Greek Affairs: Claiming His Child: The Greek's Million-Dollar Baby Bargain / The Greek Millionaire's Secret Child / The Greek's Long-Lost Son

He wasn’t looking at her now, and she was grateful. He was talking across the table to Sam and a couple of his colleagues, asking them about progress on the dig. She dragged her eyes away, occupying herself with drinking her coffee until the party finally broke up. Outside, after the warmth of the taverna, the night air struck chill. But Ann was glad of it. There was enough heat in her body.

Her blood.

Yet the fresh air seemed to bring on an increase in the effects of her evening’s consumption of wine. Where was Tina? She looked around, but Tina was standing beside Sam, who had his arm around her.

‘I’ve told Tina she can stay here with Sam,’ said a deep, accented voice behind her.

She turned abruptly. Nikos was draping his sweater casually around his shoulders. ‘I’ll see you back to Sospiris,’ he said to her.

Where her stomach had been, a hollow opened up. Dismay filled it. And something else. Something she really, really didn’t want—

Her hands clutched at her bag. ‘No, really—that’s quite unnecessary,’ she began, flustered.

But her protest was ignored. Nikos was saying something to the taverna-owner again. And when she looked pleadingly at Tina the other girl was grinning delightedly up at Sam. Ann felt the words die on her lips. Of course Tina would be pleased that her boss had given her the night off! How selfish would it be to expect her to give that up? And it was only a short journey across on the launch. She could survive that.

But why was Nikos Theakis coming back to Sospiris anyway? Why wasn’t he with Elena Constantis?

Mentally, she shook herself. Who cares? What does it matter? It’s nothing to do with me! I’ve just got to tough it out and get to the other side, that’s all.

‘Ready?’

A hand was on her spine. Large, warm. Its heat reached through her thin top. She jerked forward, managing to get out a last ‘goodnight’ to Tina and Sam and the others, who were heading back to their accommodation on the edge of the town. Then the hand was pressing into her back, urging her forward. She took a jerky step and started walking. The hand dropped.

Self-consciousness possessed her. She felt dangerously affected by the wine, the chill evening air in her lungs—the heat in her veins. Her pulse seemed to have the hypnotic rhythm of the bouzouki music in it still. Yet, though she felt hot, she shivered.

‘Wait,’ said Nikos beside her, unknotting his sweater, draping it around her shoulders like a shawl. She felt his body heat in the fabric.

‘No—I—’

He ignored her protest, starting to walk on again along the harbour’s edge. There were still a few people around, but most of the restaurants were shut, only some of the bars open. Lights played on the dark water, and out at the end of the quay Ann could make out the harbour lights, marking the entrance. She could see the Theakis launch at its mooring, and as they neared a figure stood up from a bench, extinguished a cigarette, and greeted his boss in Greek. Nikos returned the greeting laconically, and stepped down into the launch, holding his hand to help Ann in. Reluctantly she took it, letting go of it again as soon as possible. She took her seat, tucking her skirt around her and holding on to the sleeves of Nikos’ sweater.

It seemed strangely, disturbingly intimate to be wearing it like that.

The engine was gunned, roaring to life, and they were nosing out into the harbour. Ann felt the wind lift at her hair as they picked up speed, and she reached up a hand to hold it back. At least, she thought gratefully, the noise of the engine made it hard to speak. But awareness of Nikos’ presence beside her dominated her. For something to do, she gazed up at the sky, looking at the bright stars. Abruptly the launch hit a swell, side on, and bucked. Caught off balance, Ann jerked in her seat. Immediately the hand was back on her spine, steadying her. She stiffened instantly, reaching for the gunwale, waiting for the hand at her back to drop.

But it stayed where it was.

‘Thank you, but I’m fine now,’ she said tightly.

‘Focus on the horizon. You won’t feel dizzy then,’ said Nikos. He had leant towards her, to speak above the noise of the engine.

She gritted her teeth, doing as he bade. Ahead of them the dark mass of Sospiris gradually grew closer. But horribly, horribly slowly. The hand was still at her spine, but she would not, would not, tell him to take it away. Would not pay him any attention. Would completely ignore him.

It was impossible to ignore the presence of Nikos Theakis beside her, his hand at her back, even though she was straining away from him as much as she could. His long legs were braced, one arm stretched out along the gunwale. Impossible to ignore the subtle scent of him—a mix of brandy, expensive aftershave, and something more. A scent of masculinity …

Never had the crossing seemed to take so long.

At her side, Nikos wondered to himself whether he were insane.

The evidence was certainly in favour of that judgement. Ever since he’d looked himself in the eye in his bathroom mirror and told himself he was playing with fire, he’d known what the smart thing to do would be. It would be to take full advantage of the fortuitous presence of Elena Constantis—even if it did only fuel her ambitions. It did not, most definitely did not, include what he’d done this evening, seeking Ann out. What he was doing right now.

Let alone what he wanted to do …

He dragged his mind away. He shouldn’t be here—he knew that. He shouldn’t have murmured insincere apologies to Elena, ignoring the snap of frustrated anger in her eyes. He shouldn’t have found his steps taking him in the direction of the old port, shouldn’t have found himself outside the taverna where he’d known the archaeologists would be. And when he’d heard the familiar, hypnotic, compelling age-old music coming out of the doors and windows he definitely should not have gone inside. And when he’d gone inside he should never have succumbed to the impulse to join in the dancing.

And he should never have allowed himself the pleasure of watching Ann Turner unable to tear her eyes away from him …

But that was just what he had allowed himself to do—and why? Because he’d wanted to. He’d seen her, and wanted her.

Very simple. Very stupid.

Wasn’t that why he’d been avoiding the girl as much as he could since the afternoon on the beach, spending time instead with Elena? He was playing with fire again. Because that incident had shown him vividly, urgently, that his grand plan for her was far too incendiary—for him. Yes, seducing the girl and keeping her as his mistress would be an excellent way of getting rid of her, spiking her guns, but the seduction had to be one way only. He would be seducing her—not the other way round. That was essential. He and he alone had to be calling the shots.

More logic impressed itself upon him impeccably, giving him exactly the answers he wanted to questions he didn’t want to ask in the first place. He spelt it out to himself. It was exactly because Ann Turner was what she was—a woman who would sell her own sister’s baby for cash—that he had fought his attraction to her. Of course he had! She was the very last woman he should sully himself with—however deceptively beautiful her packaging. But it had been precisely because he’d fought his attraction to her that it was now so powerful. He could see it with absolute clarity. Logic carried him forward inexorably. Which therefore meant that his reaction to her on the beach had been so extreme only because he’d been trying to suppress his attraction to her. And so now, if he simply gave free rein to his desire, stopped trying to suppress it, his reaction to her would be nothing more than what he was familiar with, comfortable with. The normal reaction he had to a woman he found sexually enticing …

Satisfaction eased through him. Problem analysed. Problem solved. He wanted Ann Turner. There were very good reasons for permitting himself to do so—and no good reason for denying himself what he wanted.

A highly pleasurable bedding. Followed by an equally satisfying removal of a thorn in his side. Once Ann Turner was his mistress, his mother would not invite her to Sospiris again …

His eyes moved over her. She was all unseeing of him. Beneath his palm the fine material of her top fluttered in the wind. Almost he pressed his hand forward, to feel the warmth of her flesh soft beneath his palm, the heat of her pliant body. For nothing more than an instant unease ghosted through his mind as the dark mass of Sospiris loomed closer and the launch came in under its lee, heading to the quay.

Then it was gone. Stavros cut the throttle, nosing the craft forward until he could reach for the mooring. They were back at Sospiris, and the night—Nikos got easily to his feet to alight, holding down his hand to Ann—the night had scarcely begun.

CHAPTER SIX

WITH DEEP RELUCTANCE Ann took the outstretched hand. It was warm, and large, and the strong fingers folded over hers effortlessly, drawing her up on to the stone quay. For a few seconds she felt unsteady, after the rocking of the boat, and yet again she stiffened as his hand moved to her spine again, performing the dual office of steadying her and impelling her forward with smooth pressure.

‘Mind the steps,’ his low voice reminded her. It was not a drawl, precisely, but it was lazily spoken, with a note to it that she was deeply aware of.

His hand was there again, and though with any other man it would not have signified anything other than common courtesy, with Nikos she knew it was quite, quite different. It was his brand on her. A brand that went right through the thin layer of her top.

In deafening silence she walked up the steps, gained the level ground at the top as he guided her through the stone archway that led into the main gardens. She went docilely, as if there was nothing awkward in the slightest about Nikos Theakis walking through the villa’s midnight gardens, with the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle filling the night air so that her breath caught the scent, rich and fragrant.

‘Eupheme planted them there deliberately,’ Nikos remarked.

‘So that you walk, as it were, into a wall of scent at just that point. The night air always gives so much more intense a fragrance, does it not?’

He paused on a little stone concourse, where massed vegetation softened the stone walls, the tiny white flowers of jasmine like miniature stars beneath the sky. Another, wider, shallower flight of stone steps led down from here into the garden spreading away below, and where they stood was a vantage point over the whole expanse. Without realising it, Ann paused as well, automatically taking in the landscaped vista beyond, from the artfully winding pathways, the sculpted vegetation, the little walls festooned in bougainvillea, their brilliant hues dimmed now, and out towards the stand of cypress trees at the garden’s far edge, their narrow forms spearing the night sky.

There was no moon, but starlight gleamed on the sea beyond, and caught, too, the iridescent surface of the swimming pool, nestled into its terrace between the villa and the garden.

Ann gazed out over the vista. ‘It really is beautiful,’ she said. It was impossible not to say so. Impossible not to stand there drinking it in and feel the heady intoxication of the flowers’ fragrance, the even headier intoxication of her blood. She wasn’t sure how much wine she had drunk—she could feel it suffusing her veins, feel it swirling gently through her—but it seemed to have put the world into a strange, seductive blend whereby she seemed both supersensitive to everything around her and yet everything seemed dissociated from her, unreal almost … as if she were drifting through it like a veil.

But she knew she should not go on standing here beside Nikos, gazing out over the starlit garden with the scent of flowers in her nostrils, the soft music of the cicadas playing in the vegetation. She should, in fact, walk briskly away along the stone pathway to the terrace and get inside the villa, go straight to her bedroom. Where, equally briskly, she should take off her make-up, brush out her hair, get into her nightdress, get into bed, and go peacefully, immediately to sleep.

That, she knew, was precisely what she should do. Right now.

Not stand here in the soft Aegean night, feeling the wine whispering in her head, feeling the dark, solid presence of Nikos Theakis standing beside her. His hand was still grazing her back, so close that all she had to do was turn slightly towards him to let that warm, strong hand press her against him, to let her hand splay against the fine cotton of his shirt, feeling the hard wall of his chest beneath as she lifted her gaze to him, to drink in the shadowed planes of his face, the dark sweep of lashes across those eyes that could sear right through her, making her breath catch in her throat, making her sway, as if she were a flower on the breeze. His arm would encircle her pliant body, and his sensual, sculpted mouth would come down on hers—