His Virgin Mistress Part 2

Spiro Stavros was with his employer. Both men were in their early thirties, but Spiro possessed none of Demetrios's brooding good looks. Nevertheless, they were both tall and powerfully built. But Joanna decided she preferred Spiro's open countenance to Demetrios's cold eyes and dark beauty.

Olivia left her father's side to greet her brother, and Constantine took the opportunity to speak privately to Joanna.

'Do not let anything Livvy or Demetri say upset you,' he murmured softly. 'They are curious, that is all. So long as you play your part, and do not allow anyone to coerce you into some unguarded admission, all will be well.'

Joanna wished she could feel as confident. She wasn't used to any of this, not to Constantine's wealth, or his in fluence, or the feeling that every other person she met thought she was a fortune-hunter. She wasn't. She wasn't interested in Constantine's money. But she'd also realised that the doubts she'd had in England had been justified.

Indeed, they were rapidly developing into a full-blown be lief that she shouldn't be here.

'Do you think they believe we're lovers?' she asked in a low voice, and Constantine grinned with a little of his old arrogance.

'Oh. yes. They believe it,' he said, permitting himself a brief glance in his son's direction. 'And do you know what?' He arched a teasing brow, 'I am beginning to enjoy it.'

Dinner was served in what Constantine told her was the family dining salon, but it seemed awfully big to Joanna. She was sure her whole apartment back in London would have fitted into this one room, and she thought it was just as well that the Greek islands didn't suffer the extremes of temperature that England did. Heating this place would be a nightmare, she reflected, glancing round the high-ceilinged room with its imposing furniture and marble floor.

Last evening she and Constantine had dined in his suite, and that hadn't been half so intimidating. Although it had been her first evening, and the a.s.siduous attention of the servants had been a little unnerving, she had enjoyed the meal. She had still been entranced by the beauty of her surroundings, and she'd managed to persuade herself that this wasn't going to be as bad as she'd thought.

How wrong she'd been!

Nevertheless, Olivia's claws had been sheathed at that first meeting. With Alex away at her fiance's home in Athens, and Demetri meeting with bankers in Geneva, Olivia had been alone and unprepared for Joanna's arrival. Joanna had wondered if Constantine had really warned his family of his guest's ident.i.ty.

He'd insisted he had, but there'd been no doubt that Olivia had been shocked by their relationship.

Joanna sighed. She had spent most of the day avoiding the other woman's questions and now she had Demetrios to contend with as well. She wondered if Constantine had real ised how hostile his family would be. Despite his rea.s.surances about Alex, she thought that was little consola tion now.

The food, as she'd already discovered, was exquisitely prepared. There were dolmades-lamb and spiced rice wrapped in vine leaves, and souvlakia-which were tiny chunks of pork grilled on skewers. There were tomatoes stuffed with goat's cheese, cold meats and salads, and retsina, the clean aromatic wine of the region, which was fla voured with pine resin and was, to Joanna, an acquired taste.

As well as Constantine's son and daughter, and Spiro Stavros, of course, they were joined at the table by three other people. They were Nikolas Poros and his wife, who Constantine had introduced her to earlier, and an old uncle of Constantine's second wife, who also lived at the villa. Panos Petronides was in his eighties, but he seemed years younger. He was still as alert and spry as he'd been when he'd first left his native Salonika.

Conversation during the meal was, to Joanna's relief, spo- radic. She suspected that for all his a.s.sertions to the contrary Constantine was tired, and she found herself watching him anxiously, ready for any sign that he needed to escape.

Demetrios had been more right than he knew when he'd questioned his father's return to the island. Constantine was very weak, and Joanna hoped he could keep up the pretence until the wedding was over.

Coffee, strong and black, was served in the adjoining drawing room. Joanna had hoped that Constantine might make their excuses and allow them both to escape to their own apartments. But, instead, he settled himself on a silk- cushioned sofa, drawing her down beside him to prevent Olivia from taking her place.

He indicated the silver dishes of sticky sugar-coated pas tries on the low table close by. 'Please,' he said. 'Help your self.'

Joanna, who had eaten little of her dinner, shook her head. 'I don't want anything else,' she said, aware of Demetrios hovering close by, ostensibly studying the rich desserts. She waited until he had chosen a cheese-filled pastry dusted with cinnamon sugar and then retired to the nearest armchair be fore she felt able to continue. 'May I get you something instead?'

'Not to eat,' murmured Constantine archly, provoking a scowling look from his son. Then, to Demetrios, 'We will talk in the morning. You can brief me on all that has hap pened since I have been away. For instance, I understand from Nikolas Poros that two of our tankers are lying idle at Piraeus. I hope you have an explanation for that.'

'They are not lying idle,' retorted Demetrios, hot colour filling his angry face. 'Did not Poros explain that-?'

'Tomorrow, Demetri,' said his father finally. Then, to Joanna's relief, he turned to her. 'I am a little tired, agapi mou. Are you finished?'

'I-yes, of course.'

'But surely you are not going to deprive us of Mrs Manning's company also?' Demetrios broke in, earning his father's displeasure yet again. Joanna felt Constantine stiffen beside her.

'You have something else in mind, agori?' he asked, and Demetrios offered a courteous smile.

'I wondered if Mrs Manning might enjoy a stroll in the gardens,' he suggested mildly, but Joanna detected the look that pa.s.sed between him and Spiro Stavros as he spoke. 'I believe the English are very fond of gardening. Am I not right, Mrs Manning?'

'I'm afraid I live in a high-rise, Mr Kastro,' Joanna re turned carefully, but Constantine intervened before she could say anything more.

'Joanna is tired, too,' he declared, but Demetrios was de- termined to have the last word.

'Are you sure, Papa? Dare I say it? She is-considerably younger than you are.'

'You overstep yourself, Demetri.' There was no mistak ing Constantine's anger now, and Joanna wished she could warn the younger man to back off.

'Perhaps you should let Mrs Manning decide for herself,' he persisted smoothly, and Joanna heaved a heavy sigh.

'I fear your father is right,' she told him coolly, aware that he probably thought she was taking the easy way out. 'I am tired. It has been a-demanding day.'

Demetrios's lips twisted, 'I am sure it must have been,' he remarked, and although his words were polite enough his meaning was plain. He got abruptly to his feet. 'Then, if you will excuse me...' And without waiting for his father's permission he stalked out of the room.

CHAPTER THREE.

Despite the heat in the early-morning air, the pool was cold.

Later in the day, when the sun had done its work, the tem- perature of the water would rise. But right now it was de cidedly chilly, and Demetri welcomed its cooling surge against his hot skin.

He had not slept well. Indeed, he had slept exceedingly badly, tormented by dreams the nature of which he preferred not to dwell on now that he was awake. In fact, he was frustrated by his own inability to control his subconscious mind, and only several vigorous lengths of the pool offered some escape from his tortured senses.

He swam swiftly from one end of the pool to the other, somersaulting beneath the surface to swim back underwater. He broke through the waves his body had created, desperate for air, and then saw that he was no longer alone.

A woman had emerged from the villa. She hadn't seen him. It was obvious from the unhurried way she crossed the sun-splashed patio to rest her hands on the terrace wall. Obvious, too, from the uninhibited way she tilted back her head and allowed the sun to kiss those pale exquisite fea tures.

She thought she was alone, and Demetri felt a momentary pang of shame in observing her this way. But dammit, he thought, he had more right to be here than she had, and it wasn't his fault if she didn't have the sense to ensure she was on her own before behaving like a pagan G.o.ddess, wor shipping the dawn.

She was beautiful, though. Given this opportunity to study her without her knowledge, Demetri had to admit he understood his father's fascination. She was wearing a sleeveless vest this morning, something soft and silky that clung to her rounded b.r.e.a.s.t.s with a loving attention to detail. He caught his breath as she cupped her ribcage and arched her back, driving her taut nipples against the thin fabric. A loosely tied sarong circled her waist, a transparent thing of purples and greens that exposed the bikini briefs she wore beneath. It parted to reveal the slender length of her legs, and, despite the coolness of the water, Demetri felt himself harden.

Theos! He was like a callow youth, he thought exasper- atedly. She was beautiful, yes, but he'd seen beautiful women before. He hadn't reached the mature age of thirty- four without making love to a number of them, too, and it irritated the h.e.l.l out of him that he desired this woman, his father's mistress.

She was sliding her fingers into her hair now, scooping its loosened weight back from her face and winding it into a coil on top of her head. Soft tendrils tumbled from the impromptu knot, spiralling down against cheeks that were as smooth and velvety soft as a peach. Realising he couldn't stand much more of this without disgracing himself com pletely, Demetri sprang out of the water and grabbed a towel to wrap protectively about his hips.

She heard him, of course. Although the ocean surged con- stantly onto the beach only a couple of hundred yards from the villa it was a muted sound, heavy and rhythmic. His vaulting out of the pool was a much more abrasive sound, and she swung round almost guiltily to confront him.

'Oh...' She was clearly taken aback by his sudden ap pearance.

'Urn-Mr Kastro. I didn't see you there.'

'No.' Demetri acknowledged the fact, and, accepting that they couldn't go on addressing each other across the width of the terrace, he pushed his damp feet into his deck shoes and walked towards her. 'Did you sleep well?'

She managed a faint smile. 'Like you care,' she said drily, and he admired her courage. 'Did you?'

Demetri shrugged his bare shoulders. 'Not very,' he con- ceded, just as candidly. Then, dragging his eyes back to her face, 'Where is my father?'

'Where do you think he is at this hour of the morning?' she asked, a delicate flush invading her cheeks. 'He's still in bed.' She paused a moment and then added significantly, 'Asleep.'

Demetri's mouth compressed. 'So, what are you doing up so early? Or is this your only chance to escape?'

'To escape?' Her blue eyes flashed with anger. 'To escape from what, Mr Kastro? Your father and I have a perfect understanding.'

'Do you?' Demetri was annoyed to find he half believed her.

But he couldn't let her know it. 'That must be very convenient for both of you.'

'It is.' She turned away from him then, bracing her hands on the terrace wall again and gazing purposefully out to sea.

'Oughtn't you to go and get some clothes on, Mr Kastro? I shouldn't like you to catch a chill.'

'Oh, I am sure you would.' he corrected her, making no move to go back into the villa. 'But I would hate to waste this opportunity for us to get to know one another better.'

'We don't need to get to know one another better, Mr Kastro,' she retorted, and although she wasn't looking at him he could see the tension in the slender cords of her neck.

'Well, there, you see, you are wrong,' he argued softly, resisting the temptation to run his finger along the sensitive curve of her nape. He drew a steadying breath. 'And I think we can dispense with formality, no?'

She licked her lips then, and his stomach twisted with sudden emotion. Theos, he thought, the intensity of his re action reminding him that he was playing with fire here. Why was he persisting with this? It was his father he should be hara.s.sing, not her.

'What formality are you talking about?' she asked now, and he had to concentrate hard to remember what he'd said.

'I-think you should call me Demetri,' he essayed at last, congratulating himself on his memory. 'May I call you Joanna?'

Her lips were pressed together when she turned to give him a doubtful look, and Demetri guessed she had expected some kind of accusation. Long lashes, several shades darker than her hair, shaded her expression, however, and instead of feeling any sense of triumph Demetri found himself imagining how they would feel against his lips. He wanted to kiss her, he realised suddenly. He wanted to press that slim luscious body against his own and ease his aching need between her legs...

'I don't think that's a very good idea. Mr Kastro,' she said, and his arousal abruptly deflated. 'You don't like me, so why pretend you want to get to know me?'

Why indeed?

'Because I do,' he insisted, deciding that he had nothing more to lose. 'Why are you so afraid to talk to me?' His dark brows elevated. 'I am not so terrifying, am I?'

She turned then, resting her hips on the low wall behind her and folding her arms across her midriff, 'I am not afraid to talk to you, Mr Kastro,' she said, and once again he had to admire her spirit. 'What do you want to talk about?'

Demetri's hair was dripping onto his neck and he lifted one hand to wipe the moisture from his nape. He refused to accept that it was done to buy himself a little time, but there was no doubt that she had caught him off guard.

'Entaxi.' It was an indication of his state of mind that had him lapsing into his own language for the exclamation. 'All right. Tell me how you met my father?'

There was a perceptible hesitation when that tempting tongue appeared again, and then she seemed to straighten her spine before saying slowly, 'We met in London.'

Demetri gave her a dry look. 'Yes. I had gathered that.' He paused, 'I asked how you met my father, Mrs Manning. Not where.'

She looked down at her feet then, and Demetri found himself doing the same, watching as she crossed one slim bare foot over the other. Until then he hadn't realised she wasn't wearing any shoes, and there was something infi nitely sensuous about the way she rubbed the sole of one foot across the arch of the other.

To distract himself, he spoke again, his words a little harsh as he struggled to sustain his composure. 'Were you his nurse?'

'His nurse?' She smiled then, and he was treated to the sight of a row of almost perfect white teeth. 'Heavens, no!'

'What, then?' Demetri was impatient at the way she could apparently best him at every turn. 'His doctor?'

She shook her head, and her hair dipped confidingly over one shoulder. 'I am not a member of the medical profession, Mr Kastro.'

Demetri's nostrils flared. 'Do not play with me, Mrs Manning.

You might just get more than you-what is the expression you use?-bargained for, no?'

Her smile disappeared, 'I wouldn't dream of playing with you, Mr Kastro,' she declared coolly, 'I just wonder why you are so interested in what I do for a living.'

'I am not.' But he was and she knew it, d.a.m.n her. 'I am merely curious to know how a man who has spent the last two weeks in hospital could have acquired such a-close relationship with a woman his family knew nothing about.'

She took a deep breath. 'As you say, your father has been in hospital.'

'Where I visited him.' put in Demetri shortly. 'On more than one occasion. Yet he apparently chose not to mention your existence to me.'

Her slim shoulders lifted, 'I suppose he preferred to wait until we could be introduced.'

'You are prevaricating again, Mrs Manning.' Demetri's temper was slipping. 'I suggest that, far from knowing my father for some considerable time, as you told Livvy, yours has been what a kinder person might call a whirlwind ro mance, no?'

'No.' She was angry now. 'What I told your sister was- is true. I work-I have worked-for Bartholomew's for sev eral years. They're-'

'One of the foremost auction houses in London,' Demetri inserted tersely, 'I have heard of Bartholomew's, Mrs Manning.'

'Good.' Her eyes challenged his. 'As you're aware, your father is a keen collector of antique snuffboxes. He has been a regular customer there for many years.'

Demetri was stunned. He was ashamed to admit that, be- cause of her beauty, he'd been inclined to dismiss her as an airhead. Now, learning that she had a career far removed from any cosmetic pursuit disturbed him more than he cared to admit.

It also made her relationship with his father that much more serious somehow.

'And now, if you'll excuse me...'

She was leaving him, and Demetri could no longer think of an excuse to keep her there. But what troubled him most was that he should want to do so, and he abruptly stepped aside, opening her path to the villa.

'Until later,' he said, but she didn't answer him. If he hadn't known better he'd have said she was trembling with apprehension. Only it wasn't apprehension, it was rage.

Joanna made it to her apartments before she gave in to the fit of shaking that had threatened her downstairs. Dear Lord, she thought, she would never have ventured outdoors if she'd even suspected she might run into Demetrios Kastro on the patio. A naked Demetrios Kastro, moreover. Her mouth dried again at the thought.

But she'd looked over her balcony and there'd appeared to be no one about. Oh, she'd seen a couple of men working in the gardens, and a youth of perhaps fifteen sweeping the steps. Yet even he had disappeared by the time she'd stepped out of the villa, and she'd walked to the boundary wall with the first feeling of freedom she'd had since coming here.

And the view was so beautiful. Acres of flower-filled gar- dens falling away into dunes of sun-bleached sand. A wooden jetty pointed into the blue-green waters of the Aegean, a two-masted schooner bobbing at anchor, all gleaming steel and polished teak. A millionaire's plaything in a million-dollar setting.