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Talia took several deep breaths of fresh sea air as she followed Angelos and Sofia down the winding path to the sprawling whitewashed villa by the beach. The tension that had been throbbing in her temples since she’d stepped into the helicopter was finally starting to ease.
From the vantage point of the helipad she’d been able to see how small the island was: a large villa with extensive gardens, a staff cottage and a stony, hilly rise to a beach on the other side. Small. But small could be good, she told herself. She didn’t have to feel claustrophobic here. She wasn’t in a closed space, with the open air and sea all around her, and at least she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of strange people.
Still she felt tense. She felt like sprinting back to the safety of her grandfather’s estate, the quiet studio with its views of sea and sky, where she could paint in blissful solitude. Where she didn’t have to come up hard against all her old fears and insecurities.
She took a deep breath and tilted her face to the sun. She could do this. She was doing this. She’d survived a plane trip, a taxi ride through a heaving city, a helicopter ride and near constant interactions with strangers. It was more than she’d had to deal with in seven years, and it had exhausted her, but she’d survived.
‘Are you all right?’ Angelos called, and Talia realised she’d stopped walking, and had dropped behind Angelos and Sofia.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, and hurried down the path to join her employer and his daughter.
As they came into the villa, the rooms airy and spacious and light, a housekeeper bustled up to them, exclaiming in Greek as she kissed Sofia on both cheeks. Then she stopped in front of Talia and, planting her hands on ample hips, gave her a thorough once-over with narrowed eyes. She spoke to Angelos, who answered in Greek. Talia had no idea what they were saying, but she suspected she’d come up wanting in the housekeeper’s well-trained eye.
‘Do I pass?’ she asked Angelos when there was a break in the conversation. She’d meant to sound teasing but it came out anxious instead. Tension knotted her stomach muscles again as she realised afresh how strange this all was. And she really didn’t like strange.
Angelos looked startled, and then his mouth compressed in a way she was already finding familiar. ‘My housekeeper’s opinion is of no concern. I have already hired you.’
‘It’s that bad, huh?’ Talia only half joked. At least this time she sounded light, even if she didn’t feel it. ‘I know my dress is wrinkled, but I have been on a plane.’
He inclined his head towards the stairs. ‘Maria will show you your room. You will have time to refresh yourself and dress appropriately before dinner.’
The man had no sense of humour, Talia decided as she followed Maria up the stairs. No sense of compassion or friendliness or sensitivity. He was a machine. A robot. A drone...
She was so busy thinking she almost slammed into Maria’s substantial form as the housekeeper stopped in the doorway of a bedroom.
‘Your room,’ she said in heavily accented English, and Talia peeked around her to see a gorgeous room decorated in sea-green and cream, the louvered shutters of the windows open to the beach.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said. ‘Efharisto.’ Maria grunted her grudging approval at Talia’s passable Greek, and then with her fingers mimed seven o’clock. ‘Dinner at seven?’ Talia guessed, and as the housekeeper nodded and left she wondered if she could take a crash course in Greek.
She moved to the windows, taking in the spectacular sight. Gardens bursting with bougainvillea and heliotrope ran down a sloping hill to the beach, a stretch of white sand that met up with the blue-green water, just like in Sofia’s picture.
The housekeeper had directed Sofia to the kitchen as soon as they arrived, and judging from the tantalising baking smells coming from that direction, Talia had suspected there was a snack in store. Her own stomach growled at the thought and she checked her watch. Two hours until dinner. Time, hopefully, to make herself presentable, although she had a feeling Angelos Mena would judge her wanting no matter what she wore or how much effort she took with her appearance. But at least he’d hired her.
Still Talia relished a soak in the huge marble tub, washing away the grime of nearly twenty-four hours of travel and reviving her tired spirits. She unpacked her single suitcase, realising belatedly that she had not brought nearly enough for six weeks. In fact, she’d packed nothing but serviceable T-shirts and shorts, a single fleece and a pair of jeans, and the crumpled sundress she’d worn on the plane.
Biting her lip, Talia acknowledged she had nothing remotely appropriate to wear for dinner that night. In her normal life she never needed to dress to impress, and her career as an artist meant work wear was usually paint-splattered jeans and old T-shirts. She hadn’t even considered bringing something businesslike to wear for her meeting with Angelos Mena; in truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond surviving the journey. She hadn’t had the heart or head space for more.
Sighing, she wondered if she had time to wash her sundress and let it dry in the sea breeze.
She discovered that she almost had time, when she headed out of her bedroom at five to seven, the dress clean and far less wrinkled, but slightly damp across the shoulders. Hopefully Angelos wouldn’t notice.
The villa was quiet as Talia came down the stairs, the rooms darkened and empty. She peeked into an enormous living room scattered with linen sofas in natural shades, and then a masculine-looking study with a huge mahogany desk and book-lined walls. Finally she found the dining room towards the back of the house; Angelos was already standing in the room, gazing up at a large portrait of a woman hanging on the far wall.
He turned as Talia tiptoed in, his face snapping into its usual frown. ‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry. I was looking for the dining room.’
His frown deepened as he took in her outfit. ‘You have not changed.’
‘Actually, I have. I washed my dress and put it back on.’ For some reason that made her blush, and to cover it she did a ridiculous little twirl. ‘Can’t you tell?’ She stopped, her dress swishing around her legs, and saw that Angelos’s frown had morphed into a positive scowl, grooves visible from nose to mouth, eyes dangerously narrowed.
Even scowling, the man was devastatingly attractive. He’d changed his grey business suit for a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. The clothes were basic and should have been boring, but on his powerful frame the white cotton drew Talia’s attention to his broad shoulders, the dark trousers to his trim hips and powerful thighs.
Appalled by her perusal, she yanked her gaze away from his muscular form. She’d been looking at his thighs, for heaven’s sake. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her moment of shameless goggling.
Now she saw the plush velvet chairs and huge polished table set for two. ‘Is Sofia not joining us?’
‘You washed your dress?’ Angelos sounded incredulous and Talia lifted her chin.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I’d be required to wear an evening gown.’ She walked to the place setting at one end of the table, resting her hand on the back of the chair. ‘Where’s Sofia?’
‘She’s eating with Maria.’
‘Is that what usually happens?’ Talia watched as Angelos walked around the table to pull out her chair.
‘In future, you may dine with her if you wish, but tonight I wanted to speak to you alone.’
‘Oh.’ Since he was holding out her chair Talia sat down. She breathed in the woodsy scent of his aftershave as he pushed her chair in; his face was close to hers, close enough to make goose bumps rise on her arms, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. She wondered what his jaw would feel like, if his clean-shaven face would be smooth, or possess a hint of roughness. Like the man himself, urbanity not quite cloaking a cold, ruthless interior.
Angelos walked smoothly around the table and sat down at the opposite end, placing his napkin in his lap with a brisk flourish. Talia did the same. Although she lived in a house that more than rivalled Angelos Mena’s in terms of space and sheer luxury, she still felt awed by his home and his presence. Back on Giovanni’s estate, she took most meals in the kitchen or in her studio while she was working. When she ate with Giovanni, they had a quiet meal listening to the radio or watching TV. She hadn’t been to a dinner party since...well, she couldn’t even remember since when. A Christmas or Thanksgiving meal with her brothers and sisters hadn’t felt as ornate or intimidating as a meal alone with this man.
Maria came in with the first course, a salad of plump tomatoes and slices of cucumber sprinkled with feta cheese. ‘This is very civilised,’ Talia said when the housekeeper had left. ‘Thank you.’
‘May I never be accused of being uncivilised,’ Angelos responded dryly.
Talia watched him covertly as she ate her salad, wondering at this man who, if her research was correct, possessed a priceless volume of poetry and had bid on a second by the same anonymous poet. That was how she’d tracked him down; she’d found an obscure website with a message board where people could post the rare books they were looking for. She’d stumbled across a message posted by an agent acting on Angelos’s behalf, or at least on the behalf of Mena Consultancy. She just hoped it meant that Angelos actually had the book.
What if after everything she’d endured and agreed to, this was nothing more than a wild goose chase?
‘So do you and Sofia live on Kallos all year long?’ she asked.
‘Sofia does. I travel for work. In fact, I have to leave tomorrow.’
So he wouldn’t be here for the six weeks of her stay? Talia felt a wave of relief at the thought, as well as a twinge of disappointment for Sofia. No matter how stern or autocratic Angelos seemed, it couldn’t be good for him to be away from his daughter so much.
‘Isn’t it rather lonely here for a girl her age?’ she asked.
‘Sofia prefers it. She has a tutor who comes in by boat for her lessons, and Maria and the other staff for company. And, of course, now you.’
‘Has she had other nannies?’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid none of them have lasted very long.’ Angelos’s voice was clipped, his gaze shuttered. ‘I hope this next one will be a better fit.’
‘Why haven’t they lasted very long?’ Talia asked, curious. Sofia didn’t seem like a difficult child, and the setting was practically paradise. Surely it was a dream job for anyone looking for a position in child care.
Angelos shrugged. ‘They did not find the situation to their liking. But you are asking all the questions, Miss Di Sione, and I invited you to dinner so I could ask the questions.’
‘And here I thought we were just having a conversation,’ Talia answered lightly, but Angelos did not give so much as a flicker of a smile. She speared a cucumber. ‘Ask away, then,’ she said with an insouciance she didn’t remotely feel. She didn’t want Angelos Mena asking her probing questions, at least not yet. She had no idea how to answer anything. She hated the thought of lying, but total honesty felt impossible at this point. ‘But first,’ she added, ‘I must ask one last thing, and that is that you call me Talia.’
She popped the cucumber in her mouth only to have it stick in her throat as Angelos answered, an edge to his smooth voice, ‘Very well, Talia. I want to ask you just why you came to Athens, and more to the point, to my office, since it obviously wasn’t to seek a position as nanny.’
CHAPTER FOUR
WITH THE CUCUMBER stuck in her throat, Talia erupted into an inelegant fit of coughing. Angelos poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table, watching unsympathetically all the while.
Talia took a few sips, thankful that she’d managed at least to stop coughing. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said on a gasp.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Angelos’s gaze was narrowed, his lips compressed, his arms folded. He wasn’t exuding warm fuzzies—that was for sure.
Talia took another forkful of salad in order to give her time to think of a reply. How much to admit? She felt instinctively that if she were to talk about her true reason for coming to Greece now, Angelos would have her back on that helicopter so quick her head would be spinning as fast as the propeller blades.
And the truth was, she didn’t want to leave. Not just because she needed to find her grandfather’s book, but for Sofia’s sake as well. Already she was forming a picture of what the little girl’s life here on Kallos had to be like, lonely and isolated, with only a few elderly staff for company.
Kind of like yours, then.
The realisation gave her an uncomfortable jolt. She didn’t think of herself as either lonely or isolated, not with her work for stimulation and her grandfather for company. Perhaps Sofia was happy here, just as she was happy on her grandfather’s estate. Maybe she wasn’t as needed as she’d felt she was...which still left her with no idea how to answer Angelos’s question.
‘Talia? I am waiting.’
Talia jerked her unfocused gaze back to Angelos. He’d laid down his fork and put his hands flat on the table, his dark gaze fastened on hers, hard and unyielding. The man looked seriously annoyed, but even with the irritation flashing in his whisky-brown eyes Talia couldn’t keep from noticing the lean planes of his cheek and jaw, the warm olive tone of his skin. If he’d just smile a bit more, she might start seriously crushing on him.
But considering their situation, it was probably better that he didn’t smile.
‘You’re right that I wasn’t looking to be a nanny,’ Talia said finally, choosing her words with care. ‘I came to Athens for a...a different reason. But when you assumed I was there for the nanny position, it seemed...fortuitous that I apply. And accept.’ That much was true at least.
‘Fortuitous,’ Angelos repeated flatly. ‘How so?’
‘I like Sofia, Mr—Kyrie Mena. She seems a very kind girl. I want to help her, or at least be her friend.’
‘And yet with, by your own admission, absolutely no child-care experience, you think you have the ability, even the expertise, to help her?’
Talia blinked at his scathing tone. ‘I may not have child-care experience, but I know what it is like to be a child—’
‘As does every person on this planet.’
‘I know what it’s like to be lonely,’ she burst out, and then wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t lonely. She’d always told Giovanni she wasn’t, and she’d believed herself. She had.
‘My daughter is not lonely,’ Angelos informed her shortly. ‘She has everything she needs here on Kallos.’
‘Everything?’ Exasperated, Talia shook her head. ‘Then why did you hire me?’
‘I’m asking myself that question as well,’ he retorted. He sat back, taking a measured breath. Talia could feel the crackle of tension in the air. ‘The truth is,’ he continued, ‘I was running out of both time and options. And,’ he conceded grudgingly, ‘Sofia seems to have formed some kind of attachment to you. But I must confess, in our short acquaintance, you have not recommended yourself to me, Miss Di Sione.’
‘Talia.’
‘Talia. You have in fact seemed extraordinarily short-sighted and, dare I say it, flighty—’
‘I think you just dared,’ Talia snapped before she could think better of it. She felt annoyed and bizarrely hurt by his quick and brutal judgement. What did Angelos Mena know about her, really? Only that she hadn’t packed very much and she didn’t do well in helicopters. And for that he felt capable of dismissing her as a person?
‘You disagree with me?’ he enquired, and she let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. No doubt Angelos Mena expected her to bow and scrape and apologise—and for what? Coming over a little dizzy?
‘Of course I do. You don’t know me, Kyrie Mena. You didn’t know I existed until a couple of hours ago. How can you say I’m anything when you’ve barely met me?’
‘I am basing my opinions on what I’ve seen so far. I’m a consultant, Miss—’
‘Talia.’
‘Talia.’ He expelled her name on a hiss of breath. ‘It’s my job to come into a situation and assess it swiftly.’
‘Too swiftly, maybe. What are you basing your judgement on? That I didn’t pack more than one dress or that I was a little nervous in your helicopter?’ She raised her eyebrows in challenge, half amazed at her own daring. She didn’t normally pick a fight, but then she didn’t normally need to. She’d cocooned herself in safety and isolation instead. It felt kind of good to come out swinging. Strangely empowering. She’d much rather stand tall than shrink back. ‘Well?’ she challenged when he didn’t answer. ‘Which is it?’
Angelos leaned back in his chair. ‘I take your point,’ he said after a pause. His face was expressionless, his gaze implacable. Of course it would be too much to expect to see a glimmer of apology in those darkly glowing eyes. ‘But surely you can understand my concern,’ he continued. ‘I am entrusting my daughter, my only child, to your care.’
‘Of course I can understand your concern.’ Talia sighed, the fight going out of her. ‘If I had a daughter, I’d feel the same.’ Angelos had hired her without knowing anything about her. He had the right to ask some questions, to be a bit sceptical. And she was hiding something, just as he suspected. Perhaps if she admitted her interest in the book...but no. She needed him to get to know her first. ‘If you’d like to know more about me,’ she said, trying to smile, ‘then all you have to do is ask.’
He studied her for a moment, his gaze assessing and speculative. Talia suppressed the urge to squirm or fidget under his unnervingly direct and unblinking stare. ‘You’re American,’ he said at last, and she gave a shaky breath of relief at the innocuousness of that statement.
‘Yes.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Outside New York City.’
He nodded slowly. ‘You must be in your mid-twenties. You had a job before this?’
‘Yes, and I still have it. I’m an artist.’
‘An artist,’ he repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed. He spoke as if she dabbled in finger paints in her free time.
‘A portrait artist,’ Talia clarified. ‘I work on commissions.’
‘I see.’
What he saw, Talia suspected, was that she was an unemployed airhead who traipsed around the world, being short-sighted and flighty. It was foolish of her to be so rankled, so hurt, by his assessment, and yet she was. No one had ever sized her up and dismissed her so thoroughly before. She’d worked hard for her reputation as a reclusive but talented artist. She hated the thought that Angelos was judging her, and so harshly at that.
‘You said you wished to help my daughter,’ Angelos said after a pause. Again with that direct stare, and Talia forced herself not to look away, to find some way to hide from Angelos Mena’s searching gaze and questions. Being the focus of his full attention felt like standing on a beach, watching as a tidal wave gained in towering power, readying to crash down on you. ‘How do you think you could help her?’ he pressed.
‘By being her friend,’ Talia answered.
His gaze blazed into hers. ‘I am not paying you to be her friend.’
‘Very well,’ Talia answered, trying not to quake under that unyielding stare, ‘perhaps you should tell me what you’re paying me for exactly. You haven’t actually told me what my duties are.’ Angelos had the grace to look slightly discomfited, his gaze thankfully flicking away from hers for a second, giving Talia the courage to add, ‘Not to mention an actual job contract or reference check or any of the usual protocols. I mean,’ she continued as she shrugged expansively, ‘if you want to talk about being short-sighted or, I don’t know, flighty.’
Angelos turned back to her, his lips tightening, his nostrils flared with annoyance, and Talia wondered if she’d gone too far. She didn’t actually want to be fired. She certainly didn’t want to get in that helicopter again anytime soon. But she hadn’t been able to resist pushing back just a little. If Angelos Mena was a different kind of man, he might have even smiled at her pointed joke.
For one tantalising second she imagined that granite gaze softening, those sensual lips curving into an answering smile, that hard body relaxing towards her, and she felt a weird leaping sensation in her middle. She pressed one hand to her stomach to soothe those sudden butterflies. Better for him not to tease. He was so much easier to resist that way.
‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am happy to give you the details now. You are to be a companion to my daughter and provide her with stimulating conversation and activities when she is not at her lessons.’
‘And when is she at her lessons?’
‘Her tutor comes to the island every weekday morning, for a few hours until lunchtime.’
‘Could she not go to a school near here?’ Talia asked. ‘On Naxos, maybe? To be with other children?’
‘She prefers to be on the island.’ Angelos’s tone was final, and despite the iron warning she heard in his voice not to ask any more questions, Talia continued.
‘Is that because of her scarring?’ she asked quietly, and Angelos stilled.
‘What about her scarring?’
‘I noticed she seemed self-conscious about it,’ she explained carefully. ‘And it’s hard for any child to feel different.’
Angelos hesitated, and in the ensuing silence Maria came in to clear the plates. Talia thanked her in clumsy Greek and the woman brusquely nodded her acceptance before turning away. Talia wondered if the housekeeper would ever thaw towards her. She’d seemed suspicious and unimpressed from the moment Talia had stepped into the villa. Someone else who’d judged her and found her wanting.
‘Sofia suffered burns in a fire when she was a baby,’ Angelos said abruptly. Talia opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off before she could frame a syllable. ‘It is a very painful memory for her. We do not discuss it. Ever.’ He held her gaze for one long, taut moment, and Talia’s mouth dried at the implacable look in his eyes. Message received.
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