About the Authors

SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition by describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring often stubborn but always to die for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life...

MICHELLE SMART’s love affair with books started when she was a baby, when she would cuddle them in her cot. A voracious reader of all genres, she found her love of romance established when she stumbled across her first Mills & Boon book at the age of twelve. She’s been reading (and writing) them ever since. Michelle lives in Northamptonshire with her husband and two young Smarties.

TARA PAMMI can’t remember a moment when she wasn’t lost in a book—especially a romance, which was much more exciting than a mathematics textbook. Years later, Tara’s wild imagination and love for the written word revealed what she really wanted to do. Now she pairs Alpha males who think they know everything with strong women who knock that theory and them off their feet!

Greek Mavericks: Winning the Enigmatic Greek

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

Sharon Kendrick

The Greek’s Pregnant Bride

Michelle Smart

Bought for Her Innocence

Tara Pammi

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09884-7

GREEK MAVERICKS: WINNING THE ENIGMATIC GREEK

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride © 2017 Sharon Kendrick The Greek’s Pregnant Bride © 2015 Harlequin Books S.A. Bought for Her Innocence © 2015 Tara Pammi

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Table of Contents

Cover

About the Authors

Title Page

Copyright

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

EPILOGUE

The Greek’s Pregnant Bride

Back Cover Text

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Bought for Her Innocence

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

About the Publisher

The Pregnant Kavakos Bride

Sharon Kendrick

Hired by the Greek billionaire...

Shipping magnate Ariston Kavakos expects stunning blonde Keeley Turner to be just like her gold-digging mother. So the only way to keep her away from his brother is to make her a proposition himself: a month’s employment—at his beck and call—on his private island...

Her family’s finances in dire straits, Keeley reluctantly accepts Ariston’s offer. Soon her resistance to his smoldering good looks, and their sizzling chemistry, weakens! But their spectacular night together has an unforeseen consequence, and Ariston makes one thing clear: he won’t rest until Keeley becomes his bride...

For the ever-amusing Amelia Tuttiett, who is

a brilliant ceramicist and an inspirational teacher.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE WAS EVERYTHING he hated about a woman and she was talking to his brother. Ariston Kavakos grew very still as he stared at her. At curves guaranteed to make a man desire her whether he wanted to or not. And he most definitely did not. Yet his body was stubbornly refusing to obey the dictates of his mind and a powerful shaft of lust arrowed straight to his groin.

Who the hell had invited Keeley Turner?

She was standing close to Pavlos, her blonde hair rippling beneath the overhead lights of the swish London art gallery. She lifted her hand as if to emphasise a point and Ariston found his gaze drawn to the most amazing breasts he had ever seen. He swallowed as he remembered her in a dripping wet bikini with rivulets of water trickling down over her belly as she emerged from the foamy blue waters of the Aegean. She was memory and fantasy all mixed up in one. Something started and never finished. Eight years on and Keeley Turner made him want to look at her and only her, despite the stunning photographs of his private Greek island which dominated the walls of the London gallery.

Was his brother similarly smitten? He hoped not, although it was hard to tell because their body language excluded the rest of the world as they stood deep in conversation. Ariston began to walk across the gallery but if they noticed him approach they chose not to acknowledge it. He felt a flicker of rage, which he quickly cast aside because rage could be counterproductive. He knew that now. Icy calm was far more effective in dealing with difficult situations and it had been the key to his success. The means by which he had dragged his family’s ailing company out of the dust and built it anew and gained a reputation of being the man with the Midas touch. The dissolute reign of his father was over and his elder son was now firmly in charge. These days the Kavakos shipping business was the most profitable on the planet and he intended to keep it that way.

His mouth hardened. Which meant more than just dealing with shipbrokers and being up to speed with the state of world politics. It meant keeping an eye on the more gullible members of the family. Because there was a lot of money sloshing around the Kavakos empire and he knew how women acted around money. An early lesson in feminine greed had changed his life for ever and that was why he never took his eye off the ball. His attitude meant that some people considered him controlling, but Ariston preferred to think of himself as a guiding influence—like a captain steering a ship. And in a way, life was like being at sea. You steered clear of icebergs for obvious reasons and women were like icebergs. You only ever saw ten per cent of what they were really like—the rest was buried deep beneath the self-serving and grasping surface.

His eyes didn’t leave the blonde as he walked towards them, knowing that if she was going to be a problem in his brother’s life he would deal with it—and quickly. His lips curved into the briefest of smiles. He would have her dispatched before she even realised what was happening.

‘Why, Pavlos,’ Ariston said softly as he reached them and he noticed that the woman had instantly grown tense. ‘This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so soon after the opening night. Have you developed a late-onset love of photography or are you just homesick for the island on which you were born?’

Pavlos didn’t look too happy to be interrupted—but Ariston didn’t care. Right then he couldn’t think about anything except what was happening inside him. Because, infuriatingly, he seemed to have developed no immunity against the green-eyed temptress he’d last seen when she was eighteen, when she’d thrown herself at him with a hunger which had blown his mind. Her submission had been instant and would have been total if he hadn’t put a stop to it. Displaying the sexist double standards for which he had occasionally been accused, he had despised her availability at the same time as he’d been bewitched by it. It had taken all his legendary self-control to push her away and to adjust his clothing but he had done it, though it had left him hard and aching for what had seemed like months afterwards. His mouth tightened because she was nothing but a tramp. A cheap and grasping little tramp. Like mother, like daughter, he thought grimly—and the last type of woman he wanted his brother getting mixed up with.

‘Oh, hi, Ariston,’ said Pavlos with the easy manner which made most people surprised when they learned they were brothers. ‘That’s right, here I am again. I decided to pay a second visit and meet up with an old friend at the same time. You remember Keeley, don’t you?’

There was a moment of silence while a pair of bright green eyes were lifted to his and Ariston felt the loud hammer of his heart.

‘Of course I remember Keeley,’ he said roughly, aware of the irony of his words. Because for him most women were forgettable and nothing more than a means to an end. Oh, sometimes he might recall a pair of spectacular breasts or a pert bottom—or if a woman was especially talented with her lips or hands, she might occasionally merit a nostalgic smile. But Keeley Turner had been in a class of her own and he’d never been able to shift her from the corners of his mind. Because she’d been off-limits and forbidden? Or because she had given him a taste of unbelievable sweetness before he’d forced himself to reject her? Ariston didn’t know. It was as inexplicable as it was powerful and he found himself studying her with the same intensity as the nearby people peering at the photos which adorned the gallery walls.

Petite yet impossibly curvy, her thick hair hung down her back in a curtain of pale and rippling waves. Her jeans were ordinary and her thin sweater unremarkable yet somehow that didn’t seem to matter. With a body like hers she could have worn a piece of sackcloth and still looked like dynamite. The cheap, man-made fabric strained over the lushness of her breasts and the blue denim caressed the curves of her bottom. Her mouth was bare of lipstick and her eyes wore only a lick of mascara as they studied him warily. Hers was not a modern look—yet there was something about Keeley Turner... An indefinable something which touched a sensual core deep inside him and made him want to peel her clothes from her body and ride her until she was screaming his name. But he wanted her gone more than he wanted to bed her—and maybe he should set about accomplishing that right now.

Deliberately excluding her from the conversation, Ariston turned to his brother and summoned up a bland smile. ‘I wasn’t aware you two were friends.’

‘We haven’t actually seen each other for years,’ said Pavlos. ‘Not since that holiday.’

‘I suspect that holiday is an event which none of us particularly care to revisit,’ said Ariston smoothly, enjoying the sudden rush of colour which had made her cheeks turn a deep shade of pink. ‘Yet you’ve stayed in touch with each other all this time?’

‘We’re friends on social media,’ Pavlos elaborated, with a shrug. ‘You know how it is.’

‘Actually, I don’t. You know my views on social media and none of them are positive.’ Ariston made no attempt to hide his frosty disapproval. ‘I need to talk to you, Pavlos. Alone,’ he added.

Pavlos frowned. ‘When?’

‘Now.’

‘But I’ve only just met up with Keeley. Can’t it wait?’

‘I’m afraid it can’t.’ He saw Pavlos shoot her an apologetic glance as if to apologise for his brother’s bullish behaviour but social niceties didn’t bother him. He’d worked hard for most of his life to ensure that Pavlos was kept away from the kind of scandals which had once engulfed their family. He’d been determined he wouldn’t go the same sorry way as their father. He’d made sure that he’d attended a good boarding school in England and a university in Switzerland, and he had carefully influenced his choice of friends—and girlfriends. And this pretty little tramp in her cheap dress and come-to-bed eyes was about to learn that his baby brother was strictly off-limits. ‘It’s business,’ he added firmly.

‘Not more trouble in the Gulf?’

‘Something like that,’ Ariston agreed, irritated at his brother’s attitude and wondering why he’d forgotten you didn’t talk family business in front of strangers. ‘We can use one of the offices here at the gallery—they’re very accommodating,’ he added smoothly. ‘The owner is a friend of mine.’

‘But Keeley—’

‘Oh, don’t worry about Keeley. I’m sure she has the imagination to take care of herself. There’s plenty for her to look at.’ Ariston turned to give her a hard version of a smile, noticing that her knuckles had suddenly whitened as she clutched her thin shawl. For the first time he spoke directly to her, dropping his voice to a silken murmur which his business rivals would have recognised as being a tone you didn’t mess with. ‘And plenty of men hanging around who would be all too happy to take my brother’s place. In fact, I can see a couple watching you right now. I’m sure you could have a lot of fun with them, Keeley. You really mustn’t let us keep you any longer.’

Keeley felt her face freeze as Ariston spoke to her, wishing she could come up with a suitably crushing response to throw at the powerful Greek who was looking at her as if she was a stain on the pale floorboards and talking to her as if she was some kind of hooker. But the truth was that she didn’t trust herself to speak—afraid that her words would come out as meaningless babble. Because that was the effect he had on her. The effect he had on all women. Even when he was talking to them—or should she say at them?—with utter contempt in his eyes, he could reduce them to a level of longing which wasn’t like the stuff you felt around most men. He could make you have fantasies about him, even though he exuded nothing but darkness.

She’d seen the way her own mother had looked at him. She could see the other women in the gallery watching him now—their gazes hungry but wary—as if they were observing a different type of species and weren’t sure how to handle him. As if they realised they should stay well away but were itching to touch him all the same. And she could hardly judge them for that, could she? Because hadn’t she flung herself at him? Pressed her body hard against his and longed for him to take away the aching deep inside her. Behaved like a cheap little fool by misinterpreting a simple gesture on his part and managing to make a bad situation even worse.

The last time she’d seen him her life had pretty much imploded and eight years later she was still dealing with the fallout. Keeley’s mouth tightened. Because she’d come through far too much to let the arrogant billionaire make her feel bad about herself. She suspected that the mocking challenge sparking from his blue eyes was intended to make her excuse herself and disappear, but she wasn’t going to do that. A quiet rebellion began to build inside her. Did he really think he had the power to kick her out of this public gallery, as once he had kicked her off his private island?

‘I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,’ she said, seeing his eyes darken with anger. ‘I’m quite happy looking at photographs of Lasia. I’d forgotten just what a beautiful island it was and I can certainly keep myself occupied until you get back.’ She smiled. ‘I’ll wait here for you, Pavlos. Take as long as you like.’

It clearly wasn’t the response Ariston wanted and she saw the irritation which hardened his beautiful features.

‘As you wish,’ he said tightly. ‘Though I cannot guarantee how long we’ll be.’

She met his cold blue stare with a careless smile. ‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not in any hurry.’

He shrugged. ‘Very well. Come, Pavlos.’

He began to walk away with his brother by his side and, although she told herself to look away, Keeley could do nothing but stand and stare, just like everyone else in the gallery.

She’d forgotten how tall and rugged he was because she had forced herself to forget—to purge her memory of a sensuality which had affected her like no other. But now it was all coming back. The olive skin and tendrils of hair which brushed so blackly against his shirt collar. Yet she thought he seemed uncomfortable in the exquisite grey suit he wore. His muscular body looked constrained—as if he was more at home wearing the sawn-off denims he’d worn on Lasia. The ones which had emphasised his powerful thighs as he’d dived deep into the sapphire waters surrounding his island home. And it suddenly occurred to her that it didn’t matter what he wore or what he said because nothing had changed. Not really. You saw him and you wanted him, it was as simple as that. She thought how cruel life could be—as if she needed any reminding—that the only man she’d ever desired was someone who made no secret about despising her.

With an effort, she tore her gaze away and forced herself to focus on a photograph which showed the island which had been in the Kavakos family for generations. Lasia was known as the paradise of the Cyclades with good reason and Keeley had felt as if she’d tumbled into paradise the moment she’d first set foot on its silvery sands. She had explored its surprisingly lush interior with delight until her mother’s startling fall from grace had led to their visit being cut brutally short. She would never forget the hordes of press and the flash of cameras in their faces as they’d alighted from the boat which had taken them back to Piraeus. Or the screaming headlines when they’d arrived back in England—and the cringe-making interviews her mother had given afterwards, which had only made matters worse. Keeley had been tainted by the scandal—an unwilling victim of circumstances beyond her control—and the knock-on effect had continued to this day.

Wasn’t it that which had made her come here this afternoon—to meet up with Pavlos and remind herself of the beauty of the place? As if by doing that she could draw a line under the past and have some kind of closure? She’d hoped she might be able to eradicate some of the awful memories and replace them with better ones. She’d seen a picture of Ariston in the paper, attending the opening night, with some gorgeous redhead clinging like a vine to his arm. She certainly hadn’t expected him to show up here today. Would she have come if she had known?

Of course she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t have set foot within a million miles of the place.

‘Keeley?’

She turned around to find that Pavlos was back—with Ariston standing slightly behind him, not bothering to disguise the triumph curving his lips as his gaze clashed with hers.

‘Hi,’ she said, aware that the blue burn of his eyes was making her skin grow hot. ‘You weren’t long.’

A look of regret passed over Pavlos’s face and somehow Keeley knew what was coming.

‘No. I know I wasn’t. Look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to bail out, Keeley,’ he said. ‘And take a rain check. Ariston needs me to fly out to the Middle East and take care of a ship.’

‘What, now?’ questioned Keeley, before she could stop herself.

‘This very second,’ put in Ariston silkily before adding, ‘Should he have checked with you first?’

Pavlos bent to brush a brief kiss over each of her cheeks before giving her a quick smile. ‘I’ll message you later. Okay?’

‘Sure.’ She stood and watched him leave, aware that Ariston was still standing behind her but not trusting herself even to look at him. Instead, she tried very hard to concentrate on the photo she’d been studying—a sheltered bay where you could just make out shapes of giant turtles swimming in the crystal-clear waters. Perhaps he might just take the hint and go away. Leave her alone so that she could get to work on forgetting him all over again.

‘I can’t quite work out whether you are completely oblivious to my presence,’ he said, in his dark, accented voice, ‘or whether you just get a kick out of ignoring me.’

He had moved closer to stand beside her and Keeley lifted her gaze to find herself caught in that piercing sapphire stare and the resulting rush of blood went straight to her head. And her breasts. She could feel them become heavy and aching as the slow beat of her blood engorged them. Her mouth dried. How did he do that? Her fingers had grown numb and she was feeling almost dizzy but somehow she managed to compose a cool sentence. ‘Why, do women always notice you whenever you walk into a room?’

‘What do you think?’

And it was then that Keeley realised that she didn’t have to play this game. Or any game. He was nothing to her. Nothing. So stop acting like he’s got some kind of power over you. Yes, she’d once made a stupid mistake—but so what? It was a long time ago. She’d been young and stupid and she’d paid her dues—not to him, but to the universe—and she didn’t owe him anything. Not even politeness.

‘Honestly?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘I think you’re unbelievably rude and arrogant, as well as having the most over-inflated ego of any man I’ve ever met.’

He raised his brows. ‘And I imagine you must have met quite a few in your time.’

‘Nowhere near the amount of women you must have notched up, if the papers are to be believed.’

‘I don’t deny it—but if you try to play the numbers game I’m afraid you’ll never win.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Didn’t anyone ever tell you that the rules for men and the rules for women are very different, koukla mou?’

‘Only in the outdated universe you seem to occupy.’

He gave a careless shrug. ‘It may not be fair but I’m afraid it’s a fact of life. And men are allowed to behave in a way which would be disapproved of in a woman.’

His voice had dipped into a velvety caress and it was having precisely the wrong effect on her. Keeley could feel a hot flush of colour flooding into her cheeks as she made to move away.

‘Let me pass, please,’ she said, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘I don’t have to stand here and listen to this kind of Neanderthal...rubbish.’

‘No, you’re right. You don’t.’ He placed a restraining hand on her forearm. ‘But before you go, maybe this is the ideal opportunity to get a few things straight between us.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘I think you know what I’m talking about, Keeley.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me.’ She shrugged. ‘Mind-reading was never one of my talents.’

His gaze hardened. ‘Then let me give it to you in words of one syllable, just so there can be no misunderstanding.’ There was a pause. ‘Just stay away from my brother, okay?’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You heard. Leave him alone. Find someone else to dig your beautiful claws into—I’m sure there must be plenty of takers.’

His hand was still on her arm and to the outside world it must have looked like an affectionate gesture between two people who’d just bumped into one another, but to Keeley it felt nothing like that. She could feel the imprint of his fingers through her sweater and it was almost as if he were branding her with his touch—as if he were setting her skin on fire. Angrily, she shook herself free. ‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to come out and say something like that.’

‘Why not? I have his best interests at heart.’

‘You mean you regularly go around warning off Pavlos’s friends?’

‘Up until now I haven’t felt the need to do more than keep a watchful eye on them but today I do. Funny that.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘I have no idea of your success rate with men, though I imagine it must be high. But I feel I’d better crush any burgeoning hopes you may have by telling you that Pavlos already has a girlfriend. A beautiful, decent woman he cares for very much and wedding bells are in the air.’ His eyes glittered. ‘So I wouldn’t bother wasting any more time on him if I were you.’

It struck Keeley again how controlling he was. Even now. As if all he had to do was to snap his fingers and everyone would just jump to attention. ‘And does he have any say in the matter?’ she demanded. ‘Have you already chosen the engagement ring? Decided where the wedding is going to be and how many bridesmaids?’

‘Just stay away from him, Keeley,’ he snapped. ‘Understand?’

The irony was that Keeley had absolutely no romantic leanings towards Pavlos Kavakos and never had done. They’d once been close, yes—but in a purely platonic way and she hadn’t seen him in years. Their current friendship, if you could call it that, extended no further than her pressing the occasional ‘like’ button or smiley face whenever he posted a photo of himself with a crowd of beautiful young things revelling in the sunshine. Meeting him today had been comforting because she realised he didn’t care what had happened in the past, but she was aware that they moved in completely different worlds which never collided. He was rich and she was not. She didn’t know or care that he had a girlfriend, but hearing Ariston’s imperious order was like a red rag to a bull.

‘Nobody tells me what to do,’ she said quietly. ‘Not you. Not anyone. You can’t move people around like pawns. I’ll see who I want to see—and you can’t do a thing to stop me. If Pavlos wants to get in touch, I’m not going to turn him away just because you say so. Understand?’

She saw the disbelief on his face which was quickly followed by anger, as if nobody ever dared defy him so openly, and she tried to ignore the sudden sense of foreboding which made her body grow even more tense. But she’d said her piece and now she needed to get away. Get away quickly before she started thinking about how it had felt to have him touch her.

She turned away and walked straight out of the gallery, not noticing that her cream shawl had slipped from her nerveless fingers. All she was aware of was the burn of Ariston’s eyes on her back, which made each step feel like a slow walk to the gallows. The glass elevator arrived almost immediately but Keeley was shaking as it zoomed her down to ground level and her forehead was wet with sweat as she stepped out onto the busy London pavement.

CHAPTER TWO

THE JOURNEY BACK to her home in New Malden passed in a blur as Keeley kept remembering the way Ariston had spoken to her—with a contempt he’d made no attempt to disguise. But that hadn’t stopped her breasts from tightening beneath his arrogant scrutiny, had it? Nor that stupid yearning from whispering over her skin every time she’d looked into the blue blaze of his eyes. And now she was going to have to start forgetting him all over again.

A sudden spring shower emptied itself on her head as she emerged from the train station. The April weather was notoriously unpredictable but she was ill-prepared for the rain and hadn’t packed an umbrella. By the time she let herself into her tiny bedsit she was dripping wet and cold and her fingers were trembling as she shut the door. But instead of doing the sensible thing of stripping off her clothes and boiling the kettle to make tea, she sank into the nearest chair, not caring that her clothes were damp and getting all crumpled. She stared out of the window but the rods of rain spattering onto the rooftops barely registered. Suddenly she was no longer sitting shivering in a small and unremarkable corner of London. Her mind was playing tricks on her and all she could see was a wide silver beach with beautiful mountains rising up in the distance. A paradise of a place. Lasia.

Keeley swallowed, unprepared for the sudden rush of memory which made the past seem so vivid. She remembered her surprise at finding herself on Lasia—a private island owned by the powerful Kavakos family, with whom she’d had no connection. She’d been staying on nearby Andros with her mother who had spent the holiday complaining about her recent divorce from Keeley’s father and washing her woes away with too many glasses of retsina.

But Ariston’s own father had been one of those men who were dazzled by celebrity—even B-list celebrity—and when he’d heard that the actress and her teenage daughter were so close, had insisted they join him on his exclusive island home to continue their holiday. Keeley had been reluctant to gatecrash someone else’s house party but her mother had been overjoyed at the free upgrade, her social antennae quivering in the presence of so many rich and powerful men. She had layered on extra layers of ‘war paint’ and crammed her body into a bikini which was much too brief for a woman her age.

But Keeley had wanted none of the party scene because it bored her. Despite her relatively tender years, she’d had her fill of the decadent parties her mother had dragged her to since she’d been old enough to walk. At eighteen, she just tried to stay in the background because that was where she felt safest. Over the years her mother’s sustained girlishness had contributed to her becoming an out and out tomboy, despite her very bothersome and very feminine curves. She remembered being overjoyed to meet the sporty Pavlos, with whom she’d hit it off immediately. The Greek teenager had taught her how to snorkel in the crystal bays and taken her hiking in the blue-green mountains. Physical attraction hadn’t come into it because, like many children brought up by a licentious parent, Keeley had been something of a prude. She’d never felt a single whisper of desire and the thought of sex had been mildly disgusting. She and Pavlos had been like brother and sister—growing brown as berries as they explored the island paradise which had felt like their own miniature kingdom.

But then one morning his older brother Ariston had arrived in a silvery-white boat, looking like some kind of god at its helm, with his tousled black hair, tawny skin and eyes which matched the colour of the dark sea. Keeley remembered watching him from the beach, her heart crashing in an unfamiliar way. She remembered her mouth growing dry as he jumped onto the sand, the fine silver grains spraying up around his bronzed calves like Christmas glitter. Later, she’d been introduced to him but had remained so self-conscious in his presence that she’d barely been able to look him in the eye. Not so all the other women at the house party. She’d cringed at the way her mother had flirted with him—even asking him to rub suncream into her shoulders. Keeley remembered his barely perceptible shudder as he delegated the task to a female member of staff, and her mother’s pout when he did so.

And then had come the night of the party—the impressive party to which the Greek Defence Minister had been invited. Keeley remembered the febrile atmosphere and Ariston’s disapproving face as people started getting more and more drunk. Remembered wondering where her mother had disappeared to—only to discover that she’d been caught making out with the minister’s driver, her blonde head bobbing up and down on the back seat of the official car as she administered oral sex to a man half her age. Someone had even filmed them doing it. And that was when all hell had broken loose.

Keeley had fled down to the beach, too choked with shame to be able to face anyone, too scared to read the disgust in their expressions and wanting nothing but to be left alone. But Ariston had come after her and had found her crying. His words had been surprisingly soft. Almost gentle. He’d put his arms around her, and it had felt like heaven. Was it because her mother never showed physical affection and her father had been too old to pick her up when she was little which had caused Keeley to misconstrue what was happening, so she mistook comfort for something else? Was that why the desire which had been absent from her life now shot through her like a flame, making her behave in a way she’d never behaved before?

It had been so powerful, that feeling. Like a primitive hunger which had to be fed. Pressing her body against Ariston’s, she’d risen up on tiptoe as her trembling mouth sought his. After a moment he had responded and that response had been everything she could have dreamed of. For a few minutes the feeling had intensified as his lips had pressed down urgently against hers. She’d felt his tongue nudging against her mouth and she’d opened her mouth in silent invitation. And then his fingers had been on her quivering breasts, impatiently fingering her nipples into peaking points before guiding her hand towards his trousers. There had been no shyness on her part, just a glorious realisation of the power of her own sexuality—and his. She remembered the ragged groan he’d made as she’d touched him there. The way she’d marvelled at the hard ridge pushing against his trousers as, greedily, she had run her fingertips over it. Passion had swamped shyness and she’d been so consumed by it that she suspected she would have let him do whatever he wanted, right there and then on the silvery sand—until suddenly he had thrust her away from him with a look on his shadowed face which she would remember as long as she lived.

‘You little...tramp,’ he’d said, his voice shaking with rage and disgust. ‘Like mother, like daughter. Two filthy little tramps.’

She’d never realised until that moment how badly rejection could hurt. Just like she hadn’t realised how someone could make you feel so cheap. She remembered the shame which flooded through her as she vowed never to put herself in that position again. She would never allow herself to be rejected again. But her own pain had been quickly superseded by what had happened when they’d returned to England and her mother’s lifestyle had finally caught up with her—and in one way and another they’d been paying the price ever since.

She pushed the bitter memories away because her hair was still damp and she had now started to shiver so Keeley forced herself to get up and to go into the cramped bathroom, where the miserable jet of tepid water trickling from the shower did little to warm her chilled skin. But the brisk rub of a rough towel helped and so did the big mug of tea she made herself afterwards. She’d just put on her uniform when there was a knock on the door and she frowned. Her social circle was tiny because of the hours she worked, but even so she didn’t often invite people here. She didn’t want people coming in and judging her. Wondering how the only daughter of a wealthy man and an actress whose face had graced cinema screens in a series of low-budget vampire movies should have ended up living in such drastically reduced circumstances.

A louder knock sounded and she pulled open the door, her curiosity dying on her lips when she saw who was standing there. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked into the blaze of Ariston’s eyes and she gripped the door handle, hard. His black hair was wet and plastered to his head and his coat was spattered with raindrops. She knew she should tell him to get lost before slamming the door shut in his face but the powerful impact of his presence made her hesitate just as the siren tug of her body betrayed her yet again. Because he was just so damned gorgeous...with his muscular physique and that classical Greek face with the tiny bump midway down his nose.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said coldly. ‘Did you think of a few more insults you’d forgotten to ram home?’

His lips curved into an odd kind of smile. ‘I think you left...this.’

She stared down at the cream shawl he was holding, her heart automatically contracting. It was an old wrap which had belonged to her mother—a soft, cashmere drift of a thing embroidered with tiny pink flowers and green leaves. These days it was faded and worn, but it reminded her of the woman her mother used to be and a lump rose in her throat as she lifted her gaze to his.

‘How did you find out where I live?’ she questioned gruffly.

‘It wasn’t difficult. You signed the visitors’ book at the gallery, remember?’

‘But you didn’t have to bring it yourself. Couldn’t you have asked one of your minions to do it?’

‘I could. But there are some things I prefer not to delegate.’ He met her eyes. ‘And besides, I don’t think we’ve quite finished our conversation, do you?’

She supposed they hadn’t and that somehow there seemed to be a lot which had been left unsaid. And maybe it was better that way. Yet something was stopping her from closing the door on him. She told herself he had gone out of his way to bring her mum’s shawl back to her and he was very wet. Did he sense her hesitation? Was that why he took a step forward?

‘So aren’t you going to ask me inside?’ he persisted softly.

‘Suit yourself,’ she said carelessly, but her heart was thumping like a crazy thing as she walked back into the little bedsit and heard him shut the door to follow her. And when she turned round and saw him standing there—so powerful and masculine—her breasts grew hot and heavy with desire. Why him? she thought despairingly. Why should Ariston Kavakos be the only man who should make her feel so insanely alive? Her smile was tight. ‘Though if you’re going to try to justify your ridiculously controlling behaviour, I wouldn’t bother.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ he questioned silkily.

‘It means that you turn up and suddenly send your brother away to sea—just to get him away from me. Isn’t that a little desperate?’

His lips hardened. ‘Like I told you. He already has a girlfriend. A young woman of Greek origin who has just qualified as a doctor and is light years away from someone like you. And if you must know, the business in the Gulf is both urgent and legitimate—you flatter yourself if you think I’d manufacture some kind of catastrophe just to remove him from your company. But I’m not going to lie. I can’t deny I’m happy he’s gone.’

She felt the sting of his words yet she could almost understand his concern—even though it was misplaced—because the contrast between her and Pavlos’s girlfriend couldn’t have been greater. She could imagine how Ariston must see it, in that simplistic and chauvinistic way of his. The qualified professional doctor versus someone with barely an exam to her name. If he’d gone about it differently—if he’d asked her nicely—then Keeley might have done what he wanted her to do. She might have given him her word that she’d never see Pavlos again—which was probably true in any case. But he wasn’t asking, was he? He was telling. And it wasn’t so much the contempt in his eyes which was making her angry—it was the total lack of respect. As if she meant nothing. As if her feelings counted for nothing. As if she was to spend the rest of her life paying for one youthful mistake. She tilted her chin upwards. ‘If you think you can tell me what to do, then you’re wrong,’ she said. ‘Very, very wrong.’

Ariston stiffened because her defiance was turning him on and that was the last thing he wanted. He’d come here ostensibly to return the shawl she’d left behind and yet part of him had wanted to see her again, even though he’d convinced himself he was only looking out for his brother’s welfare. In the car he had briefly buried his nose in the soft cashmere and smelt Keeley’s faint and flowery perfume. He’d wondered whether she had deliberately left it behind to get his brother to come running after her when he arrived back in England. Had that been her not so subtle plan? Did she sense a softness in his younger sibling and a susceptibility to her blonde sexiness which could override what seemed to be a perfect relationship with his long-term girlfriend?

He remembered how close she and Pavlos had been on that holiday, how they used to run around together all the time. People said the past had powerful and sentimental tentacles and she’d known his brother when he was young and impressionable. Long before he’d reached the age of twenty-five and come into the massive trust fund which had changed people’s attitude towards him, because wealth always did. Mightn’t Pavlos read more into his date with the sexy blonde than there really was and forget the safe and settled future which was carefully laid out for him? What if Keeley Turner realised that a fortune was there for the taking if she just went about it the right way?

He glanced around her home, more surprised by her environment than he could remember being surprised by anything in a long time. Because this wasn’t just a low standard of living—this was breadline living. He’d imagined peacock feathers and glittery necklaces draped over mirrors. Walls dripping with old photos depicting her mother’s rather tawdry fame, but there was nothing other than neatness and an almost bland utilitarianism. The most overriding feature was one of cleanliness. His mouth hardened. Was that simply a clever ploy to illustrate what a good little homemaker she could be, if only some big and powerful man would take her away from all this and give her the opportunity?

He’d been doing his best not to stare at her because staring only increased his desire and a man could think more clearly when his blood wasn’t heated by lust. But now he looked at her dispassionately and for the first time he registered that she was wearing some kind of uniform. He frowned. Surely she wasn’t a nurse? He took in a shapeless navy dress edged by a paler blue piping and then noticed a small badge depicting a bright, cartoon sun and what looked like a chicken drumstick underneath the words ‘Super Save’. No. His mouth twisted. Definitely not a nurse.

‘You work in a shop?’ he demanded.

He could see the indecision which fretworked her brow, before she gave him another defiant tilt of her chin which made her lips look utterly kissable.

‘Yes, I work in a shop,’ she said.

‘Why?’

‘Why not?’ she questioned angrily. ‘Somebody has to. How else do you think all the shelves get stacked with new produce? Or, let me guess—you never actually do your own shopping?’

‘You’re a shelf-stacker?’ he asked incredulously.

Keeley drew in a deep breath. If it had been anyone else she might have blurted out the truth about her mother and all the other dark stuff which had led her to having to leave so many jobs that, in the end, Super Save supermarket had been her unlikely saviour. She might have explained that she was doing her best to make up for all those lost, gypsy-like years by studying hard whenever she had a spare moment and was doing an online course in bookkeeping and business studies. She might even have plunged the very depths of her own despair and conveyed the sense of hopelessness she felt when she visited her mother every week. When she saw how the once vibrant features had become an unmoving mask while those china-blue eyes stared unseeingly into the distance. When, no matter how many times she prayed for a different outcome, her mother failed to recognise the young woman she had given birth to.

Briefly Keeley closed her eyes as she remembered the awkward conversation she’d had last week with the care-home manager. How she’d been informed that costs were spiralling and they were going to have to put the fees up and that there was only so much that the welfare state could do. And when she’d tried to protest about her mum being moved to that horrible great cavern of a place which was not only cheaper but miles away, she had been met with a shrugging response and been told that nobody could argue with economics.

But why imagine that Ariston Kavakos would have anything other than a cold and unfeeling heart? As if he would even care about her problems. The controlling billionaire clearly wanted to think the worst about her and she doubted whether coming out with her own particular sob story would change his mind. Suddenly she felt sorry for Pavlos. How awful to have a brother who was so determined to orchestrate your life that you weren’t allowed the personal freedom to make your own friends. Why, the sexy Greek billionaire standing in front of her was nothing more than a raging megalomaniac!

‘Yes, I’m a shelf-stacker,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you have a problem with that?’

Ariston wanted to say that the only problem he had was with her. With her inherent sensuality, which managed to transcend even the ugly outfit she was wearing. Or maybe it was because he’d seen her in a swimsuit, with the sopping wet fabric clinging to every feminine curve. Maybe it was because he knew what a killer body lay beneath the oversized uniform which was making him aroused. Yet it was a shock to discover just how humble her circumstances were. As a gold-digger she clearly wasn’t as effective as her mother had been or she wouldn’t have ended up in a crummy apartment, working unsociable hours in a supermarket.

In his mind he began to do rapid calculations. She was obviously broke and therefore easy to manipulate, but he also sensed that she presented an unknown kind of danger. If it hadn’t been for Pavlos he would have fought the infuriating desire to kiss her and just walked away, consigning her to history. He would have phoned the sizzling supermodel he’d taken to the photographic exhibition and demanded she drop everything. Especially her panties. He swallowed, because the equally infuriating reality was that the model seemed instantly forgettable when he compared her to Keeley Turner in her unflattering uniform. Was it the fire spitting from her green eyes and the indignant tremble of those lips which made him want to dominate and subdue her? Or because he wanted to protect his brother from someone like her? He’d sent Pavlos off to sea to deal with a crew in revolt—but as soon as the situation was resolved he would return. And who was to say what the two of them might get up to if his back was turned? He couldn’t keep them apart—no matter how powerful he was. Mightn’t her ethereal blonde beauty tempt his brother into straying, despite the lovely young woman waiting for him in Melbourne?

Suddenly his thoughts took on a completely different direction as a solution came out of nowhere. A solution of such satisfying simplicity that it almost took his breath away. Because weren’t men territorial above all else—especially Kavakos men? He and Pavlos hadn’t been brought up to share—not their toys, nor their thoughts, and certainly not their women. The age difference between them had guaranteed that just as much as the bleak and unsettled circumstances of their childhood. So what if he seduced her before his brother got a chance? Pavlos certainly wouldn’t be interested in one of his cast-offs—so wouldn’t that effectively remove her from his brother’s life for good?

Ariston swallowed. And sex might succeed in eradicating her from his mind, once and for all. Because hadn’t she been like a low-grade fever all these years—a fever which still flared up from time to time? She was the only woman he’d ever kissed and not had sex with and perhaps it was his need for perfection and completion which demanded he remedy that aching omission.

He looked around her shabby home. At the thin curtains at the window which looked out over a rainy street and the threadbare rug on the floor. And suddenly he realised it could be easy. It always was with women, when you brought up the subject of cash. His mouth hardened with bitter recall as he remembered the monetary transaction which had defined and condemned him when he had been nothing more than a boy. ‘Do you need money?’ he questioned softly. ‘I rather think you do, koukla mou.’

‘You’re offering me money to stay away from your brother? Seriously?’ She stared at him. ‘Isn’t that what’s known as blackmail?’

‘Actually, I’m offering you money to come and work for me. More money than you could have ever dreamed of.’

‘You mean you have your own supermarket?’ she questioned sarcastically. ‘And need your very own shelf-stacker?’

He very nearly smiled but forced himself to clamp his lips together before returning her gaze. ‘I haven’t been tempted into retail as of yet,’ he said drily. ‘But I have my own island, on which I occasionally entertain. In fact, I’m flying back there tomorrow to prepare for a house party.’

‘How nice for you. But I don’t see what that has to do with me. Am I supposed to congratulate you on having so many friends—even though it’s difficult to believe you actually have any?’

A pulse began to beat insistently at his temple because Ariston wasn’t used to such a feisty and insolent reaction—and never from a woman. Yet it made him want to pull her into his arms and crush his lips down hard against hers. It made him want to push her up against the wall and have her moaning with pleasure as he slid his fingers inside her panties. He swallowed. ‘I’m telling you because during busy times on the island, there is always work available for the right person.’

‘And you think I’m the right person?’

‘Well, let’s not push credibility too far.’ His lips twisted as he looked around. ‘But you’re clearly short of money.’

‘I’m sure most people are compared to you.’

‘We’re talking about your circumstances, Keeley, not mine. And this apartment of yours is surprisingly humble.’

Keeley didn’t deny it. How could she? ‘And?’

‘And I’m curious. How did that happen? How did you get from being flown around Europe on private jets to...this? Your mother must have made a stack of money from her various liaisons with wealthy men and her habit of giving tell-all interviews to the press. Doesn’t she help fund her daughter’s lifestyle?’

Keeley stared him out, thinking how very wrong he’d got it but she wasn’t going to tell him. Why should she? Some things were just too painful to recount, especially to a cold and uncaring man like him. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.

A calculating look entered his eyes. ‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing—it clearly isn’t working. So how about earning yourself a bonus?’ he continued softly. ‘A big, fat bonus which could catapult you out of the poverty trap?’

She looked at him suspiciously, trying to dampen down the automatic spring of hope in her heart. ‘Doing what?’

He shrugged. ‘Your home is surprisingly clean and tidy, so I assume you’re capable of doing housework. Just as I assume you’re able to follow simple instructions and help around the kitchen.’

‘And you trust me enough to employ me?’

‘I don’t know. Can I?’ His gaze seared into her. ‘I imagine the reason for your relative poverty is probably because you’re unreliable and easily bored by the mundane—and that maybe things didn’t fall into your lap as effortlessly as you thought they might. Am I right, Keeley? Did you discover that you weren’t as successful a freeloader as your mother?’

‘Go to hell,’ she snapped.

‘But I suspect that if the price was right you would be prepared to knuckle down,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘So how about if I offered you a month as a temporary domestic on my Greek estate—and the opportunity to earn yourself the kind of money which could transform your life?’

Her heart was beating very hard. ‘And why would you do that?’ she croaked.

‘You know why.’ His voice grew harsh. ‘I don’t want you in London when Pavlos returns. He’s due to fly to Melbourne in two weeks’ time, hopefully with a diamond ring tucked inside his pocket—and after that, I don’t care what you do. Let’s just call it an insurance policy, shall we? I’m prepared to pay a big premium to keep you out of my brother’s life.’

His disapproval washed over her like dirty water and Keeley wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with his offer, yet she couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in her head which was urging her to be realistic. Could she really afford to turn down the kind of opportunity which would probably never come her way again, just because she loathed the man who was making it?

‘Tempted?’ he questioned softly.

Oh, she was tempted, all right. Tempted to tell him that she’d never met anyone so charmless and insulting. Keeley felt her skin grow hot as she realised he was offering her a job as some kind of skivvy. Someone to get her hands dirty by tidying up after him and his fancy guests. To chop vegetables and change his bed while he cavorted on the silvery beach with whoever his current squeeze was—probably the stunning redhead he’d taken to the gallery opening with him. He was looking down his proud and patrician nose at her and she opened her mouth to say she’d rather starve than accept his offer until she reminded herself of the significant fact she’d been in danger of forgetting. Because it wasn’t just herself she had to consider, was it?

She stared down at one of the holes in the carpet as she thought of her mother and the little treats which added to her life, even though she was completely oblivious to them. The weekly manicure and occasional hairdo to primp those thinning curls into some sort of shape, so that in some ways she resembled the woman she had once been. Vivienne Turner didn’t know that these things were being done for her, but Keeley did. Sometimes she shuddered to imagine what her mother’s reaction would have been if she’d been able to look into a crystal ball and see the life she’d been condemned to live. But nobody had a crystal ball, thank goodness. Nobody could see what lay ahead. And when occasionally other patients’ relatives or members of staff recognised the shell of the woman who had once been Vivienne Turner, Keeley was proud that her mother looked as good as she possibly could. Because that would have mattered. To her.

So test him, she thought. See what the mighty Ariston Kavakos is putting on the table. See if it’s big enough to enable you to endure his company for longer than a minute. ‘How much,’ she said baldly, ‘are you offering me?’

Ariston swallowed down his distaste as he heard the shrewd note which had entered her voice and he realised that Keeley’s greed was as transparent as her mother’s. His mouth twisted. How he despised her and everything she stood for. Yet his natural revulsion was not enough to destroy his desire for her and his mouth grew dry as he thought about having sex with Keeley Turner. Because it was inconceivable that she would return to Lasia and not sleep with him. It would bring about satisfaction and closure—for both of them. The fever in his blood would be removed and afterwards she could be quietly airbrushed from all their lives. She would be rewarded with enough money to satisfy her. She would disappear into the sunset. Most important of all—Pavlos would never see her again.

He smiled as he mentioned a sum of money, expecting her simpering gratitude and instant acceptance, but instead he was met with a look from her green eyes which was almost glacial.

‘Double it,’ she said coolly.

Ariston’s smile died but he could feel the insistent beat of lust intensifying because her attitude made his callous plan a whole lot easier to execute. Every woman could be bought, he remembered bitterly. You just had to negotiate the right price.

‘You have a deal,’ he said softly.

CHAPTER THREE

LASIA WAS AS beautiful as Keeley remembered it. No. Maybe even more so. Because when you were eighteen you thought that sunny days would never end and beauty would last for ever. You never imagined that life could turn out so different from how you’d imagined. She’d thought the money would last. She’d thought...

No. She gazed out of the car window at the cloudless blue sky. She wasn’t going to do that thing. She wasn’t going to look back. She was here, on this stunning private island, to work for Ariston Kavakos and earn herself a nest egg for her poor, broken mother. Fixing her gaze on the dark blue line of the horizon, she reminded herself to start looking for the positives, not the negatives.

A fancy car had been waiting for her on Lasia’s only airstrip—its air-conditioned interior deliciously welcoming because, even though it was still only springtime, the midday sun was intense. During the flight over she’d wondered if any of Ariston’s staff might remember her and she was dreading any such recognition. But thankfully the driver was new—well, new to her—and his name was Stelios.

He seemed content to remain silent and Keeley said nothing as the powerful car snaked its way through the mountain roads towards the Kavakos complex on the other side of the island. But although outwardly calm, inside she was quaking for all kinds of reasons. For a start, she’d lost her job at the supermarket. Her manager had reacted with incredulity when she’d asked for a month’s unpaid holiday, telling her that she must have taken leave of her senses if she expected those kinds of perks. He’d added rather triumphantly that she was in the wrong job, but deep down Keeley had already known that. Because no matter how hard she’d tried, she’d never fitted in. Not there. Not anywhere if she stopped to think about it—and certainly not here, on this private paradise which exuded untold wealth and privilege. Where costly yachts bobbed on the azure sea as carelessly as a baby floated toys in the bathtub. She leaned forward to get a better look as the car rounded the bend and made its slow descent towards the complex she’d last seen when she was eighteen, blinking her eyes in surprise because everything looked so different.

Oh, not Assimenos Bay—that hadn’t changed. The natural cove with its silvery sand was as stunning as ever, but the vast house which had once dominated it had gone. The beachside mansion was no more and in its place stood an imposing building which seemed composed mainly of glass. Modern and magnificent, the transparent walls and curved windows reflected back the different hues of sea and sky so that Keeley’s first impression was that everything looked so blue. As blue as Ariston’s eyes, she found herself thinking, before reminding herself furiously that she wasn’t here to fantasise about him.

And then, as if she had conjured him up from her restless imagination, she saw the Greek tycoon standing at one of the vast windows on the first floor of the house. Standing watching her—his stance as unmoving as a statue. A ripple of unwilling awareness ran through her body as she stared up at him because even at a distance he dominated everything. Even though she was surrounded by so much natural beauty and the kind of scenery she hadn’t seen in a long time it still took a huge effort to drag her gaze away from him. And she mustn’t be seen ogling him like some helpless fan-girl. Hadn’t she made that mistake once before? And look where that had got her. This was her chance to redeem herself and the only way she could achieve that was by remaining immune to him and his effortless charisma. To show him she no longer wanted him—that ship had sailed—because she wasn’t into cruel billionaires who treated you with zero respect.

The car stopped and Stelios opened the door and Keeley could smell lemons and pine and the salty tang of the nearby sea as she stepped onto the sun-baked courtyard.

‘Here’s Demetra,’ said Stelios as a middle-aged woman in a crisp white uniform began walking through the shimmering heat towards them. ‘She’s the cook—but basically she’s in charge! Even Ariston listens when Demetra speaks. She’ll show you to your accommodation. You’re pretty lucky to be staying here,’ he observed. ‘All the other staff live in the village.’

‘Thank you.’ Keeley turned to him in surprise. ‘You speak perfect English!’

‘Pretty much. I lived in London for a while. Used to drive taxis for a living.’ Stelios gave an inscrutable smile. ‘Though the boss doesn’t like me to publicise it too much.’

No, she’d bet he didn’t. A silent but understanding driver would be an asset for a control freak like Ariston, thought Keeley wryly. Someone able to eavesdrop on the conversation of his English-speaking guests should the need arise. Yet she heard the obvious affection in the driver’s voice as he referred to his boss and wondered what the autocratic ship-owner had ever done to deserve it, apart from be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. But everyone liked you when you had money, she reminded herself. The world was full of hangers-on who were mesmerised by the lure of wealth. The same hangers-on who would drop you like a hot potato when all that wealth had gone.

She smiled as the cook approached, reminding herself it was important to be accepted by the people she was going to be working with and to show them she wasn’t afraid of hard work.

‘Kalispera, Demetra,’ she said, holding out her hand. ‘I’m Keeley. Keeley Turner.’

‘Kalispera,’ said the cook, looking pleased. ‘You speak Greek?’

‘Not really. Only a couple of phrases.’ Keeley pulled a face. ‘But I’d love to learn more. Do you speak English?’

‘Neh. Kyrios Kavakos likes all his staff to speak English.’ She smiled. ‘We help each other. Come. I show you your house.’

Keeley followed the cook down a narrow sandy path leading directly to the beach, until they reached a small whitewashed cottage. She could hear the waves lapping against the shore and could see the moving glimmer of sunlight on the water, but, although she was surrounded by so much beauty, all she could remember was the uproar and the chaos. Because wasn’t it over there beside that crop of rocks that Ariston pulled her into his arms for that tantalisingly sweet taste of pleasure, before thrusting her away again? She closed her eyes as goosebumps shivered over her bare arms, despite the heat of the day. How could the memory of something which had happened so long ago still be so vivid?

‘You like it?’ questioned Demetra, obviously misinterpreting her silence.

‘Oh, gosh, yes. It’s...beautiful,’ said Keeley quickly.

Demetra smiled. ‘Oreos. All Lasia is oreos. Come to the house when you are ready and I show you everything.’

After Demetra had gone, Keeley went inside the cottage—leaving the door open so she could hear the waves as she set about exploring her temporary home. It didn’t take long to get her bearings because, although it was small and compact, it was still bigger than her home in London. There was a sitting room and a small kitchen, while upstairs was a bedroom with space for little more than a large bed. The bathroom was surprisingly sophisticated and the whole place was simple and clean, with walls painted white and completely bare of decoration. But the light which flooded into every room was incredible—bright and clear and shot with the dancing reflection of the waves. Who needed pictures on the walls when you had that?

Keeley unpacked, showered and changed into shorts and a T-shirt—and was just making her way downstairs when she saw Ariston walking towards her cottage. And try as she might, she could do nothing to prevent the powerful squeeze of her heart and the molten tug deep inside her.

She wanted to turn away. To close her eyes and shut him out...yet she wanted to watch him like the rerun of a favourite TV show. The powerful thrust of his thighs as he walked. The broadness of his shoulders and the bunched muscle of his arms. The way his white T-shirt contrasted with the darkness of his olive skin. Her mouth dried as she noticed the narrow band of skin showing above the low-slung waistband of his faded jeans. Because this was Ariston as she remembered him—not wearing a sophisticated suit which seemed to constrain him, but looking as if he could have just finished work on one of the fishing boats.

He was the most alpha male she’d ever seen but it was vital he didn’t guess she thought that way. She was going to have to respond to him indifferently—betraying none of her uneasy emotions whenever he came close. She needed to pretend he was just like any other man—even though he wasn’t. Because no other man had ever made her feel this way. She sucked in an unsteady breath as he approached, because the most important thing she needed to remember was that she didn’t actually like him.

‘So. Here you are,’ he observed, his blue eyes moving over her with their strange, cold fire.

‘Here I am.’ Feeling curiously insubstantial, she tugged at the hem of her T-shirt. ‘You sound surprised.’

‘Maybe I am. Part of me wondered whether you might change your mind at the last minute and not bother coming.’

‘Should I have done?’ She fixed him with a questioning gaze. ‘Would it have been wiser to have dismissed your generous job offer and carried on with my life the way it was, Kyrios Kavakos?’

As she stared at him so fearlessly, her bright green eyes so cat-like and entrancing, Ariston thought about the answers he could have given her. If she was someone he cared about he would have told her that, yes, she should have stayed well away from his island and the doomed orbit of a man like him. But the point was that he didn’t care. She was a commodity. A woman he intended to seduce and finish what she had started all those years ago. Why warn her to be on her guard against something which was going to bring them both a great deal of pleasure?

And closure, he reminded himself grimly. Because wasn’t closure equally important?

He stared at the thick pale hair which hung in a twisted rope over one shoulder, wondering why he found it so difficult to tear his eyes away from her. He’d known women more beautiful. He’d certainly known women more suitable than some washed-up ex-party-girl with dollar signs in her eyes. Yet knowing that did nothing to diminish her impact on him. Her lush breasts were pushing against a T-shirt the colour of the lemons which grew in the hills behind the house and a pair of cotton shorts skimmed her shapely hips and legs. She’d slipped her bare feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops so that she looked unexpectedly carefree—and young—as if she hadn’t made the slightest effort to impress him with her appearance and the unexpectedness of this made desire spiral up inside him even more.

‘No, I think you’re in exactly the right place,’ he said evenly. ‘So let’s go into the house and I’ll show you around. I think you’ll find things have changed quite a lot since last time you were here.’

‘No, honestly. You don’t have to do that,’ she said. ‘Demetra has already offered.’

‘But I’m offering now.’

She tilted her head to one side. ‘Surely it would be more appropriate if another member of staff took me round? You must have plenty of other things you’d rather be doing—a busy man like you, with a great empire to control.’

‘I don’t care whether or not it’s appropriate, Keeley. I happen to be a very hands-on employer.’

‘And what you say goes, right?’

‘Exactly. So why don’t you just accept that, and do what I say?’

He was so ridiculously masterful, Keeley thought resentfully. Didn’t he realise how out of touch and outdated he sounded when he spoke like that? But even though she objected to his overbearing attitude, she couldn’t deny its effect on her. It was as if her body had been programmed to respond to his masculine dominance and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her face was hot as she shut the cottage door and followed him across the beach towards his home, her flip-flops sinking into the soft sand as she scurried to match his pace.

‘Any questions you want to ask?’ he said, glancing down at her.

There were a million. She wanted to know why—at thirty-five and surely one of the world’s most eligible bachelors—he still wasn’t married. She wanted to know what made him so hard and cold and proud. She wanted to know if he ever laughed and if so, what made those sensual lips curve with humour. But she bit all those questions back because she had no right to ask them. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘What made you knock the old house down?’

Ariston felt a pulse flicker at his temple as he lessened his stride so she could keep up with him. How ironic that she should choose a subject which still had the power to make him feel uncomfortable. He remembered the disbelief he’d faced when he’d proposed demolition of the old house, which had been rich in history. How people had thought he was acting out of a sense of misplaced grief after the death of his father. But it had been nothing to do with that. For him it had been a necessary rebirth. Should he tell her that he’d wanted to raze away the past along with those impressive walls? As if believing that those dark memories could be reduced to rubble, just like the bricks. That he’d wanted to forget the house where his mother had played with him until the day she’d walked away—leaving him and Pavlos in the care of their father. Just as he wanted to forget the parties and sickly-sweet stench of marijuana and the women flown in from destinations all over Europe—their given brief to ‘entertain’ his father and his jaded friends. Why would he tell Keeley Turner something like that—when she and her mother had been exactly those kind of women?

‘New broom, new era,’ he said, with a hard smile. ‘When my father died I decided I needed to make a few changes. To put my own stamp on the place.’

She was staring up at the wide glass structure. ‘Well, you’ve certainly done that.’

Her cooing words sounded speculative—the instinctive reaction of an avaricious woman confronted by affluence—but that didn’t quite cancel out the pleasure Ariston got from her praise. Or stop him thinking how much he’d like to hear that soft English voice whispering some very different things in his ear. Was she one of those women who talked during sex? he wondered. Or did she keep quiet until she started to come, gasping out her joyful pleasure into the man’s ear? His lips curved into a speculative smile. He couldn’t wait to find out.

He gestured for her to precede him though her wiggling bottom made it difficult for him to concentrate on the tour. He showed her the tennis court, the gym, his office and two of the smaller reception rooms—but decided against taking her upstairs to each of the seven en-suite bedrooms or, indeed, his own master suite. His throat tightened. Demetra could do that later.

At last he led her into the main sitting room, which was the focal point of the house, carefully watching her reaction as she was confronted by the sea view which dominated three of the massive glass walls. For a moment she stood there motionless—not appearing to notice the priceless Fabergé eggs which lay on one of the low tables, nor the rare Lysippos statue which he’d bought from under the noses of international dealers in an auction house in New York and which had sealed his reputation as a connoisseur of fine art.

‘Wow,’ she said indistinctly. ‘Who came up with this?’

‘I asked the architect to design me something to maximise the views and for each room to flow into the next,’ he said. ‘I wanted light and space everywhere—so that when I’m working it doesn’t seem like being in the office.’

‘I can’t imagine any office looking like this. It looks...well, it’s the most stunning place I’ve ever seen.’ She turned to face him. ‘The family business must be doing well.’

‘Reassuringly well,’ he said blandly.

‘You’re still building ships?’

He raised his eyebrows. ‘My brother didn’t tell you?’

‘No, Ariston. He didn’t tell me. We barely had time to reacquaint ourselves before you dragged him away.’

‘Yes, we’re still building ships,’ he affirmed. ‘But we’re also making wines and olive oil on the other side of the island, which have become a surprising hit in all kinds of places. These days people seem to value organic goods and Kavakos products are on the shopping list of most of the world’s big chefs.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Anything else you want to know?’

She brushed the palms of her hands down over her shorts. ‘In England you said you were expecting guests this weekend.’

‘That’s right. Two of my lawyers are flying in from Athens for lunch tomorrow and there are five people arriving at the weekend for a house party.’

‘And are they Greek?’

‘International,’ he drawled. ‘You want to know who they are?’

‘Isn’t it always polite to know people’s names in advance?’

‘And handy when you’re trying to research how much each is worth?’ he offered drily. ‘There’s Santino Di Piero, the Italian property tycoon who is coming with his English girlfriend, Rachel. There’s also a friend of mine from way back—Xenon Diakos who for some reason has decided to bring his secretary. I think her name is Megan.’

‘That’s four,’ she said, determined not to rise to the nasty digs he was making.

‘So it is. And Bailey Saunders is the other guest,’ he said, as if he’d only just remembered.

‘Her name seems familiar.’ She hesitated. ‘She’s the woman you took to the opening night of the photographic exhibition, isn’t she?’

‘Is that relevant, Keeley?’ he questioned silkily. ‘Or, indeed, any of your business?’

She shook her head, not knowing why she’d mentioned it, and now she felt stupid—and vulnerable. Embarrassed by her own curiosity and angry at the unwanted jealousy which was making her skin grow heated, Keeley walked over to the window and stared out unseeingly. Was she going to have to spend days witnessing Ariston making out with a beautiful woman? See them frolicking together in that amazing infinity pool or kissing on the beach in the moonlight? Would she have to change their bedsheets in the morning and see for herself the evidence of their shared passion? A shiver of revulsion shot through her and she prayed it didn’t show. Because even if she had to contend with those things—so what? Ariston was nothing to her and she was nothing to him and unless she remembered that, she was going to have a very difficult month ahead of her.

‘Of course it’s none of my business,’ she said stiffly. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Didn’t mean to what?’ He had walked across the room to stand beside her at the window and she found herself inhaling his subtle citrusy scent. ‘Check out whether or not I had a girlfriend? Find out whether or not I was available? Don’t worry, Keeley—I’m used to women doing that.’

She struggled to say something conventional. To make some witty remark which might dissolve the sudden tension which had suddenly sprung up between them. To act as if she didn’t care or take him to task for his spectacular arrogance. But he was standing so close that she couldn’t think of a single word, and even if she could she didn’t think she’d be capable of saying it with any degree of conviction. Just like she didn’t seem capable of preventing the way he was making her feel—as if her body were no longer her own. As if it was silently responding to things she’d only ever dreamed of.

She looked up into his face to discover that his eyes had become smoky and it was as if he’d read her thoughts because suddenly he lifted his hand to frame her face with his fingers, and he smiled. It wasn’t a particularly nice smile and it didn’t even reach his eyes but the sensation of his touch sent Keeley’s already heightened senses into overdrive. His thumb stroked its way over her bottom lip so that it began to tremble uncontrollably. That was the only thing he was doing and yet it was making her want to melt. He was making her more aroused by the second and surely that must show. Her nipples had hardened into two painful little points and somewhere low in her belly she could feel a distracting and molten ache.

Did he realise that? Was that why his hold on her changed so that instead of cupping her face with his fingers, he was pulling her towards him? Pulling her into his arms as if it were his right to do so. His eyes were blazing as they stared into hers and she could feel the softness of her body moulding perfectly into the hardness of his, as he brought his mouth down on hers.

And Keeley shuddered because this was like no other kiss. It was like every fantasy she’d ever had—and wasn’t the truth of it that those fantasies had always involved him? He kissed her slow and then he kissed her hard. He kissed her until she was squirming, until she thought she would cry out with pleasure. She could feel the rush of heat and the clamour of frustration and all she wanted was to give into that feeling. To wrap her arms around his neck and let desire take over. Whisper in his ear to have him do whatever he wanted. What she wanted. Have him ease this terrible ache inside her as she suspected only he could.

And then what? Let him take you to his bed even though you know how much he despises you? Even though Bailey Saunders is arriving in a couple of days? Because that was how these people operated. She’d seen for herself the world in which he lived. Easy come, easy go.

It didn’t mean anything. She didn’t mean anything—hadn’t he already made that abundantly clear? And for someone with an already shaky sense of self-worth, such an action would be completely insane.

‘No!’ Keeley jerked away from him, taking a couple of steps back and trying to ignore the silent protest of her body. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Ariston?’ she demanded. ‘Jumping on me like that!’

His short laugh was tinged with frustration. ‘Oh, please,’ he drawled. ‘Please don’t insult my intelligence, koukla mou—or your own for that matter. You were—are—hot and horny. You wanted me to kiss you and I was more than happy to oblige.’

‘I did not,’ she snapped back.

‘Oh, Keeley—why deny the truth? Not the best start, in the circumstances—not when I consider honesty an invaluable asset for all my employees.’

‘And surely crossing physical boundaries with your staff is unacceptable behaviour for any employer—have you stopped to consider that?’

‘Maybe if you stopped looking at me with such blatant invitation,’ he said silkily, ‘then I might be able to stop responding to you as a man, rather than as a boss.’

‘I was not!’ she said indignantly.

‘Weren’t you? Ask yourself that question again, only this time don’t lie to yourself.’

Keeley bit her lip. Had she been looking at him in invitation? Her heart pounded. Of course she had. And if she was being brutally honest, hadn’t she wanted him to kiss her since she’d seen him standing at the windows of his glass mansion, his powerful physique dominating everything around him? Maybe even before that—when he’d come striding across the London gallery towards her and Pavlos with a face like thunder and a body which was tensed and powerful. And she mustn’t let herself feel that way. She was here to earn money to help care for her stricken mother—not tangle with a self-confessed chauvinist like Ariston and get her heart broken in the process.

Drawing in a deep breath, she willed herself to at least look as if she were in control of her own emotions. ‘I can’t deny that there’s an attraction between us,’ she said. ‘But that doesn’t mean we’re going to act on it. Not just because you’re my boss and it’s inappropriate, but because we don’t even like each other.’

‘What does liking have to do with it?’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Totally serious.’ He shrugged. ‘In my experience, a little hostility always adds a touch of spice. Surely your mama taught you that, Keeley?’

The implied slur piled on yet another layer of hurt and Keeley wanted to hurl herself at him. To slam her fists angrily against that powerful chest and tell him to keep his opinions to himself because he didn’t know what he was talking about. But she didn’t trust herself to go near him because to touch him was to want him and she couldn’t afford to put herself in that position again. He had asked for honesty, hadn’t he? So why not just give it to him, even if it meant swallowing her pride in the process? Why pretend there was no elephant in the room when a whole herd of them were threatening to trample over her?

‘I have no intention of getting close to you, Ariston, mainly because you’re not the kind of man I like,’ she said slowly. ‘I came here to earn good money and that’s what I intend to do. Actually, it’s all I intend to do. I am going to work hard and to stay away from you as much as possible. I don’t intend putting myself in a position of vulnerability again.’ She forced a smile, injecting the requisite note of subservience into her voice, reminding herself to behave like the humble employee she was supposed to be. ‘So if you’ll excuse me—I’d better go and find out if there’s anything Demetra wants me to do in the kitchen.’

CHAPTER FOUR

SHE WAS DRIVING him crazy.

Crazy.

Sucking in a lungful of air, Ariston dived beneath the inky waters of a sea just starting to be gilded by the sun coming up over the horizon. It was early. Too early for anyone else to be around. Not even the staff were awake yet and the shutters remained tightly closed in the bedroom windows of Keeley’s cottage. And that was a pretty accurate metaphor for the current state of affairs between them, he thought grimly. For a man so utterly confident about his sexual power over women—and with good reason—things with Keeley Turner hadn’t quite gone according to plan.

For a while he swam strongly beneath the shadowed surface of the water, trying to rid his body of some of the restless energy which had been building up inside him, but that was easier said than done. He had been sleeping badly, with images of Keeley in various imagined stages of undress haunting his erotic and frustrating dreams. Because she’d meant what she’d said, he was discovering with growing incredulity—and despite the sexual chemistry which sizzled so powerfully between them, she had stubbornly kept him at arm’s length. He’d thought at first that her behaviour had been part of some contrived act intended to keep him on his toes. But there had been no relaxing of her attitude towards him. No sudden softening which might have indicated she was weakening. All interaction between them had followed a formal yet highly unsatisfactory path.

She politely enquired whether he would like coffee or bread, or water. She kept her eyes demurely lowered whenever their paths crossed. And no matter how many times he told her it was perfectly acceptable for her to use his Christian name in public, it fell on deaf ears. She was a conundrum, he thought. Was she really immune to the admiring glances she had attracted from his Athens-based lawyers when they had arrived on Lasia for lunch—or was she simply a very clever actress who knew the power of her own beauty? She acted as if she were made of marble, when he knew for a fact that beneath that cool and curvy exterior beat the heart of a passionate woman.

Had he thought that she would have succumbed to him by now? That the memory of the kiss they’d shared on her first day would have her sneaking in his arms to finish off what they’d started?

Of course he had.

That brief kiss had been the most erotic thing to happen to him in a long time but it had led precisely nowhere and although he wasn’t a man used to being denied what he really wanted—he was now being forced to experience exactly that. So he’d been a little distant with her, intending to indicate his disapproval of women who teased, thinking his impatience would make her realise his patience was wearing thin. He’d anticipated her finding him alone in some quiet moment. He’d imagined her sliding down the zipper of his trousers and touching him where he ached to be touched. He swallowed. Any other woman would have done—and Keeley certainly had history on that score. If things had gone according to plan, by now he should have bedded her and enjoyed several sessions of mind-blowing sex. In fact, by now he probably would have been growing bored with her inevitable adoration and his only dilemma would be working out the best way to tell her it was over.

But it hadn’t turned out like that.

She had thrown herself into her work with an enthusiasm which had taken him by surprise. Had she stacked supermarket shelves with such passion? he wondered wryly. Demetra had informed him that the Englishwoman was a joy to have around the kitchen and around the house. A joy? he wondered grimly. He had seen little evidence of it so far.

Was her frosty attitude intended to stoke up his sexual appetite? Because if that was the case then it was working. His blood pressure soared every time she walked onto the terrace in her crisp white uniform. The white cotton dress gave her a look of purity and her blonde hair was scraped neatly back into a no-nonsense chignon, which made her appear the perfect servant. Yet the glitter of fire in her green eyes whenever she was forced to meet his gaze was unmistakable—as if she was daring him to come near her again.

He resurfaced into the bright, golden morning, shaking droplets of water from his head before beginning to swim powerfully towards the shore. It was time to face the day ahead and to play at being host. Four of his guests had arrived but Bailey Saunders was no longer on the guest list. He’d phoned her a couple of days ago and asked for a rain check, and she had agreed. Of course she had. Women always did. He felt a beat of anticipation as he walked across the sand.

Maybe it was time for Keeley Turner to realise that it was pointless resisting the inevitable.

* * *

‘Will you take the coffee out, Keeley?’ Demetra pointed to the loaded tray.

‘Of course.’ Keeley smoothed down her white uniform dress. ‘Shall I put some of those little lemon biscuits on a plate?’

‘Efharisto.’

‘Parakalo.’ Automatically checking that she had everything she needed, Keeley carried it out onto the terrace with a heavy heart. Another trip to the table which had been set up next to the infinity pool, where Ariston was finishing a long lunch with his glamorous guests, and she was dreading it. Dreading seeing his rugged face watching her, his expression hidden behind his dark glasses as she tried to walk along the edge of the pool without appearing too self-conscious, but it was difficult. Just as it was difficult to forget that kiss they’d shared, when he’d made her usually non-responsive body spring to life—and left her in a state of frustrated arousal ever since. It was as if he’d lit the touchpaper of her repressed sexuality and set it on fire.

And she had only herself to blame.

Why hadn’t she stopped him from pulling her into his arms like that? Because she’d been powerless to stop him. She had wanted him to do it. She still wanted him to do it.

She bit her lip. She’d done her best to push him to the back of her mind—avoiding him whenever possible and concentrating on her work, determined to do a job she could be proud of. She wanted to wipe out his negative impressions of her and show him she could be honest and hard-working and decent. Just like she was determined not to raise the suspicions of the people she worked with. She liked Demetra and Stelios, just as she liked the extra staff who’d been drafted in from the nearby village to help with the house party. She didn’t want them to think she had some kind of thing with the boss. All she wanted was to be seen as the helpful Englishwoman who was eager to take on her fair share.

The sun was warm on her head as she took the coffee outside to where the five of them were sitting around the remains of the meal she’d served them—Xenon, Megan, Santino, Rachel and Ariston. She’d been introduced to them yesterday and they all seemed the jet-setting type of people she no longer associated with. She’d forgotten that life where women changed their outfits four times a day and spent more on a straw hat than Keeley spent on her entire summer wardrobe. She’d been as polite and as friendly as her position required but she was also aware that as a member of staff she was mostly invisible. Only the friendly Rachel had treated her as if she was a real person—and always made a point of chatting whenever she saw her.

Rachel’s long, bronzed legs were stretched out in front of her and she brightened when she saw Keeley approaching with the silver coffee pot glinting in the sunshine.

‘Oh, yum. I love this Greek coffee!’ she said. ‘It’s so thick and sweet.’

‘I won’t make the obvious comparison,’ commented Santino drily, easily catching the hastily balled napkin which his girlfriend hurled at him in mock rage.

Rachel took a small cup from the tray. ‘Thanks, Keeley. Is it possible to have some more sparkling water? It’s so hot today. You must be baking in that uniform,’ she observed, with a frown. ‘Does Ariston allow you to cool off in the pool or does he constantly keep your nose to the grindstone?’

‘Oh, Keeley knows she has the run of the place when she isn’t working,’ murmured Ariston. ‘She just chooses not to take advantage of it, don’t you, Keeley?’

They were all looking at her and Keeley was acutely aware of the fact that Rachel and Megan were both wearing gauzy kaftans over tiny bikinis, while she was wearing a uniform which made her feel completely overdressed as well as overheated. All Ariston’s staff wore uniforms—but somehow on her it looked all wrong. It was the right size and everything but it did unwanted things to her figure. It was the one thing she’d inherited from her mother which she could do nothing about. Because no matter how much she tried to disguise her shape with loose-fitting clothes, her bust always seemed too big and the curve of her hips that fraction too wide, so everything clung precisely where she didn’t want it to cling.

‘I have a great big ocean on my doorstep if ever I feel the need to swim, but when I’m not working I mostly spend time doing stuff on my computer,’ she said and then, because they were still looking at her questioningly, she felt obliged to offer some kind of explanation. ‘I’m studying for a diploma in business studies,’ she added.

‘Well, that’s all very admirable but you need to take time off occasionally. What’s it they say about all work and no play?’ questioned Rachel, raking her fingers back through her dark hair and shooting Ariston a quizzical glance. ‘Didn’t you say that Bailey has bailed this weekend, if you’ll excuse the pun?’

‘Bailey is no longer coming, no,’ Ariston said smoothly.

‘So we’ll be a woman short at dinner?’ persisted Rachel.

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll be able to cope with that,’ said Santino. ‘Since when did you ever worry about odd numbers, cara? You always seem to have enough conversation to compensate for any absent guests.’

‘That much is true.’ Rachel smiled. ‘But why doesn’t Keeley join us instead, to make the numbers up?’

Ariston removed his dark glasses and glimmered Keeley an unfathomable look. ‘Yes,’ he said, his velvety accent seeming to whisper like velvet across her skin. ‘Why don’t you join us for dinner later?’

She shook her head. ‘No, honestly. I can’t.’

‘Why not? I’m giving you permission to take the evening off. In fact, look on it as an order.’ His smile was hard and determined. ‘I’m sure we have enough staff for you not to be missed waiting at table.’

‘It’s very...kind of you, but...’ Keeley put the last of the coffee cups down with trembling fingers before straightening up. ‘I don’t have anything suitable to wear.’

It was the wrong thing to say. Why hadn’t she just come out with an emphatic no?

‘No worries. You’re about the same size and height as me,’ said Megan, looking her up and down. ‘You can borrow something from me. Say yes, Keeley. You’ve been working so hard that you deserve a little downtime. And it would be my pleasure to lend you something.’

The two female guests were clearly on a mission to get her to change her mind and inwardly Keeley began to fume. She knew they were just trying to be kind, but she didn’t want their kindness. It made her feel patronised but, even worse, it made her feel vulnerable. They thought they were giving her a treat but in reality they were pushing her closer to Ariston and that was a place she didn’t want to be. But she could hardly give them the reason for her resistance, could she? She couldn’t really tell them she was worried she would end up in bed with her boss! And in the end, opposition was pointless because it was five against one and there was no way she could get out of it.

You’re having dinner with them, that’s all, she reminded herself as she stood beneath the cool jets of the shower later that afternoon. All she had to do was put on a borrowed dress and try to be pleasant. She could leave whenever she wanted. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do.

Which was how she found herself walking towards the starlit terrace that evening, wearing the only dress of Megan’s which fitted her and which was the last type of outfit she would normally have worn. It was too delicate. Too feminine. Too...revealing. In soft, blush pink, the low-cut bodice showcased her breasts and the silky fabric clung to her hips in precisely the way she didn’t want it to. And she wasn’t blind. Or stupid. She saw the way Ariston looked at her when she walked out onto the candlelit terrace. Saw the instinctive narrowing of his eyes, which set off an answering tightening in her breasts.

Her throat was so dry that she knocked back half a glass of champagne too quickly and it went straight to her head. It soothed her frazzled nerves but it also had the unwanted side effect of softening her reaction to her Greek boss, because naturally she found herself seated next to him. She told herself she wasn’t going to be affected by him. That he was a callous manipulator who had no regard for her feelings. But somehow her thoughts weren’t making it to her body. Her body didn’t seem to be behaving itself at all.

She could feel it in the heavy rush of blood to her breasts and in her restlessness whenever Ariston subjected her to that cool stare, which he seemed to do far more than was necessary. And if that weren’t bad enough, she was having difficulty adjusting to this unexpected social outing. She hadn’t been to a dinner party this fancy for a long time and she’d never really done so on her own terms before. She’d only ever been invited because of her mother, and this was different. She was no longer watching out of the corner of her eye in case her mum did something outrageous, anxiously wondering if she could get her home without making a fool of herself. This time people seemed to be interested in her and she didn’t want them to be. What could she say about herself—other than that she’d done a series of menial jobs, because they were the only ones she could get after a fractured education which had led to zero qualifications?

She spent the evening blocking questions—something she’d learnt to do over the years—so that whenever she was asked something personal, she turned it around and moved the subject swiftly onto something else. She had become highly accomplished in the art of evasion but tonight it seemed to be having entirely the wrong effect. Was her elusiveness the reason why Santino began to monopolise her for the second part of the evening, while Rachel’s pinched face seemed to indicate she was regretting her impetuous decision to have her join them? Keeley felt like standing up and announcing that she wasn’t remotely interested in the Italian businessman—that there was only one man around the table who had her attention and she was having to fight very hard not to be mesmerised by him. Because tonight Ariston looked amazing—very traditional and heart-stoppingly masculine. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck revealing a silky triangle of olive skin, and his tapered dark trousers emphasised his long legs and the powerful shafts of his thighs.

And all the while he was watching her, his blue gaze burning into her so intently that the breath caught in her throat and she was barely able to eat. Course after course of delicious food was placed in front of her, but Keeley could do little more than push it around her plate. Were the other guests amused by her lack of appetite—not realising the cause of it—especially as she seemed almost to be bursting out of Megan’s dress? Did they think she was one of those women who never ate in public but enjoyed secret binges with the biscuit packet whenever she was alone?

‘Enjoying yourself, Keeley?’ asked Ariston softly.

‘Very much,’ she said, not caring if he heard the lie in her voice. Because what else could she say? That she could feel ripples of awareness whispering over her skin whenever he looked at her? That she found his hard and rugged profile the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen and she wanted nothing more than to just sit and stare at it?

She broke the mould of her Cinderella evening by excusing herself long before midnight. As soon as the clock struck eleven she stood up and politely thanked them for a lovely dinner. Somehow she maintained her high-headed posture as she walked away from the terrace but as soon as she was out of sight, she began to run. Along the path leading to the beach she ran, straight past her cottage and down to the shoreline, glad she was wearing her practical sandals underneath the long dress. And glad too that the waves were pounding against the sand so that the heavy sound drummed out the beating of her thudding heart. Picking up the hem of her dress, she stood back, careful not to let the seawater touch the delicate fabric as she stared out at the moon-dappled water.

She remembered how she’d felt when the supermarket had sacked her just before she’d flown to Lasia, when she’d been swamped by the sense of having no real place in the world. She could feel it now—because she hadn’t really been part of that glamorous table, had she? She’d been the outsider who had been dressed up for the occasion in a stranger’s dress. Had Ariston known how alienated she’d felt—or was he too busy reeling her in with his potent sexuality to care? Didn’t he realise that what was probably just a game to him meant so much more to someone like her who didn’t have his tight circle of friends, or wealth, to fall back on?

She felt stupid tears stinging her eyes and wondered if they had been caused by self-pity. Because if they were she was going to have to lose them—and quickly. Count your blessings, she told herself fiercely as she rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Just be glad you’ve been strong enough to resist someone who could never be anything more than a one-night stand.

But as she turned to walk back towards her cottage she saw a figure walking towards her—a man she recognised in a heartbeat, even from this distance. How could she fail to recognise him when his image was burned so powerfully onto her mind that she could picture him at the slightest provocation? His shadowy figure was powerful as he moved and the glint of moonlight in his eyes and the paleness of his silk shirt captured her imagination. She felt her skin prickle with instinctive excitement, which was quickly followed by a cold wash of dismay as he approached, because she’d tried to do the right thing. She’d done everything in her power to stay away from him. So why the hell was he here?

‘Ariston,’ she said steadily. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I was worried about you. You left dinner so abruptly and I watched as you took the path to your cottage.’ His eyes narrowed as they swept over her. ‘Only no light came on.’

‘You were spying on me?’

‘Not really. I’m your employer.’ His voice sounded deep above the soft lapping of the waves. ‘I was merely concerned for your welfare.’

Her eyes met his. ‘Is that so?’

There was a pause. ‘Yes. No,’ he negated and suddenly his voice had grown harsh. ‘Actually, I don’t know. I don’t know what the hell it is. All I know is that I can’t seem to stop thinking about you.’

Keeley saw the sudden change in him. The tension which stiffened his body, which she suspected mirrored the tension in her own. Just as she knew what was about to happen from the look on his face—a raw look of hunger which set off an answering need somewhere deep inside her.

‘Ariston,’ she whispered, but it sounded more like a prayer than a protest as he pulled her into his arms, into the warmth of his embrace, and she let him—ignoring the objections which were crowding her mind. And the moment he touched her, she was lost.

He drove his mouth down on hers and she heard his little moan of triumph as she kissed him back. Her lips opened and he slid his tongue inside her mouth to deepen the kiss. She swayed against him, her fingernails digging into his chest through the fine silk of his shirt, and he circled his hips against hers in a movement which was unashamedly urgent. And now his hand was slipping inside the bodice of her dress so he could cup her braless breast with his fingers and she let him do that, too. How could she stop him when she wanted it so much?

His groan was muffled as he explored each diamond-tipped nipple and she could feel her panties growing moist. Was he going to do it to her now? Here? Push her down onto the soft sand without giving her time to object? Yes. She would welcome that. She didn’t want anything to destroy the mood or the moment, because this had been a long time coming. Eight years, to be precise. Eight long and arid years when her body had felt as if it were made of cardboard, rather than responsive flesh and blood. Keeley swallowed. She didn’t want time to have second thoughts about what was about to happen—she wanted to just go with the flow and be spontaneous. A rush of excitement flooded through her until she remembered what she was wearing and, unlocking her lips from his, she pulled away from him. ‘The dress!’ she stumbled.

He stared down at her uncomprehendingly. ‘The dress?’ he echoed dazedly.

‘It’s not mine, remember? I don’t want to...to mark it.’

‘Of course. You borrowed the dress.’ Something hardened in his eyes as his gaze swept over her and his smile was tinged with a flicker of triumph as he picked her up and walked across the sand towards the cottage, before kicking open the door.

CHAPTER FIVE

ONCE INSIDE, ARISTON carried Keeley straight upstairs in a display of masculine dominance she found intoxicating. As he brushed hungry kisses over her neck and lips she was on such a delirious high of pleasure that she was barely aware of him lifting her arms above her head and peeling off her borrowed dress. Until suddenly she was standing in front of him wearing nothing but a pair of tiny thong panties. Half naked in the silver moonlight, she should have felt shy, but the look blazing from Ariston’s eyes made her feel anything but shy. Tilting her chin, she felt the silky movement of her hair as it swayed against her bare back and a sudden sense of liberation rippled through her as she met his slow and appreciative smile.

‘Theos mou, but you are magnificent,’ he said, his body tensing as he cupped one of her breasts like a market trader calculating the weight of a watermelon.

And even that rather brutal gesture excited her. Every single thing about him was exciting right now—each nerve ending in her body feeling as if a layer of skin had been peeled away, leaving her raw and aching. His voice dipped approvingly as his gaze focussed on her tiny panties. ‘It seems that beneath the often unexceptional clothes you favour, you dress in order to please your man.’ He glittered her a smile. ‘And I approve.’

His arrogance was breathtaking and Keeley wanted to tell him that his words were inaccurate on so many counts. That the tiny briefs were the only thing she could have worn under such a flimsy gown without getting a visible panty line and usually she wore a heavy-duty bra to contain her overripe breasts. But he was playing with her nipples again and it was such an unbearably sweet sensation that she didn’t have the desire—or the strength—to break the fragile mood with stumbled words of explanation. Because during that short journey from beach to bedroom she’d known there was to be no turning back. It didn’t seem to matter if it was right or wrong, it just seemed inevitable. She was going to let Ariston Kavakos make love to her tonight and nothing was going to stop her.

She lifted her gaze to his, watching as he began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes not leaving her face as he bared his hair-roughened chest.

‘Play with your breasts,’ he ordered softly. ‘Touch yourself.’

The words should have shocked her but they didn’t—maybe because he’d managed to turn them into an irresistible and silky command. Should she tell him that her sexual experience was laughably lacking and she wasn’t sure how good she would be? But if she was going to do this, she needed to do it without any hang-ups. Tentatively, she spread her palms over the aching mounds and began to circle them as he’d demanded, and the weird thing was that once she’d banished her inhibitions, she started to feel sexy. She imagined it was Ariston’s hands tracing erotic movements over her aroused flesh. She wriggled impatiently and her heavy eyelids fluttered to a close.

‘No.’ Another soft order rang out in the moonlit bedroom. ‘Don’t close your eyes. I want you to look at me, Keeley. I want to see your expression when I make you come. And believe me, I am going to make you come, koukla mou. Over and over and over again.’

Keeley’s eyes widened because his words were so graphic. So explicit. She got the distinct impression he was deliberately demonstrating control over her. Was that the way he liked it? To be totally in charge? To tell her what to do and show her who was boss? Her heart started to race because he was naked now, his erection so pale and proud amid the dark curls—and even the daunting dimensions of that weren’t enough to intimidate her. He walked over to where she stood, removing her hands from her breasts and replacing them with his lips, bending his head to kiss each nipple in turn, the tip of his tongue working expertly on the puckered flesh until she let out a small moan of pleasure.

‘I like to hear you moan,’ he said unsteadily. ‘I promise I’m going to make you moan all night.’

‘Are you?’

‘Neh.’ He tangled his fingers in the spill of her hair, anchoring her head so that she couldn’t look anywhere except at him. ‘Do you know how many times I have imagined you like this, Keeley? Standing naked in the moonlight like some kind of goddess?’

Goddess? Was he crazy? A shelf-stacker from Super Save who was carrying too much weight? A wave of hysteria bubbled up inside her. She wanted to tell him not to say things like that but the truth was she liked it. She liked the way it made her feel. And why shouldn’t she feel like a goddess for once when his words were painting pictures in her imagination which were increasing her desire? Because this was probably the way he did it. His method. Sweet-talking her into submission with his practised lines. Telling her the things she longed to hear, even if they weren’t true. Presumably this was what men and women did all the time and it didn’t mean a thing. Sex didn’t mean a thing. That had been one thing her mother had taught her.

‘Ariston,’ she managed, through bone-dry lips.

‘Have you dreamed about me too?’ he murmured.

She supposed it would destroy the mood if she admitted that all the dreams she’d had about him were deeply unsettling. But why destroy the mood with an admission which no longer seemed relevant?

‘Maybe,’ she admitted.

He let out a low laugh of pleasure as he skimmed his hand over her tiny thong. ‘I love that you blow so hot and cold,’ he said. ‘Did you learn long ago how to keep a man guessing?

Keeley bit her lip. His impression of her was a million miles away from the reality, but why puncture the bubble now? He obviously thought she was some kind of man-magnet and surely it would be a waste of time to try to convince him otherwise. Because she wasn’t expecting any future in this. She knew that only a fool would expect a relationship with a man like Ariston, but her heart still clenched as she acknowledged just how fleeting it was going to be. And if his fantasies about her were turning him on, why not play the game? Why not scrabble up what little knowledge she had and work with it?

‘Do you always waste so much time talking?’ she purred.

Her softly spoken tease made the atmosphere change. She could sense a new tension in him as he picked her up and carried her over to the bed, not bothering to pull back the bedsheet as he laid her on it. His eyes were unfathomable as he stared down at her.

‘Forgive me for not recognising your...’ he slid his hand between her legs, pushing aside the panel of her panties with a murmur of acknowledgment as he flicked his finger over her slick, wet heat ‘...impatience.’

Keeley swallowed because now his finger was working with a purpose and she could feel the heat inside her building. She wanted him to kiss her again but the only area he seemed interested in kissing was her torso and then her belly and then...then... She sucked in a shocked breath as he pulled down her panties and moved his head between her legs so that she could feel the tickle of his thick hair brushing against her thighs. Her body was tensed for what was going to happen next but nothing on earth could have prepared her for that first sweet lick. She jerked on the bed and tried to wriggle away from the almost unendurable pleasure which was spiralling up inside her, but he was holding her hips so she couldn’t move. And so she lay there helplessly—a willing prisoner of the Greek tycoon as layer upon layer of pleasure built to such a level of intensity that when it broke it felt like a swollen river bursting its banks and she screamed out his name.

As the spasms slowly ebbed away she felt a delicious warmth seeping through her body and opened her eyes to find him leaning over her, a trace of amusement curving the edges of his lips.

‘Mmm...’ he said softly. ‘For a woman who blows so hot and cold, I didn’t expect you to be quite so vocal. Are you always so sweetly enthusiastic when you come, Keeley—or are you trying to massage my ego by acting like that was the first orgasm you’ve ever had?’

Keeley wasn’t sure how to answer. She wondered if it would be shameful to admit she’d never experienced pleasure like that before and wondered how he would react if he realised just how sketchy her sexual experience was. She licked her lips. Don’t frighten him away, she told herself. Why shatter this deliciously dreamy mood with reality? Tell him what he expects to hear. Be the woman you’ve never dared be before.

‘You shouldn’t be so good,’ she said lazily. ‘And then I wouldn’t be quite so...vocal.’

‘Good? Are you kidding? I haven’t even started yet,’ he murmured.

She swallowed, and suddenly she felt out of her depth. ‘I’m not...’

His gaze lasered into her. ‘Not what, Keeley?’

She licked her lips again. ‘I’m not on the pill or anything.’

‘Even if you were, I always like to be doubly sure,’ he said, his voice hardening as he groped around in the pocket of his trousers until he’d found what he was looking for.

Keeley watched as he slid the condom on and thought how anatomical this all seemed—as if emotion played no part in what was about to happen. She swallowed. Had she really thought it might be otherwise—that Ariston Kavakos might show her tenderness or affection?

‘Kiss me,’ she said suddenly. ‘Please. Just kiss me.’

Ariston frowned as she made her breathless appeal and as he gave himself up to the kiss she’d demanded, his heart clenched. Hell... She was so...surprising. One minute the cool seductress and the next—why, she was almost shy. After making him wait longer than he’d ever had to wait for anyone, she was so sweet in her response. Had she learned at the knee of her mother how best to captivate a man? Had she discovered that keeping them guessing was the ultimate turn-on for men who’d seen everything, done everything and sometimes been bored along the way?

He felt as if he wanted to explode as he stroked her and kissed her and his heart was pounding as he moved over her, sucking in a deep breath of anticipation as, slowly, he entered her. And wasn’t the most insane thing that he was almost disappointed at the ease with which he thrust into her slick, wet heat? Hadn’t he been fantasising about her for so long that he’d allowed himself the ultimate illusion—and hadn’t her wild reaction to her orgasm only reinforced that crazy notion? That maybe she was a virgin and maybe he was the first...

But his insanity lasted no longer than a second before he began to relax and to feast himself on all the soft and curvy flesh which was just there for the taking. She was so hot. So tight. He caught his hands under her thighs and hooked her legs around his back, enjoying her little squeals of pleasure as he increased his penetration. He drove into her hard and harder still, deliberately holding back until she could bear it no longer and called out his name again. And then she just went under, her body arching into a tight bow until she let it go with one long and shuddering cry. And wasn’t this his fantasy? Not some woman she could never be, but Keeley Turner underneath him while he rode her, with those soft thighs tensing as she came all over again. He waited until her soft moans had died away and only then did he allow himself his own release, his heart clenching as the seed pumped hotly from his body and he reminded himself that this was what it was all about. The ultimate conquest of a woman who had been haunting him for years. A farewell to something which should have been finished eight years ago.

He fell asleep afterwards and when he awoke it was to find his lips touching one pouting breast. Barely any movement was needed to take the puckered nipple deep into his mouth and to graze it with his teeth and lick it, until she was squirming beneath him and before he knew what was happening he was inside her again. This time it was longer. Slower. As if it were all happening in some kind of dream. But his orgasm just went on and on and on. Afterwards he rolled onto his back, careful to allow her head to rest on his shoulder because women were very susceptible to rejection at times like this—and although he planned to wave her goodbye in the very near future, it certainly wouldn’t be tonight. But he needed to think about what happened next because this was a situation which would need unusual levels of diplomacy. His fingertip skated a light survey over her belly and he felt her shiver in response.

‘Well,’ he whispered. ‘I can’t think of a more satisfactory end to the evening.’

Keeley nodded, trying not to show her disappointment. Of all the things he could have said and he came out with something like that. Why, he made her feel like an after-dinner brandy he’d consumed! She licked her swollen lips. But what did she expect? Words of admiration and affection? Ariston telling her she was the only woman for him and that he wanted a relationship with her? Of course not. It was what it was, she told herself fiercely. A one-night stand which wasn’t supposed to mean anything. So she rolled away from him, shaking her tangled hair free as she attempted to find the level of sophistication which this kind of situation no doubt called for.

‘Indeed it was,’ she agreed coolly.

There was a short silence for a moment, during which he seemed to be mulling over his words.

‘I’m surprised Santino didn’t try to follow you down here to get to you before I did,’ he said eventually.

It was such a random remark that Keeley frowned as she turned her head to look at him, pushing back a handful of untidy hair. ‘Why on earth would he have done that?’

He shrugged. ‘I noticed how much attention he was paying you throughout dinner.’

‘Did you?’ she said, without missing a beat.

‘I certainly did. And after you’d gone Santino and Rachel left pretty abruptly too. We could hear them arguing all the way back to their room.’

‘And you thought...what?’ she questioned softly as some inner warning system began to sound inside her head. ‘Did you think it was about me?’

‘I suspect it was. Your name was mentioned more than once.’

‘And...what?’ she demanded. ‘Did you think I was hungry for a man, Ariston? Any man? That if Santino had arrived before you that I would be in bed with him?’

‘I don’t know.’ There was a heartbeat of a pause as he lifted his eyes to hers. ‘Would you?’

Keeley froze just before instinct kicked in and she longed to flex her fingernails over his skin and tear at his silken flesh. To inflict some kind of hurt on him—something which might mimic the searing pain which was clamping around her heart. She expelled the breath she’d been holding, bitterly aware of how little he thought of her. But she’d known that from the start, hadn’t she? And had thought, what? That the growing sexual attraction between them would somehow cancel out his obvious lack of respect? That admitting him to her bed so quickly might make him admire her? What a stupid little fool she’d been.

‘Get out,’ she said, in a low voice.

‘Oh, Keeley,’ he said softly. ‘There’s no need to overreact. You asked me a question and I answered it truthfully. Would you rather I told you a lie?’

‘I mean it!’ she snapped. He made to pull her back into his arms but she jumped out of bed before he could touch her. ‘Get out of here,’ she repeated.

He shrugged as he swung his legs over the bed and reached for his trousers. ‘I wasn’t intending to insult you.’

‘Really? In that case, I think you ought to take a good, long look at the things you just said. You think I’m sexually indiscriminate, do you, Ariston? That one attractive man is pretty much the same as any other?’

‘How should I know? You are your mother’s daughter, after all. And I’ve had enough experience of women to know what they are capable of,’ he said rawly. ‘I know just how unscrupulous they can be.’

Keeley reached for the cotton dressing gown which was hanging on a hook on the door and pulled it on, not daring to speak until she had tied the belt around her waist and her naked body was hidden from his gaze.

‘Why did you seduce me, Ariston?’ she questioned in a low voice. ‘When you obviously think so little of me?’

He paused in the act of sliding on his shirt, the movement making his powerful muscles ripple beneath the silk fabric. ‘Because I find you intensely attractive. Because you lit a longing in me all those years ago which never really went away. Maybe now it will.’

‘And that’s all?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

But instinct told her there was something more. Something he was holding back. And suddenly she needed to know, even though she suspected it was going to shatter her. ‘Tell me the truth like you did before,’ she said. ‘Just...tell me.’

His eyes gleamed like silver in the moonlight, before he shrugged. ‘It started out with wanting to have you for myself, for all the reasons I’ve just stated,’ he said in a low voice. ‘But also because...’

‘Because what, Ariston? Please don’t stop now. Not when this is just getting fascinating.’

He zipped up his trousers before looking up. ‘Because I knew that my brother wouldn’t be tempted by you, if he knew I’d had sex with you first.’

‘Which naturally you would have made sure he knew?’

He shrugged. ‘If I’d needed to, then yes. Yes, I would.’

There was a disbelieving silence before she could bring herself to respond. ‘So it was...it was some kind of territorial thing? The ultimate deterrent to ensure that your brother wasn’t tempted, even though there is no spark between me and Pavlos and there never has been?’

He met her gaze unflinchingly. ‘I guess so.’

Keeley felt faint. It was even worse than she’d thought. Briefly, she closed her eyes before going into damage-limitation mode and that was something which came as naturally to her as breathing. The thing she was best at. She sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘You do realise I’m going to have to leave the island? That I can’t work for you any more. Not after this.’

He shook his head. ‘You don’t have to do that.’

‘Really?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Then how do you see this playing out? Me carrying on with my domestic work while you occasionally sneak down here to have sex with me? Or am I now supposed to abandon my uniform as if this was some bizarre kind of promotion and join you and your guests for dinner every night?’

‘There’s no need to overreact, Keeley,’ he gritted. ‘We can work something out.’

‘That’s where you’re wrong, Ariston. We can’t. There’s no working out something like this. I won’t be treated in this way and I won’t spend any more time in the company of a man who is capable of such treatment. Tonight was a mistake—but we can’t do anything about it now. But I’m not staying here a second longer than I have to. I want to leave tomorrow, first thing. Before anyone is awake.’

He’d finished buttoning up his shirt and the expression on his rugged face was hidden by a series of shifting shadows. ‘You’re aware that you need my cooperation to do that? That I own the airstrip as well as the planes—and no other aircraft is allowed to land or take off from here without my permission. I might not be willing to let you go so easily, Keeley—have you thought about that?’

‘I don’t care what you want, you’d just better let me go,’ she said, her voice shaking now. ‘Because I’m a strong swimmer—and if I have to make my own way to the nearest island, then believe me I will. Or I’ll contact one of the international newspapers and tell them I’m being kept prisoner on the Greek tycoon’s island—I imagine the press could have a lot of fun with that. Unless you’re planning to confiscate my computer while you’re at it—which, I have to inform you, is a criminal offence. No? So get out of here, Ariston—and prepare one of your planes to take me back to England. Do you understand?’

CHAPTER SIX

ARISTON STARED OUT of the vast windows, but for once the travel-brochure views of his island home failed to impress him. He might as well have been in a darkened cave for all the notice he took of the sapphire sea and silver sand, or the neglected cup of coffee which had been cooling on his desk for the last half-hour. All he could see was a pair of bright green eyes and a pair of soft, rosy lips—and pale hair which had trickled through his fingers like moonlight.

What was his problem? he wondered impatiently as he stood up with a sudden jerking movement which made the cup rattle. Why did he persist in feeling so unsettled when all should have been well in his world? Weeks had passed since Keeley Turner had fallen eagerly into his arms during a sexual encounter which had blown his mind but ended badly. She had flown back to London the next morning, refusing to meet his eye and saying nothing other than a tight-lipped goodbye before turning her back on him. But she had taken the money he’d given her, hadn’t she? Had shown no qualms about accepting the additional sum he had included. He’d thought he might receive an angry email telling him what he could do with his money—wasn’t that what he’d hoped might happen?—along with some furious tirade suggesting he might be offering payment for services rendered. But no. She was a woman, wasn’t she—and what woman would ever turn down the offer of easy money?

And that had been that. He hadn’t heard from her since. He told himself that was a good thing—that he had achieved what he had set out to achieve and bedded a woman whose memory had been haunting him for years. But infuriatingly, little had changed. In fact, it seemed a whole lot worse. Surely by now he shouldn’t still be thinking about her, or the way it had felt to press his lips to her pulsating heat as she had orgasmed right into his mouth. Was it because he wasn’t used to a woman walking away from him, or because he couldn’t help admiring the tempestuous show of spirit she had displayed when she had stormed away? Or just because she’d been the hottest lover he’d ever had?

But after yet another disturbed night he found himself wondering where was the closure he’d been chasing and why he hadn’t tried a little harder to keep her here a bit longer, so he could have got her out of his system. Should he have softened his answers to her questions with a little diplomacy and told her what she wanted to hear, instead of giving it to her straight? His mouth hardened. It didn’t matter. He didn’t like lies and it was too late to go back over that now. What was done was done.

At least Pavlos had announced his engagement to the beautiful Marina, with a wedding planned for early next year. His brother was happy—he’d called him just last night from Melbourne and told him so, and Ariston felt as if his work was done. That all was well within the Kavakos dynasty—its future now ensured...if only this damned disquiet would leave him.

But it didn’t leave him, despite a schedule spent travelling across much of Southeast Asia—and although he threw himself into his work even more single-mindedly than usual, he remained as unsettled as ever. Which was why he found himself making an unplanned trip to England on his private jet, telling himself it was always useful to pay an unexpected visit to his London office because it kept his staff on their toes. And besides, he liked London. He kept a fully staffed apartment there which he used at different times during the year—often when the summer heat of Lasia was at its most intense. But even in London he found himself struggling to concentrate on his latest shipbuilding project or enjoy the fact that the company had been featured in the prestigious Forbes magazine in a flattering article praising his business acumen.

He told himself it was curiosity—or maybe courtesy—which made him decide to call on Keeley, to see how she was doing. Maybe she’d calmed down enough to be civil to him. He felt the beat of anticipation. Maybe even more.

He had his car drop him down the road from her bedsit and when he knocked on the door, the long silence which followed made him think nobody was home. A ragged sigh escaped from his lungs. So that was that. He could leave a note, which he suspected would find its way straight into the bin. He could try calling but something told him that if she saw his name on the screen, she wouldn’t pick up. And that had never happened to him before either.

But then the door opened a little and there was Keeley’s face peering out at him through the narrow crack—her expression telling him he was the last person she had expected to see. Or wanted to see. His eyes narrowed because she looked terrible. Her blonde hair hung in limp strands as if it hadn’t been washed in days, her face was waxy white and she had deep shadows beneath her eyes. He’d never seen a woman who had paid such scant attention to her appearance—but then he’d never made an impromptu call like this before. ‘Hello, Keeley,’ he said quietly.

Keeley stiffened, her knuckles tightening over the doorknob as she stared into Ariston’s searing blue eyes and a wave of horror washed over her. What in heavens name was he doing here—and how was she going to deal with it? Her instinct was to slam the door in his face but she’d tried that once before without success and, besides, she couldn’t do that, could she? Not in the circumstances. She might despise him but she needed to talk to him and it just so happened that fate had scheduled that unwanted prospect without her having to arrange it herself. She found herself wishing she’d had time to brush her hair or put on clothes she hadn’t fallen asleep in, but maybe it was better this way. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him making a pass at her when she looked like this. Why, he must be wondering what had possessed him to take someone like her to his bed.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said.

He looked surprised at the invitation and she understood why. After the way they’d parted he must have thought she’d never want to see him again. But no matter how much she wished that could be true, she couldn’t turn him away—just as she couldn’t turn the clock back. She had to tell him. It was her duty to tell him.

Before he worked it out for himself.

‘So what brings you here today, Ariston?’ she said, once they were standing facing each other in the claustrophobically small sitting room. ‘Let me guess... Pavlos is back in London and you’ve decided to check whether or not I’ve got my greedy hooks in him. Well, as you can see—I’m here on my own.’

He gave a short shake of his head. ‘Pavlos is engaged to be married.’

‘Wow,’ she said, feeling winded though she wasn’t sure why. ‘Congratulations. So you got what you wanted.’

He shrugged. ‘My wish to see my brother happily settled with a suitable partner has been fulfilled, yes.’

‘But if Pavlos is safe from my supposed clutches, then what brings you to New Malden?’ She frowned. ‘An area like this isn’t exactly a billionaire’s stomping ground, is it? And I don’t recall leaving anything behind on your island which might need “returning”.’

‘I was in London and I thought I’d drop by to see how you are.’

‘How very touching. Do you do that with all your ex-lovers?’

His mouth hardened. ‘Not really. But then, none of my lovers have ever walked out on me like that.’

‘Oh, dear. Is your ego feeling battered?’

‘I wouldn’t go quite that far,’ he said drily.

‘So now you’ve seen how I am.’

‘Yes. And I don’t like what I see. What’s the matter, Keeley?’ His frowning blue gaze stayed fixed on her face. ‘You look sick.’

Keeley swallowed. So here it was. He’d given her the perfect opportunity to tell him her life-changing news. She was surprised he hadn’t worked it out for himself and if he’d bothered to look harder at her baggy shirt, he might have noticed the faint curve of her belly beneath. She opened her mouth to tell him but something made her hesitate. Was it self-preservation? The sense that once she told him nothing was ever going to be the same?

‘I have been sick,’ she admitted, before the words came out in a bald rush. ‘Actually, I’m pregnant.’

He didn’t catch on, not straight away—or if he did, he didn’t show it.

‘Congratulations,’ he said evenly. ‘Who’s the father?’

It was a reaction she should have anticipated but stupidly she hadn’t and Keeley felt hurt. She wanted to tell him that only one man could possibly be the father but he probably wouldn’t believe her and why should he? She hadn’t exactly acted with any restraint where he was concerned, had she? She’d fallen into his arms—not once, but twice and made it clear she’d wanted sex with him. Why wouldn’t a chauvinist like Ariston Kavakos imagine she behaved like that all the time? She licked her lips.

‘You are,’ she said baldly. ‘You’re the father.’

His face showed no reaction other than a sudden coldness which turned his eyes into sapphire ice. ‘Excuse me?’

Was he expecting his cool question to prompt her into admitting that she’d made a mistake, and he wasn’t going to be a daddy after all? That she was trying it on because he was so wealthy? The temptation to do just that and make him go away was powerful, but her conscience was more powerful still. Because he was the father—there was no getting away from that and the important thing was how she dealt with it. Suddenly, Keeley knew that, despite her morning sickness and ever-present sensation of feeling like a cloth which had been wrung out to dry, she now needed to be strong. Because Ariston was strong. And he was a dominant male who would ride roughshod over her to get what it was he wanted, if she let him.

‘You heard me,’ she said quietly. ‘You’re the father.’

His face darkened as he studied her and suddenly she got an idea of just how formidable an opponent he might be in the boardroom.

‘How do you know it’s mine?’

She flinched. ‘Because you’re the only one it could be.’

‘I only have your word for that, Keeley. You were no virgin.’

‘Neither were you.’

He gave a cruel smile. ‘Like I told you—it’s different for men.’

‘You think I would lie about something like this?’

‘I don’t know—that’s the thing. I know very little about you. But I’m a wealthy man. There are undoubted benefits to getting pregnant by someone like me. So was it an accident, or did you plan it?’

‘Plan it? You think I deliberately got myself pregnant, just to get my hands on your money?’

‘Don’t look so outraged, Keeley. You wouldn’t believe the things people would do for money,’ he said, his gaze flicking over her coldly. ‘Or maybe you would.’

‘You seem to be very good at dishing out blame, but I’m not going to carry the entire burden.’ She sucked in a deep breath as she walked over to the window sill. ‘I always thought contraception was the joint responsibility of both parties.’

Ariston met her shadowed eyes and was surprised by a sudden wave of compassion—and guilt. How many times had he made love to her that night? His brow furrowed. Just twice, before she’d kicked him out of her bed and announced that she was leaving the island. Had he been careful that second time, or had he...? His heart missed a beat. No. He hadn’t. He’d been so aroused that in his sleepy and already sated state he had slipped inside her without bothering to put on a condom. How the hell had that happened, when he was traditionally always the most exacting of men?

And hadn’t it felt beyond blissful to feel her bare skin against his? Her slick wet heat against his hardness. Had some protective instinct made his mind shut down so that only just now was he remembering it?

His heart was thundering as he watched her, noting the way she had slumped against the window sill. When she leaned back like that he could see the curve of her belly and for the first time noticed that her already generous breasts were even bigger than usual. She was undeniably pregnant—so should he simply take her word that he was the father?

But memories of his mother—and many of the women in between—made him wary. He knew all about lies and subterfuge because they’d been woven into the fabric of his life. He knew what people would do for money. He had learnt caution at an early age because he’d needed to. It had protected him from some of the darker things which life had thrown at him and Pavlos, so why shouldn’t he seek its protection now?

‘You’re right, of course. Contraception is the responsibility of the man and the woman,’ he said. ‘But that still doesn’t answer my question with any degree of satisfaction. How do I know—or you know—that I’m the father of your baby?’

‘Because...’

He saw her bite her lip as if she was trying to hold the words back but then they came tumbling out in a passionate torrent.

‘Because I’ve only ever had sex once before!’ she declared. ‘One man, one time, years ago—and it was a disaster, okay? Does that tell you everything you need to know, Ariston?’

He felt a dark and primitive rush of pleasure. It all added up now. Her soft sense of wonder when he’d made love to her. Her disbelieving cries as she had come. These all spoke of a woman achieving satisfaction for the first time, not someone who’d been around the sexual block a few times. But what if she was lying? What if she was simply using the skills of an actress, learnt at the knee of her mother? His mouth hardened. Surely he owed it to himself to demand a DNA test—if not now, then at least when the child was born.

But her waxy complexion and tired eyes were making him stall and he was surprised by another wave of compassion. He forced himself to sift through the available facts and the possible solutions. Despite her lack of qualifications, she wasn’t stupid. She must realise that he’d come at her with all guns blazing if he discovered he’d been bamboozled by a false paternity claim.

He glanced around the shabby little room, trying to impose some order on his whirling thoughts. Fatherhood had never been on his agenda. He accepted that he was a difficult man who didn’t believe in love, who didn’t trust women and who fiercely guarded his personal space—and those factors had ruled out the forced intimacy of marriage. The desire to carry on his own bloodline had always been noticeable by its absence and he’d always supposed that Pavlos would be the one to provide the necessary heirs to take the Kavakos empire forward.

But this disclosure altered everything. In a few short minutes he could feel something changing inside him, because if this was his child then he wanted a part of it. A big part of it. His heart clenched. For how could it be any other way? Why would he not want to stake a claim on his own flesh and blood? He looked into Keeley’s wary eyes and thought this must be the last thing she wanted—an unplanned baby with a man she loathed. And no money, he reminded himself grimly. Her circumstances were more impecunious than most. So why not offer her the kind of inducement which would suit them both?

‘So when were you going to tell me?’ he demanded. ‘Or weren’t you going to bother?’

‘Of course I was. I was just...waiting for the right time,’ she said, with the voice of someone who had been putting off the inevitable. ‘Only it never seemed to come.’

He frowned. ‘Why don’t you sit down in that chair? You don’t look very comfortable standing there and you really should be comfortable, because we need to talk.’

Her chin jutted forward but she didn’t defy him, though he noticed that she stared straight ahead as she made her way towards a battered armchair. Yet despite her unwashed hair and sloppy grey sweat-pants, Ariston couldn’t help his body from reacting as she walked past him. He could feel the tautness and the tension hardening his muscles and the instinctive tightening low in his abdomen. What was it about her which made him want to impale her whenever she came near?

She sank down onto the chair and lifted up her face to his. ‘So talk,’ she said.

He nodded, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers as he looked at her. ‘I don’t imagine you wanted to be a mother,’ he began.

She shrugged. ‘Not yet, no.’

‘So how about I free you of that burden?’

She must have misunderstood him because her arms instantly clamped themselves around her belly as if she was shielding her unborn child and suddenly she was yelling at him. ‘If you’re suggesting—’

‘What I’m suggesting,’ he interrupted, ‘is that I have you moved from this miniature hell-hole into a luxury apartment of your choice. That you are attended by the finest physicians in the land, who will monitor your pregnancy and make sure that you both maintain tip-top health. And after the birth...’

‘After the birth...what?’ she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if she’d suddenly got an inkling of what he was about to say.

‘You give up your baby.’ He gave a cold smile. ‘Or rather, you give it to me.’

There was a pause. ‘Could you...could you repeat that?’ she said faintly. ‘Just so I can be sure I haven’t misunderstood your meaning.’

‘I will raise the child,’ he said. ‘And you can name your price.’

She didn’t speak for a moment and he was taken aback by the naked fury which blazed from her green eyes as she scrambled to her feet. For a minute he thought she was about to hurl herself across the room and attack him and wasn’t there a part of him which wanted her to go right ahead? Because a fighting woman was a woman who could be subdued in all kinds of ways and suddenly he found himself wanting to kiss her again. But she didn’t. She stood there, her hands on her hips, her breath coming quick and fast.

‘You’re offering to buy my baby?’

‘That’s a rather melodramatic way of putting it, Keeley. Think of it as a transaction—the most reasonable course of action in the circumstances.’

‘Are you out of your mind?’

‘I’m giving you the opportunity to make a fresh start.’

‘Without my baby?’

‘A baby will tie you down. I can give this child everything it needs,’ he said, deliberately allowing his gaze to drift around the dingy little room. ‘You cannot.’

‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Ariston,’ she said, her hands clenching. ‘You might have all the houses and yachts and servants in the world, but you have a great big hole where your heart should be. You’re a cold and unfeeling brute who would deny your baby his mother—and therefore you’re incapable of giving this child the thing it needs more than anything else!’

‘Which is?’

‘Love!’

Ariston felt his body stiffen. He loved his brother and once he’d loved his mother, but he was aware of his limitations. No, he didn’t do the big showy emotion he suspected she was talking about and why should he, when he knew the brutal heartache it could cause? Yet something told him that trying to defend his own position was pointless. She would fight for this child, he realised. She would fight with all the strength she possessed, and that was going to complicate things. Did she imagine he was going to accept what she’d just told him and play no part in it? Politely dole out payments and have sporadic weekend meetings with his own flesh and blood? Or worse, no meetings at all. He met the green blaze of her eyes.

‘So you won’t give this baby up and neither will I,’ he said softly. ‘Which means that the only solution is for me to marry you.’

He saw the shock and horror on her face.

‘But I don’t want to marry you! It wouldn’t work, Ariston—on so many levels. You must realise that. Me, as the wife of an autocratic control freak who doesn’t even like me? I don’t think so.’

‘It wasn’t a question,’ he said silkily. ‘It was a statement. It’s not a case of if you will marry me, Keeley—just when.’

‘You’re mad,’ she breathed.

He shook his head. ‘Just determined to get what is rightfully mine. So why not consider what I’ve said, and sleep on it and I’ll return tomorrow at noon for your answer—when you’ve calmed down. But I’m warning you now, Keeley—that if you are wilful enough to try to refuse me, or if you make some foolish attempt to run away and escape...’ he paused and looked straight into her eyes ‘... I will find you and drag you through every court in the land to get what is rightfully mine.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

AS SHE PREPARED for Ariston’s visit next morning, Keeley stared at her white-faced reflection in the mirror and gritted her teeth. This time she wouldn’t lose her temper. She would be calm and clear and focussed. She would tell him she couldn’t possibly marry him but that she was willing to be reasonable.

She washed her hair and put on a loose cotton dress and a sudden desire to impose some order made her give her bedsit an extra-special clean—busying herself with mop and duster. She even went down to the local market and bought a cheap bunch of flowers from the friendly stallholder who implored her to, ‘Cheer up, love! It might never happen!’

It already had, she thought gloomily as she crammed the spindly pink tulips into a vase as she waited for the Greek tycoon to arrive.

He was bang on time and she hated her instinctive reaction when she opened the door to see him in an exquisite pale grey suit, which today didn’t make him look remotely uncomfortable. In fact, he came over as supremely relaxed as well as looking expensive and hopelessly out of place in her crummy little home. She didn’t want to shiver with awareness whenever she looked at him, nor remember how it had felt to be naked in his arms, yet the erotic images just kept flooding back. Was she imagining the faint triumph which curved those cruel lips of his—as if he was perfectly aware of the way he made her feel? He can’t make you do anything you don’t want him to, she reminded herself fiercely. You might be carrying his baby but you are still a free agent. This is modern England, not the Middle Ages. He can hardly drag you up the aisle against your will.

‘I’m hoping you’ve had time to come to your senses, Keeley,’ he said, without preamble. ‘Have you?’

‘I’ve given it a lot of thought, yes—but I’m afraid I haven’t changed my mind. I won’t marry you, Ariston.’

He said something soft in his native tongue and when he looked at her, he seemed almost regretful as he sighed. ‘I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this.’

‘Come to what?’ she questioned in confusion.

‘Why didn’t you tell me about your mother?’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘Wh-what about my mother?’

His gaze slid over her. ‘That she’s living in a care home and has been for the last seven years.’

Keeley’s lips folded in on themselves because she was afraid she might cry, until she reminded herself that she couldn’t afford the luxury of tears—or to show any kind of vulnerability to a man she suspected would seize on it, as a starving dog might seize on a bone. ‘How did you find out?’

He shrugged. ‘The gathering of information is simple if you know who to ask.’

‘But why? Why would you go to the trouble of having me investigated?’

‘Don’t be naïve, Keeley. Because you are the mother of my child and you have something I want. And knowledge is power,’ he added as his sapphire eyes bored into her. ‘So what happened? How come a middle-aged woman has ended up living in an institution where the average age is eighty, unable to recognise her only daughter when she visits?’

Without thinking, Keeley grabbed the arm of the nearest chair before sinking into it before her legs gave way, as they were threatening to. ‘Didn’t your investigators tell you?’ she questioned hoarsely. ‘Didn’t they gain access to her medical records and tell you everything you needed to know?’

‘No—they didn’t. I don’t think it’s morally right to do something like that.’

‘How dare you talk to me about morals?’ she bit back. ‘I’m surprised you even know the definition of the word.’

‘So what happened, Keeley?’ he questioned again, more softly this time.

She wanted to tell him it was none of his business but she suspected that wouldn’t deter him. And maybe it was his business now, she realised, with a wrench to her heart. Because her mother was the grandmother of his child, wasn’t she? Even if she would never realise that fact for herself. A sudden wave of sadness engulfed her and she blinked away another hint of tears before he could see them. ‘So what do you want to know?’ she questioned.

‘Everything.’

Everything. That was a tall order. Keeley leant her head back against the chair but it took a couple of moments before she had composed herself enough to speak. ‘I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you my mother’s fleeting fame as an actress was quickly replaced by the notorious reputation she gained after that...’ she stumbled on the words ‘...that summer at your house.’

His mouth hardened, but he didn’t comment. ‘Go on.’

‘When we arrived back in England she was approached by lots of tabloid newspapers and the tackier end of the magazine market. They wanted her to be a torch-bearer for the older woman who was determined to have a good sex life, but in reality they just wanted a gullible fool who could shift a few extra copies in a dwindling retail market.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘She talked at length about her different lovers—most of whom were considerably younger. Well, you already know that. She thought she was striking a blow for women’s liberation but, in reality, everyone was laughing at her behind her back. But she didn’t notice and she certainly didn’t let it deter her. And then her looks began to fade...quite dramatically. Too much wine and sun. One crash diet too many.’

She stopped.

‘Don’t stop now,’ he said.

His voice was almost gentle and Keeley wanted to tell him not to talk that way. She’d misinterpreted his kindness once before and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. She wanted to tell him that she could deal with him better when he was being harsh and brutal.

She shrugged. ‘She started having surgery. A nip here and a tuck there. One minute it was an eyebrow job and the next she was having goodness knows what pumped into her lips. She started to look...’ She closed her eyes as she remembered the cruelty of the newspapers which had once courted her mother so assiduously. The snatched photos which had been only marginally less flattering than the awful ones she’d still insisted on posing for, usually dressed in something cringe-makingly unsuitable—like leather hot pants and a see-through blouse. How quickly she had become a national laughing stock—her face resembling a cruel parody of youth.

And how ultimately frustrating that she had been too blind to see what was happening to her.

‘She started to look bizarre,’ she continued, not wanting to appear disloyal but now the words seemed to be rushing to get out because she’d never talked about it before. She’d kept it buttoned up inside her, as if it was her shame and her secret. ‘She met this surgeon and he offered to give her a complete facelift, only she didn’t bother to check out his credentials or to wonder why he was offering her all that work at such an advantageous price. Nobody was quite sure of what happened during the operation—only that my mother was left brain-damaged afterwards. And that she never recognised me—or anyone else again. Her capacity for normal living is “severely compromised” is how they described it.’ She swallowed. ‘And she’s been living in that care home ever since.’

He frowned. ‘But you visit her regularly?’

‘I do. Every week, come rain or shine.’

‘Even though she doesn’t recognise you?’

‘Of course,’ she said quietly. ‘She’s still my mother.’

Ariston flinched at the quiet sense of dignity and grief underpinning her words. Maybe it was inevitable that they made him think about his own mother, but there was no such softening in his heart. Bitterness rose in his throat but he pushed it away as he studied the woman in front of him. She looked very different today, with her newly washed hair shining over her shoulders in a pale fall of waves. The shapeless sweat-pants and baggy top were gone and in their place was a loose cotton dress. She looked soft and feminine and strangely vulnerable.

‘Why don’t you tell me what it is you want?’ he said suddenly.

She met his gaze warily, as if suspecting him of setting up some kind of trap. ‘I want my baby to have the best,’ she said cautiously. ‘Just like every mother does.’

‘And you think that living here...’ he looked around, unable to hide the contemptuous twist of his mouth ‘...can provide that?’

‘People have babies in all kinds of environments, Ariston.’

‘Not a baby carrying the Kavakos name,’ he corrected repressively. ‘How are you managing for money? Are you still working?’

She shook her head. ‘Not at the moment, no.’

‘Oh?’ His gaze bored into her.

She shrugged. ‘I found another supermarket job when I got back from Lasia and then I started getting sick. I eked out the money you paid me but...’

‘Then how the hell,’ he persisted savagely as her words tailed off, ‘do you think you’re going to manage?’

Keeley swallowed in a vain attempt to stop her lips from wobbling, before drawing on her residual reserves. She’d overcome stuff before and she could do it again. ‘Once the sickness has improved, then I can start working more hours. If I need to I might have to move to a cheaper area somewhere.’

‘But that would take you further away from your mother,’ he pointed out.

She glared at him for daring to point out the obvious but suddenly she couldn’t avoid the enormity of her situation. She hadn’t even got a buggy or a crib—and even if she had, there was barely any space to put them. And meanwhile Ariston was offering what most women in her situation would snatch at. He wasn’t trying to deny responsibility. On the contrary, he seemed more than willing to embrace it. He was offering to marry her, for heaven’s sake. Whoever would have thought it?

But yesterday he’d wanted her to give him the baby, she reminded herself. To take her child away from her. Because he could. Because he was powerful and rich and she was weak and poor. He’d wanted to remove her from the equation—to treat her like a surrogate—and that was a measure of his ruthlessness. At least if she was married to him she would have some legal rights—and wouldn’t that be the safest place to start from? Staring into the watchful brilliance of his eyes, she repressed a shiver as she realised what she must do. Because what choice did she have? She didn’t. She didn’t have a choice.

‘If I did agree to marry you,’ she said slowly, ‘then I would want some kind of equality.’

‘Equality?’ he echoed, as if it was a word he’d never used before.

She nodded. ‘That’s right. I’m not prepared to do anything until you agree to my terms.’

‘And what terms might they be, Keeley?’

‘I would like some say in where we live—’

‘Accommodation is the last thing you need concern yourself with,’ he said carelessly. ‘Don’t forget, I have a whole island at my disposal.’

‘No!’ Her response came out more vehemently than she’d planned but Keeley knew what she could and couldn’t tolerate. And the thought of the isolation of his island home and of being at Ariston’s total mercy made her blood run cold. ‘Lasia isn’t a suitable place to bring up a baby.’

‘I grew up there.’

‘Exactly.’

There was a flicker of amusement in his brilliantine eyes before it was replaced by the more familiar glint of hardness. ‘Let me guess, you have somewhere else in mind—somewhere you’ve always longed to live? A town house in the centre of Mayfair perhaps, or an apartment overlooking the river? Aren’t these the places women dream about if money were no option?’

‘I haven’t spent my whole life plotting my rise up the property ladder!’ she snapped.

‘Then you are rare among your sex.’ His gaze bored into her. ‘Lasia is my home, Keeley.’

‘And this is mine.’

‘This?’

She heard the condescension in his voice and suddenly she was fighting for her reputation and what she’d made of her life. It wasn’t much, but in the circumstances hadn’t it been the best she could manage? Hadn’t she struggled to get even this far? But what would Ariston Kavakos know of hardship and making do, with his island and his ships and the ability to click his fingers to get whatever he wanted? Even her. ‘I want to stay in London,’ she said stubbornly. ‘My mother is here, as you yourself just pointed out, remember? I can’t just up sticks and move away.’

He rubbed his forefinger along the bridge of his nose and Keeley watched as he closed his eyes, the thick lashes feathering blackly against his olive skin. Was he wondering how he was going to tolerate a life saddled with a woman he didn’t really want, with a mother whose incapacity had been brought about by her own vanity? Was he now working out how to back-pedal on his hastily offered proposal of marriage?

His eyes flickered open. ‘Very well. London it shall be. I have an apartment here,’ he said, rising to his feet. ‘A penthouse in the City.’

Keeley nodded. Of course he did. He probably had a penthouse in every major city in the world. ‘Just out of interest, how long do you think this marriage of ours is going to last?’

‘The tone of your voice indicates that you think a long-standing union unlikely?’

‘I think the odds are stacked against it,’ she said. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Actually, no, I don’t. Put it this way,’ he added softly. ‘I don’t intend for my child to be brought up by any other man than me. So if you want to maintain your role as the mother, then we stay married.’

‘But—’

‘But what, Keeley? What makes you look so horrified? The realisation that I am determined to make this work? Surely that is only a good thing.’

‘But how can it work when it isn’t going to be a true marriage?’ she demanded desperately.

‘Says who? Perhaps we could learn to get along together. Something which might work if we put our minds to it. I have no illusions about marriage and my expectations are fairly low. But I think we could learn how to be civil to one another, don’t you?’

‘That isn’t what I meant and you know it,’ she said, her voice low.

‘Are you talking about sex?’ A trace of sardonic amusement crept into his tone. ‘Ah, yes. I can see from your enchanting little blush that you are. So what’s the problem? When two people have a chemistry like ours it seems a pity not to capitalise on it. I find that good sex makes a woman very agreeable. Who knows? It might even bring a smile to your face.’

Keeley felt both faint and excited at the way he was expressing himself—and didn’t she despise herself for feeling that way? ‘And if I...refuse?’

‘Why would you?’ His gaze flicked over her body. ‘Why fight it when submission is much more satisfactory? You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you, Keeley? Remembering how good it felt to have me inside you, kissing you and touching you, until you cried out with pleasure?’

The awful thing was that not only was he speaking the truth—but she was reacting to his words and there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. It was as if her body were no longer her own—as if he was controlling her reaction with just one sizzling glance. Keeley’s nipples were pushing against her cotton dress and she could feel a newfound but instantly familiar tug of desire. She wanted him, yes—but surely it was wrong to want a man who treated her the way Ariston did. He had used her as a sexual object rather than someone he respected and something told her he would continue to do so. And wouldn’t that leave her open to emotional wounding? Because something told her Ariston was the kind of man who could hurt. Who could hurt without even trying.

‘But what,’ she continued determinedly, ‘what if I decided I couldn’t stomach the idea of cold-blooded sex with a man like you?’

‘Sex with me is never cold-blooded, koukla mou—we both know that. But if you were to persist in such stubbornness, then I would be forced to find myself a mistress.’ His face darkened. ‘I believe that’s what usually happens in these circumstances.’

‘In that parallel universe of yours, you mean?’ she spat back.

‘It’s a universe I was born into,’ he snapped back. ‘It’s what I know. I won’t consign myself to a sexless future because you refuse to face up to the fact that we are having difficulty keeping our hands off each other,’ he said. ‘But I will not insult you, nor feel the need to take another woman to my bed if you behave as a wife should, Keeley. If you give me your body then I will promise you my fidelity.’

And then he smiled, a hard, cold smile which suggested he was almost enjoying her resistance. As if he were savouring the moment until he was able to conquer her. Or defeat her.

‘It’s up to you,’ he finished. ‘It’s your call.’

Keeley’s heart pounded. The way he spoke about marriage and sex was so primitive. He was autocratic and proud and he stirred her up so she couldn’t think straight, but deep down she realised she had no other place to go. She remembered his warning about taking her to court to fight for the baby if she tried to oppose him. Some men might have made such a threat lightly, but she suspected Ariston wasn’t one of them. But women had rights too, didn’t they? He couldn’t force her to remain in a marriage if it wasn’t working. And he couldn’t demand sex from her because it was his marital right to do so. Surely even he couldn’t be that primitive.

‘Very well, I will marry you. Just so long as you understand I’m only doing it to give my baby security.’ She tilted her chin to meet the triumphant fire blazing from his eyes. ‘But if you think I’m going to be some kind of sexual pushover just to satisfy your raging libido, then you’re mistaken, Ariston.’

‘You think so?’ The smile which flickered at the edges of his lips was arrogant and certain. ‘I am rarely mistaken, koukla mou.’

CHAPTER EIGHT

‘WOW! I’VE NEVER seen a bride wearing red before!’ exclaimed Megan. ‘Is this some new kind of fashion?’

But before Keeley had a chance to answer the woman who’d lent her the ill-fated dress on Lasia, her brand-new husband leaned forward and spoke for her.

‘It’s an ancient Greek custom,’ said Ariston smoothly, his words curling over her skin like dark smoke. ‘Traditionally, the bride wore a red veil in order to ward off evil spirits. But I suspect Keeley has deliberately adapted the look and given it a modern twist by wearing a crown of scarlet roses to match her dress. Isn’t that right, Keeley?’

Resenting his perception even more than the way he’d just butted in, Keeley looked up into the blue blaze of Ariston’s eyes, trying not to react as he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer, looking for all the world like a loving and attentive groom. How appearances could deceive, she thought bitterly. Because he was not a loving groom—he was a cold-hearted control freak who was positively glowing with satisfaction because an hour earlier he had slipped an embellished golden wedding ring onto her rigid finger. He’d got exactly what he wanted and she was now his wife, stuck in an unwanted marriage he was determined would last.

He dipped his mouth to her ear and she hated the involuntary shiver which trickled down her spine as his breath fanned her skin.

‘Clever you for researching Greek customs so thoroughly,’ he murmured. ‘Am I the evil spirit you’re trying to ward off, Keeley?’

‘Of course!’ she said, curving her mouth into a big smile, because she’d discovered she could do the appearance thing just as well as Ariston. She could play the part of the blushing bride to perfection—all it took was a little practice. And why spoil a day with something as disappointing as the truth? Why not let people believe what they wanted to believe—the fairy-tale version of their story—that the struggling daughter of a notorious actress had bagged one of the world’s most eligible men?

In the back of her mind she’d wondered if her past might catch up with her and if Ariston would have second thoughts about marrying a woman with a history like hers. Yet when a newspaper had regurgitated the old story of Keeley’s mother cavorting on the back seat of the ministerial limo and asked Ariston whether the tawdry behaviour of his new mother-in-law gave him any cause for concern, he had broken the habit of a lifetime and given them a quote: ‘Old news,’ he’d commented, in a bored and velvety drawl. ‘And old news is so dull, don’t you think?’

Which was kind of ironic when Keeley thought about how much fuss he’d made about what had happened in the past. But she supposed her pregnancy changed everything. It made him overlook her mother’s transgressions. It made him act proprietorially towards her, something which he made no attempt to hide. She could feel him stroking his finger across the front of her scarlet dress, lingering lightly over the curve of her belly as if it was his right to do so. And she guessed it was. Because he was pulling the strings now, wasn’t he? Certainly the purse strings. He had given her a brand-new credit card and told herself to buy what she liked—to transform herself into the woman who would soon become his wife. ‘Because I want you to look like my wife from now on.’ His eyes had glittered like blue ice as he had spoken. ‘Not some little supermarket stacker who just happens to be wearing my ring.’

His remark had riled her and she’d been tempted to wear her oldest clothes all the time and see how he liked that. Would such defiance make him eager to be rid of her and thus grant her the freedom she craved? But then she thought about her baby...and the fact that she was soon going to be a mother. Did she really want to be seen pushing her buggy around the fancy places which Ariston frequented, wearing clothes which had come from the thrift shop? Wouldn’t that whittle away at her confidence even more?

But the disturbing thing was that once she’d started, she’d found it surprisingly easy to spend her billionaire fiancé’s money. Perhaps there was more of her mother in her than she’d thought. Or maybe she’d just forgotten the lure of wealth and how it could make people do unpredictable things. During her childhood when they’d been flush, money had trickled through her mother’s fingers like sand and sometimes, if she’d been feeling especially benevolent, she had spent some of it on her only child. But her gifts had always failed spectacularly. Keeley had been given impractical frilly dresses which had made her stand out from the other little girls in their dungarees. There had been those frivolous suede shoes, ruined by their first meeting with a puddle—and ribbons which had made her look like some throwback to an earlier age. No wonder she’d grown up to be such a tomboy.

But she took to her new credit card like a duck to water, shopping for her imminent role as Ariston’s wife with enthusiasm and allowing herself to be influenced by the friendly stylist who had been assigned to her by the fancy department store. She bought new clothes chosen specially to accommodate her growing frame, as well as new underwear, shoes and handbags. And didn’t she enjoy the feeling of silk and cashmere brushing against her skin instead of the scratchy qualities of the man-made fabrics she’d worn up till then? She told herself she was only doing what she’d been instructed to do, but the speculative rise of Ariston’s dark eyebrows when his driver had staggered into the City apartment under the weight of all those shiny shopping bags had left her feeling...uncomfortable. As if she’d just affirmed some of his deeply held prejudices about women.

But money was liberating, she realised. It gave her choices which had previously been lacking in her life and that newfound sense of liberation encouraged her to buy the scarlet silk dress and matching shoes, secretly enjoying the stylist’s shocked reaction when she explained it was for her wedding day.

‘You’re some kind of scarlet woman, are you?’ the woman had joked drily.

And now, at the small but glittering reception, Keeley realised that Ariston’s hold on her had changed and he was pushing her away by a fraction so his gaze could rake over her, those smouldering blue eyes taking in every centimetre of the scarlet silk which was clinging to her curves.

‘Spectacular,’ he murmured. ‘Quite...spectacular.’

She felt exposed—almost naked—which hadn’t been her intention at all. She felt aroused, too—and surely that was even more dangerous. She tilted her chin defiantly, trying to swamp the sudden rush of desire which was making her skin grow heated and her nipples hard. ‘So you approve of my wedding dress?’

‘How could I not approve? It would have been entirely inappropriate for such an obviously pregnant wife to wear virginal white.’ He gave a slow smile. ‘Yet despite your unconventional colour choice and what I suspect was your intention to rile me, let me tell you that you really do make a ravishing bride, Keeley. Glowing, young and intensely fecund.’

‘I’ll... I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she stumbled, the tone of his voice making her momentarily breathless.

‘That’s what it was intended to be.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘So how are you feeling, wife?’

Keeley wasn’t quite sure how to answer, because the truth was complex—and strange. For the first time in her life she actually felt safe—and cosseted. She realised that Ariston would never let anyone harm her. That he would use his strength to protect her, no matter what. But he wasn’t doing it for her, she reminded herself. He was doing it because she was carrying the most precious of cargoes, and as custodian of his unborn child she merited his care and attention. That was why he was suddenly being so considerate—and if she read anything more into it than that, then she would be embarking down a very perilous road.

‘I’m a little tired,’ she admitted. ‘It’s been a long day and I wasn’t expecting it to be such...such an occasion.’

He frowned. ‘You want to skip the meal and go home?’

‘How can I? It wouldn’t look very good if the bride didn’t turn up for her own wedding breakfast.’

‘You think I care?’ He reached out to stroke his fingertips beneath her eyes. ‘Your welfare supersedes everything.’

‘No, honestly. I’m fine.’ The touch of his fingers was doing crazy things to her heart and as she noticed Megan hovering close by with a camera phone pointed in their direction, something made her want to maintain the whole myth of this marriage. Was it pride? She forced a smile as the phone flashed. ‘Let’s join the others,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’m hungry.’

But Keeley’s reluctance to leave the reception wasn’t just about hunger. She was dreading returning to Ariston’s gleaming apartment as man and wife and not just because she’d found its vast and very masculine interior intimidating. She had been staying at the famous Granchester Hotel while all the necessary pre-wedding paperwork was completed, because Ariston had insisted that they would only share a home as man and wife. Which seemed slightly bizarre since her rapidly increasing girth made a mockery of such old-fashioned sensibilities. But at least it had given her some breathing space and the chance to get used to her new life without Ariston’s distracting presence. She knew she couldn’t keep putting off living with him but now the moment of reckoning was approaching, she was terrified. Terrified about sharing an apartment with him and unsure how she would cope. At times she felt more like a child than a grown woman who would soon have a child of her own. Was that normal? she wondered.

But she pushed her reservations aside as she sat down to the Greek feast which had been provided by the hotel and it was a relief to be able to eat after what seemed like weeks of sickness. She could feel her strength returning as she worked her way through the delicious salads, though she could manage only half of one of the rich baklava cakes which were produced at the end of the meal. Despite the relatively small guest list, it somehow managed to feel like a real wedding and Ariston had even asked if she wanted her mother there. Keeley had been torn by his unexpected suggestion. She had felt a wave of something symbolic at the thought of her mother witnessing her marriage, until a last-minute chest infection had put paid to the idea. And maybe that was best. Even if she had been aware of what was going on around her, what would her mum have cared about seeing her married, when she’d made such a mockery of marriage herself?

Keeley had wondered why Ariston hadn’t suggested a short trip to the register office with the minimum fuss and no guests other than a couple of anonymous witnesses gathered from the street. Wouldn’t that have been more appropriate in the circumstances? But his reply had been quietly emphatic.

‘Maybe I want to make a statement.’

‘A statement?’

‘That’s right. Shout it from the rooftops. What is it they say? Fake it to make it.’

‘By putting your stamp on me, you mean?’ she questioned acidly. ‘Branding me as a Kavakos possession—just like you did the night you had sex with me?’

His eyes had glittered like sunlight on a dark Greek sea. ‘Humour me, Keeley, won’t you? Just this once.’

And somehow she had done exactly that. She’d even managed to smile when he stood to make a speech, his fleeting reference to shotguns getting an affectionate laugh, especially from his brother.

‘It’s funny,’ Pavlos said afterwards, with a bemused shake of his head. ‘Ariston always vowed he would never marry and he said it like he really meant it. I’d never have guessed there was anything going on between you two. Not after that day at the art gallery when you could have cut the atmosphere with a knife.’

And Keeley didn’t have the heart to disillusion him. She wondered what he’d say if he realised that Ariston had bedded her simply to ensure that Pavlos would never want her for himself, and that she had been too stupid and weak to resist him. Yet his need to control had backfired on him because he was now saddled to a woman he didn’t really want, though he hid it well. As he raised his glass to toast his new bride, Keeley should have resented his ability to put on such a convincing show of unity—but the reality was a stupid, empty ache in her heart as she found herself yearning for something which could never be hers. He looked like a groom and acted like a groom—but the cold glitter in his blue eyes told its own story.

He will never care for you, she told herself. So don’t ever forget it.

During the drive to his apartment, she tugged the scarlet flowers from her head and shook little bits of confetti from her blonde hair. But she couldn’t shake off her detachment as she and Ariston walked into the impressive foyer of his apartment building, where doormen and porters sprang to instant attention and a few men in suits shot her bemused glances. She hugged her pashmina around her shoulders in a vain attempt to hide as much of the scarlet dress as possible. Why on earth hadn’t she changed into something more sensible first?

A private elevator zoomed them up to the penthouse suite, with its impressive views over many of London’s iconic buildings and its seemingly endless suites of rooms. There was even a swimming pool and a gym in the basement—and the outside terraces were filled with a jungle of plants which temporarily made you forget that you were in the heart of the city. She had been there only once before—an awkward visit to oversee the installation of her new clothes in a large room which was now called her dressing room and where every item had been hung in neat and colour-coordinated lines by Ariston’s housekeeper.

She hugged the pashmina as they stood in a hallway as big as her bedsit, where a marble statue of a man appeared to be glaring at her balefully.

‘So now what do we do?’ she said bluntly.

‘Why don’t you go and change out of that dress?’ he suggested. ‘You’ve been shivering since we left the reception. Come with me and I’ll remind you where our bedroom is.’

Our? She looked up at him. Had he mentioned that to her before, or had she just not been concentrating? Probably not. His housekeeper had been hovering helpfully during her previous visit, so maybe it had only been alluded to. ‘You mean we’re going to be...sharing?’

‘Don’t be naïve, Keeley.’ He glittered her a smile. ‘Of course we are. I want to have sex with you. I thought I’d made that clear. That, surely, is the whole point of being man and wife.’

‘But the vows we made weren’t real.’

‘No? Then we could make them real. Remember what I said about faking it to make it?’ He gave an odd kind of laugh. ‘And don’t widen your eyes at me like that, koukla mou. You look like one of those women in an old film who has been tied to the railway line and only just noticed the train approaching. I don’t intend behaving like a caveman, if that’s what concerns you.’

‘But you said—’

‘I said I wanted to have sex with you. And I do. But it has to be consensual. You would need to give yourself to me wholeheartedly—and consciously,’ he added with a cool smile. ‘I’m not talking about one of those middle-of-the-night encounters, where two bodies collide...and before you know it we’re having mind-blowing sex without a single word being exchanged.’

‘You mean...’ the tip of her tongue snaked over her top lip as she followed him along the corridor, to a room which contained a vast bed which reminded her of a sacrificial altar ‘...like the night our child was conceived?’

He gave a short laugh. ‘That’s exactly what I mean. But this time I want us both to be fully aware of what’s happening.’ There was a pause as he turned around to face her. ‘Unless silent submission is what secretly turns you on?’

‘I already told you—I have practically no experience of sex,’ she said, because suddenly it became important that he stopped thinking of her as some kind of stereotype and started treating her like a real person. ‘I...’ She bit her lip and said it before she had time to think about the consequences. ‘I’d never even had an orgasm before I slept with you.’

He looked at her and she could see a glint of something incomprehensible in his narrowed blue eyes.

‘Maybe that’s the reason why I’m not trying hard to seduce you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘Maybe I want you to stop staring at me as if I was the big, bad wolf and to relax a little. Your dressing room is next door—so why don’t you get out of your wedding dress and slip into something more comfortable?’

‘Like...what?’

‘Whatever makes you feel good. But don’t worry,’ he said drily. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you, if that’s what you want.’

‘That’s what I want,’ she said, seeing his tight smile before he turned away and closed the door behind him. And wasn’t human nature a funny thing? She’d been gearing herself up to fight off his advances, but the news that he wasn’t actually going to make any left her with a distinct feeling of disappointment. She never knew where she stood with him. She felt as if she were walking along an emotional tightrope. Was that intentional—or just the way he always was around women? She undid the side zip of the red wedding dress, trying to get her head around the fact that this vast room with its amazing views over the darkening city was hers.

No. Not hers. His. He owned everything. The dress she stood in and the leather shoes she gratefully kicked off.

But not the child in her belly, she reminded herself fiercely as she walked into the gleaming en-suite bathroom. That child was hers, too.

Stripping off and piling her hair on top of her head, she ran a deep bath into which she poured a reckless amount of bath oil, before sinking gratefully into the steamy depths. It was the first time all day that she’d truly relaxed and she lay there for ages, studying the changing shape of her body as the scented water gradually cooled and she was startled by the sound of Ariston’s voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

‘Keeley?’

Instantly her nipples hardened and she swallowed. ‘I’m in the bath.’

‘I gathered that.’ There was a pause. ‘Are you coming out any time soon?’

She pulled out the plug and the water began to drain away. ‘Well, I’m not planning on spending the night in here.’

She towelled herself dry and tied her damp hair in a ponytail. Then she pulled on a pair of palest grey sweat-pants and a matching cloud-like cashmere sweater and found her way back through the maze of corridors to the sitting room, where the lights on the skyscrapers outside the enormous windows were beginning to twinkle like stars. Ariston had removed his tie and shoes and he lay on the sofa, leafing his way through a stack of closely printed papers. His partially unbuttoned white shirt gave a provocative glimpse of his chest and, with his long legs stretched out in front of him, his powerful body looked relaxed for once. He glanced up as she walked in, the expression on his shuttered face indefinable.

‘Better?’

‘Much better.’

‘Stop hovering by the door like a visitor. This is your home now. Come and sit down. Can I get you anything? Some tea?’

‘That would be great.’ She thought how formal they sounded—like two total strangers who had suddenly found themselves locked up together. But wasn’t that exactly what they were? What did she really know about Ariston Kavakos other than the superficial? She realised she’d been expecting him to ring a discreet bell and for his housekeeper to come scurrying from some unseen corner to do his bidding, just as she’d done on her previous visit. But to her surprise, he rose to his feet.

‘I’ll go and make some.’

‘You?’

‘I’m perfectly capable of boiling a kettle,’ he said drily.

‘But...isn’t your housekeeper here?’

‘Not tonight,’ he said. ‘I thought it might be preferable to spend the first night of our honeymoon alone and without interruption.’

Once he’d gone Keeley sank down on a squashy sofa, feeling relieved. At least she would be able to relax without the silent scrutiny of his domestic staff who might reasonably wonder why one of their number was now installed as their new mistress.

She glanced up as Ariston returned, carrying a tray, with peppermint tea for her and a glass of whisky for himself. He sat down opposite her and as he sipped his whisky she thought about all the contradictory aspects of his character which made him such an enigma. And suddenly she found herself wanting to know more. Needing to know more. She suspected that in normal circumstances he would bat off any questions she might have, with the impatience of a man who held no truck with questions. But these weren’t normal circumstances and surely it wasn’t possible to co-exist with a man she didn’t really know? A man whose child she carried in her belly. She’d humoured him as he had requested earlier in the day, so wasn’t it his turn to do the same for her?

‘You remember asking whether I wanted my mother at the wedding?’ she said.

His eyes narrowed. ‘I do. And you told me she wasn’t well enough to attend.’

‘No. That’s right. She wasn’t.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘But you didn’t even mention your own mother and I suddenly realised I don’t know anything about her.’

His fingers tightened around his whisky glass. ‘Why should you?’ he questioned coolly. ‘My mother is dead. That’s all you need to know.’

A few months ago, Keeley might have accepted this. She had known her place in society and had seen no reason to step off the humble path which life had led her down. She’d made the best of her circumstances and had attempted to improve them, with varying degrees of success. But things were different now. She was different. She carried Ariston’s child beneath her heart.

‘Forgive me if I find it intolerable to be fobbed off with an answer like that.’

‘And forgive me if I tell you it’s the only answer you’re getting,’ he clipped back.

‘But we’re married. It’s funny.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘You talk so openly—so unashamedly—about sex yet you shy away from intimacy.’

‘Maybe that’s because I don’t do intimacy,’ he snapped.

‘Well, don’t you think you ought to try? We can’t keep talking about cups of tea and the weather.’

‘Why are you so curious, Keeley? Do you want something to hold over me?’ He slammed his whisky glass down on a nearby table so that the amber liquid sloshed around inside the crystal. ‘Some juicy segments of information to provide you with a nice little nest egg should ever you wish to go to the papers?’

‘You think I’d stoop to something as low as that?’

‘You already did when you wanted to leave Lasia, remember? Or are you blaming a suddenly defective memory on your hormones?’

It took a moment or two for Keeley to recall her blustering bravado, spoken when she’d been swamped by humiliation and the realisation that he’d had sex with her for all the wrong reasons. ‘That was then when you were intimating that you might not allow me to leave your island,’ she retorted. ‘This is now...and I’m having your baby.’

‘And that changes things?’ he demanded.

‘Of course it does. It changes everything.’

‘How?’

She licked her lips, feeling as if she were on trial, wishing her gaze wouldn’t keep straying towards his hands and wishing they would touch her. ‘What if our little boy...?’ She saw his face change suddenly and dramatically. Saw the same look of fierce pride darkening his autocratic features, as it had done when the sonographer had skated a cold paddle over her jelly-covered bump and pointed out the unmistakable outline of their baby son. For a man who claimed not to do emotion it had been a startling about-turn.

‘What if our little boy should start asking me questions about his family, as children do?’ she continued. ‘Isn’t it going to be damaging if I can’t answer a simple query about his grandma just because his daddy is uptight and doesn’t do intimacy? Because he insists on keeping himself hidden away and won’t even tell his wife?’

‘I thought you said our vows weren’t real?’

She met his eyes. ‘Fake it to make it, remember?’

There was a pause. He picked up his glass and took a long mouthful of whisky before putting it down again. ‘What do you want to know?’ he growled.

There were a million things she could have asked him. She was curious to know what had made him so arrogant and controlling. Why he possessed a stony quality which made him seem so distant. But maybe the question she was about to ask might give her some kind of insight into his character. ‘What happened to her, Ariston?’ she questioned slowly and watched his face darken. ‘What happened to your mother?’

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