His Virgin Mistress Part 16

Joanna felt hot. 'Have you asked him?' she said, desper- ately seeking an answer he would accept. She got up from the bed.

'I-perhaps I ought to go. I'm sure your family-'

'Demetri was with you the night I was taken ill, was he not?'

Constantine said abruptly, and Joanna couldn't prevent a gasp of dismay. 'Did you honestly think I would not find out?'

Joanna was stunned. 'But-but-'

'How?' suggested Constantine, and she nodded, 'I think you both forgot Philip.' he continued drily. 'He may be old, but his wits are as sharp as ever.'

'Oh, G.o.d!' Joanna couldn't look at him. 'And you let me come here knowing-'

'Why not?' Constantine was impatient now. 'We were not lovers, Joanna. I borrowed a little of your time, that is all. You played your part to perfection. How can I be angry with you because my son has allowed his hormones to rule his head?'

She shook her head. 'Does Demetri know?'

'No.' Constantine paused. 'I wanted to tell you first.'

Joanna sighed, 'It wasn't his fault.'

'You would say that, of course.'

'It's the truth.' Joanna was desperate. 'He came to my room to talk. That was all. But, well-one minute we were talking, and the next-'

'Spare me the details,' said Constantine wryly, 'I am sure my son is nothing like your ex-husband.'

'Oh, Constantine...' Joanna pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. Then, remembering, 'But why would Philip tell you something like that? I thought he was your friend.'

'He is.' Constantine gave a twisted smile. 'He thought he was saving me from further heartache. He made a special trip from the island so that he could see me.'

Joanna tried to take it all in. 'And Demetri didn't sus pect?'

'Why would he? As far as he and Olivia were concerned Philip was doing what any loyal employee of long standing would do.' Constantine attempted to move his thin shoul ders.

'My son has had-other things on his mind.'

'Your illness.' Joanna nodded.

'That, too, of course.' Constantine was looking very tired now, and she realised he had been talking for far too long.

'But-I have noticed a certain restlessness about him, an unexpected desire to get back to the island.' He breathed more shallowly. 'You see,' he persisted, 'until Olivia told him otherwise, he thought you were still there.'

Joanna could only stare at him. 'Constantine...'

But the old man was visibly wilting. 'Not now,' he whis pered, his breathing becoming more laboured. 'Later, Joanna. Come back later. Now-I need to-sleep-'

Joanna was waiting for the lift when Demetri came striding along the corridor towards her. His expression revealed his irritation that she had countermanded his instructions, but she was in no mood to care.

'Where are you going?' he demanded, staring at her now pale features with some concern, 'I thought I asked you to let me know when you were leaving. If the nurse had not rung to tell me that my father is resting now I would still have been waiting for your call.'

Joanna didn't want to talk to him now. Concentrating on keeping her voice steady, she said tightly, 'I'm sorry. But I'd prefer to be alone. Do you mind?'

Demetri's dark face tightened with an emotion she couldn't identify. 'Do I have a choice?' he asked tersely. 'At least tell me where you are going.'

Joanna hesitated. 'Does it matter?'

'It might. If I need to get in touch with you,' he replied shortly. 'I suppose you would not agree to me taking you to my father's house in Athens?'

'No.' Joanna knew she was hardly being polite, but she couldn't help it. 'I-er-I have a hotel room.'

'And the hotel's name?'

Realising she had no reason to withhold it, she told him. 'It's a small hotel, not far from the-'

'I have heard of it.' Demetri's tone indicated his opinion of her choice. Then, with a tightening of his jaw, 'You are coming back, ne?'

The lift arrived at that moment, and she heard him utter what she a.s.sumed was an oath as the attendant held the doors open for her. Joanna had no choice but to step inside, but Demetri detained them.

'You did not answer me.' he reminded her harshly, and Joanna expelled a nervous breath.

'I-probably,' she murmured, supremely conscious of their audience, whether he could understand English or not.

'Um-thank you for letting me visit your father.'

Demetri's mouth thinned. 'You have seen him,' he said flatly.

'Do you think I could have stopped you?' Joanna managed a small smile. 'You have a point.' Demetri stepped forward then, startling both her and the attendant by bracing his arms at either side of the lift doors. 'Come back, Joanna,' he said, his voice slightly uneven now. 'For my sake.' He drew a harsh breath, 'If you can forgive me.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

Joanna's apartment was in north-west London. She'd sold the flat she'd had in Kensington when she and Richard had married.

Although it wasn't a particularly fashionable part of the city, the high-rise where she now lived was fairly new, and Demetri had to press the bells of several apart ments before someone buzzed him in without querying his ident.i.ty first.

He'd tried Joanna's apartment, naturally. But she was ei ther out or not answering at the moment, and he wasn't prepared to hang about outside, waiting for her to get home. It was after six already, and November in London was just as chilly as he remembered from his student days. A cold wind probed at his loose cashmere overcoat and he thought ruefully of the more temperate climate of his homeland.

Spiro was waiting in the chauffeur-driven limousine out side.

but when Demetri stepped into the carpeted lobby of the building he signalled to his a.s.sistant that he could go. He'd contact him on his mobile later, if necessary. And, in the present circ.u.mstances, he had to accept that that was likely. Joanna hadn't returned any of his calls, and, although his father's lawyers had received a polite response to their letters, she had refused point-blank to have anything to do with the legacy Constantine had left to her.

That was why he was here, he told himself. Since his father's funeral there had been no contact of any kind be tween them, and he was growing not only angry but frus trated. Just because she despised him that was no reason to reject his father's last wishes, and he intended to do every thing in his power to change her mind.

It was six weeks since he'd buried his father, and this was the first opportunity he'd had to come here. Becoming the head of Kastro International had not been easy. He'd thought he was prepared for the weight of responsibility he would have to shoulder, but the reality had proved so much harder to bear.

Apart from anything else, in those first few weeks he had been grieving, too, and he had been astonished by the sense of bereavement he'd felt-not just at his fa ther's death, but at Joanna's refusal to speak to him. It was crazy, he knew, but he'd badly needed some support and she was the only person he'd wanted to give it to him.

Somehow he'd got through the worst of it. And, despite the fact that Constantine had always jealously guarded his position in the company, Demetri had decided it was time for change. In consequence, much to her delight, he had appointed Olivia as his second-in-command, and promoted Nikolas Poros and another of the directors to positions of real authority at last.

Now, with the knowledge that the company wouldn't fall apart in his absence, Demetri was free to do what he wanted for once. Ever since his father's funeral he'd been desperate to speak to Joanna, and, whether she liked it or not, she was going to hear what he had to say.

Of course, he knew she probably wouldn't like him com ing here. Despite the fact that she'd maintained a certain civility between them while she was in Athens, her loyalty to his father had made any real conversation stilted. He had no idea if she knew that Constantine had known they were together the night he'd been taken ill, or that his father had forgiven him for it.

There was no way he could have broached that during those tense final days at the hospital, and Joanna had always made it plain that she didn't want him turning up at her hotel. She'd been withdrawn, aloof, only seeming to come alive when she was with his father. He had felt she hated him at times, and he hadn't been able to tell her how he was feeling without risking a total break- down of communication.

She'd left immediately after the funeral, long before Marcos Thexia had gathered the family together for the reading of Constantine's will. And, in his position as the chief beneficiary, Demetri had been obliged to a.s.sume his role as head of the family. It had been important that there should be no interruption in the chain of command, and by the time he'd rea.s.sured his father's investors, comforted his sisters, and a.s.sured his great-uncle that he had no intention of asking him to leave the villa, days had stretched into weeks, heavy with responsibility.

There was a lift, he saw now, with some relief. The thought of climbing to the twelfth floor was rather too much to handle at the moment. Despite-or perhaps because of-the amount of work he'd accomplished, he was weary. He didn't feel as if he'd slept properly since the night his father had been rushed to Athens, and he was exhausted.

Spiro was worried about him, he knew. That was why his a.s.sistant had insisted on accompanying him on what was, essentially, a personal visit. He'd made some excuse about Demetri not taking sufficient care of his safety, saying that Olivia thought he should have a handful of bodyguards for his own security, and he was making sure Demetri was pro tected. But Demetri knew that in truth both Olivia and Spiro supported his decision to come here. Olivia had finally ac cepted the fact that Joanna was important to him, even if Joanna's behaviour had shown he was clearly not important to her.

Whatever happened, he had to find out why she wouldn't speak to him. He had to do this for his own peace of mind, if nothing else. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her. He had to know what, if anything, had happened between them that night at the villa...

Joanna had heard the buzzer while she was clearing out her kitchen cupboards. It had seemed to go on and on, and she guessed it was a salesman, trying his uttermost to get into the building. They did that sometimes. Pressed all the b.u.t.tons until someone lost patience and let them in. Legitimate visitors usually rang a couple of times and then gave up.

She was surprised, therefore, when in a short s.p.a.ce of time someone knocked at her door. A salesman couldn't possibly have canva.s.sed the whole building in less than ten minutes, so she didn't hesitate before stripping off her rubber gloves and going to answer it.

She didn't immediately open the door, of course. Although it was some years since she'd seen Richard, there was always the chance that he'd read about Constantine's death and decided to come and tell her he knew she no longer had a protector. It was a twisted thought, and not one she really gave any credence to.

But she hadn't lived alone for several years without becoming cautious.

There was another urgent tattoo as she was putting her eye to the observation hole that all the apartment doors were fitted with, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Impatient devil, she thought, half inclined to pretend she wasn't in after all. But then curiosity got the better of her, and she peered out.

It was Demetri!

She stared at him greedily for several seconds, and then turned to press her shoulders back against the door. Demetri, here, she thought incredulously. Oh, G.o.d, she'd imagined she'd finished with the Kastros when she'd written back to their solicitors. She didn't want Constantine's legacy. Even though she might live to regret it, she couldn't put herself in their debt.

Particularly not now.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and then opened them again to cast a critical glance over her appearance. Loose-fitting jeans; a cotton sweater with its sleeves rolled up; canvas trainers.

With her hair drawn back into a ponytail, it was certainly not the appearance she'd have chosen to pres ent at an interview with Demetri, but perhaps that was just as well. He could hardly accuse her of trying to vamp him in this outfit.

Pulling the sweater out of the tightening waistband of her jeans, she patted it down over her stomach. Then, taking a deep breath and praying she was up to this, she opened the door.

'Demetri,' she said, infusing her voice with just the right amount of cool detachment. Her brows arched. 'What are you doing here?'

His thin smile was forced. 'May I come in?'

No!

'Why not?' She stepped back to allow him into her living room. 'But I think I should warn you that if you've come to try and persuade me to accept any of your father's money you're wasting your time.'

Demetri's lips twisted. 'Just so long as I remember that,' he remarked drily, walking across her oatmeal-coloured car pet. He looked about him with interest. 'This is nice.'

'Thank you.' Joanna closed the door with some reluctance and leaned back against it again. 'I think so.'

Demetri turned, pushing his hands into the pockets of the charcoal-grey overcoat he was wearing. He looked pale, she mused unwillingly, refusing to acknowledge the twinge of anxiety she felt at the thought. Pale, and tired. But still as sinfully attractive as ever.

'How are you?' he asked, and, realising they couldn't continue talking in this stand-off position, Joanna gestured to the sofa behind him.

'Please,' she said, and she guessed it was a measure of his weariness that he didn't wait for her to sit down first before subsiding onto the overstuffed cushions. Then, care lessly she hoped, 'I'm fine.' She paused, 'I expect you're very busy.'

Demetri shrugged. 'We are coping,' he replied, and Joanna guessed that was probably the understatement of the year. If his appearance was anything to go by, he was work ing himself to death. 'My father is a hard act to follow.'

Joanna thought if anyone could do it he could, but she didn't say that. Instead, she hesitated only a moment before straightening and asking, 'Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?

A beer?'

'Beer?' Demetri frowned. 'You drink beer?'

She could have said no, that it had been bought for those occasions when Constantine had visited her apartment, but she didn't see why she should explain herself to him.

So, 'Sometimes,' she murmured untruthfully. Then, 'I'm afraid I don't have anything stronger.'

Demetri's eyes were dark and penetrating for a moment, but then his lids dropped and he inclined his head. 'Thank you.'

She went into the kitchen on legs that felt decidedly shaky.

Dear heaven, what was she doing, offering him re freshment when she should have been doing her best to get him out of there?

But it was too late now. Taking a beer from the fridge, she collected a gla.s.s and returned to the living room. Demetri was still sitting on the sofa, but now he was lying back, his head resting on the cushions, his eyes closed.

Was he asleep? She hovered, not sure what to do, but then he opened his eyes and saw her. ' Signomi-I am sorry,' he said hastily, pushing himself upright. 'You must forgive me. It has been a long day.'

More than one, thought Joanna, despising herself for car ing.

It was nothing to do with her if he chose to drive him self so hard he was injuring his health. He was a young man. He'd survive.

Handing over the bottle of beer and the gla.s.s, she sought the edge of a nearby chair and perched upon it. 'So, why are you here, Demetri? Are you in London on business?'

He didn't answer her directly. Instead he was looking at the bottle, and a slow smile slid over his face. 'Ah, this used to be my father's favourite,' he said, uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the cap. His brows arched interrogatively, 'Is it your favourite too?'

Joanna sighed and gave in. 'I bought it for him,' she admitted, feeling the pang of loss she always experienced when she thought of Constantine these days. 'He used to come here occasionally. I once made him supper.' She gri maced. 'It wasn't very impressive, but he seemed to enjoy it.'

'I am sure he did.' She decided his response was more rueful than patronising. Then, suddenly realising she wasn't drinking, 'Will you not join me?'

Joanna shook her head. 'I-I'm not a great lover of beer,' she said, wishing she'd thought to bring herself some orange juice, just to give her something to do with her hands. 'Um-you didn't say why you wanted to see me.'

Demetri looked at the beer and the gla.s.s, and then set the latter down on the occasional table in front of the sofa. Raising the bottle to his lips, he swallowed at least half its contents in one gulp. Then, savouring its tangy flavour, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at her.