Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire

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.’

‘Or no decent man would perpetrate,’ she got out tremulously. ‘Leave me alone, Milos. Please!’

‘I can’t do that,’ he said huskily, and she felt the brush of his mouth against her temple.