A Di Sione For The Greek's Pleasure

‘I like Sofia, Mr—Kyrie Mena. She seems a very kind girl. I want to help her, or at least be her friend.’

‘And yet with, by your own admission, absolutely no child-care experience, you think you have the ability, even the expertise, to help her?’

Talia blinked at his scathing tone. ‘I may not have child-care experience, but I know what it is like to be a child—’

‘As does every person on this planet.’

‘I know what it’s like to be lonely,’ she burst out, and then wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t lonely. She’d always told Giovanni she wasn’t, and she’d believed herself. She had.

‘My daughter is not lonely,’ Angelos informed her shortly. ‘She has everything she needs here on Kallos.’

‘Everything?’ Exasperated, Talia shook her head. ‘Then why did you hire me?’

‘I’m asking myself that question as well,’ he retorted. He sat back, taking a measured breath. Talia could feel the crackle of tension in the air. ‘The truth is,’ he continued, ‘I was running out of both time and options. And,’ he conceded grudgingly, ‘Sofia seems to have formed some kind of attachment to you. But I must confess, in our short acquaintance, you have not recommended yourself to me, Miss Di Sione.’

‘Talia.’

‘Talia. You have in fact seemed extraordinarily short-sighted and, dare I say it, flighty—’

‘I think you just dared,’ Talia snapped before she could think better of it. She felt annoyed and bizarrely hurt by his quick and brutal judgement. What did Angelos Mena know about her, really? Only that she hadn’t packed very much and she didn’t do well in helicopters. And for that he felt capable of dismissing her as a person?

‘You disagree with me?’ he enquired, and she let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. No doubt Angelos Mena expected her to bow and scrape and apologise—and for what? Coming over a little dizzy?

‘Of course I do. You don’t know me, Kyrie Mena. You didn’t know I existed until a couple of hours ago. How can you say I’m anything when you’ve barely met me?’

‘I am basing my opinions on what I’ve seen so far. I’m a consultant, Miss—’

‘Talia.’

‘Talia.’ He expelled her name on a hiss of breath. ‘It’s my job to come into a situation and assess it swiftly.’

‘Too swiftly, maybe. What are you basing your judgement on? That I didn’t pack more than one dress or that I was a little nervous in your helicopter?’ She raised her eyebrows in challenge, half amazed at her own daring. She didn’t normally pick a fight, but then she didn’t normally need to. She’d cocooned herself in safety and isolation instead. It felt kind of good to come out swinging. Strangely empowering. She’d much rather stand tall than shrink back. ‘Well?’ she challenged when he didn’t answer. ‘Which is it?’

Angelos leaned back in his chair. ‘I take your point,’ he said after a pause. His face was expressionless, his gaze implacable. Of course it would be too much to expect to see a glimmer of apology in those darkly glowing eyes. ‘But surely you can understand my concern,’ he continued. ‘I am entrusting my daughter, my only child, to your care.’

‘Of course I can understand your concern.’ Talia sighed, the fight going out of her. ‘If I had a daughter, I’d feel the same.’ Angelos had hired her without knowing anything about her. He had the right to ask some questions, to be a bit sceptical. And she was hiding something, just as he suspected. Perhaps if she admitted her interest in the book...but no. She needed him to get to know her first. ‘If you’d like to know more about me,’ she said, trying to smile, ‘then all you have to do is ask.’

He studied her for a moment, his gaze assessing and speculative. Talia suppressed the urge to squirm or fidget under his unnervingly direct and unblinking stare. ‘You’re American,’ he said at last, and she gave a shaky breath of relief at the innocuousness of that statement.

‘Yes.’

‘Where do you come from?’

‘Outside New York City.’

He nodded slowly. ‘You must be in your mid-twenties. You had a job before this?’

‘Yes, and I still have it. I’m an artist.’

‘An artist,’ he repeated, sounding decidedly unimpressed. He spoke as if she dabbled in finger paints in her free time.

‘A portrait artist,’ Talia clarified. ‘I work on commissions.’

‘I see.’

What he saw, Talia suspected, was that she was an unemployed airhead who traipsed around the world, being short-sighted and flighty. It was foolish of her to be so rankled, so hurt, by his assessment, and yet she was. No one had ever sized her up and dismissed her so thoroughly before. She’d worked hard for her reputation as a reclusive but talented artist. She hated the thought that Angelos was judging her, and so harshly at that.

‘You said you wished to help my daughter,’ Angelos said after a pause. Again with that direct stare, and Talia forced herself not to look away, to find some way to hide from Angelos Mena’s searching gaze and questions. Being the focus of his full attention felt like standing on a beach, watching as a tidal wave gained in towering power, readying to crash down on you. ‘How do you think you could help her?’ he pressed.

‘By being her friend,’ Talia answered.

His gaze blazed into hers. ‘I am not paying you to be her friend.’

‘Very well,’ Talia answered, trying not to quake under that unyielding stare, ‘perhaps you should tell me what you’re paying me for exactly. You haven’t actually told me what my duties are.’ Angelos had the grace to look slightly discomfited, his gaze thankfully flicking away from hers for a second, giving Talia the courage to add, ‘Not to mention an actual job contract or reference check or any of the usual protocols. I mean,’ she continued as she shrugged expansively, ‘if you want to talk about being short-sighted or, I don’t know, flighty.’

Angelos turned back to her, his lips tightening, his nostrils flared with annoyance, and Talia wondered if she’d gone too far. She didn’t actually want to be fired. She certainly didn’t want to get in that helicopter again anytime soon. But she hadn’t been able to resist pushing back just a little. If Angelos Mena was a different kind of man, he might have even smiled at her pointed joke.

For one tantalising second she imagined that granite gaze softening, those sensual lips curving into an answering smile, that hard body relaxing towards her, and she felt a weird leaping sensation in her middle. She pressed one hand to her stomach to soothe those sudden butterflies. Better for him not to tease. He was so much easier to resist that way.

‘Very well,’ he said stiffly. ‘I am happy to give you the details now. You are to be a companion to my daughter and provide her with stimulating conversation and activities when she is not at her lessons.’

‘And when is she at her lessons?’

‘Her tutor comes to the island every weekday morning, for a few hours until lunchtime.’

‘Could she not go to a school near here?’ Talia asked. ‘On Naxos, maybe? To be with other children?’

‘She prefers to be on the island.’ Angelos’s tone was final, and despite the iron warning she heard in his voice not to ask any more questions, Talia continued.

‘Is that because of her scarring?’ she asked quietly, and Angelos stilled.

‘What about her scarring?’

‘I noticed she seemed self-conscious about it,’ she explained carefully. ‘And it’s hard for any child to feel different.’

Angelos hesitated, and in the ensuing silence Maria came in to clear the plates. Talia thanked her in clumsy Greek and the woman brusquely nodded her acceptance before turning away. Talia wondered if the housekeeper would ever thaw towards her. She’d seemed suspicious and unimpressed from the moment Talia had stepped into the villa. Someone else who’d judged her and found her wanting.

‘Sofia suffered burns in a fire when she was a baby,’ Angelos said abruptly. Talia opened her mouth to reply, but he cut her off before she could frame a syllable. ‘It is a very painful memory for her. We do not discuss it. Ever.’ He held her gaze for one long, taut moment, and Talia’s mouth dried at the implacable look in his eyes. Message received.