to find he half believed her. But he couldn’t let her know it. ‘That must be very convenient for both of you.’

‘It is.’ She turned away from him then, bracing her hands on the terrace wall again and gazing purposefully out to sea. ‘Oughtn’t you to go and get some clothes on, Mr Kastro? I shouldn’t like you to catch a chill.’

‘Oh, I am sure you would,’ he corrected her, making no move to go back into the villa. ‘But I would hate to waste this opportunity for us to get to know one another better.’

‘We don’t need to get to know one another better, Mr Kastro,’ she retorted, and although she wasn’t looking at him he could see the tension in the slender cords of her neck.

‘Well, there, you see, you are wrong,’ he argued softly, resisting the temptation to run his finger along the sensitive curve of her nape. He drew a steadying breath. ‘And I think we can dispense with formality, no?’

She licked her lips then, and his stomach twisted with sudden emotion. Theos, he thought, the intensity of his reaction reminding him that he was playing with fire here. Why was he persisting with this? It was his father he should be harassing, not her.

‘What formality are you talking about?’ she asked now, and he had to concentrate hard to remember what he’d said.

‘I—think you should call me Demetri,’ he essayed at last, congratulating himself on his memory. ‘May I call you Joanna?’

Her lips were pressed together when she turned to give him a doubtful look, and Demetri guessed she had expected some kind of accusation. Long lashes, several shades darker than her hair, shaded her expression, however, and instead of feeling any sense of triumph Demetri found himself imagining how they would feel against his lips. He wanted to kiss her, he realised suddenly. He wanted to press that slim luscious body against his own and ease his aching need between her legs…

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Mr Kastro,’ she said, and his arousal abruptly deflated. ‘You don’t like me, so why pretend you want to get to know me?’

Why indeed?

‘Because I do,’ he insisted, deciding that he had nothing more to lose. ‘Why are you so afraid to talk to me?’ His dark brows elevated. ‘I am not so terrifying, am I?’

She turned then, resting her hips on the low wall behind her and folding her arms across her midriff. ‘I am not afraid to talk to you, Mr Kastro,’ she said, and once again he had to admire her spirit. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

Demetri’s hair was dripping onto his neck and he lifted one hand to wipe the moisture from his nape. He refused to accept that it was done to buy himself a little time, but there was no doubt that she had caught him off guard.

‘Entaxi.’ It was an indication of his state of mind that had him lapsing into his own language for the exclamation. ‘All right. Tell me how you met my father?’

There was a perceptible hesitation when that tempting tongue appeared again, and then she seemed to straighten her spine before saying slowly, ‘We met in London.’

Demetri gave her a dry look. ‘Yes. I had gathered that.’ He paused. ‘I asked how you met my father, Mrs Manning. Not where.’

She looked down at her feet then, and Demetri found himself doing the same, watching as she crossed one slim bare foot over the other. Until then he hadn’t realised she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and there was something infinitely sensuous about the way she rubbed the sole of one foot across the arch of the other.

To distract himself, he spoke again, his words a little harsh as he struggled to sustain his composure. ‘Were you his nurse?’

‘His nurse?’ She smiled then, and he was treated to the sight of a row of almost perfect white teeth. ‘Heavens, no!’

‘What, then?’ Demetri was impatient at the way she could apparently best him at every turn. ‘His doctor?’

She shook her head, and her hair dipped confidingly over one shoulder. ‘I am not a member of the medical profession, Mr Kastro.’

Demetri’s nostrils flared. ‘Do not play with me, Mrs Manning. You might just get more than you—what is the expression you use?—bargained for, no?’

Her smile disappeared. ‘I wouldn’t dream of playing with you, Mr Kastro,’ she declared coolly. ‘I just wonder why you are so interested in what I do for a living.’

‘I am not.’ But he was and she knew it, damn her. ‘I am merely curious to know how a man who has spent the last two weeks in hospital could have acquired such a—close relationship with a woman his family knew nothing about.’

She took a deep breath. ‘As you say, your father has been in hospital.’

‘Where I visited him,’ put in Demetri shortly. ‘On more than one occasion. Yet he apparently chose not to mention your existence to me.’

Her slim shoulders lifted. ‘I suppose he preferred to wait until we could be introduced.’

‘You are prevaricating again, Mrs Manning.’ Demetri’s temper was slipping. ‘I suggest that, far from knowing my father for some considerable time, as you told Livvy, yours has been what a kinder person might call a whirlwind romance, no?’

‘No.’ She was angry now. ‘What I told your sister was—is true. I work—I have worked—for Bartholomew’s for several years. They’re—’

‘One of the foremost auction houses in London,’ Demetri inserted tersely. ‘I have heard of Bartholomew’s, Mrs Manning.’

‘Good.’ Her eyes challenged his. ‘As you’re aware, your father is a keen collector of antique snuffboxes. He has been a regular customer there for many years.’

Demetri was stunned. He was ashamed to admit that, because of her beauty, he’d been inclined to dismiss her as an airhead. Now, learning that she had a career far removed from any cosmetic pursuit disturbed him more than he cared to admit. It also made her relationship with his father that much more serious somehow.

‘And now, if you’ll excuse me…’

She was leaving him, and Demetri could no longer think of an excuse to keep her there. But what troubled him most was that he should want to do so, and he abruptly stepped aside, opening her path to the villa.

‘Until later,’ he said, but she didn’t answer him. If he hadn’t known better he’d have said she was trembling with apprehension. Only it wasn’t apprehension, it was rage.

Joanna made it to her apartments before she gave in to the fit of shaking that had threatened her downstairs. Dear Lord, she thought, she would never have ventured outdoors if she’d even suspected she might run into Demetrios Kastro on the patio. A naked Demetrios Kastro, moreover. Her mouth dried again at the thought.

But she’d looked over her balcony and there’d appeared to be no one about. Oh, she’d seen a couple of men working in the gardens, and a youth of perhaps fifteen sweeping the steps. Yet even he had disappeared by the time she’d stepped out of the villa, and she’d walked to the boundary wall with the first feeling of freedom she’d had since coming here.

And the view was so beautiful. Acres of flower-filled gardens falling away into dunes of sun-bleached sand. A wooden jetty pointed into the blue-green waters of the Aegean, a two-masted schooner bobbing at anchor, all gleaming steel and polished teak. A millionaire’s plaything in a million-dollar setting.

Then Demetrios had emerged from the pool and everything had changed. Her sense of wellbeing had vanished, replaced by the tension that man always evoked. She’d known him for less than twenty-four hours, yet he’d already succeeded in setting her nerves on edge whenever he was near. She had the feeling he looked at her and saw right through her. He didn’t like her: that much was obvious. But, more than that, he despised her for what he thought she was doing with his father.

Now Joanna wrapped her arms about herself and crossed the room to the windows. Despite her revulsion for the man, she felt compelled to see if he was still enjoying his swim. She had only interrupted his pleasure. He had destroyed hers.

But the pool was empty. Although she waited half apprehensively to see if he was briefly out of sight, hidden by the lip of the deck, he didn’t appear. The water was as smooth and unbroken as a mirror, reflecting only the sunlight and the waving palms that grew close by.

Stepping back into the room again, she looked bleakly about her. And then, annoyed that she had let Demetrios sour her mood, she walked through the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom.

She felt a little better after a shower. The cool water had washed away the perspiration that had dried on her skin, and she felt more ready to face the day. Constantine had said he would take her to the small town of Agios Antonis this morning, and she was looking forward to seeing a little more of the island. Since their arrival two days ago they had spent all their time at the villa. Constantine had been weary after the flight from London, and yesterday he had had the reception Olivia had organised to contend with. Joanna knew he would have much preferred to stagger the celebrations for his homecoming, but Constantine hadn’t wanted to disappoint his elder daughter. Besides, until his younger daughter’s wedding was over he didn’t intend to discuss his illness with any of his family.

Joanna finished drying her hair and paused on the threshold of the dressing room that was next to the bathroom. Floor-to-ceiling closets lined two of the walls, but the clothes she had brought with her looked lost in their cavernous depths.

Nevertheless, Constantine had insisted on equipping her with several new outfits for the trip to Theapolis. And, although Joanna still felt slightly uncomfortable about that arrangement, she had to admit that the clothes she usually favoured would not have borne comparison with the designer fashions she had seen since their arrival.

The fact that she normally shunned anything that emphasised her femininity had not been lost on Constantine. And, despite the fact that he respected her preference for severe skirt-and trouser-suits, he had persuaded her that they would definitely look out of place in the hot dry climate of the island in late summer.

Besides, they would have detracted from the image he wanted her to present. It was because she could do what he asked that he’d chosen her, and in the circumstances Joanna had been unable to refuse.

Perhaps she’d wanted to do it for her own sake, she reflected, riffling through the rail of expensive garments, all of which were designed to inspire and provoke masculine attention. Flimsy shirts and tight-fitting basques; low-cut bodices and clinging skirts; hems slashed to expose her legs from thigh to hip—items that until two weeks ago she’d have avoided like the plague.

But it hadn’t always been so. Once she would have revelled in their style and beauty. Oh, she had never owned anything too revealing, but she had appreciated her own body and dressed in a way to make the most of her assets. She’d spent so many years believing she was worthless that when the opportunity had come to make the most of her appearance, she’d taken it. She’d wanted to be admired. She’d wanted to know the thrill of feeling beautiful.

And then she’d met Richard Manning…

But she didn’t want to think about Richard now. He was history. He’d hurt and humiliated her for the last time. But perhaps by downplaying her looks she’d been subconsciously denying their relationship. Maybe it was time to come out of her shell.

She viewed her appearance cautiously when she was ready. It would take some time before she was able to look at herself with uncritical eyes, and although the lime-green crêpe shell and cream silk shorts were very flattering, she couldn’t get used to exposing such a length of thigh. Still, she was sure Constantine would approve and, for the present, that was all that mattered.

Which reminded her—where was Constantine? He had said he would order breakfast to be served on the balcony again, as he had done the previous morning, but when she stepped outside again there was still no one about. The wrought-iron table wasn’t even laid, and she knew a moment’s apprehension. What was going on? Surely Demetrios hadn’t delayed him. His son had been eager to speak to him, it was true, but all the same…

Turning back into the room, she crossed to the connecting doors and tapped lightly on the panels. It was the first time she had had to initiate their meeting, and she felt a little awkward when Philip, Constantine’s valet, opened the door.

‘Kalimera, Kiria Manning.’ The man greeted her politely enough, though she sensed a certain reserve in his manner. ‘Boro na sas voithisso?’

Joanna contained her impatience. Constantine had told his valet that she didn’t understand his language, and therefore the man’s behaviour was a deliberate attempt to disconcert her.

However, she had taken the precaution of learning one phrase, and with smiling courtesy she said, ‘Then katalaveno,’ which she knew meant, I don’t understand. ‘Signomi.’ Sorry.

Philip’s thin lips tightened. He was a man in his late fifties, who Constantine had said had been with him for more than thirty years. Gaunt and unsmiling, he was the exact opposite of Joanna’s idea of a genial manservant, his only concession to vanity the luxuriant black moustache that coated his upper lip.

‘Kirie Kastro is not—up, kiria,’ he said at last, in a thick barely comprehensible accent. ‘Then sikothikeh akomi.’

Joanna frowned, looking beyond him into the living area of Constantine’s suite. The door to the bedroom was ajar, but she couldn’t see into the room, and she could only take Philip’s word that Constantine was still in bed.

‘Is he all right?’ she asked, not much caring if the valet cared to stand here trading information with her. ‘Can I see him?’

‘I do not think—’

‘Pios ineh, Philip?’ Who is it?

Constantine’s voice was frail, but he had obviously deduced that the manservant was talking to someone, and, ignoring Philip’s attempt to bar her way, Joanna sidestepped him into the apartment. ‘It’s me, Constantine,’ she called, crossing the floor to the bedroom door. ‘Can I come in?’

‘Please…’

Constantine showed no reservations about inviting her into his room. And why should he? she asked herself drily. When they were deemed to be lovers.

All the same, she halted in the doorway of the huge, distinctly masculine chamber, briefly shocked by his appearance. Constantine was lying propped against the pillows of the massive bed, his face as white as the linen sheets that covered him from chest to foot. Brown hands, slightly gnarled with veins, were a stark contrast to the bedlinen, his nails scraping against the fabric in a mute display of frustration.

‘Come—come in,’ he said weakly, lifting his hand to point at the tapestry-covered chair beside the bed. ‘Do not look like that, aghapitos. I am not dying yet.’

Joanna came swiftly to the bed, but she didn’t sit in the chair he’d indicated. Instead, she edged her hip onto the bed beside him, taking one of his hands between both of hers and gazing down at him with troubled eyes. ‘Don’t even suggest such a thing,’ she reproved him sharply. Then, hesitatingly, ‘Have you sent for a doctor?’

‘What can a doctor do for me?’ Constantine was dismissive. ‘I am already sick of the cocktail of drugs I am forced to swallow every day, without inviting a handful more. No, Joanna, I have not sent for a doctor. A few hours’ rest is all I need. Will you tell Demetri and Olivia that I am being lazy this morning?’

Joanna sighed. ‘Shouldn’t you tell them yourself?’

‘And have them see me like this?’ Constantine moved his head from side to side on the pillows. ‘I know what they are like, Joanna. I would have no choice in the matter. Demetri would have Tsikas here immediately, and it is totally unnecessary.’

‘Tsikas?’ Joanna frowned. ‘I assume he is your doctor.’

‘He is the island doctor, yes,’ agreed Constantine wearily. ‘Look, Joanna, I do not wish to worry anyone. Livvy has enough to worry about, making the final preparations for Alex’s wedding, and Demetri is already working flat out, trying to cope with my work as well as his own. Let him go on thinking that I am waiting for his explanation as to why two of my ships are not making me any money. Do not, I beg of you, put any doubts in their minds.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘I don’t think they’ll like me making your excuses,’ she said unhappily. ‘But I take your point about worrying them unnecessarily. If it is unnecessarily,’ she added doubtfully.

‘It is.’ Constantine was determined. ‘You can tell Demetri I will speak with him this afternoon. I have taken my medication and in a few hours I should be as good as new.’

You wish, thought Joanna uneasily, but she knew better than to argue with him. Despite his physical weakness, Constantine’s will was as strong as ever.

‘All right?’ he prompted when she didn’t say anything, and Joanna gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ she promised, not looking forward to telling either of the Kastro offspring what their father had said. ‘Now, get some rest, hmm?’ She bent to bestow a warm kiss on his dry cheek. ‘I’ll come back at lunchtime to see how you are.’

Constantine nodded. ‘We will have lunch together,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘Oh, Joanna, how I wish I were twenty years younger. I would not be lying here like a beached whale while the woman I admire above all others was spending her time with my son instead of me.’

Joanna smiled, but as she got up from the bed she couldn’t help thinking she’d bitten off more than she could chew by coming here. Yes, she cared about Constantine. Yes, it was easy to spend time with him. But dealing with his immediate family was another thing altogether. She supposed she had been naïve in imagining that they might welcome her into their midst, but she certainly hadn’t expected them to be so openly hostile.

Though hostility was not what she had initially felt when Demetrios had surprised her on the terrace that morning. When he’d wrapped a towel about his nakedness—and she was pretty sure he had been swimming in the nude—and walked towards her, she’d felt a most unhostile surge of emotion. Indeed, for the first time in years she’d been physically aroused by a man’s body. And although she’d later dismissed it as an aberration, now, faced with the prospect of confronting him again, Joanna knew she was apprehensive of the effect he had on her.

Philip was waiting for her outside the bedroom door. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d discovered him with his ear pressed to the panels, but her exit had been sufficiently telegraphed to allow him time to move away.

‘Mr Kastro is going to rest this morning,’ she said coolly, deciding she was going to take no guff from him. ‘I’ll come back at one o’clock. Perhaps you’d ask the housekeeper to serve a light lunch on the balcony.’

Philip gave her a mutinous look. ‘For one, kiria?’

‘No, for two.’

She managed to keep her cool, but Philip wasn’t finished yet. ‘What would you like?’ he asked, probably knowing full well that Joanna wasn’t familiar with Greek food.

But she refused to let him confuse her. ‘I suggest an omelette and some salad,’ she answered sweetly. ‘Mr Kastro is very fond of omelettes, you know?’

‘Veveha, kiria. I know,’ he muttered, as she headed towards her own rooms, and Joanna breathed a sigh of triumph as she closed the connecting doors behind her.

CHAPTER FOUR

DEMETRI was having breakfast on the terrace when Joanna appeared. At this hour of the morning the air outdoors was extremely pleasant, and the view from this elevated position never failed to lift his spirits.

And they’d needed lifting, he conceded grimly, picking at a currant-filled roll between generous gulps of the strong black coffee he favoured. His earlier encounter with his father’s mistress had left him feeling piqued and morose. And provoked; definitely provoked. Though not in any way he wanted to acknowledge.

Now here she was again, slim and alluring in a sleeveless top and clinging silk shorts which had surely not come off the peg in some downtown department store. Her legs were bare and her glorious mane of hair had been secured in one of those loose knots atop her head. Strands of white-gold escaped to caress her cheeks, and although when she saw him she made a half-hearted effort to tuck them back behind her ears, they refused to be tamed.

Oh, she was beautiful, he thought bitterly, forced to push back his chair and get to his feet as she came towards him. But what the hell was she doing with his father? He simply didn’t buy into May and December love affairs. She wanted something from this relationship, and he’d swear on a stack of Bibles that it wasn’t sex.

The morning mail had been spread out on the table in front of him, but he shuffled it together at her approach. He guessed his father wouldn’t be far behind her, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about private business matters with her present.

He was pleased to see that she wasn’t wholly relaxed about meeting him again. He wondered if she’d told Constantine about seeing him earlier that morning. If she had, he could probably look forward to his father’s displeasure as well. Particularly if she’d mentioned that he’d been swimming in the nude.

Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. After all, she hadn’t noticed he was there at all until he’d vaulted out of the pool. Thank heaven for towels, he reflected drily. They could hide a multitude of sins.

‘Mrs Manning,’ he greeted her politely, inclining his head, and she managed a faint smile in return. But she was definitely antsy, and he decided to take pity on her. ‘Are you and my father joining me for breakfast?’

‘No,’ Her denial was swift. But then, as if realising she had been a little hasty, she added, ‘That is, your father won’t be joining us.’

‘Why not?’ Demetri’s eyes moved past her almost accusingly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘He’s—tired, that’s all,’ she told him quietly, apparently not knowing what to do with her hands. She finally folded them together over her midriff, inadvertently drawing his attention to the narrow strip of pale flesh exposed between her top and her shorts. ‘He asked me to tell you he’ll see you later today.’

Demetri’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to being given news about his father from a third party. He’d had to comply while his father was in the hospital, but being given information by a doctor was vastly different from hearing it from her.

‘Are you sure you are telling me everything?’ he asked, regarding her from beneath lowered lids, and he felt rather than saw the quiver of emotion that rippled over her at his question.

But, ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. Then, to his surprise, ‘May I join you?’

Demetri frowned. ‘Please,’ he said without expression, but his thoughts were busy as she hurriedly seated herself in the chair across the table from his own. Was it only his imagination, or was this a deliberate attempt to divert him? He subsided again into his own chair. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘I—no.’ She moistened her lips. ‘But I’m not hungry. Perhaps I could have some coffee—’

She broke off as a white-aproned maid appeared at Demetri’s elbow. The girl—for she was little more—gave her employer’s son a proprietary smile before saying in their own language, ‘Can I get you anything else, kirie?’