The Santorini Bride

Anne McAllister

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

ONE MORE hill.

Looking up the stone steps that twisted up from the dock, Martha could see the house at last. Thank God.

When she’d got off the launch in Santorini she’d thought, “I’m home.” But she’d forgotten the climb and she hadn’t told Ariela, the local lady who took care of the house, that she was coming. So no one knew to meet her.

No matter. She’d been determined to get here on her own, to be here on her own. The climb was just the last part of it. Still, she was exhausted and sweating, and her duffel bag, packed for a move back to New York, not a spur-of-the-moment desperate flight to Greece, felt like lead as she dragged it behind her.

She looked up again. In the shimmering summer heat the walls of the two-story, white-stuccoed building seemed almost like a mirage, a dream. Martha had been running on adrenaline so long that it could well have been a hallucination, if she didn’t know she was down to her last dollar, having spent nearly every cent in her savings account to get her plane ticket from JFK yesterday afternoon.

Was it only yesterday?

It seemed like another lifetime since she had blithely and eagerly bounded up the stairs to her boyfriend, Julian’s, loft apartment in Tribeca, already anticipating his killer grin, his open arms that would grab her and swing her around in joy when she announced she was back for good, that she had finally finished the mural in Charleston that had taken her out of New York for the past month, and that while she was gone she’d made a decision—she was ready at last to share his bed.

She had opened the door, calling his name. Then, hearing the sound of the shower, she had thrown caution to the wind. What better way to prove to him that she was ready for the intimacy he’d demanded—

And so she’d kicked off her sandals, stripped off her shirt and was shimmying out of her skirt as she’d opened the bathroom door.

And discovered Julian wasn’t alone.

Through the steamed glass she could see two bodies beneath the spray—Julian, his blond hair plastered flat, and some curvaceous brunette with an all-over tan. Their bodies bare, their limbs entwined.

Martha had stopped dead, gut-punched, rooted to the spot as she gazed unblinkingly at the sight of her fantasies, her dreams and hopes crashing to bits.

And then the cool blast of air she’d brought in when she’d opened the door caused Julian to look up. He wiped a hand over the glass, clearing it briefly to stare straight at her stunned face.

His mouth opened and an expletive formed on his lips. Martha’s own mouth was as frozen as her feet as she watched the woman rub against him unaware. Julian shut his eyes for a moment, then opened them and met her gaze again. This time there was less shock and more defiance.

And thank God, Martha found that her feet would move.

She spun away, snatching up her shirt to cover her own bareness, her foolish vulnerability. She yanked it on, face burning, heart slamming—but nowhere near as hard as she slammed the door on her way out.

She’d run down the stairs, her duffel bag banging along behind her, desperate to get away into the street where crowds of people passed, unconcerned, unaware of her humiliation, of her world spinning out of control. Nothing had changed for them.

But for Martha the world had just gone upside down.

She had spent the month she was in Charleston thinking about Julian, about their relationship, about whether he was “the one.” She’d taken things slow, unwilling to just jump into bed with him because he was gorgeous and charming and sexy and wanted to go to bed with her.

She’d seen her sister, Cristina, do far too much of that. Martha had always been determined she was going to be “sure” before she ever became intimate with a man.

Fat lot of good it had done her. She’d finally been sure and Julian had found someone else!

She couldn’t stay with him, obviously. In fact she couldn’t even bring herself to stay in New York. It might have ten million people in it, but it wasn’t big enough for both of them. She had to get out.

There were any number of places she could have gone—to her parents’ house on Long Island, to her brother Elias in Brooklyn, to her brother Peter in Hawaii, even to Cristina—though God knew she would never do that. The only person in her family she couldn’t run to was her twin brother, Lukas, because Lukas was always wandering around somewhere—New Zealand this time, she thought, but who knew, really. Everyone else would have taken her in. And Peter and Elias at least wouldn’t even have asked a million nosy questions.

But she couldn’t do it.

She didn’t want to see any of them, didn’t want to witness their sympathy or even their silent commiseration. She just wanted to get away.

And so she’d come to Santorini.

It wasn’t running away from home.

Her parents had been born here. So had her grandparents. And even though all of her own family—and most of the extended family—were long gone to seek their fortunes in the far corners of the world, they all held Santorini in their hearts. The ancestral house was still here.

In the most fundamental sense of the word, Santorini was home.

Some of her earliest and definitely best memories were of times spent in their house high on a Santorini hillside overlooking the deep Aegean sea. Her parents had moved them from the city to Long Island and back half a dozen times while Martha had been growing up.

No place had ever become the home Santorini was.

She loved it. The minute she’d stepped onto the hot pavement and looked up at the rows of whitewashed houses climbing the hills, she’d known things would get better.

She could breathe here. She could be herself here. She could start again.

She hadn’t been here since she’d come with her parents for a week in January. Then the weather had been almost cool. Now in midsummer it was blazing hot, and Martha was sweating and exhausted as she set her shoulders, then grabbed the handle of her duffel and began to haul it again up the narrow winding street.

The house would be empty. The refrigerator would be shut off and the cupboards bare. She would have to do the shopping and the cooking, but she didn’t care. It would be good to do everything herself. Keeping busy would be a good thing. Immersing herself in the life of the island would distract her and, she hoped, help her get her bearings, look to the future, make new plans.

She certainly had no intention of going on with the old ones—even if Julian had rung her cell phone while she was en route to the airport.

“It’s not as if Andrea means anything to me,” he’d said, sounding wounded, as if Martha was just supposed to accept him making love to another woman.

“Right. No big deal,” she’d said acidly. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear that.”

“Well, what do you expect?” Julian had demanded, trading wholly inappropriate hurt for even less warranted indignation. “You never gave me any, did you?”

It didn’t seem the time to say she had come intending to do just that.

“Smart of me, I’d say,” she bit out.

“You’re a cold fish, Martha. If you’d ever shown a little passion—”

“You want passion? I’ll give you passion!” And Martha had flung the cell phone out the open taxicab window into the road where it had been instantly squashed by an eighteen-wheel semi. She only wished it had been Julian, not the phone, who’d been flattened.

Now she allowed herself a moment’s remembrance of the single satisfying sight she’d had yesterday afternoon. Then she made her way up the last few steps to the gate that led into the walled garden and the last flight up to the house. Sweat was streaming down her back and between her breasts, and her long curly black hair, which she had scraped back into a ponytail the minute she’d got off the plane, was coming loose. Tendrils straggled around her face.

She needed a cold drink, then a cold shower and a nap, in that order. Provided she could stay awake that long.

She opened the gate and let herself in. A trellis overhung with bougainvilleas in bright reds and purples gave her the first shade she’d had since she began the climb. Martha shut the gate, then leaned against the wall and just let the silence and the blessed coolness of the wall and the shade envelope her. For the first time since she’d opened the door to Julian’s bathroom, the desperate urgency to escape faded a bit. She breathed deeper. The stillness seemed to surround her.

Her breathing slowed and steadied. She ran her hand over the rough white stone wall. It felt solid, dependable, strong. And welcoming.

She remembered racing down these same steps as a little girl, running her fingers along the wall, thinking that her father had done that as a boy, and that his father had done the same. She smiled faintly and turned to press her cheek against the cool whitewashed wall, finding comfort in the notion that generations of Antonideses had done that, too.

Others had hurt. Others had survived. She would, too. Settled, comforted, determined, she squared her shoulders, grabbed her duffel and with renewed energy, hauled it up the winding stairs.

Thirty-two steps later she reached the top and fished out her house key. Her father had given each of them a key to the house when they reached the age of twenty-one.

Martha sent a brief silent thank-you to her father now as she turned the key in the lock and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The terrazzo-floored entryway was cool and breezy.

Breezy? Martha frowned, surprised to notice that the front windows were open, the light gauzy curtains rustling in the air. Had someone figured out she was coming?

Had Julian called her parents’ house looking for her? Oh, please no! She pressed a hand to her cheek in dismay.

But then she noticed the pair of sandals—men’s sandals—beside the door. Her heart leapt with joy. “Lukas?”

It had to be. Elias never left Brooklyn. “Someone has to work,” he would say dampeningly whenever the word vacation came up. And Peter, as far as Martha knew, had scarcely ever left Hawaii since he’d moved there to go to college. So that left Lukas—her twin.

If she could bear to see anyone right now, it would be Lukas.

He had always been her soul mate. He would understand and sympathize, and spending time with Lukas would keep her from believing that all men were as horrible as Julian Reeves.

“Luke?” Eagerly Martha kicked off her own shoes and started toward the kitchen when she heard the sound of footsteps coming down from the bedrooms upstairs. She turned expectantly.

A lean dark pirate of a man, with tousled jet-black hair and a sharp, narrow nose, was coming down the steps.

He had high, chiseled cheekbones and a hard, jutting chin. He was handsome, she supposed, in a rough-hewn way. If Julian was classically handsome the way a glossy highly polished marble statue was handsome, this man looked like rough-cut granite.

She supposed he must be one of Elias’s friends. He was, from the looks of him, in his thirties, about her oldest brother’s age. Had Elias given him the key and told him to make himself at home? It seemed more like the sort of thing her charming feckless father would have done than hard-nosed, hardworking Elias. She wasn’t sure he had any friends, anyway.

But this man didn’t look like the sort who would have had the patience to deal with her father. Aeolus Antonides loved golf courses and yachts and three-martini lunches—the finer side of civilization, he’d have said.

Civilized wasn’t a word that Martha would have used to describe the man who had stopped at the bottom of the stairs and was staring at her with what could only be described as profound dislike.

Well, she wasn’t exactly enthralled to see him, either.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded, then startled her further by jerking his head toward the door. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. Just leave.”

Leave? She was supposed to leave?

“Now wait just a minute, buddy,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height and glaring at him. At least he spoke English. In fact he sounded as American as she did. So he must be a friend of Elias’s. And therefore, irritating as he was, she would deal with him. “I’m not the one who’s going anywhere!”

He was the one who was intruding. This was her house, not his. He had no right to stand there, hands on hips, scowling at her as if she were the intruder. And she was damned if she was going to let him keep her from her home and her cool drink and her nap.

“Excuse me.” She started to step around him to go toward the kitchen.

He barred her way. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I want to get a drink,” she said. “I’m perishing. Now move.”

He didn’t.

“Look,” she said. “Who are you? Did Elias give you a key?”

His brows drew down. “Elias? Who’s that?”

So obviously he wasn’t Elias’s friend then. “My brother.”

The man shook his head, causing shaggy black hair to fall across his darkly tanned forehead. “Never heard of him. How’d you get in?” he asked suspiciously.

“How did I get in?” It was Martha’s turn to stare. She nudged the duffel bag with her toe. “With my key. I live here.”

“The hell you do!”

“Well, not always,” Martha admitted. “But I could if I wanted to. My name is Martha Antonides. My family owns this house.”

His expression cleared as if by magic. “Not anymore,” he said cheerfully. “I do.”

“What?” Surely she hadn’t heard him right. Did she have heat stroke? God knew it was hot enough, and she was exhausted enough, and what she’d just heard didn’t make a lick of sense. “What are you talking about? What do you mean, not anymore? Who the hell are you?”

“Theo Savas.”

As if that was supposed to mean something. She just looked at him blankly. “So?”

“So, this is my house now. I own it.”

“No,” Martha said firmly, as confident about that as she was about the world being round. “I’m sorry. You don’t. I don’t know what house you think you own, but it’s not this one. This is our house. It has been for generations.”

“Was,” Theo Savas said easily. “Past tense. As in ‘used to be.’ Sorry,” he added, though he didn’t sound sorry in the least. He sounded as smug and righteous as Julian had when he’d informed her that it was her fault he’d been showering with another woman!

“Prove it,” Martha snapped.

“Whatever you want.” Theo Savas gave a light shrug, then turned and stalked into the room that her father called his office—not that he had ever done a lick of work there. Now she watched as he opened a drawer of her father’s desk and plucked out a piece of paper from a folder.

He came back to thrust it into her hands, then stepped back, waiting and watching as she read it. It was an agreement between her father and someone named Socrates Savas.

“My father,” Theo Savas said before she could ask.

Irritated, Martha pressed her lips together and read on. It was the silliest thing she’d ever seen.

“This is about a golf game!” she protested. Something about the winner of the golf game getting to name the president of Antonides Marine International, the company that her great-grandfather had begun, the one her grandfather had developed, the one her father had almost run into the ground, the one that her brother Elias had saved from bankruptcy.

“Keep reading,” Theo Savas advised.

“What’s your father got to do with our company?” she demanded, still reading, the words on the page swirling before her eyes.

“Your father sold him forty percent of it.”

Martha’s head jerked up. She opened her mouth to deny it, to insist that her father would do no such thing!

But the unfortunate truth was, her father might have.

In some horrible misguided effort to help Elias and to prove to his son that he wasn’t a complete disaster as a businessman, Aeolus Antonides might actually have done something as idiotic as that.

Now Martha’s jaw clenched and her fingers tightened on the paper so tightly that they were trembling.

“He lost the golf game,” she said through her teeth. It wasn’t a question. It was right there in black and white.

Theo Savas merely inclined his head. And waited.

Martha, feeling a muscle in her temple tick with tension, turned her attention back to the paper in her hand. The second part of the document was even odder. As if the golf game weren’t enough, this part had to do with a sailboat race—her father’s beloved Argo against Socrates Savas’s Penelope—and stipulated that the winner of said race got possession of the other’s island home.

“I won,” her dark-haired nemesis said unnecessarily.

Martha couldn’t breathe. She stood there, stunned and disbelieving. How could her father have bet their generations-old family home against some weekend cottage on a Maine island?

Furious, she thrust the paper back at the man smiling his smug superior smile at her. “It’s absurd!”

“Pretty much,” the annoying Theo Savas agreed. “But it’s legal. I won the race, therefore I won the house. So I think, Ms. Antonides,” he added pointedly, “that it’s you who needs to leave.”

Martha digested that. Considered it. And reached a conclusion. She hadn’t spent her last dime and traveled halfway around the world to get away from one pompous, idiotic male only to let another one push her around now.

She looked Theo Savas straight in the eye. “No.”

“What do you mean, no?” He sounded as if no one had ever said the word to him in his entire life.

Well, it was time someone did.

Martha shrugged with all the indifference she could muster. “Which letter didn’t you understand? N? O? It’s a big house, Mr. Savas. I won’t bother you. Forget I’m here. I have every intention of forgetting you are!” So saying, she picked up her duffel bag, stepped neatly around him, then headed up the stairs.

“Wait a damn minute!” Footsteps pounded after her. He grabbed at her arm, but Martha twisted out of his grasp and kept right on going.

“You can’t stay here!”

“Of course I can.”

“I don’t want company,” he informed her, dogging her heels.

“Tough.” She reached the room that she had always shared with her sister, Cristina, pushed open the door, then turned to face him defiantly. “What are you going to do? Throw me out?”

The house might not belong to her family anymore, but it was her furniture in the bedroom, her childhood books on the shelves. She lifted her chin and dared him to lay a hand on her.

His fingers ball into fists. A muscle pulsed in his jaw and she could swear she heard his teeth grinding. But he didn’t touch her, just glared.

Martha glared back.

“Look,” he said after a moment, “there are tons of hotel rooms.”

“Can’t afford one.”

“I’ll pay for it.”

“No way. I’m not having everyone on Santorini think I’m your kept woman.”

It was one thing to make up her mind to sleep with Julian. Idiot that she was, she’d believed she loved him. It was something else entirely to let a man pay for her room on the island. That might be fine for those who came on week-long holidays and then went home never to reappear. But she was enough of a local that she would scandalize all the gossipy old women.

“And they wouldn’t think that if you stayed here with me?” He arched a brow.

“Of course not. This is my house—was my house,” she corrected bitterly.

Theo Savas shrugged. “So, fine. Call your father, then. He can pay for a hotel room.”

“No!”

None of the family knew where she was—and Martha was determined to keep it that way. The last thing she wanted was to announce her humiliation to her parents and siblings.

“Suit yourself. But you’d better come up with an idea, sweetheart, because I don’t want you here.”

“But—”

“No.” He was adamant. “I’ve had it. No women. I’m sick to death of them.”

Martha blinked. “So you…prefer men?” Pity, actually, because from a “populating the earth” perspective, Theo Savas had gorgeous genes, definitely worth passing on.

“I do not prefer men!” Theo snapped, then scowled furiously and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m just sick to death of being badgered, of women turning up at all hours.”

Martha gave him another once-over and lied with dripping scorn, “Well, you’re not that gorgeous.”

He grimaced. “Never said I was. It was that damn magazine—all that drivel about ‘world’s sexiest this and world’s sexiest that!’”

Martha laughed in disbelief. “Oh? And you’re what? World’s sexiest pirate? Curmudgeon?” That she could believe.

“Sailor,” he muttered, making her brows arch in surprise. He shrugged irritably. “It’s crap. All of it. But tell that to all those stupid females who read it and think they’re the woman of your dreams!”

Martha grinned at his hunted look.

“So I damned sure don’t want some silly gooey-eyed teenager hanging around,” he said, effectively wiping the grin off her face.

“Gooey-eyed teenager?” Martha was outraged. “I’m twenty-four!”

“Wow.” Theo was clearly underwhelmed. “Like I said, a baby.”

Martha bristled, sick and tired of being dismissed as young. Everyone in her family, except Lukas, was always telling her she was too young, that she needed someone to look out for her.

“Trust me, Methuselah, I wouldn’t look at you if you were the last man on earth. Make that the second last,” she muttered grimly under her breath.

Theo obviously heard her. His brow lifted. His mouth quirked. “Ah, like that is it?”

Martha scowled. “Like what?”

“You’re running away from a man.”

“I am not running away from anyone!” she retorted hotly. “I just…needed a break. A vacation. I finished a job and I wanted a little R&R.” It was the truth, just not all of it. “Look,” she said wearily, “as much as I would love to stand here and chat with you, I’m really bushed. I don’t sleep well on planes and I’ve been up for over thirty-six hours. I need some sleep.”

And without waiting for his approval—in fact, half expecting him to grab her by the arm and haul her downstairs—Martha turned her back on him and headed for her bed, falling into its welcome softness and breathing deeply in relief.

Behind her there was silence.

And more silence.

And then finally Theo said, “Okay. You can sleep it off. Take a nap. I’m going out for a sail. But I’ll be back tonight, kiddo,” he warned. “And when I get here, you’d better be gone.”

Theo muttered as he left the house. He muttered all the way down the hill and in the dinghy as he rowed out to his sailboat. He’d just begun to breathe easier in the last few days, relieved that no one on Santorini seemed to know about that damned article. Women still flirted with him, which was fine. But these at least hadn’t been peering in his windows and rubbing up against him in bars.

He’d started to think he’d get his life back.

And now this!

He was overreacting, of course, and he knew it. But it had been a shock to hear the door open and discover his fortress had been breached.

“Damn woman,” Theo muttered irritably now as he hoisted the mainsail, then cast off the mooring line.

Damned attractive woman with her wind-blown tangle of hair and her flushed face and her wide brown eyes. His hormones had registered that, even as his brain had resisted.

He wasn’t interested, and she wasn’t his type! Martha Antonides was too young. Too prickly. Too opinionated. Too wholesome. Too…irritating.

He liked women—a lot—but he preferred to be the hunter, not the hunted. Since that article had been published he’d begun to feel like a deer on the first day of hunting season. The hordes of women who had dogged his steps for the past six months were not to be believed. He certainly wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t experienced it firsthand!

He’d been confident the initial frenzy would wear off—a nine-day wonder, he’d assured himself. But he hadn’t counted on low hard news, and wire services hungry for something to spice up their pages.

Especially when a couple of former girlfriends had decided it was in their best interests to gain publicity by kissing and telling.

Of course it would blow over eventually. Who, after all, was really interested in his marriageability—besides his mother? Someone else he’d been avoiding.

When he’d returned to New York long enough to win the sailboat race for his father, Theo had deliberately avoided going out to the family home on Long Island.

He loved his mother, but he didn’t need her input into the mess that was his life. She was always ready to meddle.

“Offer suggestions,” she called it.

In this case he knew exactly what suggestion she’d offer. “Get married, Theo. End of problem.”

But it wouldn’t end the problem, Theo knew. He’d been married once—not that his mother knew it. And it hadn’t ended his problems at all. It had simply created more.

Now, older and wiser, Theo knew that marriage wasn’t his style. Relationships weren’t his metier. He was perfectly happy playing the field—as long as the field wasn’t overcrowded and the women understood the rules.

He was glad he’d made sure Little Miss Jet Lag understood she wasn’t moving in. She might not have known about the article, she might not have come because of it, but he didn’t want her there getting ideas!

He was sorry she’d come all this way for nothing. But there were lots of guest houses on Santorini. So what if the ones available at the last minute weren’t likely to be at quite the level of homey comfort she was used to. Too damn bad. If she didn’t like it, she could go back to wherever she’d come from.

It was her problem, not his.

The ferry from Crete was just coming into the harbor. Tourists hung over the railings and waved and shouted. Plenty of them were gorgeous, eager women. And not one of them, God willing, knew he was here.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Theo cranked in the jib and smiled as the boat heeled away from the wind and picked up speed.

Turning his back on the ferry, he headed out of the harbor and put everything else out of his mind.

It was dusk when he got back. The tavernas were all lit up and music throbbed from half a dozen small nightclubs and cafés. The quay was crowded with holidaymakers, laughing and jostling and some even dancing. Two or three even wanted to dance with him.

Theo smiled and shook his head. Equanimity restored, he could look at them dispassionately now. Sometime in the near future he might even take some lovely lady up on it.

But chatting up some woman seemed more effort than it was worth tonight. He was tired and so he kept going, climbing the steps that led up the hillside, looking forward to a cold beer and a shower and a soft bed.

He climbed the winding stairs to the front door—and stopped dead at the sight of Martha in the window, crossing from the living room toward the kitchen.

Equanimity evaporating, Theo thundered up the last dozen steps, pushed open the front door and headed straight for the kitchen after her.

“Listen, I thought I told you—”

“Theo!” A sultry Scandinavian-accented voice came after him from the living room.

Theo jerked around. A tall slender blonde woman—every man’s dream, he’d thought when he’d first met her—opened her arms wide as she glided toward him.

“Agnetta?” It wasn’t really a question. And Agnetta was no longer a dream—she was a nightmare. If there was any woman he wanted to see in his living room less than he’d wanted to see Martha Antonides, it was Agnetta Carlsson.

But before she could reply, another younger woman appeared as well. “Theo!” She ran across the room to throw her arms around him.

Theo caught her before she could smother him with kisses and stared down at her, horrified. Whoever she was, she looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put a name to her. In fact, he didn’t have to.

“Remember me? Cassandra,” she told him cheerfully. “You know, Cassie! Cassie Thelonikis. Your mother’s goddaughter!”

Ye gods. Deliberately Theo held her at arm’s length, recognizing her now, and not at all happy with the recognition.

“Your mother sent us over,” Cassie said happily, confirming his worst fear. “Isn’t that cool?”

Cool was not the word Theo would have used to describe it. “Sent you here? Why?” He knew he sounded harsh. He couldn’t help it.

But Cassie was immune. “She says you need some distraction. And protection,” she added. “She says you’re too focused on sailing and since you’re the world’s sexiest sailor you have too many women bothering you.”

Which gave his mother full marks for perception. But why the hell had she thought sending more women would improve matters?

And Agnetta Carlsson of all people! Theo grimaced inwardly. She didn’t even know Agnetta! Did she?

Cassandra, who obviously could read minds, explained. “I’ve been modeling this past year, and I worked with Agnetta lots this spring. They seem to think it’s cool, her being so fair and me so dark.” She shrugged. “We got to be friends. And when I had lunch with your mother last week in the city, Agnetta came along. She wanted to meet your mom because you two were friends.”

Was that what they had been? Theo wouldn’t have called it that. He had met Swedish model Agnetta Carlsson last summer at a sailboat race off Marseilles. She had been there on a fashion photo shoot. And after the race and the shoot, there had been a party and Agnetta had come with one of the Australians, who got drunk and promptly forgot her.

Agnetta hadn’t minded. She had found someone far more interesting—Theo.

And at the time Theo had been equally, though casually, interested in her.

His brother George had once called him “an equal opportunity womanizer.” And while Theo wouldn’t have put it that crudely, he had never claimed not to like women. He did. And gorgeous curvy blondes like Agnetta definitely topped the list. He’d charmed Agnetta that night. And she’d charmed him. Still, he’d been clear about what interested him—and what didn’t.

“No strings,” he’d said right up front.

“Strings?” She’d batted her gorgeous long lashes at him. “But no.” She’d cuddled up to him and kissed him soundly. “Of course not!”

Agnetta was beautiful. She was eager. She had been good fun and, not surprisingly, she had been good in bed.

For a month they had been an item. The society editors and gossip columnists loved them. Agnetta’s blond beauty and Theo’s dark features were a photographer’s dream. But soon the columnists—and Agnetta—began talking about marriage.

Is Aggie “the one”? One of the tabloids shrieked.

Will Aggie catch her man? Asked another.

Aggie’s rock? Big as Gibraltar? Demanded a third.

Does Aggie have a secret? Screamed a fourth.

“Where the hell are they getting this stuff?” Theo had done his own demanding. “We aren’t getting married!”

“Of course not, darling.” Agnetta had batted her lashes and shaken her head. “Unless,” she had given him a dimpled coy smile, “they know something we don’t know!”

“Not bloody likely,” Theo had said gruffly.

But it soon became apparent that they had heard rumors Theo hadn’t. At least not until Agnetta had come to him a week later and said, “I’m pregnant, Theo.”

“Pregnant?”

Theo found that hard to believe. He was a careful, responsible man. And he’d never been less than careful with Agnetta. He’d asked to see the pregnancy test, asked to talk to her doctor.

Agnetta’s face had flushed. “You don’t believe me?”

He didn’t say that. But he hadn’t married her, either. He would marry her if a child was involved. But he was determined to wait and see first.

Agnetta had been appalled, then angry. “You don’t trust me!” she’d accused him.

“Show me a test. I want to talk to your doctor.” He’d been adamant.

Agnetta had thrown a shoe at him. She’d cried and wailed.

Theo had not been moved. “We’ll know soon enough,” he’d said. “Plenty of time.”

And within two weeks the wait was justified. There were more tears, of course. Cascades of them. But they were followed by a convenient announcement.

“I—I m-must have been l-late. I thought I was pregnant! It’s because I’m so stressed about our relationship!” She’d glared at him accusingly.

He’d nodded understandingly. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to be stressed, would we?”

Agnetta brightened at once and went to put her arms around him. “So we will marry anyway?” she said eagerly.

“No. It will be better if I just get out of your life.”

And so he had.

He hadn’t seen Agnetta again—until this minute.

Now she smiled calculatingly at him over Cassie’s shoulders. “Such a wonderful suggestion your mother made,” she purred. “Come and spend a week here in our new house, she said to us. So kind. So sweet. And so nice of that girl to be here to let us in.”

Theo’s eyes narrowed. “What girl?”

“Marla? No, Martha,” Agnetta corrected herself. “The girl in the kitchen. She let us in. Helped us with our bags. Very helpful.”

“Was she?” Theo said through his teeth.

“Oh, yes,” Cassie agreed, beaming.

He’d kill her. Damn Martha Antonides! She knew he didn’t want anyone here! Especially not a pair of females who were setting their sights on him.

“She said she was sure you wouldn’t mind the intrusion, that that’s what family homes were for. To be shared,” Cassie reported.

“Did she?” The penny—hell, the whole damn national debt—dropped. Theo’s jaw came together with a snap. “Where is she?”

“Just making us a snack, she said,” Agnetta answered, turning to smile in the direction of the kitchen.

Theo turned, too, and was treated to the sight of Martha Antonides giving him a brilliant smile and waggling her fingers at him in a little wave.

If he could have killed her with a look, she’d have keeled over dead.

Instead she dared to sashay toward them, still all smiles, carrying a tray with bread and oil and canapes and olives.

“I knew you’d be thrilled to have company.” She met his gaze with a challenging one of her own as she held out the plate to Agnetta and Cassie. “It was so sweet of your mother to think of you here by yourself, with so much room available—and hospitality being the cornerstone of Greek culture.”

“Is it?” Theo’s tone was deadly. “I thought war was.”

Her expression grew suddenly wary, but almost immediately she seemed to regain her equilibrium.

“Both, I think,” she said, aiming a cheery smile at both Cassie and Agnetta. “Battling with your friends is almost as much fun as battling with your enemies, don’t you think?”

“I expect we’re going to find out.” Theo swept the plate from her hands and thrust it into Agnetta’s. “If I may have a word with you, Ms. Antonides?”

“I don’t think—”

“You don’t need to,” he informed her as he spun her into his arms, pulling her hard against him and moving her toward the bedroom.

“Mr. Savas! I’m not—”

“That’s what you think,” he cut her off. And as she began to protest again, he shut her up the only way he knew how.

He pressed his lips to hers, backed her down the short hall and into his bedroom where he kicked the door shut behind them and met her furious gaze with a satisfied smile. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart.”

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT DO you think you’re doing?” Martha shoved away from him, her eyes wide and blazing with fury, her gaze flicking around her parents’ bedroom, looking anywhere, at anything—but him!

But while it had always been her parents’ bedroom, it wasn’t theirs any longer. That was obvious.

It was spartan, totally masculine, with stark white walls and sleek dark furniture, the only adornment two poster-size black-and-white photos of sailboats cutting through rough seas. The sort of room a man like Theo Savas would feel at home in. Clearly the room now belonged to the man who was glaring at her just as angrily as she was glaring at him.

“More to the point, Ms. Antonides,” he said through his teeth, “what the hell were you doing opening up my house to strangers?”

“They weren’t strangers to you,” Martha argued. She was still trying to catch her breath and calm her heart, which was slamming against the wall of her chest. She was also trying not to lick her lips, which were still throbbing from the press of his mouth. Despite her attempts to quell them or ignore them, her hormones were doing odd and completely unexpected things she’d never experienced before—certainly not when Julian had kissed her.

Good Lord! Even her ears seemed to be ringing. She mustered every ounce of sanity she could find.

“The girl—Cassandra—said your mother sent them. She said she was an old friend.” And from the look of things they could both be a good deal more as well. Did Theo Savas take lovers two at a time?

“To you they were strangers,” Theo bit out. “And they should have stayed that way. You know damn well I don’t want anyone here! I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” Martha said sharply. “But these weren’t groupies. They’re friends of your mother! If you don’t want them here, fine. Throw them out. Who cares? Just go out there and tell them to leave.”

Theo ground his teeth. “I can’t. And you know it.”

Martha raised her brows. “I do? Why?”

“Because you have a Greek mother, too. One that you don’t want to know you’re here. Am I right?” He gave her a knowing look.

Martha shrugged irritably. “That’s not the same.”

“It is the same. They meddle, mothers do. They think they know what’s best.” He cracked his knuckles and paced around the room.

Martha watched him curiously. “So…what’s best for you, according to your mother?” she asked at last.

He cracked his knuckles again. “A wife,” he muttered at last.

Martha grinned.

“It’s not funny.”

She wiped a hand over her mouth, taking the smile with it. “Of course not,” she intoned solemnly. But a corner of her mouth twitched anyway at the thought of Theo running scared of his mother’s machinations.

“She thinks it will get the groupies off my back if she provides me with other choices.” He scowled. “She’s wrong. Especially she’s wrong about that one.”

“Which one?” Martha didn’t think he’d looked particularly happy to see either of them.

“Agnetta.” Theo fairly spat the name.

“Ah.” Yes, there had been a bit of animosity on his part when he’d spied her, and Agnetta had definitely been the one who’d been startled to see her here. She’d demanded to know who Martha was the minute she’d opened the door to the pair of them.

“I take it you two have a history,” Martha said mildly now.

Not that she wanted to know it. But it was obvious from the unfinished sentences that Agnetta had left dangling, and the suspicious way she’d studied Martha ever since she’d arrived. Contrarily Martha had done no more than tell them her name. But while Cassandra had been eager and open, Agnetta had been more wary. She’d also dropped the words dear Theo into the conversation at least half a dozen times.

Martha couldn’t imagine anyone called Theo “dear” to his face. Not even his mother.

Now dear Theo ground his teeth. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his canvas shorts. “It wasn’t a…history. It was brief. And it’s over.”

“Not to her apparently.” Martha stated the obvious.

Theo slammed his hand against the wall. “You could have said I wasn’t coming back.”

“Well, you were. You told me you were. How did I know what you wanted me to do?”

“You knew I didn’t want anyone here!”

“Yep, I knew that. And you were such a jerk to me, I thought it would serve you right.” Martha gave him a cheerful grin.

He jammed his hands into the pockets of his shorts. “Thanks.” His tone was bitter. “Damn it,” he muttered and hunched his shoulders, then straightened and raked both hands through his salt-stiffened hair.

He was a gorgeous specimen of manhood, Martha thought, still remembering—albeit reluctantly—what it had felt like to have his lips on hers. No wet soppy kisses from Theo Savas.

Not like the ones she’d had from Julian, that was for sure.

Men like Theo ought to be locked away where they couldn’t have an adverse effect on women. It was obvious he’d had one on Agnetta, if she’d come all the way to Greece just to get a second chance at him.

And why? A woman as beautiful as Agnetta could have any man in the world. But she was apparently determined to have Theo.

He paced like a jungle cat trapped in a cage, then reached the end of the room, spun around and demanded, “How long are they here for?”

“What do you mean? Here on Santorini?”

“No. In the living room,” he said sarcastically. “Of course on Santorini. Don’t be an idiot!”

Martha shook her head. “A week, I think. Cassandra said they’re having a week’s holiday before they had to be in Marseilles for a shoot. Apparently she called home, and your mother was visiting hers, and when she heard that Agnetta and Cassandra were in the Adriatic, she had this brilliant idea they should come visit you and—”

“I get the picture,” Theo said grimly. He paced some more, considered some more, and finally nodded. “Okay. A week. They can stay a week. You’re staying, too.”

“Me?” Martha stared at him. “But you said—”

“You wanted to stay. You said so. ‘Big enough for both of us,’ you said.” He quoted her words back at her. “You made a big issue out of it.”

“Well, yes, then, but—”

“No buts. They can stay for a week, as long as you do. Acting as my girlfriend.”

“What!”

“You heard me. They won’t be able to pester me if I’ve already got a woman in residence.”

“I’m not—”

“And when you go, they go.”

Martha glared at him. “You’re trying to make me the bad guy.”

Theo shrugged unrepentantly. “Up to you.”

“But I’m going to be here three weeks. That’s what my plane reservation is for!”

“Then you can take this week to find another place to stay. No problem.”

Not to him, maybe. In fact Theo looked disgustingly pleased with himself.

Martha glared. “Why?” she asked him at last. “Why should I?”

He shrugged. “Because you need a place to stay? You’re broke and desperate?” He gave her a mocking smile.

It was altogether too close to the truth. But that didn’t make her want to do it. She stalled. “Tell me more about this ‘history’ you have with Agnetta.”

Theo didn’t look as if he were going to, but when Martha just stared at him wordlessly, he finally muttered, “I just don’t want her thinking she’s going to worm her way back into my life.”

“So she was in your life?”

“I went out with her a few times.” His tone was dismissive, but definitely edgy.

“‘Out with?’” Martha raised her brows. “Just casual dates? Home by eleven? That sort of thing?” she queried with false innocence.

“Slept with,” Theo snarled. “But that’s it. Nothing else.”

“What else could there be?”

“I mean, no strings! It wasn’t a ‘relationship.’ We weren’t a couple. I don’t do relationships. It was a good time, that’s all. And I made that clear.”

“How very charming of you.”

“Look, I never claimed to be in love with her. I met her at a sailing race. She was a model on a photo shoot. We hit it off. Had a few beers. Spent some time together.”

“In bed.”

“In bed and out of bed,” he said, exasperated. “But I told her I wasn’t looking for anything serious. Ever.”

“Of course not. You just swept her off her feet,” Martha agreed gravely. “You and that earth-shattering charm.”

Theo’s teeth snapped together. “Nobody forced her to go to bed with me!”

Martha gave him a baleful look. “Oh, I believe it. A man with charm like yours…”

“At least I didn’t lie to her!”

And, as Martha well knew, some men did.

Julian had dripped charm as he’d vowed he loved her and wanted to spend forever with her. Julian had told her he just wanted her to be ready. The same Julian who, in the meantime, hadn’t been able to keep his trousers zipped.

Perhaps truth had more to recommend it than charm, Martha thought and decided to cut Theo a tiny bit of slack.

“So fine. You didn’t want anything serious and she did. So? Don’t tell me she tried to kidnap you and force you to the altar.”

“Damn near,” Theo growled. He rubbed a hand against the back of his neck. “We spent a few weeks together on the shoot and after. Next thing I knew, she showed up on my doorstep announcing she was pregnant!”

He said the word as if it had four letters. Clearly not a man hankering to be a father.

“So what did you do? Whip out the charm and tell her to get rid of it?” While she imagined he had been shocked, she was still indignant at the thought.

Theo’s teeth snapped together. He leveled a hard look in her direction. “I’d never do that.”

“Then…?” Martha frowned, confused.

“There wasn’t a baby.”

“But you said she said—”

“She said she was pregnant. She wasn’t. Ever. But she figured that if she said she was, I’d marry her.” He looked furious all over again, and if he was really telling the truth, Martha could understand why he was upset with Agnetta.

She was a little upset herself. She didn’t like to think there were women who would try to trick a man into marriage like that. And she couldn’t imagine anyone being stupid enough to try it on a hard case like Theo Savas.

“So, um, how did you…find out?”

“I’m not an idiot,” he snapped. “I take precautions. But there is always the remote chance something could have happened, so I said we’d wait.”

“Wait?”

He nodded. “And see. I mean, it was going to be obvious if she was pregnant pretty soon, wasn’t it? She wasn’t happy. She wailed a lot. Accused me of being heartless.”

Martha could imagine.

“I didn’t give a damn.”

Martha could imagine that, too.

“But when she saw I meant it, that I was not going to marry her unless she produced a real obvious pregnancy, she suddenly ‘discovered’—” Theo’s lip curled on the word “—she was only late, that she wasn’t pregnant at all.” He snorted in disbelief. “It was on account of all the stress of wondering where our relationship was going, she said.” He gave a cynical shake of his head. “It wasn’t going anywhere,” he said flatly. “And it still isn’t. And you, Ms. Antonides, are going to make sure of it.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You’re going to stay right here—” he hit the word with both feet, making it clear that he meant not only the house, but his bedroom “—and make sure Agnetta—and Cassandra—know I have a woman in my life.”

“But you—”

“You want a place to stay. You can stay here—as long as Agnetta and Cassie stay. As my very devoted girlfriend. Got it?” Theo’s black eyes fixed on her with a hard look that dared her to disagree.

Martha didn’t. Her thoughts were in a whirl. She couldn’t change her ticket. It had nearly wiped out her savings as it was. Only by booking her return for three weeks hence had she been able to cut the cost a little. Paying for a room for three weeks was out of the question.

Now she wouldn’t have to—if she agreed to stay here in the house.

“Here?” she said warily. “In this house?”

“In this room,” Theo clarified.

Which meant, in his bed.

There was only one bed in the room. She looked at it now. Theo’s gaze followed hers. It was a big bed with crisp white sheets and a Mediterranean-blue coverlet.

As if he read the direction of her thoughts, he began, “I don’t expect—”

But Martha was getting an idea of her own. “Those magazine articles—” she began, heart quickening.

“What about them?” Theo snapped.

“Were they true?”

“What?” He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“I was just wondering how they knew?” she gave him a speculative look. “I mean, did they do research? Ask women? How did they decide you were the world’s sexiest sailor?”

“How the hell should I know!” Theo threw his hands in the air. “Are you insane?”

Maybe, Martha thought. But she didn’t intend to admit it. She chewed her lip, thoughts roiling, making her brain buzz.

“You don’t have to worry about it,” Theo said abruptly. “I expect you to stay in my room and sleep in my bed. But I don’t expect you to—” He broke off, and Martha was surprised to see something that might have been a flush climb up his neck.

She cocked her head. “Have a no-strings affair with you?”

He nodded curtly.

“What if I want one?”

Jaw dropping, he stared at her. “What!”

“I said, what if I want one,” Martha repeated brazenly. “If you’re the world’s sexiest sailor, if hordes of women are, by your own testimony, trying to get into your bed, well, why shouldn’t I want in, too. I’d be a fool not to.”

He shook his head. “You are nuts.”

“Maybe I am,” she said recklessly. “So what? What’s it to you? You don’t want to get involved with me. Fine. I don’t want to get involved with you, either. No relationship, like you said. Just fun and games, that’s all. I’m on the pill. So, no consequences. So—” she lifted her chin in determined challenge “—why not?”

Theo Savas didn’t say a word. He just stared at her.

In the face of his unrelenting stupefied silence, Martha found her bravado cracking.

Was she that unappealing? Was she so appallingly awful that he couldn’t even imagine making love. Having sex, she corrected herself quickly—with her?

Now she was the one who felt hot blood rise in her cheeks. They burned fiercely, but she’d said the words so she made herself stand her ground.

What else, after all, could she do? She couldn’t afford to leave.

“Those are my terms,” she said baldly. “Take them or leave them.”

Still he didn’t speak for so long that she considered picking up the lamp and bashing him over the head with it. Then at last he flexed his shoulders and straightened just a little.

“Let me get this straight.” His voice was a drawl now. “I let you stay here for the week and in exchange you want a no-strings affair?”

“That’s right,” Martha said firmly. “Except I want to stay three weeks.”

A dark masculine eyebrow hiked into the fringe of his hair.

“It’s the least you can do. I told you. My flight leaves in three weeks. I want to stay that long. And,” she added recklessly, “I want some mind-blowing sex in the meantime.”

Thank God her vigilant parents, her overprotective brothers and all the other guardians of her virtue couldn’t hear her now!

But she almost wished bloody Julian could! He was the reason she was saying this. He had driven her to it.

But she knew it wasn’t just about Julian. It was about her, too.

She was twenty-four years old, but she’d been cosseted, protected and coddled her entire life. And everything in that life had, until yesterday, gone according to plan.

Yesterday—the memory of Julian naked in the shower with some faceless, nameless woman, someone who was Not Her—had proved to Martha that her dreams were no more than that. They had no substance. They were airy fluff.

She had always assumed that she would find the deep lasting love her parents had—the love that had so far eluded all her siblings, especially her sister Cristina who used to go through men like Martha went through tubes of cadmium blue. She had always been determined not to be another Cristina. So when she’d met Julian, when he had teased her, charmed her, flirted with her, she’d dared to hope he would be The One.

“Of course I’m the one,” he’d agreed the first evening they’d met, his grin devastating, his pale-blue eyes dancing. “Let me show you.”

That was the first time he’d tried to get her into bed.

But Martha had declined. She wasn’t even close to ready for intimacy like that. She wanted it, certainly. But only if she was sure. Then she would commit. Love and sex were all part of the same fabric in her mind. And over the past five months she’d held out—until she was sure.

And what a mistake that was!

She’d been an idiot. A blind naive idiot.

Obviously sex and love had nothing whatever to do with each other! Just ask Julian.

So, fine. She could learn from her mistakes. And in the meantime she would learn from the world’s sexiest sailor. Though to be honest, Theo Savas looked less sexy than stunned as he stared at her.

Martha stared back, resolute and implacable.

Theo’s eyes narrowed fractionally, as if assessing her resolve and, perhaps, something else. But finally he nodded and a slow smile lifted the corners of his supremely kissable lips—the lips whose kiss had inspired her outrageous demand in the first place.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Three weeks, no strings. Mind-blowing sex. No Agnetta and no Cassandra and no manipulating mother,” he said with supreme satisfaction. “I think we’ve got ourselves a heck of a deal.”

“She’s not exactly your style, is she?” Agnetta edged a little closer so that if Theo turned away, leaning on the wall of the roof and watching the sunset, his arm would brush her breasts.

She had made the move with mathematical precision, and Theo found himself admiring her perseverance and determination even as he displayed his own and kept his gaze determinedly on the swiftly sinking sun.

He probably shouldn’t have let her finagle this jaunt to the rooftop after dinner. He knew damned well why she was begging to see the view—and it had nothing to do with the sunset.

But he had thought to give Martha a bit of a breather. She’d been a trooper, feeding them all with some sort of seafood stew she’d miraculously concocted from the staples in the cupboards and the vegetables and fish he’d fetched from the market, chatting cheerfully and firmly declining all help with the dishes.

Not that the other two women’s offer to dry had been all that sincere. Cassie had been itching to get down into the center part of town where there were bars and clubs and men. And Agnetta had said she would love to see the view from the roof—if Theo didn’t mind.

He figured if he left her to dry dishes she’d spend the time doing more mischief, telling Martha stories about their so-called affair that she had no need to hear. Taking Agnetta to the roof—and imparting a few home truths—seemed preferable.

So he’d dutifully led her up the stairs and pointed out the sights, which were indeed memorable, all the while keeping his own carefully calculated space between them.

“Martha?” he responded to Agnetta’s question now with a smile that he didn’t even have to force. He’d actually enjoyed her during dinner. She hadn’t been silly like Cassie or sultry and demanding like Agnetta. She’d been bright and funny and charming, reminding him a bit of his kid sister, Tallie, or the proverbial girl next door.

Definitely not his usual style.

“No, she’s not,” he agreed readily, then slanted a slightly mocking glance Agnetta’s way. “That’s why I like her.”

Agnetta’s beautiful mouth formed a pout, and she gave his arm a playful shove. “Ah, you are just playing, then.”

“Don’t I always?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line at memories best left untouched. “Does she know that?”

“Yep.” The absolute unvarnished truth. And Martha’s idea to boot.

Agnetta’s brows lifted in surprise. “She does? And she agreed?”

“Of course. We understand each other.”

Agnetta gave him a long narrow-eyed gaze. “Do you? I wonder.”

Theo frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You need to be careful,” she told him. “She is not like me.”

“There’s a blessing.”

Agnetta made a face at him. “You’re not still holding a grudge because of my little mistake.”

He didn’t say he knew it hadn’t been a mistake. “I’m not holding a grudge. I don’t give a damn.”

She looked nettled, but shrugged. “Well, I’m only warning you. You could hurt her.”

Theo shook his head. “Nope.”

“You’re a heartless bastard, you know that, Theo?”

“No. I’m a realist. And so is Martha. You don’t need to worry about her. Now—” he shoved away from the wall he had been leaning against “—if you’ve seen all you want to see, we should be getting downstairs. It’s getting late.” He glanced pointedly at his watch.

“Late?” Agnetta blinked, then waved a hand at the twilit city below. “It’s not even completely dark yet. The guidebooks say life doesn’t begin on Santorini until midnight!”

“I wouldn’t know,” Theo said.

Agnetta stared at him in disbelief. Then she laughed. “You are playing with me. Come. We will see how much life there is.” She smiled and moved to hook her arm through his.

But Theo stepped away before she could. “No, thanks. But you go right ahead. Enjoy it.” He turned his back and headed for the stairs. Martha had had enough of a breather. It was time to call out the reinforcements. “I’ll give you a key.”

“A key?” Agnetta hurried after him. “But you are coming, too, surely. I mean, you and Martha, too, if you must, but—”

“We won’t be coming, too. We have other plans for this evening.” He reached the bottom of the stairs, then turned and smiled at her.

“What sort of plans?” Agnetta looked distinctly annoyed.

Theo lifted a brow and gave her his best wolfish grin. “I’m sure you can guess.”

What were they doing on the roof?

Not that she cared, really, Martha thought as she banged the last clean pan down on the stove and hung the dish towel on the hook by the stove. But you’d have thought, if Mr. Sexiest Sailor really wanted to avoid the Stunning Swedish Pursuer, he wouldn’t have agreed quite so readily to her very obvious ploy for a rooftop rendevous.

But he had.

Agnetta had flirted for Sweden all during dinner, and while Theo had not responded in kind, as soon as the meal was over and Cassie had dashed off to get a head start on the night life, Agnetta had batted her lashes and asked him to show her the view from the roof.

And stupid fool that he was, Theo had agreed.

He could have suggested she help with clearing the table or doing the dishes. He could have not dismissed Agnetta’s vague offer to help. He could have helped himself! Martha thought, banging the cupboard shut.

But he hadn’t.

He’d said, “Sure we can go up to the roof. We’ll just get out of your way, then,” he’d added with a mere glance in Martha’s direction.

So were they getting it on up there? Martha banged the cupboard shut again for good measure. Jerk!

Well, the hell with him. Let him have his way with Agnetta—or let her have her way with him. There was no way she was going up on the roof and defending his honor!

If he ended up in bed with Agnetta, that was his problem! Although he needn’t think he was going to bring Agnetta to bed as long as Martha was there, too!

And he needn’t think if he succumbed to temptation he was going to be able to throw her out on her ear because he didn’t need her anymore, either. Martha was damned if she was leaving. So there.

Now she yawned widely and flexed her shoulders, still feeling the kinks of her trans-Atlantic flight. She wanted a shower and a good night’s sleep. The nap she’d had while Theo was out sailing had been interrupted far too soon by Agnetta and Cassie turning up on the doorstep.

For a few seconds she looked longingly up the stairs toward her former bedroom. But that was where Theo had deliberately put Cassie and Agnetta’s suitcases. At the same time Martha’s own duffel bag had disappeared. It was in Theo’s bedroom where he had put it while she’d been making dinner.

There was a bathroom in that suite of rooms. She could take a shower there. Chances were she would be sound asleep by the time he came down with Agnetta. If he came down.

Maybe they’d spend the night on the roof, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Martha shot a disparaging glance toward the stairs that went to the roof, then stalked into Theo’s bedroom. “Have fun,” she muttered under her breath.

Like Theo’s bedroom, the bathroom held no trace of her parents’ former occupancy, either. The tiles on the vanity were still the small obsidian squares she remembered, but the pink walls her mother had favored were long gone. The rest of the room was stark white and unadorned, except for the towels, which looked new and were a deep sea blue. Martha rubbed an approving hand over one of them, looking forward to wrapping her body in it after her shower, then turned on the water to warm while she stripped off her clothes and let them fall on the floor.

The naked body she saw in the mirror was nowhere near as toned and polished as the one she was sure that Agnetta was flaunting for Theo’s enjoyment at this very moment. Martha’s hips were wider, her breasts were fuller. She didn’t wear a size four like Agnetta and Cassie. Or even a size six. Or eight, which was probably about the size of the woman who had been sharing the shower with Julian.

And damn it, she didn’t want to think about that.

Abruptly she turned away from contemplating her shortcomings in the mirror and drew back the shower curtain and stepped in.

A spray of warm water welcomed her. Accustomed to the uneven spurt and trickle of the shower upstairs, she was startled. A closer look told her that the showerhead was new—obviously another of Theo’s improvements.

She would have to tell him she approved, though she doubted if he would care. No matter. Enjoying the shower for the sheer pleasure of it, Martha ducked her head under the soft warm spray, then stood perfectly still, letting the water cascade over her.

For the first time in twenty-four hours—ever since she’d walked into Julian’s and saw her dreams shot down in flames—she began to feel the tension seep out of her. She rolled her shoulders to loosen them and felt relief as her muscles eased and loosened. She let out a breath that seemed as if she’d been holding it for hours. Then she plucked the soap from the windowsill at eye level and began to wash.

She moved quickly at first because experience told her that, however new the showerhead was, there was never enough hot water. But even as she expected the stream to cool, it remained steady and strong and warm.

She washed her hair and rinsed it, and still the water stayed warm. Theo must have had a new hot water heater put in, too. She shut her eyes and smiled blissfully, wondering how long she could stand here just basking in the soothing warmth of the spray. But just as she wondered, there was a sudden slight coolness, a faint stirring of the air.

Ah well, all good things had to come to an end. Reluctantly Martha reached out to turn off the water.

“Not yet.”

She yelped and spun around, slipping on the porcelain as she found herself staring into the black eyes of a very tanned, very male, very naked Theo Savas!

Smiling, he caught her and steadied her on her jellylike knees.

“W-what are you doing here?” She was shivering, but not with cold. In truth she was growing hotter by the second—and grew even hotter as Theo stepped into the shower with her.

“I thought we could get a start on that mind-blowing sex.” His voice was husky, and white teeth flashed in a quick grin. But beyond the grin there was something dark and intense in his eyes.

Martha swallowed. Her heart hammered a thousand miles a minute. “Uh,” she said. “I, uh…ahhhh.” The vowels changed as Theo splayed his hands on her hips.

For an instant in her mind’s eye Martha remembered Julian’s hands on the woman in his shower. The memory gave her a kick right where she needed it most.

She took a deep steadying breath, and managed a determinedly sultry smile of her own, then lifted her hands and splayed them on Theo Savas’s hard chest, as she tried to ignore the hammering of her heart against her own. “Why not?”

She expected to remain detached, to study, to make mental notes on the world’s sexiest sailor’s powers of seduction. She expected to analyze, to scrutinize, to evaluate and assess the experience the way she did when she studied someone else’s painting.

It was how you learned, after all.

You didn’t get swept away.

You certainly didn’t moan at the feel of Theo’s soap-slick hands sliding up your sides, caressing your back. And you definitely didn’t tremble as they traced and drew circles, then dipped and slipped down over your backside and all the way down your legs!

Dear heavens! What was he doing to her?

Martha tried to memorize the technique, but within moments she was lost in the slippery pressure of his fingers working their magic. She was enchanted by the brush of his hair against her thighs as he knelt in front of her, carefully washing each foot in turn.

“Theeeeeo.” His name hissed through her teeth.

“Shh. Just feel,” he murmured. Then slowly and sensuously, his fingers began to work their way back up her legs, stopping to swirl against the sensitive skin at the back of her knees, then moving higher, stroking the insides of her thighs. She trembled as they inched their way up and still farther up.

If she bent her head, she could look down on the top of his, could watch as he moved closer, could feel the heat of his lips against her abdomen—and lower.

Oh, help, yes, lower. Even as his fingers moved higher.

“Oh!” Martha couldn’t stop the exclamation escaping the moment Theo’s fingers found her, touched her at last. She jerked. Her legs wobbled, not even jelly now. More like water. Desperately she reached out for something to hang on to, some way to stay upright—and found herself clutching his shoulders.

He tipped his head back to look up at her, a slight smile on his face, but his heavy-lidded gaze still intent, watching her.

Once more his fingers moved, caressed, teased and tested.

Martha trembled and shifted her feet, gave him greater access. Couldn’t help it. Couldn’t get enough of his touch. She bit her lip, tried to stay still, but her body had other ideas. It responded to Theo’s ministrations. And even when she did manage to get two or three brain cells and a bit of resolve in working order long enough to protest, “But you—” he cut her off.

“Mind-blowing,” he muttered, rising to his feet and covering her mouth with his. He made it sound like a challenge he was determined to meet, a standard he was obliged to reach.

He reached it. With room to spare.

Mind-blowing didn’t begin to cover the sensations he was evoking in her with his hands and his mouth. The word was too tame, too narrow. Too—

Suddenly Martha had no words at all.

The sensations were too strong, the pleasure too great, the need too intense. Martha’s fingernails bit into his hips as she shattered—and shuddered—and sagged against him, spent.

She should have felt self-conscious, irritated at her loss of control, at having, almost literally, been putty in Theo Savas’s hands. But she didn’t.

She felt warm, cosseted, safe. Well loved.

Loved? No, she knew there wasn’t any of that. And she didn’t expect any.

She would have expected it with Julian, had she ever shared such intimacy with him. But she had learned her lesson. Sex was sex. And it could be mind-blowing. She smiled a little and shifted in Theo’s arms.

He didn’t let her go but held her gently in the circle of his embrace. His hands stroked over her whole body, smoothing down her back, tangling in her hair. Slowly he eased back so he could look into her face.

One black brow arched. “So? Mind-blowing?” A self-satisfied grin touched his lips.

Oh, yes. But Martha knew instinctively that Theo Savas didn’t need any more arrogance than he already possessed. “Not bad.”

Both black brows went up, then down. “Not bad?” He was clearly indignant.

Martha grinned. “All things considered,” she said. “Yes, it was quite good.”

“Right,” he growled. “Let’s see you in action then. Come on.”

And he reached around her and shut off the water, then pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out onto the bath mat. Somehow the less-confined space made Martha even more aware of his lean athletic body, of flat planes and sharp angles and very obvious arousal. She tried not to notice. It was like trying to pretend it wasn’t snowing in the middle of a blizzard.

She was still gaping—and trying to look as if she weren’t—when he wrapped a towel around her and began to dry her off.

“I can do that,” she said quickly.

“No doubt,” Theo brushed her off. “But I intend to. And then you can return the favor.”

“I can? I mean—” she tried to sound both blasé and sultry “—of course.”

Theo slanted her a grin, as if he knew she was anything but. Then as he continued his task, his grin faded and the intent, absorbed look reappeared in his gaze.

She thought she felt a fine tremor in his fingers through the soft terry of the towel. He stroked gently and thoroughly, though her body was dry almost before he touched her. The heat generated from within could have evaporated every bit of moisture in a matter of seconds. And the thought that she was soon going to be drying him only added wood to the blaze.

“My turn,” she said abruptly before she ignited from spontaneous combustion. And she grabbed the other towel from the rack, then began to stroke his shoulders and upper arms. The towel was a vibrant sea blue and against his skin it seemed to deepen his already dark tan. It was soft and rough where his shoulders seemed hard and smooth. He stood still under her ministrations, his chest rising and falling shallowly as she moved the towel lower. Soft yet slightly wiry hair spread across his chest and arrowed down his abdomen. She followed it.

He swallowed. His muscles tensed.

Something heady and powerful coursed through her as she watched his reactions to her merest gentle touch. She had never done this with Julian. Had, oddly, never even thought about it.

Now slowly and deliberately she dried Theo’s sides and turned him around so she could dry his back.

“I can do that.” His voice was ragged.

“Huh-uh.” She clutched the towel and pushed his arm so he would comply. “You dried me. Now it’s my turn.” She wasn’t giving this up for anything on earth.

The look Theo gave her promised something she wasn’t quite sure she understood, but it made her both hot and determined at the same time. She gave him an expectant look, tapped her foot and waited.

A corner of Theo’s mouth twitched, but at last he turned. His back was broad and deeply tanned. He had no tan line at all which was intriguing. There was a lot about Theo Savas that was very intriguing indeed.

Martha rubbed the towel across his back, down his spine, over the hard curve of his buttocks and down his legs. They were as strong and hard-muscled as his arms.

She could understand now why any magazine reporter just looking at the physical Theo Savas would call him “the world’s sexiest sailor.” He would only have had to bare his body and the contest was won. Was that what he had done? Had they seen him nude? Her heart caught in her throat.

She crouched down and ran the towel down hair-roughened legs, then up again along the backs of his thighs. Down and up. Up and down. He shifted his feet. She ran the towel along the insides of his thighs.

Was that a hiss of breath between his teeth?

Martha swallowed. Then, “Turn,” she directed him.

Theo turned.

She was staring straight at—

“I think that’s dry enough.” His voice was a harsh rasp. And abruptly she was hauled to her feet, the towel was tossed aside, and the next thing Martha knew, Theo had scooped her into his arms and was carrying her out of the bath and straight to his bed.

She felt another moment’s gratitude that he had so thoroughly eradicated all signs of her parents. She wasn’t sure she could have gone to bed with Theo if it had been their bed. But thank heaven—and Theo—every trace of Aeolus and Helena Antonides was gone.

The room was pure Theo. If pure was a word you could ever use with Theo Savas, she thought, a smile touching her mouth.

But she didn’t have time to ponder that further as he flicked off the lamp and came to drop down on the bed beside her. The room was lit by the moonlight spilling through the open window so she could still see him, silver and shadow, as he lay on his side next to her. She felt his hand come to brush over her hair, then down her arm. Then he leaned toward her and began to kiss her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

And then it began again—the slow escalation of passion, the tender touches, the light strokes, the nibbles and kisses. And again her blood heated, her need grew. She shifted, moaned. Her fingers lifted. She wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know if she dared.

“Touch me,” Theo said, his voice ragged.

And eagerly, Martha did. It was like being given permission to have whatever she wanted in the candy store. She touched him lightly at first, a little uncertain as she began to learn the contours of his body that was so different from her own.

When she began a new mural on a surface she had never worked with before, she had to experiment, had to learn how it accepted the paint, how to apply the colors, how to achieve the effect she desired. It was like that now. She was touching, nibbling, stroking, learning his responses as she learned in her work.

Theo was more responsive than wood, than plaster, than brick, than anything Martha had ever painted. She could make Theo groan. She could make his body tremble with need, could make his muscles tense, could make him bite his lip as he attempted to rein in his passion, to control his desire.

Martha didn’t want him to control it. She wanted him to lose control just as she had in the shower. She wanted to bring him the same pleasure he had brought her.

And so she became bolder. Her hands found him, stroked him, touched him—until he could stand it no longer.

And suddenly he was over her, sliding between her legs and plunging in and—

Martha stiffened in shock.

And so did Theo.

At her body’s sudden resistance, he went rigid and—for an instant—absolutely still. Even in the moonlight his astonished, incredulous expression was one she would never forget for the rest of her life.

And then it was replaced by one of desperation, as he could no more control his expression than he could control the need that swamped him.

She knew he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Which he probably did, but it was too late. Theo shattered in her just the way she had shattered in the shower.

And then, still trembling, he rolled off the bed and onto his feet, glaring down at her and demanding furiously, “What the hell d’you think you were doing?”

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