Greek Affairs: In His Bed

Milos saw at once that Helen was impressed by her surroundings. The feeling of light and space he’d incorporated into his drawings, and which the architect had followed so meticulously, gave the area a cool airiness that owed nothing to artificial means.

Bypassing the living and dining areas, Milos led the way along a screened hallway, and out onto the veranda at the back of the villa. Here, cushioned chairs were set in the shade of the overhanging balcony, the magnificent view of the ocean beyond an ever-changing backdrop.

He heard Helen draw in a breath when she saw the mosaic-tiled pool that lay below the patio. Curved stone steps led down, either into the pool itself or onto the stone apron that surrounded it. Canopied lounge chairs looked colourful and inviting in the sunlight, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t seen some beauty in the scene.

‘Shall we sit?’ suggested Milos, indicating the chairs in the shade of the veranda, but Helen moved towards the steps leading down to the pool.

Standing with her back to him, she was unaware of how the sunlight limned the rounded curve of her hips and her long legs, even through her dress. But Milos was aware of everything about her, and he pushed his hands into his jeans’ pockets, wondering if she had any idea how tense he was.

‘You have a lovely view,’ she said, glancing back over her shoulder as the errant breeze caught a strand of her hair and blew it across her mouth.

Didn’t he just? thought Milos, but he didn’t say anything. After all, he could hardly tell her what was in his thoughts.

She lifted her hand then to tuck the silky coil behind her ear, the thin fabric of her dress now drawn taut against her breasts. Did she know how provocative it was to lick her lips like that? he wondered. Or was this just a studied attempt to distract him?

‘So,’ she said as he fought the urge to go and make her as aware of him as he was of her, ‘what are we really doing here?’

Milos pulled his hands out of his pockets and thrust them through his hair. ‘I’m sure you know,’ he said, pleased that he sounded almost reasonable. ‘Why don’t you sit with me and we’ll talk?’

‘You talk, Milos. You’re the one with all the questions,’ she retorted swiftly. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll try and answer you.’

But it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was, he acknowledged grimly. His image of her now kept being overlaid with his image of how she’d looked the first time he’d seen her. A tall, slender girl, in the uniform jeans and sweatshirt she’d worn to the sixth-form college she’d been attending, she’d taken his breath away. He remembered his reaction to her then as if it had all happened yesterday and not more than fourteen years ago …

Milos was having afternoon tea in the sitting room with Sheila Campbell when Helen breezed into the house.

‘Hey, who does that swish car belong to?’ she was beginning—meaning the powerful Saab he had hired for the duration of his stay—as she came into the room. Then she came to an abrupt halt when she saw their visitor rising politely from the sofa at her entrance.

It was hard to say who was the most embarrassed at that moment. Sheila—who had admitted him to the house with obvious reluctance once she’d heard of his association with her ex-husband; Helen—because of the brashness of her arrival; or Milos himself—who knew he was here under false pretences and who had never expected Sam Campbell’s daughter would look anything like this.

Because Helen was beautiful, with the kind of untouched English beauty poets wrote about in books. Violet eyes, a faultless complexion, a mouth a man could only think of possessing. In other words, she was gorgeous, the tight faded jeans and navy sweat shirt in no way detracting from her appeal.

Her hair was fairly long, a thick blonde mane that had been streaked even by the weaker English sun. She wore it drawn back in a loose coil at her nape, and Milos guessed it would feel as lush and silky as it looked.

He was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. From the moment her eyes had met his, he’d been aware of the connection between them. He wanted to get to know her; no, he needed to get to know her. It was a long time, if ever, since he’d felt such an instantaneous attraction before.

Her mother spoiled it, of course.

‘This is Mr Stephanides,’ she said stiffly. ‘He works with your father. He’s on holiday at the moment and apparently your father asked him to look us up.’

Milos saw the way Helen’s face froze at the mention of her father. It was as if whatever emotion his name inspired was not for public consumption. ‘My father?’ she said stiffly. ‘You know my father?’ And when Milos inclined his head, she murmured reluctantly, ‘Is he all right?’

‘He’s fine,’ Milos assured her, silently acknowledging what Sam had already told him: that Helen had taken her mother’s side during the divorce. ‘But he sends you his love, naturally. I believe it’s over a year since you’ve seen him.’

‘Almost two,’ Sheila Campbell broke in irritably, not liking being left out. ‘Not that that means anything to him. Helen knows what her father thinks of her. He made that very clear when he left us for that Greek woman. If you’ve come to plead his cause, Mr Stephanides, you’re wasting your time.’

‘I haven’t—that is—’ Milos knew he mustn’t show his hand too soon. Sam had warned him that Sheila would try to block any communication between him and Helen. By taking Sam’s side, he was only going to alienate them both. ‘As I say, I’m on holiday at the moment. As I know—few people in England, Sam gave me your address.’

‘He had no right to,’ said Sheila Campbell at once. ‘I know what his game is. He wants you to go back and tell him that we’re only struggling along without him. What’s the matter? Isn’t his second marriage working either? Well, he needn’t think he can come back here. We’re managing very nicely without him, aren’t we, Helen?’

‘Oh—I—sure.’

Helen looked a little discomforted by her mother’s animosity, but it might be only wishful thinking on his part. ‘Sam’s fine,’ he said anyway. And happy, he could have added, feeling the need to defend the other man. But he held his tongue and turned to Helen. ‘That’s my car out there, actually. I’m glad you think it’s—what was it you said? Swish?’ He smiled, trying to reach her despite her mother’s presence. ‘It’s not mine, I’m afraid. I’ve just hired it from a rental agency.’

Helen gave a careless shrug. ‘I didn’t recognise it, that’s all.’

‘Helen’s not interested in expensive cars,’ Sheila Campbell broke in crisply. Then, looking at her daughter, ‘I expect you’ve got homework to do, Helen. Don’t let us keep you. Helen’s at sixth-form college, Mr Stephanides. She’s hoping to go to university.’

Helen was evidently glad to escape. With a brief word of farewell, she left the room as quickly as she’d entered it. Milos wanted to detain her. He wanted to tell her he’d come to see her, not her mother, but that was impossible at the moment. Apart from anything else, if Sheila Campbell even suspected his motives, she’d probably forbid her daughter from having anything to do with him, and he had no real confidence in his own ability to make Helen listen to what he had to say.

It was two days before he saw her again.

Deciding the Saab was too noticeable, Milos had changed it for a more popular model, realising that if he wanted to get in touch with Helen he would have to do so surreptitiously. Consequently, he’d parked some distance from the house the following morning, hoping he might be able to intercept his quarry on her way to college.

He’d been too late. Although he’d wasted the better part of the morning waiting for her, the only person he’d seen was Mrs Campbell evidently on her way to work. She’d backed an ancient Ford out of the driveway and taken off in the opposite direction, leaving Milos not really knowing if Helen had already left or not.

He’d considered waiting for her after school, but that had presented too many problems. For one thing, he didn’t know where the school was or from what direction she’d approach the house, and for another, her mother would expect her to be home at a certain time. Any deviation from her usual schedule might make her mother suspicious.

Milos took up his position the following morning much earlier than the day before. Hunched over a takeaway coffee, he thought how ludicrous it was that he had to act this way. He hadn’t had time to shave, and he’d had no breakfast. Not exactly the scenario he’d anticipated when he’d agreed to Sam’s request to speak to his daughter.

Once again, the first person to appear was Sheila Campbell. As on the previous morning, she reversed out of her gateway and took off down the street. Milos scowled. Dammit, if Helen was going to school, wouldn’t her mother have given her a lift? He couldn’t have missed her again. It was barely eight o’clock.

He waited until after nine before making any move. When he’d attended university in England, schools had started well before a quarter past nine. She’d either left already without his seeing her, or she was still at home. She could be ill, he supposed doubtfully. He hadn’t thought of that.

Either way, he had nothing to lose by going and knocking at her door. If a neighbour saw him, he or she would probably assume he was a door-to-door salesman. Sheila Campbell was unlikely to hear about it, which was all that mattered to him.

He parked the car across the street, just in case anyone was watching. Then, thrusting open his door, he crossed the road and walked up the path to the white-painted front door.

He rang the bell, as he’d done a couple of days ago, and waited somewhat impatiently to see if anyone was home. He was half inclined to think the house was empty. There was no instantaneous rustle of someone coming to answer the door. But then his eye was caught by the awareness that someone had twitched the curtain of the window to one side of the door aside, and when he turned his head he found Helen staring at him from the other side of the glass.

She looked as shocked as he was, probably more so, and she continued to stare at him until he gestured for her to come and open the door. She hesitated, clearly weighing the odds of what he wanted against what would obviously be her mother’s disapproval, and then drew back from the window out of his sight.

It seemed to take for ever for her to cross what he knew from previous experience was the sitting room and cover the short distance between there and the front door. But finally she opened the door, albeit reluctantly, hanging onto the handle as if she had no intention of letting him inside.

‘Hi.’ Milos managed to eject a cheerful inconsequence into his voice. ‘Remember me?’

Helen’s lips tightened. ‘Of course.’

She was still wearing the faded jeans, this time teamed with a white tee shirt. Milos had to drag his eyes away from the pert nipples clearly etched against the cloth, reminding himself severely of why he was here.

‘You’re not at college today,’ he said inanely, and she cast him a pitying look.

‘Obviously not,’ she said, proving she wasn’t intimidated. ‘What do you want, Mr Stephanides? I’ve got a lot of revision to do.’

‘May I come in?’

That wasn’t what he’d intended to say and he wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. ‘My mother’s not here,’ she said. ‘She works half-days at the supermarket. If you come back about half past two, she should be home by then.’

Milos put out a hand to support himself on the wall beside the door, brows arching when she drew back in alarm. But, ‘It’s you I came to see, Helen,’ he said, ignoring her reaction. ‘Your father wanted me to talk to you. He’d very much like for you to forgive him.’

‘I bet he would.’ Her words echoed her mother’s bitterness, but he sensed there was a reluctance in the sharp denial. ‘My father doesn’t care about me. He only cares about his new wife. He severed any hope of us being a family when he walked out on us.’

Milos sighed. ‘He walked out on your mother; not on you.’

‘And you think that excuses him?’

‘No—’

‘Because I have to tell you, I think what he did was pretty damn rotten.’

‘I agree.’ Milos didn’t know all the ins and outs of the story, but he could see that from this girl’s point of view her father’s behaviour did seem unforgivable. ‘But that doesn’t alter your relationship to him. He’s still your father. He still loves you.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘He does. And, you know, he has tried to get in touch with you, but your mother has blocked him every time.’

Helen pursed her lips. ‘So this is your real agenda, is it? To persuade me that he’s not the villain I imagined him to be?’

Milos hesitated. If he said yes and she threw him out, he’d have lost any advantage he’d gained by coming here. On the other hand, if he said no, what other excuse could he offer for this visit? He was attracted to her, sure, but he couldn’t tell her that. She was far too young for him.

Wasn’t she?

Sighing, he said, ‘I’ve told you, I’m on holiday.’ He was actually on business, but he didn’t think that would win him any favours. ‘Your father suggested looking you up. Where’s the harm in that? I’ve told you, he wants to mend bridges. If that’s impossible, then so be it.’

‘It is.’

She was adamant, her soft cheeks flushed with hectic colour. He found himself wanting to touch her skin, to run his fingertips over her warm flesh. She was so sure, so strong, yet so unconsciously vulnerable, he was entranced by her innocence. She had no idea what she was doing to him as she stood so defiantly in the doorway.

A less—arrogant man, he decided, would back off at this point, but he didn’t. Milos told himself he still believed he could change her mind in time, but that wasn’t the real reason he wanted to see her again. She enchanted him; she intrigued him. He told himself he just wanted to see her smile—at him.

‘Poli kala,’ he said ruefully. ‘I tried.’ He glanced up and down the street as if preparing to leave and then came to what would prove to be a fatal decision. ‘Look, I understand you have work to do right now, but won’t you at least let me buy you a drink this evening?’

‘Milos?’

Helen was speaking to him and he realised that for a few minutes he’d completely lost the plot. The memories of his trip to England were both vivid and painful, and it was hard to separate the present and the past.

CHAPTER NINE

‘ARE you all right?’

Helen had taken a step closer, but when Milos’s eyes focussed on hers she beat a hasty retreat. He realised she had been concerned about him and guessed, for a couple of minutes there, he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.

‘Mia khara. I’m fine,’ he said swiftly, raking back his hair and feeling the dampness on his forehead. Theos, he must not let her get him rattled. His equilibrium was in danger of being shattered, particularly when his eyes were drawn to the dusky hollow between her breasts.

Trying to remember how he’d planned to deal with this, he said tersely, ‘You didn’t contact me again after you left the hotel.’

Helen’s eyes widened and he didn’t blame her. That was not something he’d planned to say. Nevertheless, he resented the fact that those dark-fringed violet eyes looked as innocent as if she had nothing on her conscience. She must suspect what he was thinking, he thought tensely. However she tried to play this, he hadn’t got it wrong.

But, ‘Contact you?’ she echoed, as if the thought had never occurred to her. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

‘It’s what men and women usually do after they’ve been to bed together,’ he snapped irritably, his temper rekindling. ‘Don’t pretend—don’t pretend what happened between us meant nothing to you. Or are you going to try and tell me it wasn’t the first time you’d made love?’

Helen quivered. It was the first indication he’d touched a nerve and he waited expectantly for her response. ‘I’d be foolish to do that,’ she said at last, breathing deeply. ‘But you were married. Did you expect me not to care?’

A pulse began to throb in Milos’s temple. ‘I have told you,’ he said tightly. ‘I was already separated from my wife when I made the trip to England.’ He paused. ‘But that reminds me of something you said earlier: when exactly did you speak to Eleni? I’d be interested to hear.’

Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth and Milos was beginning to wonder if she’d made the whole thing up when she spoke again. ‘She phoned the hotel,’ she said, totally confounding him, and he could only stare at her in disbelief.

‘What hotel?’

‘Well, duh.’ She imitated Melissa’s laconic way of mocking him. ‘How many hotels did you stay at?’

Milos blinked. ‘You mean the hotel where we—’

‘Where you seduced me?’ She flashed him a bitter smile. ‘Yeah, that’d be right.’

‘But how could she?’ Milos couldn’t take it in. ‘She didn’t know where I was staying.’

‘Then someone must have told her,’ said Helen practically. ‘I don’t suppose it was a secret, was it?’

Milos shook his head. ‘When?’ he asked, ignoring her question. ‘When did she phone?’

‘Can’t you guess?’ Helen’s voice was flat now. ‘You may remember, you’d gone into the bathroom to—to get rid of the evidence. She was very surprised when I answered your phone.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘Well, I didn’t expose your dirty little secret,’ said Helen with a grimace. ‘Though I imagine she had her suspicions. Was that why you got a divorce?’

Milos’s lips curled. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you how it was with Eleni and me. There was no love lost on either side.’

‘That wasn’t my impression.’ Helen was sceptical.

‘I don’t care what your impression was,’ he answered, his mind filled with the images of that evening at his hotel. He remembered going into the bathroom, to dispose of what had evidently proved to be a faulty condom. He remembered turning on the shower and sluicing his overheated body with cold water. He even remembered thinking Helen might like to join him. But when he’d come out of the bathroom, she’d gone.

‘So why didn’t you stay and tell me this?’ he demanded now. ‘Why didn’t you ask me about Eleni, instead of running away like a spoilt child?’

‘Because that’s what I was,’ she retorted. ‘A child, anyway. And when she told me that you’d come to England, not for a holiday, as you’d said, but to get me to change my mind about my father, I knew the suspicions Mum had had about your motives were right.’ She blew out a breath. ‘Though why you thought seducing me would make me feel more sympathetic towards Sam, I can’t imagine.’

‘I didn’t seduce you!’ Milos couldn’t prevent an oath. ‘So that’s why you refused to speak to me again.’

‘Among other things.’ Helen sounded weary now. ‘I felt sorry for your wife. She sounded really nice. I remember I made some excuse about us going out for dinner and you forgetting something. I told her you were just in the bathroom, but she didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘I can believe that!’ Milos was furious. ‘That woman had manipulation off to a fine art. She was lying, Helen. If she let you think I’d betrayed her, she was lying. You should have asked her whose bed she was sleeping in that night. I can guarantee it wouldn’t have been her own.’

‘And that excuses what you did?’

‘I never said that.’

‘No, but it did prove that you and my father were one of a kind.’

‘No!’ Milos swore again. ‘Sam knew nothing about it. He still doesn’t. He’d have killed me if he’d suspected what I’d done.’

‘Chalk one up for my father, then.’ Helen was derisive.

Milos sighed. ‘He trusted me and I betrayed him.’

‘And he betrayed my mother,’ she countered. ‘That makes you fairly even in my book.’

Milos lifted his shoulders helplessly. ‘It wasn’t quite the same.’

‘No. Sam got a divorce and married Maya.’

‘I meant, our—relationship; affair; whatever you want to call it—was too short.’

‘And whose fault was that?’

‘Well, it wasn’t mine.’ Milos ignored her attempt to deny his words and hastened on. ‘I tried to see you again, Helen. You know I did. But you hid behind that gorgon of a mother of yours, and I had to get back to Greece.’

‘How convenient!’

‘It wasn’t convenient at all,’ said Milos harshly. ‘I didn’t know Eleni had been filling your head with lies. And I had a job to do, people that depended on me for their livelihood. As far as I was concerned, you’d made it pretty obvious you wanted nothing more to do with me.’

‘Well, it’s too late now.’ Helen caught her tongue between her teeth and gave a little shiver—of what? Remorse? Regret? She moistened her lips. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t tell me the truth at the beginning. It would have saved—’

She broke off abruptly, almost as if she was afraid she’d said too much, and Milos frowned. ‘It would have saved—what?’ he prompted, feeling as if he was on the brink of learning something significant. He took an involuntary step towards her. ‘Helen—’

‘I think this is the coffee you ordered,’ she said quickly, once again taking his thoughts in an entirely different direction. He turned with some impatience to see the housekeeper stepping carefully onto the veranda with a tray.

‘Theos!’ His frustration was almost crippling and he had to force himself not to take his anger out on the old woman. ‘Just put it on the table,’ he ordered shortly, in his own language, and Andrea bowed her greying head in nervous submission.

‘Afto ineh ola, kirieh,’ she asked, giving Helen a hasty once over as she spoke.

Milos tamped down his irritation. ‘Ineh mia khara, efkharisto.’ That’s fine, thanks. His smile reassured her. ‘Tipoteh alo.’

The old woman returned his smile and, with another brief glance at his companion, she left them alone. As Milos had expected, Helen took the interruption as a way of evading continuing their discussion, and, contenting himself with the thought that she couldn’t avoid him for ever, Milos let her get away with it.

She was obviously waiting for him to suggest she take charge of the coffee, and when he didn’t she approached the table herself. It was apparently the lesser of two evils, and, seating herself on one of the wicker chairs, she picked up the pot.

‘Cream and sugar?’ she asked politely, making a mockery of the ceremony, and Milos wanted to haul her up out of the chair and force her to finish what she’d been going to say.

‘As it comes,’ he said stiffly, watching as she poured some of the thick, aromatic beverage into a thin porcelain cup. But he couldn’t help taking pleasure from the fact that her hand shook as she handed it to him.

He noticed that, although she poured herself some coffee, she didn’t drink it. Instead, she took one of the honey-soaked pastries from the plate the housekeeper had provided, breaking the flaky sweet between her fingers, attempting to bring the crumbling morsel to her mouth.

Milos had sworn to himself that she wasn’t going to distract him again, but his stomach lurched as her tongue swept out to rescue an errant crumb from her lower lip. There was something distinctly sensual in the way she was enjoying the pastry, and he set his cup back on the tray with a growing feeling of impotence.

As if sensing his frustrated regard, however, she finished the pastry and got to her feet again. Then, as if indifferent to his presence, she walked past him to the steps above the pool where she had been standing earlier.

‘Did you mean what you said?’ she asked, over her shoulder. ‘About me taking a dip in the pool?’

Milos stifled a groan, and then, his jaw clenching, he said, ‘If that’s what pleases you.’

‘It would please me if you would take me back to your parents’ villa. But as I’m here …’ She turned back to look at the pool again. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t bring my swim-suit.’

‘And that’s a problem?’