Greek Affairs in his Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger\Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed\Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (6 page)

H
ELEN
stood in front of the long mirror in her bathroom the following evening regarding her appearance with definite misgivings. Why had she let Melissa persuade her that the black silk top, with its spaghetti straps and plunging neckline—with which, actually, she’d discovered she couldn’t wear a bra—was suitable for a family occasion? It looked as if she were wearing her underwear, she fretted. And although the striped black-and-cream skirt that went with it was long, it was also slit almost to her waist.

She groaned. The cheesecloth dress she’d originally chosen would have looked so much more appropriate. But so much more
middle-aged
, as her daughter had said.

And with Melissa behaving uncharacteristically well, Helen had been loath to rock the boat. She didn’t know what had happened the day before but evidently Milos’s sister had exerted a positive influence over her and, like the black lipstick two days ago, the black nail varnish had also disappeared. Melissa’s hair was still streaked with green, of course, but she’d washed the styling wax out of it so that it no longer stuck out in all directions.

Consequently, Helen had felt she was walking on eggshells when Sam had taken them shopping in Aghios Petros this morning. After Milos’s attitude when he’d brought her daughter home, she’d wanted nothing to renew the antagonism there had been between her and Melissa before they’d left England. The girl hadn’t wanted to come here and sometimes Helen thought she’d been right.

The trouble was, these days it was almost impossible to think about Melissa without associating her with Milos. She
hadn’t realised the likeness between them would be so pronounced. She suffered agonies of self-doubt when Melissa said how easy he was to talk to, and her reasons for keeping the girl’s identity a secret seemed spurious and selfish.

He deserved to know the truth, she thought, and had he been an employee of her father’s it would have been so much easier to bear. But he wasn’t. He was a wealthy man with unlimited resources; resources he might easily use to convince a judge of her unsuitability as a mother when she’d lied to both her daughter and the man who’d fathered her.

Would a court take into account the fact that she had been only seventeen when Milos had slept with her? He’d seemed so charming, so sincere, that she’d been totally overwhelmed. Her mother hadn’t trusted him, but Helen hadn’t listened to her. She’d secretly agreed to meet him for a drink and that had sealed her fate.

In fairness to herself, she had to acknowledge that Milos’s connection to her father had swung the balance in his favour. She’d been so eager for news of him. In the months since her parents’ divorce, she’d regretted not giving Sam a second chance, and she’d been open to any appeal on his behalf.

And if Milos had done what her father had asked him to do and just pleaded his cause, things would have been so different. There’d have been no crazy infatuation on her part, no studied seduction on his.

Instead, Milos’s visit had set her relationship with her father back a dozen years or more. Once her daughter had been born, there’d been no going back. She’d been married to Richard Shaw and her future had been set.

She shivered now, swallowing the unwilling anticipation she was feeling at the knowledge that soon she’d be seeing Milos again. The day before, he’d only stayed long enough to offer Sam his apologies, making the excuse that he had
work to do at home. But this evening there was to be a buffet dinner in honour of herself and Melissa, and naturally Maya had prevailed upon him to join them.

All day, the delicious smells of cooking food had pervaded the villa. Not that Maya was doing the actual cooking herself. Sam had confided that several women from the nearby village had come to supplement their small staff, and Helen’s offer to help had been politely—but conspicuously—declined.

Which was how she and Melissa had been able to go shopping with Sam that morning. It had given them both the chance to supplement their meagre wardrobes—Helen had brought little from home, believing her father to be dying—and even Melissa had shown an unaccustomed interest in buying clothes.

Now, as Helen leant towards the mirror to apply a bronze glaze to her eyelids Melissa appeared in the bathroom doorway behind her. Helen saw the girl’s reflection before she saw the girl herself and it gave her time to school her expression before Melissa noticed.

She didn’t want to appear too enthusiastic about her daughter’s appearance. That had always been the way to turn her off. But it was hard to be offhand when Melissa looked so attractive. The sleeveless cotton dress was perfect, and lime green was definitely her colour.

To her relief, the girl’s attention was immediately caught by what Helen was wearing and a triumphant expression appeared on her face. ‘Do I know how to choose gear or do I know how to choose gear?’ she crowed delightedly. ‘God, Mum, you look really hot! And at least ten years younger than you would have done in that sack you’d chosen for yourself.’

Helen glanced down at herself. ‘You don’t think this outfit is too—young for me?’ she asked uncertainly, and Melissa snorted.

‘Stop stressing, Mum,’ she said. ‘You look great. Milos is going to be well impressed.’

Helen caught her breath. ‘I’m not trying to impress anybody,’ she protested. ‘Least of all Milos Stephanides.’ She hesitated. ‘I just don’t want to look like a—a—’ the word ‘tart’ hovered on her tongue, but she couldn’t say that without offending her daughter ‘—like a teenager.’

‘With your boobs? You wish.’ Melissa grimaced. ‘Come on. I’m wearing what you wanted, the least you can do is do the same.’

Which said everything, thought Helen, resigning herself to her fate. And Melissa did look nice, if older than her mother could have wished. As they went down the stone staircase Helen couldn’t help wondering if it wouldn’t have been safer for both of them if Melissa had maintained her ‘goth’ image.

It was almost dark when they stepped outside, following the buzz of voices from the terrace. A velvet dusk had fallen and strings of coloured bulbs suspended from the trees gave the scene a magical illumination.

Already a small crowd of people were gathered, laughing and talking and exchanging gossip that Helen couldn’t hope to understand. It was obvious they all knew one another and they didn’t need the drinks her father was generously dispensing to loosen their tongues.

She saw Maya first, looking happy for once, with Sam on one side of her and Alex on the other. But Helen’s eyes were instantly drawn to the tall man standing right beside them, his dark features rendered positively sinister in the shadowy light.

But she wasn’t allowed to carry this thought to its logical conclusion. Her father had seen them and he came eagerly towards them, his gaunt face alight with obvious approval.

‘You look—you
both
look splendid,’ he said, catching one of their hands in each of his, and Helen noticed that
Melissa didn’t bridle at his enthusiasm. ‘You don’t know how proud I am to have you here with me at last.’

‘Mum looks good, doesn’t she?’ Melissa asked slyly, indifferent to their audience. ‘I chose this outfit. Do you like it?’

Helen wanted to shrink into the woodwork, but Sam wasn’t at all perturbed. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘You’ve got taste, little one. But, you know, your mother’s a beautiful woman.’

Helen blushed at this, and before Melissa could say anything else to embarrass her Sam drew them both forward. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘These people are all dying to meet you. Let me introduce you.’

To Helen’s relief, most of the guests spoke at least a smattering of English and, as Sam had said, they were all eager to meet her. Sam had evidently told them that she was a widow and she was offered frequent condolences for her sad loss.

Milos’s sister was there and, after meeting Rhea, Helen could understand why Melissa liked her so much. It might also explain why her daughter was on her best behaviour, but Helen was too relieved to look too hard for explanations.

Alex was a familiar face, and after Sam returned to the bar he seemed to appoint himself her protector. ‘You will have realised by now that we Greeks are always happy to have an excuse for a party,’ he said drily. ‘But I’m so happy for Sam. I know how much he’s missed you all these years.’

‘I’ve missed him, too,’ murmured Helen, only now realising how much she had done so. Then, with a frown, ‘You must have been very young when your mother and—and my father got together.’

‘I was ten,’ agreed Alex with a nod. ‘Although I call your father Sam, he’s always been like a father to me.’

‘I’m sure.’

Helen wanted to ask more and, as if sensing her curiosity, Alex continued, ‘My own father was a fisherman. He was drowned before I was born.’ He paused. ‘He never knew about me. He and my mother were not married, you see.’

Helen nodded, sympathising as much with Maya as with him. It must have been hard for her, too, with a baby on the way and no husband. She knew the feeling.

It was perhaps unfortunate that Milos should choose that moment to join them. Helen visibly jumped when he spoke to her, and she knew Alex had noticed.

‘
Kalispera
, Helen,’ Milos greeted her smoothly, and if he’d noticed her alarm he didn’t mention it. ‘You’re looking well this evening.’

‘Thank you. I’m fine.’ She spoke a little stiffly, but she couldn’t help it. Then, because something more was expected of her, she added, ‘It was good of you to join us.’

Milos’s lips thinned. ‘It was my pleasure,’ he said, the innocent words belied by his grave expression. He looked down at the half-empty glass of retsina in her hand. ‘Alex, your stepsister is in need of a refill. Can you do that for her?’

‘Oh, but I—’

Helen was about to say she didn’t want another drink, but Milos had already whipped the glass out of her hand and handed it to the other man. Alex looked a little doubtful, but he was too polite to argue with a guest.

‘Kanena provlima,’
he said, good-naturedly, and with a brief word to excuse himself he walked away.

‘He said, no problem,’ Milos offered artlessly, as soon as they were alone, and Helen gave him an accusing look.

‘I didn’t want another drink,’ she said tersely. ‘Please don’t presume to make my decisions for me.’

‘Did I do that?’ Milos lifted his glass to his lips before
continuing and she was unwillingly treated to the sight of the muscles moving sinuously in his throat. ‘I thought it might help you to relax,’ he went on, lowering his glass again. ‘You’re strung as tight as a mandolin.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

Milos’s dark brows ascended. ‘I assume you’re making me the culprit.’

‘Who else?’

‘Why?’ His eyes rested briefly on her mouth and she felt the heat of that sensuous appraisal liquefying her insides. ‘I admit, I’m flattered, but as we know one another so well—’

‘We don’t know one another
so well
,’ she retorted hotly. ‘We—we hardly know one another at all.’

‘Oh, I think we do.’ Milos held her gaze now, and she was helplessly aware of how easily he could turn the tables on her. There was a pregnant silence and then he said, ‘Your daughter likes me.’

Helen felt suddenly chilled in spite of the warm evening. ‘And that’s supposed to be a recommendation?’ she demanded at last, albeit a little faintly. ‘Melissa befriends the most unsuitable people.’

‘Yes, so she was telling me.’

Helen’s jaw dropped. ‘She told you?’

‘Mmm.’ He was infuriatingly casual. ‘We had quite a conversation on the way back from Vassilios.’

Helen had known that, of course. Had seen the conspiratorial smile that had passed between them before her daughter had got out of his car. She’d tried to put it to the back of her mind, had convinced herself it meant nothing. Melissa hadn’t mentioned it and Helen had been too proud to question her.

But now she gazed at Milos with worried eyes. What had Melissa told him to put that look of smug complacency
on his face? Not the truth, obviously. But something he considered powerful enough to taunt her in this way.

‘How long has she been dodging school?’ he asked abruptly, and Helen gulped.

‘How do you—?’ Helen broke off and rephrased the question. ‘Did Melissa tell you that?’

‘She didn’t have to,’ said Milos flatly. ‘It goes with the territory. She hangs about with losers. What else can she do?’

Helen wet her dry lips. ‘They’re not all losers,’ she began, and then halted again when Milos gave her a knowing look. ‘Well, all right. We have had some trouble with—with truancy,’ she admitted. ‘But all teen—all
children
,’ she corrected herself hurriedly, ‘go through a rebellious period.’

‘And that’s all you think it is? A rebellious period.’

‘What else could it be?’ Helen was defensive.

‘It could be the start of a lifetime of underachieving,’ said Milos brutally. ‘What the hell kind of example did your late husband set for her? The girl doesn’t even think education is worth the effort.’

Helen bent her head. ‘I didn’t ask for your opinion.’

‘You did, actually.’ He was relentless. ‘In any case, you’re getting it for free.’

‘You mean, you can’t resist interfering in my life.’ Helen glanced uneasily about her. ‘Where’s Alex? I hope he didn’t take your intrusion as a reason to stay away.’

Milos shrugged. ‘He’ll be back.’

‘And until then, you’re going to annoy me.’ Helen gave a sigh. ‘Isn’t there some other woman desperate for your attention? Why pick on me?’

Milos gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Perhaps you’re good for my ego.’

Helen shook her head. ‘What do you really want, Milos? I can’t believe you’re enjoying this any more than I am.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Milos leant towards her, his wine-scented breath enveloping her, causing a film of heat to spread unchecked all across her body. ‘We need to talk, Helen. Don’t you agree?’

Helen’s legs felt like jelly. ‘We’re talking now.’

‘Not like this.’ Milos’s eyes bored into hers. ‘We have things to say to one another that are best said in private.’

‘Wh—what things?’

Milos’s hand came up to stroke the exposed skin of her shoulder. ‘Oh, I’m sure we’ll think of something,’ he murmured softly. ‘Like why you tremble when I touch you.’ His fingers trailed down her arm, pausing to caress the curve of her breast. ‘Or why you’re not yelling your head off because I’m taking liberties no decent woman would permit.’