IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED

They’re dangerously handsome and

impossibly wealthy….

They’re used to having it all….

The secluded beaches of their private

islands make the perfect setting for red-hot

seduction….

These Greek billionaires will stop at nothing

to bed their chosen mistresses—

women who find themselves powerless

to resist being pleasured….

IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED

At the mercy of a ruthless

Mediterranean billionaire…

Some people know practically from birth that they’re going to be writers. CATHERINE SPENCER wasn’t one of them. Her first idea was to be a nun, which was clearly never going to work! A series of other choices followed. She considered becoming a veterinarian (but lacked the emotional stamina to deal with sick and injured animals), a hairdresser (until she overheated a curling iron and singed about five inches of hair off the top of her best friend’s head the day before her first date) or a nurse (but that meant emptying bedpans. Eee-yew!). As a last resort, she became a high school English teacher, and loved it.

Eventually, she married, had four children and always, always, a dog or two or three. How can a house become a home without a dog? she asks. How does an inexperienced mother cope with babies if she doesn’t have a German-shepherd nanny?

In time, the children grew up and moved out on their own—as children are wont to do, regardless of their mother’s pleading that they will remain babies who don’t mind being kissed in public! She returned to teaching, but a middle-aged restlessness overtook her and she looked for a change of career.

What’s an English teacher’s area of expertise? Well, novels, among other things, and moody, brooding, unforgettable heroes: Heathcliff, Edward Fairfax Rochester, Romeo, Rhett Butler. Then there’s that picky business of knowing how to punctuate and spell, what the rules of sentence structure are and how to break them for dramatic effect. They all pointed her in the same direction: breaking the rules every chance she got, and creating her own moody, brooding, unforgettable heroes. And where do they belong? In Harlequin Presents novels, of course, which is where she happily resides now.

The Giannakis Bride

~ IN THE GREEK TYCOON’S BED ~

Catherine Spencer

MILLS & BOON

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THE GIANNAKIS BRIDE

CONTENTS

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

CHAPTER ONE

ONLY 6:46 on Tuesday, with a fine May sunrise tinting the sky over Athens a pale, translucent peach. Yet for Dimitrios Giannakis, the day was already old and too grimly familiar. He hadn’t needed to hear the medical team’s latest bulletin when they met for their regular early-morning consultation. One look at their faces had told him all he needed to know.

Seated in his office now, Dimitrios regarded the telephone on his desk with the kind of loathing a man might show if he thought a pit viper was about to uncoil itself from the instrument and settle in his lap. This was not a call he wanted to make. Would, in fact, have done almost anything to avoid it if he’d had any choice in the matter. But the tragic fact was, he’d run out of options. Brianna Connelly was his last hope—or, more accurately, Poppy’s last hope. And when it came to his daughter, Dimitrios allowed nothing, especially not his injured male pride, to come between her and what she so desperately needed.

Of course, the odds of Brianna agreeing to his request were slim to none. She’d made it clear enough, more than four years ago, where her priorities lay: in the glossy, artificial world of high fashion, which paid homage only to youth and beauty. But he had to ask. Was willing to beg, if necessary, to give his little girl a fighting chance.

The sweep second hand on his watch inched toward seven, making it almost nine the previous evening on Canada’s west coast. As good a time as any to do what had to be done.

Jaw clenched, he lifted the handset from its cradle and punched in the number for Brianna’s penthouse apartment, which, fortunately, was where his sources told him she was currently to be found. Time was of the essence, and by tomorrow she could be on location in some inaccessible corner of the Sahara, Iceland or the Australian Outback. Hers, after all, was a face and a body greatly in demand worldwide, and she too inexhaustibly ambitious to reject any assignment which might further her career.

The phone rang three times before her answering service picked up and asked him to leave a message. Glowering, he swiveled his chair to face the window. “It’s Dimitrios Giannakis, Brianna. It’s urgent that I speak to you as soon—”

“Dimitrios?” Her voice, slightly husky and disturbingly erotic, intercepted, caressing his ear like a kiss.

Steeling himself against the sensory impact, he said curtly, “Good. You are there.”

If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought her small intake of breath signaled dismay or regret, but whatever the cause she recovered quickly and replied with matching brevity, “Obviously. What can I do for you?”

For years now he’d prided himself on being his own man, able to conquer the world and bring it to heel on his terms. The idea of groveling to anyone, least of all a woman he despised, almost made him retch. But fate had zeroed in on his one weak spot, his daughter, and although he’d have gone to his grave before he asked anything for himself, as his child’s advocate, he had no choice but to swallow the bitter taste in his mouth and turn to the one person in the world who might possibly be able to help her. Alienating Brianna Connelly within seconds of contacting her was hardly the route to take.

Bearing this in mind, he attempted to soften his approach. “How are you, Brianna?”

How are you, my lovely?

Happier than I ever thought it possible to be….

Slamming shut the door on memories that were particularly inappropriate at this moment and pointless at any time, he waited for her reply.

She laughed, a brittle, uncertain sound. “Considering we haven’t exchanged more than ten words in years, Dimitrios, I hardly think you care one way or the other about my state of health. Nor would I have thought we shared anything in common since my sister’s death. So why don’t you cut to the chase and tell me what you’re really after? I have an early flight tomorrow and need to get a good night’s sleep.”

He should have known it was still all about her. Some things never changed.

But some things did, and swinging back to his desk again, he picked up Poppy’s framed photograph, taken just six months earlier, before illness had left her little face looking so pinched and wan. Grimacing with distaste, he did what he had to do. “Very well. I have a favor to ask of you, and I warn you now, it’s huge.”

Four years ago, Brianna had vowed never again to set foot in Greece, and except for the time she’d attended Cecily’s memorial service when she’d quite literally flown in and out of Athens on the same day, she’d stood by that promise. Yet within forty-eight hours of his latest call, not only was she in the country, she was on Dimitrios Giannakis’s doorstep, deposited there by his uniformed chauffeur who’d been waiting to meet her when she landed at Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport in Spata. Changing her original travel plans had been easy enough. Her suitcases had stood already packed for her much-anticipated, month-long hiatus in Bermuda, and the clothes she’d packed—casual summertime outfits for the most part—would serve her equally well in Athens.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting myself from the airport to a hotel,” she’d said, when she’d relayed her arrival date and time to Dimitrios.

He, however, had vetoed any such idea. “You will be met,” he informed her flatly, “and you will be accommodated in my house where you will be pampered and cared for throughout your stay. It’s the very least I can do. I am, after all, deeply in your debt.”

His house? The word didn’t come close to describing the residence confronting her now, and she hadn’t even seen the inside yet. Perched on a low rise of cliff above the Aegean, and surrounded by lush gardens, its soaring white stucco exterior blushing in the sunset, the place was intimidatingly grand. Palatial, even—and Brianna wasn’t exactly unused to luxury. But then, what else had she expected? She knew from experience that Dimitrios wasn’t a man to do things by half.

She’d have laughed at the irony of the thought if she hadn’t been so tense she could hardly breathe. Although she would never admit it, the prospect of seeing him again, let alone living under his roof, terrified her. He’d shredded her heart once and it had taken the better part of four years for it to heal. She wasn’t keen on having him trample all over it a second time. Yet proximity gave opportunity for just such an outcome, especially under the present emotional circumstances.

“Well, you could have said no,” her longtime agent and friend, Carter Maguire, had pointed out, when Brianna explained the reason she had to cancel all assignments in the immediate future.

To Dimitrios, yes. But how did any woman turn her back on a critically ill three-year-old?

His estate lay a few miles south of Rafina. The chauffeur, a taciturn man who’d uttered not one word during the thirty-minute drive from the airport, dumped her luggage beside her, reached forward to yank on the bell pull hanging by a chain beside the front door, then without waiting to see if anyone answered, climbed back behind the wheel of the Mercedes-Benz and drove away.

Over the fading sound of the departing car, she heard footsteps approach from inside the house and braced herself. The moment of truth had arrived. If she could weather this first meeting with Dimitrios, the worst would be over.

But the man who opened the door was too short, too genial, too bald and about twenty years too old to pass for her brother-in-law. With a mile-wide smile, he ushered her across the threshold. “Kalispera, Despinis Connelly, kai kherete! Good evening and welcome! We have been expecting you and are all so happy you have arrived.”

We? She cast a nervous glance around the vast, marble-floored entrance hall, expecting Dimitrios to appear momentarily, but found nothing beyond a profusion of flowering shrubs in jardinieres, and a floating staircase leading to the upper floors.

The man hauled her suitcases inside. “I am Alexio,” he informed her cheerfully. “I and my wife, Erika, we run the household staff. She is waiting to meet you in the courtyard with a light refreshment, and later will show you to your room. Meanwhile, I will have your luggage taken care of.”

“Thank you,” Brianna said. “You’re very kind.”

“Parakalo.” He inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Dinner will be served at nine o’clock, after Dimitrios returns.”

“He’s not here?”

Alexio’s smile dimmed. “He’s at the clinic with the little one,” he explained, escorting her to the far end of the hall and through open glass doors to an inner courtyard.

“He stays most evenings until she falls asleep. Most likely he will be home within the hour.”

More flowering plants, a wall fountain and comfortable wicker furniture graced the tiled courtyard, making it a haven of shady tranquility, but the woman waiting to greet her wasn’t quite as affable as Alexio. Although polite enough, Brianna saw reserve in her eyes, felt it in the cool touch of her hand as Alexio performed the introductions.

“You will wish to sit for a few minutes and relax after your long journey,” his wife said, indicating a frosted pitcher of iced tea and bowl of fruit on the table.

Although pleasant enough on the surface, her words emerged less as an invitation than a command. Brianna, though, had been granted a short reprieve, and she wasn’t about to waste it. She couldn’t avoid Dimitrios indefinitely, but she could seize the chance to freshen up and look her best before she had to face him again. “That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’ve been sitting for most of the last twenty-four hours and actually would like nothing more than to relax in a hot bath.”

The woman switched her gaze to Alexio and muttered something in Greek. He responded by fanning his hands, palms down, and said quietly, “Do not fuss yourself, Erika.” Then, addressing Brianna, attempted to ease the unmistakable tension in the air. “My wife is worried that she has yet to unpack your suitcases and prepare the clothes you wish to wear to dinner.”

“Please don’t be,” Brianna told her. “I’m used to traveling and can manage perfectly well on my own.”

Erika didn’t quite sniff in disdain, but she came close. “Dimitrios will not like it. He has instructed us to treat you as if you are royalty.”

“I’ll make sure he knows that you have. Now, if you’ll please show me to my room…?”

“This way, then.”

As Brianna might have expected, the suite she’d been assigned outshone anything the best hotel in Athens could provide. Large and airy, it had a sitting alcove at one end beyond which a deck overlooked the sea and sprawling rear gardens whose centerpiece was a huge saltwater infinity pool. The finest linens draped the bed. A mirrored dressing room connected to a bathroom completely outfitted in travertine marble. Here was a place to which she could retreat, should things become too heated and unpleasant with Dimitrios.

“If I’ve overlooked anything you might need, be so kind as to let me know,” Erika said woodenly, preparing to leave with Alexio, who’d followed them upstairs with the suitcases.

Brianna cast an eye over the flower arrangements set at various points about the room, the carafe of iced water and upturned crystal glass on a tray, and remembered the array of toiletries in the bathroom. “I can’t imagine there is. Nothing, that is, except—”

“Yes?”

“You mention changing for dinner. Exactly how should I dress?”

“Decently,” the woman replied. “In keeping with the standards of this home.”

Shocked speechless by such rudeness, Brianna simply stared at her. Apparently just as taken aback, Alexio practically shoved his wife out of the room and closed the door on her before turning to Brianna again. “Erika, her English is not always the best,” he offered apologetically. “What she means to say is that dinner is more…civilized than breakfast or lunch. A pretty dress will do very well, but when Kyria Giannakis was alive…” He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. “Her ideas of what was seemly and proper did not always coincide with her husband’s.”

“I understand perfectly,” Brianna said, and she did. Cecily had never been one to abide by anyone’s rules but her own. If her behavior the last time she and Brianna had spent time together was any indication, she’d probably taken delight in flouting her husband’s wishes at every turn.

Small wonder then that Erika was so hostile. She probably expected Brianna to be no better than her late twin, and who could blame her? After all, they had been identical, at least in looks, to the point that some people had never learned to tell them apart.

Especially not Dimitrios.

He was waiting in what she supposed was the living room, although “grand salon” better suited the proportions and furnishings of the long, elegant space to which Alexio directed her, just over an hour later. His hair still damp from a recent shower, Dimitrios stood in profile just outside a pair of French doors standing open to the night, a glass of amber liquid cradled in his hand, and Brianna’s first thought on seeing him was that she’d overdressed for the occasion.

He wore a long-sleeved white shirt but no tie, and his trousers, though beautifully tailored, were light gray, his shoes Italian leather loafers. She, on the other hand, had put on the only dinner dress she’d brought with her. Of black silk jersey, which traveled well and took up almost no room in a suitcase, it draped softly over one shoulder, left the other one bare, and fell almost to her ankles. Platinum hoops studded with tiny diamonds swung from her ears and she’d pinned up her hair in a sophisticated swirl on top of her head. That, in combination with the three-inch heels of her strappy black sandals, left her standing close to six feet tall. Even so, when he crossed the room to greet her, he loomed over her by a good three inches, and she had to tilt her head to meet his dark gaze.

She thought she was prepared. That nothing he said or did could touch her. That she could withstand anything he threw at her—his scorn, his hostility—and that they would bounce off the hard shell of her indifference and return to him a hundredfold. But seeing him again flung her head-first back into that painful abyss of longing she’d fought so desperately to overcome.

He was still so lean and hard and sexy that her mouth ran dry at the sight of him. She’d forgotten how big he was, how his thick black hair curled a little, no matter how severely he tried to tame it. She’d forgotten how beautiful he was, and how his mouth curved in a half smile when he was amused and trying not to show it. She’d forgotten how it felt to be the woman who was the object of his attention.

“Well, Brianna, I never thought so much time would pass before we met again, nor that it would be under such trying circumstances,” he said, shaking her hand.

The last time she’d seen him—apart from a fleeting encounter at Cecily’s funeral—he’d held her in his arms and begged her to stay the night with him in his stateroom. He’d been naked, his aroused flesh, hot and urgent, pressed against her, even though they’d made love as recently as fifteen minutes earlier. It had taken every last ounce of willpower for her to leave him.

It took even more to feel his fingers close so impersonally around hers now, and not tremble from the contact, brief though it had been. “I hope I got here in time.”

“For dinner? Yes. We won’t sit down to eat for a few minutes yet.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dimitrios. I was referring to your little girl. How is she?”

“Poppy’s condition remains unchanged.” He turned to where various decanters stood on a side table alongside a silver ice bucket containing an open bottle of champagne. “May I offer you something to drink?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Am I allowed alcohol?”

She hoped she was. Normally not much of a drinker—an occasional glass of wine was her limit—just then she was rattled enough to latch on to anything that might fortify her.

“Let’s ask the expert,” he said, and flung an inquiring glance over his shoulder. “What do you think, Doctor? May she have a little champagne?”

Footsteps, light as a dancer’s, fell into the silence following his question, and a moment later the figure of a woman somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties appeared from the shadows of the moon-washed terrace beyond the French doors. “I don’t see why not. A glass or two of wine isn’t going to make any difference one way or the other.”

“Glahss,” she’d said, her well-modulated voice overlaid with a distinctly English accent.

Approaching Dimitrios, she held out her own empty crystal flute. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind a refill myself, if you’re offering. Might as well take advantage of a night off. It doesn’t happen often enough to go uncelebrated.”

Blond, petite and elegant in a pencil-slim black skirt and pale-pink blouse, she barely reached Dimitrios’s shoulder. Beside her, Brianna felt like an Amazon.

Dimitrios cupped her elbow and favored her with a smile so warm, it was a wonder the woman didn’t melt on the spot. “My dear lady, you may have as many refills as you please.” Then, managing to tear his attention away long enough to spare Brianna a cursory glance, supplied, “This is Doctor Noelle Manning, Brianna. She’s the head of the transplant team looking after my daughter. I decided it was a good idea for you to meet her as soon as possible, since she’s obviously much better able than I am to answer any questions you might have. And this,” he continued, swinging his gaze back to the diminutive Noelle with all due speed, “is my late wife’s sister, Brianna Connelly. You might have heard of her.”

He made it sound as if Brianna topped the FBI’s Most Wanted list, but if Noelle Manning noticed, she chose not to comment.

“Both heard of and seen in all my favorite magazines. Hers is not a face easily forgotten.” The doctor smiled and extended her delicate little hand. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how pleased I am to meet you, or how much is riding on your decision to come here.”

In the course of her career, Brianna had met more than a few dukes, princesses, reigning monarchs and celebrities. None had left her feeling as tongue-tied and awkward as this tiny, self-assured woman. “Thank you,” she managed, trying not to stumble over her reply. “I hope I’ll be able to help.”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

“When will you begin the tests?”

“We’ll give you a few days to recover from your journey, then get started.” She steered Brianna to a couch beside the fireplace, took a seat on the one across from it and, tilting her head, asked, “How much do you know about the procedure, Brianna?”

“About as much as I know about my niece’s illness, which is next to nothing.”

“Brianna has other priorities,” Dimitrios remarked, pouring the champagne. “Aplastic anemia and bone marrow transplants don’t fall within her range of interests.”

“How would you know?” Brianna shot back, the barely concealed contempt she’d noted in his voice cutting as sharply as a knife sliding between her ribs.

He sauntered over to hand them their drinks, then dropped down on the couch next to Noelle Manning, close enough that his knee almost touched hers. “I know my daughter will turn three in another month, and this will be the first time you’ve met her.”

“And I explained the reason for that when you phoned.”

“I know only what you choose to tell me.”

“I think we all understand that time has a habit of slipping away from us,” Noelle interrupted smoothly. “What matters is that you’re here now, Brianna, and Dimitrios is very grateful for that.” She pinned him with a forthright stare. “Isn’t that right, Dimitrios?”

“Yes,” he admitted, looking a little shamefaced. “You’re our last hope, Brianna.”

“Well, not quite,” Noelle amended. “There’s always the chance of an anonymous donor being found, but that could take a very long time, and Poppy…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t have to. Her meaning was clear enough. Time wasn’t on Poppy’s side.

“I’m quite willing to begin the tests tomorrow,” Brianna said. “In fact, I’d prefer to. Surely the sooner we get started, the better?”

Noelle shook her head. “Donating bone marrow isn’t exactly a walk in the park, Brianna, and it would be unprofessional of me, if not criminally negligent, to allow you to go ahead without first making sure you have a thorough understanding of all that’s involved.”

“If it’s a matter of money—”

“It has nothing to do with money,” Dimitrios cut in sharply. “Your expenses will be covered.”

“But I can afford—”

“So can I.”

He was impossible. Arrogant, intransigent and just plain unpleasant! Why she’d once thought, even for a minute, that he was a man she could love, escaped her.

Pointedly ignoring him, she met Noelle’s calm gaze. “Can we discuss this at another time? Privately?”

“Of course. I was about to suggest exactly that. Tomorrow, if you’re up to it, although I understand if you’d rather wait another day. Crossing ten time zones in twenty-four hours is a bit much.”

“I’ve been doing it for years and trained myself long ago to sleep on airplanes.”

“Then it’s a date. Say about noon? I’ll be through surgery by then.”

“Noon will be fine.”

“Good. You’ll arrange for your driver to bring her to the clinic, won’t you, Dimitrios?”

He grunted assent and stared moodily into his glass. Unperturbed, Noelle smiled and raised hers. “Cheers, then. Here’s to you, Brianna, and a long and happy relationship with your niece.”

About to swallow a mouthful of whatever it was he was drinking, Dimitrios almost choked on it instead.

CHAPTER TWO

HE WAS behaving like a boor, knew it and couldn’t help himself. And all because she hadn’t changed, and watching her, noticing again the perfect posture, the graceful movement of her body, was driving him crazy.

He’d hoped that, like Cecily, she was beginning to lose her looks. Fat chance. If anything, she was more beautiful than ever. The same long, luscious legs and narrow, elegant hands. The same flawless ivory skin and thick, shining fall of ebony hair. The same amazing ice-blue eyes, whose clear, heavily lashed glance could paralyze a man’s mind and leave him drooling like an idiot.

Erika served lamb for dinner. Flavored with rosemary and roasted on a spit over an open fire to succulent tenderness, it was one of his favorites, but that night, he could hardly keep it down. Brianna, of course, ate with her customary restraint, refusing the potatoes and helping herself to only a small portion of the meat, although she made inroads on the salad. She barely touched her wine and passed on the honey-and-fig compote dessert. Only Noelle ate with any relish, packing away a surprising amount of food for such a little woman.

After the meal they returned to the living room, and although neither guest took him up on his offer of metaxa, they both accepted coffee. “What’s it like, being a world-famous model?” Noelle asked, settling herself kitty-corner from Brianna on the couch.

“Very hard work, very long hours and not nearly as glamorous as most people think.”

“Sounds a bit like my life.”

“Hardly,” Brianna said, with exactly the right degree of charming modesty. “I wouldn’t presume to compare the two. Unlike you, I don’t have any special skill or expertise. I’ve certainly never saved a life.”

“You might. And that you’re willing to try puts you on a pedestal in my eyes. As for your not having any special skills, I rather doubt that’s true. It must take enormous patience and stamina to meet the artistic and, I imagine, often conflicting demands of photographers and couturiers.”

Brianna gave an elegant little shrug, a studied response designed to draw attention to her upper body, he was sure. Why else would she have chosen to wear a dress that left one shoulder bare? “On occasion, yes.”

Clearly fascinated by a way of life so far removed from her own, Noelle tucked her legs under her and settled more snugly into the couch. “What drew you to modeling in the first place?”

“My mother got us started when my sister and I were still in diapers, and it more or less took on a life of its own from there. While other children our age played in the sandbox or learned to ride a bike, we traveled from one junior beauty pageant to another.”

“She must have been very proud of you.”

“She marketed us ruthlessly,” Brianna said flatly.

For a second Dimitrios thought he heard an edge of bitter resentment in her reply, then decided he must have been mistaken. She might not have had any choice when she was still a minor, but as an adult, if she didn’t like what she did for a living, she could have chosen something else. She wasn’t completely without brains, was she?

“And did it very successfully,” he remarked, trying to keep his scorn under control. “Admit it, Brianna. You and Cecily became international celebrities before you were in kindergarten.”

“Because, as you very well know, Dimitrios, there were two of us and we looked identical. That’s what made us special.”

“Now there’s only you, but you seem to be doing just fine on your own.”

“Losing a sister is never easy,” Noelle said, flicking him a cautionary glance, “but it must have been particularly difficult to lose a twin. You were very close, I’m sure.”

“When we were children, yes.”

That was just one lie too many for him to stomach. “Oh, come on, Brianna! You were thick as thieves when I met you.”

She turned a slow stare his way. “If you believe that, it just goes to show how little you knew either one of us.”

“I was married to Cecily, remember?”

“I’m hardly likely to forget.”

“Of course you aren’t,” he jeered, knowing that by continuing to goad her, he was pushing his luck, but unable to stop. “After all, look how you aided and abetted her in getting me to the altar.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock, the delectable curve of her lower lip stirring memories of a time when he’d explored it at erotic leisure. But he wasn’t fooled. He knew better than most how she and her twin had impersonated one another when it suited their purpose.

Recovering, she said, “I dropped everything to come here at a moment’s notice because you asked me to, Dimitrios. I can leave just as quickly.”

“This isn’t about you, Dimitrios, it’s about Poppy,” Noelle reminded him, electing herself mediator of a situation fast deteriorating past a point of no return. “Let’s not forget that.”

“Of course not.” He ventured to meet his sister-in-law’s icy-blue stare. “Forgive me, Brianna. I’m worried sick about Poppy, but that hardly justifies my belaboring you with it.”

“I understand.” Again, she tilted one shoulder in that tempting little shrug. “I’d have come sooner, if I’d known.”

“You’re here now, and that’s what matters.” Noelle set her cup and saucer on the coffee table and unfolded her legs from beneath her. “And, pleasant though it is sitting here and being spoiled, I’d better be off and catch up on my sleep. I enjoyed meeting you, Brianna.”

Smiling, Brianna rose in one fluid movement. “I enjoyed it, too.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, at noon?”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Excellent! Walk me out, Dimitrios?”

“Sure.”

Noelle waited until they reached her car and were well out of earshot of anyone in the house, before rounding on him. “Tell me, Dimitrios Giannakis, just how badly do you want your daughter to get well again?”

“More than anything in the world, as you very well know.”

“Then I suggest you keep your tongue and your temper on a very short leash. Your behavior tonight was inexcusable.”

“You might not think so, if you knew the history between Brianna and me.”

“I don’t give a rat’s behind about your history! The only person I care about is Poppy, and I will not sit idly by and watch you systematically sabotage what might turn out to be her best chance of recovery.”

“Brianna isn’t all she seems.”

“Really? I consider myself a pretty good judge of character and she struck me as a very nice, sincere woman.”

“You didn’t see past the beautiful face.”

“I’m not the one hung up on her looks, Dimitrios. You are. And I strongly recommend you get over it.”

“Easier said than done,” he grumbled, helping her into her car. “She’s a carbon copy of her sister.”

Noelle laughed. “Identical twins usually are, dear!” she said and, engaging the gears, roared off into the night.

No sooner had they disappeared outside than Brianna escaped upstairs to her room. She and Dimitrios were like oil and water, never meant to mix. If Noelle Manning hadn’t been there to referee, they’d have been at each other’s throats by now. But they had to find a way to get along, and she could only hope a good night’s rest would leave them both more kindly disposed toward each other by morning.

Erika or one of her minions had turned down the bed, switched on a reading lamp and left two English-language magazines on the nightstand. The French windows in the sitting area stood open, their filmy white drapes pulled back and hanging still as mist at each side. Over the arm of the love seat lay a shawl of softest mohair. A sterling silver tray holding an exquisite bone china hot chocolate pot and mug waited on the coffee table. Regardless of whether or not she approved, Erika was obeying to the letter her instructions to treat the guest like royalty.

But then, from what Brianna had seen, palatial was the key word at the villa Giannakis. She’d barely been able to concentrate on the evening meal, she’d been so bowled over by the magnificence of the setting. His dining room must have been fifteen by thirty feet, with a marble-tiled floor and priceless Savonnerie rug. Original artwork worth a king’s ransom hung on the walls.

The table, large enough to seat twenty with ease, consisted of a square slab of beveled glass supported by pillars fashioned after Doric columns. Five chairs upholstered in rich cranberry fabric lined each side. A fabulous old carved sideboard and sleek sterling candelabra completed the decor, resulting in a marriage of antique and modern; of classic elegance and good taste.

A sharp departure from her penthouse which, although overlooking the strait separating the mainland from Vancouver Island, and furnished with its own kind of elegance, didn’t compare to this place, which oozed comfort and opulence at every turn. And yet she’d have given anything to be back there now, mistress of her own fate.

But that wasn’t an option. She was here in Dimitrios’s home, if not exactly a prisoner, then certainly not a cherished guest, either.

Too keyed up to sleep, Brianna kicked off her shoes, tucked the shawl around her shoulders and stepped out on her deck. Moonlight spilled over the sea and dappled the garden with shadows. Apart from the soft sigh of waves on the beach below, the night was utterly quiet, utterly peaceful—until a rap at the door shattered it, that was.

“Brianna,” Dimitrios announced, too loudly for her to pretend she hadn’t heard him, “it is I.”

How painfully formal and grammatically correct, she thought wryly, refusing to acknowledge the frisson of apprehension his voice inspired. “If you’ve come to continue needling me,” she began, opening the door, “you can take yourself and your—”

“I have come to apologize. Again. And to ask if we can forget the past, not just for Poppy’s sake, but for yours and mine. This business of donating bone marrow amounts to more than a few minutes in a doctor’s office. The tests are exhaustive, and I have no wish to make your time here any more unpleasant than it has to be.”

“Well, if tonight’s any example…”

“It’s not. I’m afraid I’m never at my best after I come back from the hospital, but that scarcely excuses my taking out my anxiety on others, especially not you.” He offered his hand. “May we please start over?”

She could cope with his hostility, his bad behavior. Let him snipe and rant until the earth stopped turning, if he chose. He couldn’t hurt her that way, not anymore. But in his present conciliatory mode, he was downright dangerous. Enough that the resentment she’d harbored all these years suddenly seemed not so well-founded, after all, and how stupid a conclusion was that when all the evidence pointed to the contrary? “I’m not sure it’s possible,” she said, struggling to shore up her sagging defenses.

Taking her by surprise, he slid his fingers around her wrist in a warm, close grip. “Can we at least talk about it, and try to find a way?”

She wrenched her arm free and stepped back, horrified by the way her pulse leaped at his touch.

She’d have done better to stand her ground because he took her retreat as an invitation to march right into the room and close the door. It was all she could do not to run for cover behind the love seat. Trying not to hyperventilate, she clutched the cashmere shawl tightly at her throat.

The suite was generously proportioned. Even allowing for what the furniture occupied, there was still almost enough floor area left for a Las Vegas chorus girl to put on a show. Yet he seemed to swallow up the space until it shrank to the size of a shoe box. “What’s the matter, Brianna?” he inquired silkily, closing in on her. “Are you afraid I might kiss you—or just afraid you might like it too much to try to stop me?”

“Neither,” she replied, and suppressing a tug of something suspiciously like desire, she drew herself up to her full five foot nine in an attempt to stare him down.

She might as well have spared herself the effort. “Really?” he purred. “Why don’t we find out?”

His arm snaked around her waist and pulled her close. The feel of his body against hers sent the blood thrumming through her veins. The lightning rod that was his mouth brought back in vivid recall the memory of the first time he’d kissed her, and where it had led: to a rendezvous in his stateroom, and an introduction to the pleasures of lovemaking, of sex, that had spoiled her for any other man.

But she remembered, too, what came afterward. The betrayal, the abandonment, had almost killed her. Although she’d honored her modeling assignments, smiling through her pain, covering up the dark circles under her eyes, everyone had noticed something was wrong. Rumors that she was ill—anorexic, bulimic, on the verge of a break-down—had circulated like wildfire and almost destroyed her career.

You’ve got to show them you’re still on top, Carter had urged. And she had. Because her career was all she had left. Dimitrios had robbed her of everything else.

She couldn’t let him do it again.

Lifting her hands, she pushed against the solid wall of his chest with all her might. “That might be your idea of starting over, but it’s certainly not mine.”

He released her willingly enough. “Forgive me for allowing my baser instincts to get the better of me,” he said, aloof disdain written all over his cold, beautiful face. “Believe me, I know better than anybody that what happened between us in the past is long ago over and done with, and nothing either of us can say or do will ever change that.”

“At least we’re agreed on one thing.”

“More than one, I hope. I’m calling for a truce, Brianna, because the future—Poppy’s future—is all that matters now.” He wiped a hand down his face, and all at once weariness softened the severe cast of his mouth and left him looking achingly vulnerable. “They tell me what’s happened to her isn’t my fault, but I blame myself anyway. If I’d been a better father, paid closer attention to her, she might not be in such bad shape now.”

Touched despite herself, Brianna said, “I’m sure you were, and are, an exemplary father, Dimitrios.”

“No.” Restlessly, he paced to the French doors and stared out. “I ignored her symptoms. She had what appeared to be a cough and a cold, and I did nothing about it for the better part of two months. It wasn’t until I noticed she had bruises that couldn’t be accounted for that I insisted on a more thorough investigation into the possible causes.”

“Surely you’d consulted a doctor before that?”

The question was out before she could contain it, and he swung around, his face a mask of hurt and anger. “Of course I did! Within a week of her cold first appearing. I’m not a complete imbecile.”

“Then if indeed there’s blame to be assigned, surely it lies with her doctor?”

Again the fire went out of him. “It lies with me,” he muttered, dropping down on the love seat. “It’s a parent’s job to protect his child. He should instinctively sense when something’s not right, and maybe I would have, if I hadn’t been away half the time, looking after business.”

“But, Dimitrios,” she said, “that’s what fathers do. They go out and make a living so that their children have a decent roof over their heads, food on the table and clothes on their backs.”

“There’s a big difference between working to live, and living to work.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

He cast her an oddly cynical glance. “Ambition can consume a person—and you ought to know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, averting his gaze. “Just that, in your line of work, you have to…stay on top of your game.”

“Well, yes. But don’t you think that’s true of anyone who wants to succeed, regardless of what they do?”

“Not if winning becomes more important than anything else. Because somebody always ends up paying. In my case it happened to be my daughter.”

“You give yourself too much credit, Dimitrios. You aren’t responsible for Poppy’s illness. It happened despite you, not because of you. None of us ever has total control of the world around us. Sometimes fate plays a dirty trick and all we can do is find a way to live with it.”

He pinned her in a mesmerizing stare. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

Not five minutes earlier he’d said that the past was over and done with and the future was all that counted. But the way he was looking at her now was all about the past. It hung between them, as vibrantly alive as if it had happened just yesterday. The memories tore at her, making her ache for what might have been. And for the man she’d thought he was.

“Brianna?”

He felt it, too. It was there in the sudden deepening of his voice when he spoke her name. It swirled in the air between them—an awareness so acute she felt herself melting in its heat.

“Yes,” she said, hating that she sounded so breathless. “I learned to move on when dreams I held dear didn’t materialize.”

“Any regrets? Ever wish you’d held on to those dreams, instead of letting them go?”

Cecily’s triumphant voice echoed down the years. Face it, Brianna, it’s over. He tried both of us and chose me. We were married, just last week. Sorry there wasn’t time to send you an invitation….

Hardening her heart, Brianna said, “No. Do you?”

“Hell, yes,” he said grimly. “I wish I could have given Poppy a mother who cared. But there are some things money can’t buy.”

“Are you always so uncomplimentary about my sister?”

He flung another forthright gaze her way. “What do you want me to say, Brianna? That she was the best wife a man could wish for? Well, sorry to disappoint you, but there’s a limit to how far I’m willing to go to preserve your illusions. The plain fact is, marrying Cecily was the second-biggest mistake of my life.”

“What was the first?”

“You were,” he said, surging to his feet and towering over her. “You and that damnable cruise to Crete. I should never—” He blew out an exasperated breath and raked his hand through his hair.

“Well, don’t stop now. You never should have what?”

“Never mind! I’ve already said too much.” He strode to the door and yanked it open. “Thank you again for coming. Get some rest. You’re going to need it.”

And having stirred up memories of the most painful period of her life, he left her.

So much for leaving the past in the past….

They’d stopped in Athens en route to London and Vancouver; a two-day rest between flights only. At least, that was the original plan, until the invitation was hand delivered to their suite at the Grande Bretagne, the evening before they were scheduled to leave.

In marked contrast to Brianna’s uninterested reaction, Cecily had almost fallen over herself with glee. “It sounds divine! I want us to accept, I really do! If you won’t go for yourself, do it for me.” She’d pinned on her most beguiling smile. “Please, Brianna? Pretty please?”

“Honestly, Cecily, I’d rather not. This is the first break we’ve had in months, and I’m ready for a rest. But there’s no reason you can’t go, if you’re all that keen. We’re not joined at the hip.”

“You know full well having both of us there is the coup they’re after. One of us doesn’t have the same cachet.”

“For heaven’s sake, we’re professional models, not a circus act.”

“And all you ever think about is work.” Cecily’s tone crossed the line from wheedling to whining. “If you’re so damned eager to take a rest, why can’t you do it floating around the Mediterranean on a luxury yacht? What’s so hard to take about that?”

“We don’t know anyone else, for a start. These people so anxious to have us on board aren’t friends, Cecily, they’re collectors whose idea of scintillating dinner conversation is dropping the names of the celebrities they’ve rubbed shoulders with.”

“And we’re highly collectible!”

Brianna sighed. They’d argued this point more times than she cared to count, and were never going to agree. “We’re a couple of reasonably pretty women who look so much alike, most people can’t tell us apart. They might recognize our faces, but they haven’t a clue who or what we’re really about, and nor do they care. We’re nothing more than novelties.”

“Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe these hosts enjoy meeting new people and showing them a good time.”

Tired of riding the same pointless merry-go-round yet again, Brianna had welcomed the arrival of their manager, Carter Maguire, who occupied the suite next door. As usual after a successful assignment—and this last had been a triumph both on the runway and at the photography shoots—he’d brought a bottle of champagne. Her relief, though, was short-lived when he told them that he, too, was to join the yachting party. Was, in fact, largely responsible for the three of them having been invited in the first place.

“Too bad you wasted your time,” Cecily informed him petulantly, when she heard. “Brianna’s refusing to go. Thinks I should put in a solo appearance.”

“Out of the question.” Calmly he uncorked the champagne and filled three flutes, handed one to Cecily and shooed her out to the balcony. “Go enjoy the view, and leave me to talk to her.” When she was well out of earshot, he faced Brianna. “This isn’t so much an invitation as a command performance, sweet pea. These people are big names in the fashion industry and we need the contacts. You’ve been at the top for a long time now, but we’re in danger of losing that spot, and I think we both know why.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. “Cecily’s screwed up a few times too many, and word’s getting around that she’s not reliable. That business in Bali last month made big headlines.”

The reminder of her sister’s drunken display at a night club made Brianna blush all over again. “I know. People don’t forget that kind of thing in a hurry.”

“Especially not in this business. And not to put too fine a point on it, but time isn’t exactly on your side anymore. You’ll be twenty-four in August. The next couple of years are critical—for all of us.” He’d given her the lopsided grin she knew and loved so well. “Come to that, I’m no spring chicken myself. The way I see it, when you decide to call it quits, I will, too.”

“That’s ridiculous, Carter! You’re only fifty-three, and there are hundreds of models who’d give their right arms to have you represent them.”

“Not interested.” He shook his head. “When I’ve worked with the best, why settle for the rest? There’ll never be anyone like the two of you, Brianna—or at least, there never used to be. Now…” He shrugged and raised his eyebrows in a way that spoke more eloquently than words.

Cecily wandered back into the room at that point and helped herself to more champagne. “Straightened her out yet, Carter?”

“I’m not sure.” He turned a smiling glance on Brianna, but the message in his eyes was sobering. “Have I?”

She knew how much she and Cecily owed him. Until he came into their lives, they’d been pawns; children at the mercy of a mother who’d exploited them for their appearance, without any regard for their moral or intellectual well-being. She’d looked at her daughters and seen only dollar signs. The money they brought in, she spent. On herself.

Brianna and Cecily had grown up on a litany of familiar refrains.

I don’t care if your feet hurt in those shoes….

Forget about joining the library. Reading books isn’t going to pay the rent….

And always, as regularly as one season followed another: You owe me…. I could’ve gotten rid of you and had some sort of life for myself, but I didn’t. I carried you to term…raised you all by myself because your dumb-ass father fell off a ladder and broke his neck before you were even born, and left not a red cent of insurance to provide for his brats….

The ultimate irony, of course, was that “the brats” had inherited their father’s looks, as was evident from the one photograph, taken on his wedding day, which their mother had for some reason chosen not to throw away.

Fortunately, when the awkward teenage years had arrived and “the brats” weren’t quite as saleable, she’d handed over the job of marketing them to an agency, and Carter had come into their lives. It had taken him less than an hour to ascertain their mother’s measure and half that time to draw up a contract giving him sole control of their professional future.

Through his intervention, they’d received a decent education. He hired a lawyer and a financial consultant to protect and invest their earnings against the day when they might not be in demand as models any longer, or decided they’d rather pursue a different career. He became the family they’d never known, the one person in the whole world they could always rely on.

And now, for the first time, he was asking for something in return. How could she refuse him, especially for so small a favor?

“Yes, you’ve convinced me,” she said. “Lazing around on board a luxury yacht for two or three weeks isn’t such a bad idea, after all.”

Nor was it, until Dimitrios Giannakis taught her the folly of trusting a stranger, and broke her heart in the process….

She hated the kind of people functions such as the one on the yacht attracted: women in desperate search of a rich husband, and if he happened to be ninety and so frail he could drop dead at any minute, so much the better; men who drank too much and felt their wealth and importance entitled them to paw any women who caught their fancy. She’d fended off dozens in her time, revolted by their excesses, enraged by their arrogance and condescension. She was not impressed by their studiously acquired tans, their expensively capped teeth, their hair implants. She had nothing but contempt for their boastful swaggering. Did they think what showed on the surface defined who they really were? Did they ever look at her and see past the glamorous veneer to the person underneath—one with a working brain and a heart that felt hurt and embarrassment just as keenly as anyone else?

But Dimitrios Giannakis was different. Slightly aloof and rather amused by the jostling for attention, the artificial laughter, the superficial conversation, he appeared content to socialize mostly within his own exclusive circle of friends and acquaintances. Yet when called upon to mingle, he did so with grace and charm. An acknowledged billionaire in his own right, he was rumored to be enigmatic, reserved, powerful and, when occasion called for it, utterly ruthless.

Not a man to lock horns with, from all accounts, but definitely one to admire from a distance for his cosmopolitan sophistication, his wit and, yes, his extraordinary male beauty to which even she, accustomed as she was to the most handsome of the species, was not immune.

He stood a good head taller than anyone else on board. Had a cleft in his chin, eyelashes an inch long and a mouth designed to stir a woman to outrageous fantasies. By mid-afternoon, his square, clean-cut jaw was dusted with a five-o’clock shadow. His high, patrician cheekbones were surely the legacy of some royal ancestor.

Below the neck he was no less impressive. His body, whether clad in an elegant dinner jacket or swimming trunks that defied gravity and clung to his lean hips by sheer willpower was, in a word, perfection. Strong, lean, sleekly muscled and, like his rare smile, dauntingly sexy, it epitomized masculine virility at its most potent.

She caught his attention when she sat across from him at dinner on the verandah deck, on the fifth night. Between courses, a few couples danced under the stars. Cecily sat at another table, engrossed in the leader of a rock band who was busy plying her with flattery and probably too much alcohol, but Carter was keeping an eye on her.

Not in the least interested in the latest celebrity gossip among those remaining at her own table, Brianna had smothered a yawn and glanced up to find Dimitrios’s amused gaze fixed on her face.

“Do I take it,” he murmured, his English so fluent only a trace of accent betrayed his Greek heritage, “that you find the conversation less than enthralling?”

“Oh, dear!” she said ruefully. “Does it show?”

“I’m afraid so.” He rose and extended his hand. “Allow me to come to the rescue.”

She’d have liked to say she wasn’t in such dire straits that she couldn’t rescue herself, but hypnotized by his faint smile and the hint of dark mystery in his eyes, she responded without a moment’s hesitation. Docile as a lamb, she placed her hand in his.

Love at first sight? Until she met Dimitrios Giannakis, she hadn’t believed in it. Fifteen minutes in his arms, with her body pressed close to his and his breath ruffling her hair, and she decided differently.

And paid a terrible price for doing so.

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