Forbidden, seduced...

...pregnant with his baby!

Greek CEO Andreas Karelis knows seducing innocent Isla Stanford would be a huge mistake—she’s completely off-limits! But thrown together on an Aegean island paradise, neither can resist indulging in their illicit temptation...

Long after she leaves, their sizzling encounter is seared on to Isla’s heart—because she’s carrying Andreas’s heir! Scarred by her own father’s rejection, Isla is determined to make Andreas claim his son. Meaning she must face a terrifying truth—she wants Andreas to claim her, too...

CHANTELLE SHAW lives on the Kent coast and thinks up her stories while walking on the beach. She has been married for over thirty years and has six children. Her love affair with reading and writing Mills & Boon stories began as a teenager, and her first book was published in 2006. She likes strong-willed, slightly unusual characters. Chantelle also loves gardening, walking and wine!

Also by Chantelle Shaw

Acquired by Her Greek Boss

Hired for Romano’s Pleasure

Wed for His Secret Heir

The Virgin’s Sicilian Protector

Reunited by a Shock Pregnancy

Wed for the Spaniard’s Redemption

The Howard Sisters miniseries

Sheikh’s Forbidden Conquest

A Bride Worth Millions

Bought by the Brazilian miniseries

Mistress of His Revenge

Master of Her Innocence

The Saunderson Legacy miniseries

The Secret He Must Claim

The Throne He Must Take

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Proof of Their Forbidden Night

Chantelle Shaw

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09799-4

PROOF OF THEIR FORBIDDEN NIGHT

© 2020 Chantelle Shaw

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 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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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

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

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT DO YOU think of the news that Papa is engaged to the Ice Queen? Isla has hooked her claws into him, make no mistake.’

Andreas Karelis came to an abrupt halt a few feet away from the helicopter which had brought him to his family’s privately owned island, Louloudi, and stared at his sister, who had run across the garden to meet him. Nefeli’s shrilly furious voice had risen above the whomp-whomp of the slowing rotor blades.

From the air the island, partially covered with a cedar forest and olive groves, resembled an emerald set amid the azure Aegean Sea. Andreas’s happiest boyhood memories were of running free on Louloudi, away from his parents’ expectations of the Karelis heir. He owned houses in California and the French Riviera and a penthouse apartment in Athens, but Louloudi was the only place he thought of as home.

‘I have heard nothing from Stelios,’ he said curtly and his sister’s eyes widened. Usually Andreas kept a tight control over his feelings and no one, not even Nefeli, who was the only person he was at all close to, knew what he was thinking. But he disliked surprises, good or bad, and this was definitely the latter.

‘I thought Papa might have phoned you. He dropped the bombshell when I arrived.’ Nefeli tossed her dark curls over her shoulders. She was petite with a volatile temperament—the opposite of Andreas, who owed his tall, athletic build to his Californian maternal grandmother and had learned early in his childhood to suppress his emotions. It was a lesson he had mastered with astonishing success.

‘A press statement will be released tomorrow to formally announce Papa’s engagement to Isla, but he wanted to share the news with his family first. God!’ Nefeli’s voice went up another octave. ‘She’s his housekeeper, and young enough to be his daughter. What is Papa thinking?’

Andreas gave a careless shrug to hide his violent dislike of his father’s matrimonial plans. The strength of his reaction surprised him, and he reminded himself that Stelios was free to do as he pleased. There was no fool like an old fool, especially a widowed, elderly billionaire in thrall to a beautiful young woman, he thought sardonically.

A restlessness gripped him as he visualised the woman who was now apparently Stelios’s fiancée. Isla Stanford was undeniably beautiful. An English rose with her spun-gold hair and creamy skin. But she had an untouchable air that Andreas would usually find off-putting. He preferred women who were sexually confident, which was why he had found his intense awareness of Isla on the few occasions that he had met her so puzzling.

‘Papa has brought her to Louloudi and she is to attend my birthday party at the weekend,’ Nefeli said sulkily. She slipped her hand through her brother’s arm as they walked towards the villa. ‘You will have to do something, Andreas.’

‘What do you suggest?’ His trademark lazy drawl with its blend of cynical amusement disguised his thoughts but his restless feeling intensified when Nefeli spoke again.

‘Why don’t you seduce her? I’m sure you could quite easily. Women always fall at your feet, and when Papa realises that the Ice Queen had only pretended to be interested in him for his money, he’ll get rid of her and everything will return to normal.’

By normal Nefeli presumably meant that Stelios would revert to behaving like a man in his late sixties who should be preparing for his retirement instead of lusting after a blonde bimbo who saw cash signs when she looked at him. Except that Isla was not your average bimbo. It would make life a lot easier if she was, Andreas brooded.

‘I don’t want to risk getting frostbite,’ he quipped. He swore silently. It wasn’t that he had any objection to his father taking another wife. Just not her. Not Isla. Why couldn’t the old man marry a woman of a similar age to him? A comfortably plump widow who would share Stelios’s twilight years, rather than an ice-cool blonde with intelligent grey eyes and a Mona Lisa smile that drove Andreas to distraction.

His thoughts flew back to eighteen months ago when he had been summoned to the house in Kensington which his father had purchased shortly after his wife’s death, some six months earlier. Stelios’s decision to move to London had been a surprise, and after Andreas had handed his rain-spattered jacket to the butler and been shown into the drawing room, he’d intended to ask why his father had chosen to live in a country with such an infernal climate.

But his mind went blank and his gaze was riveted on the woman sitting close to Stelios on the sofa. Too damned close, had been Andreas’s first thought, followed by a strong urge to snatch her away from his father’s side. She rose to her feet, as graceful and supple as a ballerina, and slipped her hand beneath Stelios’s arm when he stood up. Her solicitousness as she hovered protectively next to his father had irked Andreas.

‘Andreas, finally you have found the time to pay me a visit.’

Stelios’s greeting held a note of criticism which Andreas had come to expect, and he gritted his teeth as he stepped forwards to kiss his father’s cheek. ‘It is good to see you looking well, Papa.’

In fact his father looked tired, but Andreas barely noticed and his attention was on the woman. Who was she? Stelios’s personal assistant perhaps? Her appearance gave no clue to her role in Stelios’s life. She was wearing a white dress with three-quarter-length sleeves and a softly flared skirt that fell to just below her knees. A narrow black belt around her slender waist and black patent stiletto-heeled shoes were elegant accessories. Her hair was the colour of pale honey, drawn back from her face and tied in a ponytail that reached halfway down her back. She looked as demure as a nun, but the curve of her full lips and her high, firm breasts suggested an understated sensuality.

Andreas couldn’t take his eyes off her and he gave a jolt when his father said drily, ‘Allow me to introduce my housekeeper, Miss Stanford. Isla, this is my son, Andreas.’

‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ she murmured.

Her voice made Andreas think of a cool mountain stream and at that precise moment he would have gladly jumped into an ice bath to put out the fire raging inside him.

‘The pleasure is mine, Miss Stanford.’ He had intended to sound sardonic, but the word pleasure hovered in the air, infusing his greeting with sensual heat and something that sounded to his own ears like a challenge. He noticed the faint flush of rose pink that stained her cheeks like the sweep of an artist’s brush over a white canvas. Her eyes widened a fraction and Andreas glimpsed his confusion mirrored in those grey depths.

There was another emotion too. He recognised a flash of awareness, before her long eyelashes that were a few shades darker than her hair swept down and shut him out. Time juddered to a standstill. In the silence Andreas heard the harsh rasp of his breath and the unevenness of hers, but when she met his gaze again her expression was unreadable.

She turned to Stelios. ‘I’ll go and make tea.’

‘Thank you, my dear.’ A look passed between the old man and his housekeeper that Andreas could not decipher. Irritation swept through him. When the hell had his father, a lifelong coffee addict, started drinking tea?

‘I prefer coffee,’ he said abruptly, earning a frown from Stelios.

‘Of course.’ Isla Stanford gave a perfunctory smile that made Andreas long to ruffle her composure. He wanted, badly, to discover if there was heat beneath her ice and if her lips would fit the shape of his as perfectly as he imagined.

She stepped past him and her elusive perfume teased his senses. He watched the sway of her hips as she walked across the room and heard himself blurt out, ‘Would you like some help?’

‘I can manage, thank you.’ She sounded amused. Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at him and her brows arched as she gave him a speculative look that made him feel like a wet-behind-the-ears schoolboy. ‘Or don’t you trust that I can make Greek coffee, Andreas?’

The way she spoke his name in her soft English accent had made him want to growl like a predatory beast. Andreas hadn’t trusted her, and every time he had met Isla on subsequent visits to his father in London his instincts warned him that she was trouble. Now the news of Stelios’s engagement to the woman his sister had christened the Ice Queen proved that those instincts had been right.

He followed Nefeli into the house, where the marble-lined entrance hall was blessedly cool after the heat outside. Andreas had left California sixteen hours ago. Admittedly, travelling by private jet was not arduous but he was looking forward to a leisurely shower and a drink. He was about to ask the butler Dinos to bring a whisky and soda to his room when his sister turned to him.

‘You had better hurry up and get changed. You’re later than expected. Papa has arranged a formal dinner party this evening to celebrate his engagement to Isla.’ She grimaced. ‘I can’t believe he is planning to marry her. He’s making a fool of himself. Can’t you think of anything that might make Papa see sense?’

Nefeli’s plea stayed in Andreas’s mind when he entered his private suite of rooms and quickly showered, before he donned black suit trousers, a snowy white shirt and a black dinner jacket. He would have preferred to pull on a pair of old denim shorts and a T-shirt and stroll down to the beach, but instead he had to sit through a dinner party to mark his father’s betrothal. Theos! He glowered at his reflection in the mirror and raked his fingers through his unruly dark hair that moments ago he’d attempted to tame with a comb.

He could in fact think of something that might make his father question his relationship with his erstwhile housekeeper who was now his fiancée. What if he were to reveal how Isla had come apart in his arms when he’d kissed her in London a month ago? Would Stelios be so keen to marry her?

Andreas’s jaw clenched at the memory of Isla’s wild response to him—the way she had opened her mouth beneath his and made a husky moan when he’d thrust his tongue between her lips. With a frown he acknowledged that he had kissed Isla to satisfy his curiosity, but she had tested his control in a way he hadn’t expected. So much so that he had cut his trip to England short and flown back to California the next day.

Had Isla set her sights on a bigger prize? Stelios was the head of Karelis Corp—the family-owned business which operated the largest oil refinery in Europe. The company also ran the biggest chain of fuel stations in Greece and had interests in shipping and banking. Andreas was the heir to the Karelis business empire but he was in no rush to take over from his father. He had carved out a career as a champion rider in the World Superbike league until a serious accident had forced him to retire from motorbike racing.

Forcing his thoughts back to the present, Andreas muttered a curse and strode out of his suite. He paused in the corridor outside his father’s private apartment and knocked on the door. If he could have a conversation with Stelios and his new fiancée before dinner, he might have a clearer understanding of the reason for their surprise engagement. There was no reply, and after waiting for a few seconds he opened the door and glanced around the sitting room. The door leading to the bedroom was closed and the idea that Stelios was in there with Isla evoked a corrosive feeling in the pit of Andreas’s stomach.

The bedroom door opened and, before he had time to retreat, the butler walked through to the sitting room. ‘I thought that my father and Miss Stanford might be here,’ Andreas explained.

‘Kyrios Stelios is downstairs in the salon. He asked me to fetch his glasses.’ Dinos lifted his hand, in which he held a spectacles case. ‘Miss Stanford’s room is next door but she is down in the salon with your father.’

So Stelios and Isla were not sharing a bedroom at the villa, Andreas mused as he descended the marble staircase. It struck him as unusual behaviour for a couple who had announced their intention to marry. The whole situation of the sudden engagement was odd, especially as his father hadn’t mentioned his marriage plans at their last meeting a month ago.

It was not his concern if Stelios made a fool of himself over his pretty young housekeeper, Andreas told himself. If he admitted that passion had flared between him and Isla, his father might not believe him, or might accuse him of trying to make trouble. Their relationship had never been close, especially after Stelios had been forced to choose between his wife and family, and his mistress.

Andreas had been twelve when his father had admitted that he’d been seeing another woman in England and intended to leave his marriage for her. Andreas’s mother had been devastated, and Andreas had vowed that he would never speak to his father again unless he dumped his mistress and returned to his wife and children. He’d hoped that by taking his mother’s side he would win her love, but she had continued to treat him with the same disinterest that she’d always shown him. His father had remained married but from then on he had been cool towards Andreas.

Helia Karelis had died two years ago from an overdose of her sleeping pills. A tragic accident, the coroner had recorded, but Andreas was sure his mother had known what she was doing when she’d swallowed a handful of pills, just as he was sure she had never got over her husband’s affair, even though it had happened many years ago. Her unhappiness with her marriage had proved to Andreas the folly of falling in love. He avoided emotional dramas in the same way that any sane person would take precautionary measures against coming into contact with the Ebola virus.

As for Isla, Andreas shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t explain why he had come on to her like a teenager on a first date in London. It wasn’t his style and he was confident that when he met her again he would see her for the gold-digger he suspected she was. The way she had responded to his kiss with a sweet ardency that had almost made him believe she was inexperienced must have been an act, he told himself.

He strode into the salon where pre-dinner cocktails were being served and stopped dead in his tracks. The room was full of guests—various relatives and, curiously, considering the dinner party was supposed to be a family gathering, several high-ranking representatives from the oil industry were present as well as members of Karelis Corp’s board of directors. There was a low hum of chatter, the clink of glasses on silver trays carried by the serving staff. But Andreas only saw Isla and his blood thundered in his ears.

This was a different Isla to the decorous housekeeper he had met on previous occasions at his father’s house in Kensington. Tonight she was a lady in red—a sultry siren in clingy scarlet velvet, with sparkling jewels around her throat that drew his attention to the pale upper slopes of her breasts above the plunging neckline of her dress. Her blonde hair was swept up into a chignon to expose the delicate line of her neck. The scarlet gloss on her lips emphasised their fullness.

Lowering his gaze, he saw that the hem of her dress came to her mid-thigh and her long slim legs were enhanced by high-heeled strappy shoes. Isla Stanford was every hot-blooded male’s fantasy and Andreas was burning up. She looked over at him, and as their eyes locked he saw a pink stain spread across her face. The convulsive movement of her throat when she swallowed told him that she was as aware as he was of the electrical current that arced between them. He stared at her mouth, so lush and red and infinitely inviting, and felt the urgent stirring of his desire swell beneath his trousers.

For a moment Andreas forgot that Isla was attending the party as Stelios’s guest. Something primitively possessive swept through him and he strode across the room, driven to stake his claim on the woman who had been in his thoughts too often in the past months. He and Isla had unfinished business.

But just then his father finished talking to another guest and slipped his arm around Isla’s waist. Andreas’s eyes narrowed as he halted in front of the mismatched couple.

‘Finally, you are here.’ Stelios sounded irritable. ‘I expected you to arrive several hours ago. We were about to start dinner without you.’

‘Good evening, Papa,’ Andreas greeted his father drily. ‘Miss Stanford.’ He kept his expression bland as he glanced at Isla and back to Stelios. ‘I apologise if I am late. I said I would arrive some time in the afternoon but I did not specify an exact time and I was unaware that you were giving a dinner party.’

Stelios sniffed. ‘Well, you are here now. I hope you will offer your congratulations when I tell you that Isla has agreed to be my fiancée.’

Even though Andreas had been pre-warned by his sister of his father’s engagement, the sight of a diamond the size of a rock on Isla’s finger filled him with fury. It had to be a joke, surely? This grey-haired, wrinkled old man and an exquisite English rose who must be some forty years younger than her future husband.

He jerked his gaze to Isla’s face and noted the faint quiver of her lower lip, the flash of sexual awareness in her wide grey eyes that she quickly concealed beneath the sweep of her lashes. She was his, goddammit. Yet it was his ageing father’s arm around her slender waist and Stelios’s obscenely gaudy ring glittering on her finger.

‘Well, Andreas?’ his father prompted. ‘I can see you are surprised by my news, but I’m sure you will agree that I am a lucky man to have such a beautiful fiancée.’

At a rough guess, the diamond solitaire was worth a six-figure sum. Andreas gave a sardonic smile. ‘Congratulations,’ he drawled, directing his mocking gaze at Isla. ‘You appear to have hit the jackpot.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE INSOLENCE OF the man! Isla’s temper had simmered throughout the interminable five-course dinner as Andreas’s loaded comment echoed in her ears. Thankfully, he had sat at the far end of the table from where she and Stelios were seated, but she’d felt his brilliant blue eyes watching her, and his speculative gaze added to her tension in a situation that was already uncomfortable.

From halfway down the table, she’d been aware of the poisonous looks that Stelios’s daughter directed at her. At the end of the dinner, Stelios had stood up and asked the guests to raise their glasses in a toast to his new fiancée. It was taking the pretence too far and Isla’s doubts about what she was doing on Louloudi had intensified.

Giving a soft sigh, she pushed open the French windows and stepped outside onto the terrace. It was dark now, and the stunning view across the gardens to the sea beyond was hidden. Although summer was coming to an end, the night was sultry and the air was thick with the scents of rosemary and lavender which grew in big terracotta pots.

Isla’s hand strayed to the ruby and diamond necklace around her throat and once again she checked that the clasp was securely fastened.

‘I’m terrified I might lose it,’ she’d whispered to Stelios earlier in the day while they had posed for photographers in the boardroom of Karelis Corp in Athens. ‘The necklace must be worth a fortune. I’d feel happier wearing something less ostentatious.’

Stelios had dismissed her concerns and taken hold of her hand, lifting it up to brush his lips across the enormous diamond ring that he’d slipped onto her finger just before they had faced the cameras. ‘Try to relax and smile,’ he murmured. ‘The eyes of the world will be on you when the news of our betrothal is announced in the media tomorrow. I am a billionaire and people will expect my fiancée to wear fabulous jewellery and dress in haute couture.’

After the press conference recording they had boarded a helicopter for the short flight to Stelios’s island. When they were seated in the helicopter’s luxurious cabin he gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the importance of making our engagement appear convincing in front of the press. It is vital at this time of financial turbulence that Karelis Corp’s competitors believe I am a strong leader of the company. Just as importantly, I want to hide my illness from my family until after my daughter’s twenty-first birthday.’

‘I know you are trying to protect Nefeli. But I urge you to tell her and Andreas the truth. Your children won’t be pleased about our engagement. They already dislike me.’

Stelios’s daughter had barely hidden her hostility towards Isla whenever she had visited her father at his home in Kensington. And Andreas had nothing but disdain for her. Isla was quite certain of that, even though she had only met him a handful of times. Oh, on the surface he was polite enough. Quite charming, in fact. But she wasn’t fooled by his laid-back air and the careless smile that curved his lips but did not match the coldly cynical expression in his eyes.

She didn’t know why Andreas had disapproved of her when she’d been employed as his father’s housekeeper, or why he’d kissed her the last time he had come to London. The kiss had been unexpected, which was why she had responded to him, she assured herself.

‘You are mistaken. I am sure my children find you delightful.’ Stelios had sought to reassure her. ‘I need you to be the focus of attention. Everyone will be fascinated by my beautiful fiancée and they won’t notice that I have lost weight. I will explain about my illness when the time is right to do so. But I want Nefeli to enjoy her twenty-first birthday party, spared from the knowledge that I will not be around to celebrate future birthdays with her.’

Isla couldn’t argue with Stelios’s reasoning or his desire to protect his daughter when she understood the devastation of losing a parent. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with her mum’s death in a horrific accident. Tragically, Stelios had arrived in England in search of Marion six months too late.

The muted sounds of the party drifted across the terrace and Isla was glad to be outside, away from the spotlight for a few minutes. The ruby necklace felt heavy around her neck and she wished she hadn’t allowed Stelios to persuade her to wear it. But he had insisted that the necklace and matching drop earrings were perfect accessories for the red dress he’d suggested she should wear to the press conference and dinner party. The tight-fitting dress clung to her body and the scooped neckline revealed more of her cleavage than Isla was comfortable with. She did not normally wear attention-grabbing clothes. But the point of her overtly sexy outfit and the reason for the announcement of their engagement was to draw attention away from Stelios’s ill-health.

The sound of footsteps on the terrace behind her caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, a sixth sense warning her of imminent danger. She froze when a mocking voice drawled, ‘Ah, the blushing bride-to-be! You have been a clever girl, Isla.’

Her heart gave an annoying flip, as it always did when Stelios’s son was in the vicinity, and it took every ounce of her willpower to turn towards him when her instincts urged her to flee. Somehow she managed to say calmly, ‘Whatever do you mean, Andreas?’

The simple act of uttering his name evoked a wild heat inside her, and she prayed he would think her cheeks were flushed because the temperature in Greece was much warmer than the chilly, grey England she had left two days ago. Isla hated that Andreas Karelis made her feel like a gauche teenager but she suspected he had the same effect on most women.

Handsome did not come near to describing his sculpted features, with those razor-edge cheekbones, square jaw and outrageously sensual mouth that looked as if it had been shaped entirely for the purpose of kissing. His hair was the same shade of dark brown as the rich Greek coffee she had served him when he had visited his father at the house in Kensington.

It was not just his height—she estimated that he was three or four inches over six foot—or his attractive features, dominated by his startling blue eyes, that set him apart from other men. Andreas possessed a smouldering sensuality that Isla could not ignore, however much she wished she could.

Although he had retired from motorbike racing he was still regarded as a sporting legend by an army of adoring groupies. His reputation as a playboy was reinforced by stories of his love-life played out in the pages of tabloid newspapers and celebrity gossip magazines. Not that Isla took the slightest interest in the scandalous headlines about Andreas, but she knew they upset his father and she had resolved to protect Stelios from stress and worry as much as she possibly could for the time he had left.

It was inexplicable the way her pulse quickened and her breasts rose and fell jerkily when she was anywhere near Andreas. Worse was the realisation that he knew the effect he had on her. He smiled, baring his teeth and reminding her of a wolf that had cornered its prey. Isla considered walking as quickly as her skyscraper stiletto heels would permit, back inside the villa where Stelios was chatting with some of his dinner guests. But before she could move Andreas stepped towards her and she found herself edging up against the stone balustrade.

In the moonlight he seemed even bigger and distinctly menacing as his muscular, whipcord body loomed over her. There was nothing she could do but brazen it out and she forced herself to tilt her head and meet his hard stare.

‘I have a feeling that you were not paying me a compliment when you called me clever,’ she remarked, pleased that she sounded composed when she felt anything but.

His eyes narrowed, but not before she’d glimpsed a flash of surprise at her challenging tone. ‘There are words to describe women like you and none of them are complimentary.’

Isla blinked, taken aback by the ferocity in Andreas’s low voice. The contemptuous curl of his lips caused a stab of hurt beneath her breastbone. Her treacherous heart hammered when he lifted his hand and ran his forefinger over the rubies at her throat.

‘Very pretty,’ he said, still in that harsh tone that seemed to come from deep within him. But although he touched the blood-red stones strung alternately between sparkling diamonds, his eyes were on her face and his expression made her shiver and burn simultaneously. She held her breath when he moved his hand up to one of her ears and flicked his finger against the huge ruby surrounded by diamonds dangling from her earlobe. ‘Was this jewellery, and the shiny bauble on your finger, your price for agreeing to marry my father?’

‘I don’t have a price.’

He gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Tell me, Isla, why would a beautiful young woman choose to become engaged to an elderly billionaire if not for financial gain?’

Her temper flared at his implication that she was a fortune hunter. ‘Do you think I’m a gold-digger?’

‘Well done. I said you were clever,’ he mocked.

The condemnation in Andreas’s eyes was unjust. For a moment Isla was tempted to defend herself by explaining the truth about her relationship with his father. But she’d given her word to Stelios that she would keep his secret. A secret which was going to have huge implications for his family and possibly for his oil refining business. As yet Andreas was unaware that Karelis Corp was threatened by a hostile takeover bid from another company. Soon he would learn that her engagement to his father was intended to make Stelios appear strong and in control of the company, and Andreas might even thank her.

‘Your father and I have an understanding...’

He swore, his voice low but no less savage. ‘Does Stelios know about us?’

‘Us?’ Isla’s brows lifted and she injected cool disdain into her tone. ‘There has never been us.’

‘We shared a scorching kiss at my father’s house in London. Theos! The chemistry between us was explosive,’ Andreas reminded her.

Heat spread across Isla’s face. She needed no reminding of her uncharacteristically wanton behaviour. She had declined Stelios’s invitation to join him and Andreas when she’d served coffee in the drawing room. Making the excuse that she was doing some baking, she had carefully not met Andreas’s speculative gaze. But later he had returned the tea tray to the kitchen.

‘Thanks. You can leave the cups in the sink,’ she told him in a dismissive voice, hoping he would take the hint and return to his father. Her heart-rate quickened when he lounged against the kitchen counter.

‘So you weren’t lying,’ he murmured, watching her take a tray of madeleines out of the oven. ‘I assumed you’d said you were busy in the kitchen because you wanted to avoid me.’

‘I never tell lies,’ she said crisply, focusing her attention on lifting the delicate little cakes onto a cooling rack rather than look at Andreas. But she was fiercely aware of him, casually dressed in jeans that hugged his lean hips and a black T-shirt moulded to his muscular torso. His rampant masculinity disturbed her and the sensual musk of his aftershave in the warm kitchen assailed her senses.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps you can explain why my father has fallen asleep in his armchair in the middle of the day. I know he is not getting any younger, but he has always had the energy of a man half his age.’

Weeks of gruelling chemotherapy had drained Stelios’s strength, but Isla couldn’t reveal to Andreas that his father was undergoing treatment for cancer. So much for her boast that she did not tell lies, she thought ruefully. ‘Your father has been working hard recently,’ she murmured. ‘Why on earth would I want to avoid you?’

She had asked the question to distract attention away from Stelios’s health—and her ploy worked. Andreas moved closer and there was a wicked gleam in his eyes as he slid his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face up to his.

‘You tell me, omorfia mou. Do you think I haven’t noticed the hungry looks you send me every time I pay my father a visit?’

‘I don’t...’ she began, her face flaming with embarrassment that Andreas had guessed her fascination with him. It was so unlike her. She was always guarded with men, determined to protect her heart against the pain of rejection that she’d felt so deeply in the past. Andreas’s sexy laugh sent a tremor through her and, fool that she was, Isla ignored her common sense which told her to step away from him.

‘Yes, you do,’ he drawled. ‘What’s more, you want me to kiss you.’

Her heart leapt into her throat. ‘I do not...’ she whispered, but her denial died away as he lowered his head until his lips were centimetres above hers and his warm breath grazed her skin.

‘Liar.’

He had kissed her then. Although kiss was not an apt description of the way he had claimed her mouth with an arrogant possession that should have appalled her. Instead she had capitulated to his mastery, unable to resist his fiery passion and the bold sweep of his tongue between her lips.

The kiss was unlike anything Isla had ever experienced before. She had been kissed by other men—a few, although she could count on one hand the number of dates she’d been on that had got as far as a fumbling kiss at the end of the evening, she thought ruefully. When Andreas kissed her, she discovered a deeply sensual side to her nature that shocked her. But, before she had a chance to explore how he made her feel, he snatched his mouth from hers and stepped away from her so abruptly that she grabbed hold of the kitchen counter to support her legs that had turned to jelly. Andreas’s hard-boned face gave no clue to his thoughts and he walked out of the kitchen without a word.

Isla felt humiliated by his rejection, which brought back painful memories of when she’d been a teenager and had introduced herself to her father. With hindsight, perhaps she had been naïve to hope that David Stanford would be delighted to meet the daughter he’d abandoned when she was a few months old. But his insistence that there was no place for her in his life had been a brutal end to her hopes of having a relationship with her father. Isla had vowed then never to allow herself to be hurt by any man ever again.

She was jolted back to the present when she felt the pressure of Andreas’s hard thigh against hers. She hadn’t been aware that he’d moved, but now she found herself trapped against the balustrade. Her breath hitched in her throat when he ran his finger lightly down her hot cheek. She realised that she had been staring at his sensual mouth while she’d relived the kiss they had shared in London. The gleam in his eyes told her he had read her thoughts.

‘Tell me about your romance with my father,’ he demanded in a cynical voice. ‘It seems very sudden. A few weeks ago you were employed as his housekeeper and you were quite happy to kiss me.’

‘The kiss was a mistake that I immediately regretted.’ She flushed at his look of arrogant disbelief. ‘It’s true. You’re a playboy who uses women for your pleasure and discards them like trash when you are bored of them. You asked why I accepted your father’s proposal and I’ll tell you. Stelios is a gentleman. He is kind and sweet...’

Isla’s voice thickened with emotion. Stelios was the only person, apart from her mother, who had ever cared about her, but soon he would be gone from this world, just as her mother had gone, and she would be alone again. The one tiny comfort was that Stelios and Marion would finally be together.

‘You expect me to believe that my father’s wealth has no bearing on your decision to accept his marriage proposal?’ Andreas gritted.

‘I don’t care what you believe. The truth is that I love your father.’

Andreas jerked as if she’d slapped him. His blue eyes burned into Isla like lasers, seeking out every last secret in her soul as his dark head came closer, blotting out the light from the room behind him so that there was just the darkness of the night and the harsh sound of his breaths echoing the erratic beat of her heart.

‘Love?’ he mocked. He captured her wrist between his strong fingers. ‘I could kiss you right now and you wouldn’t stop me, even though my father, who you profess to love, and the guests he invited to celebrate his engagement to you are only feet away from us.’

He dropped his gaze to the exposed upper slopes of her breasts that were rising and falling jerkily. Isla knew she should demand that he release her. But she couldn’t speak, could barely think. The spicy scent of his aftershave, mixed with something elusive and male, swamped her senses. His mouth, so close to hers but not close enough, was an unbearable torment. Heat swept through her and she felt an ache low in her pelvis. Her breasts felt heavy and she wanted... Oh, God, she wanted his mouth everywhere on her body.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and Andreas swore. ‘This is crazy,’ he said hoarsely. He sounded as if he was waging an internal battle with himself and his voice jolted Isla to her senses.

She must be out of her mind to allow Andreas to undermine her defences. Even if she hadn’t agreed to the pretend engagement with Stelios, it would be foolish to succumb to her desire for Andreas, which made her feel hot and shivery at the same time.

No other man had ever excited her the way Andreas did, and she longed to press herself against his whipcord body and burn in his fire. But the kiss they had shared in London had clearly meant nothing to him, she reminded herself, still smarting from the memory of how he had walked away from her without a backward glance. She would not be Andreas’s plaything and she put her hand on his chest to push him away, not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped away from her.

Light spilled across the terrace from the drawing room as the door swung open and Stelios’s slightly stooped figure was silhouetted in the doorframe. ‘Isla?’

‘I’m here,’ she called out. She was still looking at Andreas and flushed at the contemptuous expression in his eyes when he stared back at her. Thank goodness she had come to her senses and stopped him from kissing her.

‘What are you doing out here in the dark?’ Stelios asked.

‘I was pointing out the lights of some of the notable buildings on the mainland to Isla,’ Andreas told his father, falling into step beside her when she walked back across the terrace. ‘I explained that the villa stands on a hill, hence the excellent view.’

Stelios was silent as his eyes moved between Isla and his son. ‘Yes, I see,’ he said softly at last. Isla prayed he didn’t. It was ridiculous to feel guilty, she told herself. Stelios had promised that he would explain to his family the reason for their fake engagement after Nefeli’s birthday party. But the affection she felt for the elderly man was genuine and she smiled at him as she slipped her arm through his.

‘I’m sorry you were looking for me. I should have told you that I was stepping outside for some fresh air.’

‘Your advice is needed,’ Stelios told her. ‘My friend Georgios is planning to visit the British Museum in London and he is especially interested in seeing the collection of ancient Greek antiquities housed there. I explained that you will be able to advise him which galleries and exhibits he would enjoy.’

‘Do you spend a lot of time in a museum, Isla?’ Andreas’s tone was sceptical.

‘I work as an assistant curator in the Greek and Roman department at the British Museum. The position is part-time, allowing me to fit the hours around my job as your father’s housekeeper in London, as well as studying for my PhD in classical civilisations.’

That wiped the smirk off Andreas’s face, Isla thought with satisfaction as she allowed Stelios to escort her back into the salon to join the other guests. Andreas had accused her of being a gold-digger and she’d enjoyed his obvious surprise that she had a career. But she was annoyed with herself for caring about his opinion of her. Common sense told her that he was the last man on the planet she should be drawn to.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he had followed them into the salon and taken a drink from the butler. Andreas must have sensed her eyes on him and he turned his head to look directly at her, lifting his glass in mocking salute before he drained the amber liquid in one gulp. Isla watched the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

He was unashamedly masculine and she remembered how his body had felt as hard as steel when he’d trapped her up against the balustrade on the terrace with a muscular thigh. His olive-toned skin gleamed like bronze in the brightly lit room, and when he raked his hand carelessly through his dark hair her fingers itched to do the same.

Isla had never been this fascinated by a member of the opposite sex before. She had dated a few guys at university but was wary of being hurt and she’d never felt a desire for any of those relationships to progress as far as the bedroom, which was why she couldn’t understand her response to Andreas. She did not like him and certainly didn’t trust him, so why did he make her senses sing and bring her body to urgent life?

She had the unenviable title of the world’s oldest virgin, Isla thought wryly. Although she doubted that Andreas would believe it. His cynical expression when he’d seen the sparkling diamond ring on her finger indicated that he was convinced she had used her feminine wiles to captivate his billionaire father.

CHAPTER THREE

ANDREAS’S FEET POUNDED on the sand where the waves rippled against the shore. The sun was climbing high in the sky and the temperature was already soaring. Usually he went for a run at the break of dawn when the day was fresh and full of possibilities. But he had woken late after a restless night. Sleep had eluded him for hours as he’d struggled to understand his behaviour the previous evening when he’d followed Isla out onto the terrace and been tempted to kiss her.

Theos, she had made him shake like a teenager at the mercy of his hormones. The chemistry between them had been almost tangible and if she hadn’t pushed him away he doubted he would have been able to resist her. But the realisation that he could have been caught in a compromising situation with his father’s fiancée had filled him with self-loathing. Even more incomprehensible was the fact that Isla had threatened his self-control with her mix of sensuality and innocence, which couldn’t be real, he told himself.

He was convinced that Isla was a gold-digger. Andreas had learned from bitter personal experience that some women had no scruples and would do anything to get their hands on the Karelis fortune. His mouth thinned as he remembered the lies that an ex-girlfriend, Sadie, had told the media about him after he’d seen through her attempt to deceive him. He should have realised sooner that Sadie had been more interested in his bank balance than him. He would bet his entire fortune that Isla was attracted to his elderly father’s wealth. Her air of vulnerability, which evoked a protective instinct in Andreas he hadn’t known he possessed, was no doubt part of her clever act, he thought grimly.

He ran faster, pushing himself until his lungs burned. But when he reached the end of the bay—after passing the old fisherman’s cottage that he’d turned into his private bolthole—and climbed the headland of volcanic rock, he barely noticed the stunning view of the crystalline turquoise sea. Instead he visualised Isla in her sexy red dress and remembered how soft her body had felt against his when she’d brushed past him on the terrace.

She had insisted that she loved Stelios. Of course she was bound to say that, Andreas brooded. But, for all his cynicism, he could not deny that there had been genuine emotion in her voice. Another thing which had thrown him was learning that she was highly educated and worked in a goddamn museum. If she had been an airhead it would be easier to dismiss her relationship with his father. Isla Stanford was an enigma. Andreas did not know what to make of her and it irritated the hell out of him.

On his way back to the villa his phone rang. ‘You are sure about this?’ he questioned the security officer who he’d asked to look into Isla’s background. ‘I see. That’s very interesting. Keep digging, Theo.’

His father and Isla were sitting at the breakfast table on the terrace which overlooked the infinity pool. Andreas hoped to slip unnoticed into the house, but Stelios waved to him and with a faint sigh he walked towards the table.

‘Kalimera, Papa, Isla,’ he murmured in greeting. The thought briefly crossed his mind that his father looked thinner than when he’d seen him in London a month ago. But his gaze was drawn to Isla and he forgot everything else.

In contrast to the sex-bomb image she’d projected last night, this morning she looked as pure as the driven snow in a pale lemon sundress with narrow straps that revealed her delicate shoulders. It was the first time Andreas had seen her hair loose and he wished he could run his fingers through the mass of honey-gold silk that tumbled in soft waves down her back.

Frustration darkened his mood. His fascination with Isla was something he’d never experienced before. Women came and went in his life without making any impact on him. He enjoyed their company as long as it was on his terms and he liked sex uncomplicated by commitment. Perhaps he wanted Isla so badly because she was off limits, he derided himself. For a man who had discovered while he was still a teenager that he could have any woman he wanted with the minimum of effort on his part, the fact that she was unobtainable made her exciting.

But maybe the reason why his heart jolted against his ribs when he met her cool grey gaze was simply that Isla was breathtakingly lovely. Tearing his gaze from her, Andreas glanced at the pile of newspapers on the table. Most of the European tabloids carried a photo on the front page of Stelios looking into the eyes of his new fiancée while he pressed his lips against the enormous diamond on her finger.

Andreas had woken to the storm on social media created by his father’s marriage plans. The announcement had resulted in a spike in Karelis Corp’s share price on the stock market. Investors liked strong company leaders, and presumably the news that Stelios was planning to marry a woman decades younger than him proved that the old man was still a force to be reckoned with, Andreas thought sardonically.

‘I am surprised that you decided to make a public statement about your engagement, Papa. You have previously been critical whenever my name has made the headlines.’

Stelios’s lips thinned. ‘A kiss-and-tell story by one of your disgruntled ex-lovers in a downmarket rag is not the same thing as an announcement about my future plans to the media.’

Andreas was genuinely curious. ‘You have always kept your personal life separate from business but I understand that you invited journalists into the boardroom of Karelis Corp to make your announcement. I am merely pointing out that it is not like you to court the paparazzi.’

Was it his imagination or did Stelios seem relieved when the conversation was curtailed by the arrival of the butler bearing a jug of coffee? Moments later, Dinos’s wife Toula, who had worked as the family’s cook at the villa for as long as Andreas could remember, bustled across the terrace carrying a plate with his favourite breakfast of spinach and feta wrapped in filo pastry. He was fond of the couple, who had taken care of him when he was a boy and had been sent to stay on Louloudi in the school holidays because his mother had preferred him to be out of the way.

‘I am happy that you no longer race your big motorbike,’ Toula told him after they had exchanged greetings. She glanced heavenwards. ‘Always I used to pray that you would be safe. When you had your accident I was so worried about you.’

‘As you can see, I am fully recovered,’ Andreas reassured her, automatically rubbing his hand over the long scar on his chest that was hidden beneath his running vest. The loss of his racing career was still painful and the scar was an ugly reminder of the accident during a race two years ago in which he’d suffered a ruptured aorta that had almost proved fatal.

‘We are all glad that Andreas has finally seen sense and given up fooling around on motorbikes and riding them at ridiculous speeds,’ Stelios said in a gruff tone.

Andreas’s mouth tightened. He hadn’t expected sympathy from his father, who had disapproved of his racing career. But the lecture he’d received while he had been recovering from his injuries had driven a wedge further between him and Stelios. It had been the same old rhetoric: Karelis Corp was his destiny and his duty.

‘I was the Superbike World Champion for four consecutive years,’ he reminded his father. ‘The racing team which I own and manage is regarded as a world leader in the development of analytics used to modernise engine configuration testing, and Aeolus Racing has sponsorship worth millions of dollars. I would not call that fooling around.’

Stelios frowned. ‘Your place is here in Greece, not in California. You know that I would like to retire and you should be preparing to take my place as head of the company.’

‘You have spent much of your time in England for the past eighteen months,’ Andreas pointed out. ‘Every time I visited you in London I tried to talk about Karelis Corp, and in particular some worrying rumours I have heard about the company, but you refused to discuss things with me.’

A dark flush appeared on Stelios’s face. ‘I need to be sure of your commitment to Karelis Corp. If you spent less time womanising, and there were fewer stories about your personal life in the gutter press I would feel more confident about handing the most powerful role in the company over to you.’

Andreas gritted his teeth. ‘You know full well that the woman who sold her story to the papers was lying.’

But the damage to his reputation had been done, Andreas thought bitterly. When lingerie model Sadie Barnes had told him she was pregnant with his child he’d asked for a paternity test. She had tearfully accused him of not trusting her, but he’d insisted on a test. Instead, Sadie had sold a story to the tabloids saying that Andreas had abandoned her and his unborn baby.

The media storm had broken on the day he was due to compete in a motorbike race which, had he won, would have given him the title of World Superbike Champion for a record fifth time. But an hour before the race Stelios had phoned Andreas and accused him of bringing shame to the name Karelis and damaging the company. The furious exchange of words with his father had, Andreas was sure, contributed to his lapse of concentration that had resulted in the high-speed crash.

‘I accept that that particular story turned out to be untrue, but your playboy image is not good for Karelis Corp,’ Stelios muttered. ‘You should be thinking about marrying a suitable wife and settling down.’ Andreas gave a snort of derision and Stelios rose to his feet and shook his head when Isla immediately stood up. ‘Sit down and finish your breakfast, my dear.’ He spoke to her in a softer voice than he had used to his son. ‘I need to phone my lawyer and I’ll go to my study to make the call.’

Isla looked as though she wanted to argue as she watched Stelios walk slowly towards the house. After a few moments she sat back down and glared at Andreas. Clearly she blamed him for the argument with Stelios. The truth was that he and his father were both strong-willed, but Stelios wanted an heir he could mould into his likeness, not a maverick son who was determined to make his own mark on the world.

Andreas scowled at the plate of food in front of him, his appetite suddenly non-existent. He felt taut and strung out and his mood turned blacker with the realisation that for once he had no control over his feelings. For the first time in his life he wished he was far away from Louloudi, far away from the woman who had such an unsettling effect on him.

The floral fragrance of Isla’s perfume assailed him and his skin felt too tight for his body. He wondered what she would do if he walked around the table, leaned over and claimed her mouth with his. Would she respond to him as she had done in London? She had wanted him to kiss her on the terrace last night. Her eyes had flashed silver-bright with desire and he’d sensed the effort it had taken her to resist the attraction that blazed between them. He forced his mind back to the present when Isla spoke.

‘Your father loves you, you know,’ she said softly. ‘He told me that he wishes the two of you were closer.’

Andreas was outraged that Stelios had discussed him with Isla. It felt like a betrayal. ‘With respect,’ he said grittily, ‘my relationship with my father is none of your damn business.’

‘I was simply trying to help. I care about Stelios...’

He snorted. ‘You sound convincing, but unlike my father I am not the least bit taken in by the role of ingénue that you play so well. Let’s face it, Stelios is not the first wealthy old man to be susceptible to your charms. A few years ago you inherited a substantial sum of money from a Major Charles Walters who you had befriended.’

‘It’s true that I was friends with Charles and his wife Enid. I was shocked when I learned that they had left me a bequest but there was nothing grubby or underhand about it.’ Hectic colour flared on Isla’s cheeks. ‘They were an elderly, childless couple who owned the manor house in the village where I grew up, and they were patrons of the local school. When I was a teenager I had a part-time cleaning job at the manor, and Charles and Enid encouraged my hope of going to university. They died within a few months of each other and left legacies to several young people in the village with the stipulation that the money was to go towards paying university fees. Without their generosity, I would have graduated with a huge debt and struggled to continue with my studies.’ She frowned. ‘How did you know I had been left some money?’

‘You were investigated,’ he told her smoothly, watching her grey eyes flash with anger. It gave him a sense of satisfaction knowing he’d rattled her. ‘My family are one of the wealthiest in Greece and, although security here on Louloudi is discreet, I asked the protection team to run some checks on you. My father especially is at risk of being kidnapped and held to ransom by criminal gangs.’

‘I’m not a criminal.’ Isla’s finely arched brows drew together in a frown. ‘Does Stelios know that you had me investigated?’

‘Does he know that you inherited money from another wealthy old man?’ Andreas countered to avoid answering her question.

‘Your father knows everything about me.’

She met Andreas’s gaze across the table and he found himself looking away first, shaken by the honesty in her expression. There was something else, an inexplicable sadness. The shimmer of tears made her grey eyes glisten like wet slate. She was a damn good actress, he thought grimly, but he refused to fall for her little-girl-lost look.

Isla stood up and Andreas was aware of the hard thud of his pulse as the breeze flattened her dress against her body, revealing the swell of her breasts and the gentle curve of her hips. ‘I wish you would believe that I mean your father no harm.’

‘Stelios doesn’t seem to be himself.’ Andreas also got to his feet, frowning as he remembered how exhausted his father had been at the end of the dinner party.

Isla hesitated. ‘He has been working hard.’

The gentle affection in her voice for Stelios evoked a feeling in Andreas that he refused to acknowledge was envy. His mother had not shown him tenderness or affection when he was a child, and since he’d reached adulthood he’d avoided emotional relationships, assuring himself that he neither wanted nor needed love. He swore silently, irritated that Isla made him question the status quo of his life that he’d been perfectly content with until now.

‘Perhaps Stelios is tired for another reason,’ he growled. Isla looked puzzled and he elaborated. ‘You are a lot younger than my father and he might be wearing himself out trying to keep you happy in the bedroom.’

‘Your father and I are not lovers,’ she said stiffly.

‘Why not?’ Andreas’s eyes narrowed when she did not answer. ‘I’m curious about your relationship with Stelios. I watched the two of you at dinner last night and I’d swear you do not feel any sexual attraction for my father.’

‘Not everything is about sex,’ she snapped. ‘Relationships—meaningful relationships, not the love-’em-and-leave-’em kind that you only seem capable of—are about mutual respect, friendship and trust.’

Andreas frowned, unsettled by her fervent words. In an ideal relationship those were the qualities he would want. But he did not believe in happy ever after. Isla certainly sounded convincing, but he was sure she had an ulterior motive for wanting to marry his father. His conscience pricked that he wanted to believe the worst of her. If he believed that she was untrustworthy, it might end his annoying fascination with her. His jaw hardened.

‘My guess is that you are determined to make Stelios wait until after he has married you before you will allow him to take you to bed. As his wife you will have access to his fortune.’

Isla drew an audible breath and swung her hand up to his face, but Andreas’s reactions were quicker and he captured her wrist before she could strike him. ‘I wouldn’t,’ he advised softly.

‘You have a vile mind.’ She was breathing hard and her breasts rose and fell jerkily. Her grey eyes darkened with temper but Andreas could feel the pulse in her wrist beating erratically beneath his thumb. The air between them prickled with sexual awareness and he was certain that Isla felt it as intensely as he did. Her voice cracked when she spoke. ‘I’m not surprised that Stelios doesn’t—’ She broke off and dropped her gaze from his.

‘My father doesn’t approve of me. Is that what you were going to say?’ he drawled. It shouldn’t hurt as much as it did. He and Stelios hadn’t seen eye to eye for years.

‘He doesn’t feel able to confide in you,’ Isla muttered. ‘I wish you would talk to Stelios and resolve the differences between you, before...’

‘Before...what?’ Andreas’s brows rose. But whatever Isla had been about to say she clearly thought better of it. She pulled her wrist out of his grasp and turned and walked away. He watched her go and cursed beneath his breath.

The differences between him and his father were not easily resolvable. Stelios had been a largely absent parent when Andreas was young, spending the majority of his time running Karelis Corp, and later with his English mistress. But Andreas was no longer a teenager who saw everything as black or white. He understood how his mother’s poor health—she’d often reminded him that she had suffered a stroke due to complications during his birth—must have put a strain on his parents’ relationship. He had never felt loved by either of them. He was the Karelis heir, born and raised to take over the company which had been started by his great-grandfather. His father had not forgiven him for putting his motorbike racing career ahead of his duty—especially as Stelios had put duty to his family before his personal happiness.

Nefeli’s birthday party could not come round soon enough, Andreas brooded as he resumed his seat at the table and forced himself to eat the spanakopita that Toula had made for him. In a few days he would return to California and concentrate on managing Aeolus Racing. Maybe he’d look up the redhead who had flirted with him in a bar before he’d left for Greece. It was weeks since he’d had sex, and celibacy was not a natural state for him. Frustration was no doubt the reason for his inconvenient attraction to his father’s fiancée.

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