His Virgin Mistress Part 3

Then Demetrios had emerged from the pool and every thing had changed. Her sense of wellbeing had vanished, replaced by the tension that man always evoked. She'd known him for less than twenty-four hours, yet he'd already succeeded in setting her nerves on edge whenever he was near. She had the feeling he looked at her and saw right through her. He didn't like her: that much was obvious. But, more than that, he despised her for what he thought she was doing with his father.

Now Joanna wrapped her arms about herself and crossed the room to the windows. Despite her revulsion for the man, she felt compelled to see if he was still enjoying his swim. She had only interrupted his pleasure. He had destroyed hers.

But the pool was empty. Although she waited half appre- hensively to see if he was briefly out of sight, hidden by the lip of the deck, he didn't appear. The water was as smooth and unbroken as a mirror, reflecting only the sunlight and the waving palms that grew close by.

Stepping back into the room again, she looked bleakly about her. And then, annoyed that she had let Demetrios sour her mood, she walked through the bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom.

She felt a little better after a shower. The cool water had washed away the perspiration that had dried on her skin, and she felt more ready to face the day. Constantine had said he would take her to the small town of Agios Antonis this morning, and she was looking forward to seeing a little more of the island.

Since their arrival two days ago they had spent all their time at the villa. Constantine had been weary after the flight from London, and yesterday he had had the reception Olivia had organised to contend with.

Joanna knew he would have much preferred to stagger the celebrations for his homecoming, but Constantine hadn't wanted to disappoint his elder daughter. Besides, until his younger daughter's wedding was over he didn't intend to discuss his illness with any of his family.

Joanna finished drying her hair and paused on the thresh old of the dressing room that was next to the bathroom.

Floor-to-ceiling closets lined two of the walls, but the clothes she had brought with her looked lost in their cav ernous depths.

Nevertheless, Constantine had insisted on equipping her with several new outfits for the trip to Theapolis. And, al though Joanna still felt slightly uncomfortable about that arrangement, she had to admit that the clothes she usually favoured would not have borne comparison with the de signer fashions she had seen since their arrival.

The fact that she normally shunned anything that em phasised her femininity had not been lost on Constantine. And, despite the fact that he respected her preference for severe skirt- and trouser-suits, he had persuaded her that they would definitely look out of place in the hot dry climate of the island in late summer.

Besides, they would have detracted from the image he wanted her to present. It was because she could do what he asked that he'd chosen her, and in the circ.u.mstances Joanna had been unable to refuse.

Perhaps she'd wanted to do it for her own sake, she re flected.

riffling through the rail of expensive garments, all of which were designed to inspire and provoke masculine attention. Flimsy shirts and tight-fitting basques; low-cut bodices and clinging skirts; hems slashed to expose her legs from thigh to hip-items that until two weeks ago she'd have avoided like the plague.

But it hadn't always been so. Once she would have rev elled in their style and beauty. Oh, she had never owned anything too revealing, but she had appreciated her own body and dressed in a way to make the most of her a.s.sets.

She'd spent so many years believing she was worthless that when the opportunity had come to make the most of her appearance, she'd taken it. She'd wanted to be admired. She'd wanted to know the thrill of feeling beautiful.

And then she'd met Richard Manning...

But she didn't want to think about Richard now. He was history. He'd hurt and humiliated her for the last time. But perhaps by downplaying her looks she'd been subcon sciously denying their relationship. Maybe it was time to come out of her sh.e.l.l.

She viewed her appearance cautiously when she was ready. It would take some time before she was able to look at herself with uncritical eyes, and although the lime-green crepe sh.e.l.l and cream silk shorts were very flattering, she couldn't get used to exposing such a length of thigh. Still, she was sure Constantine would approve and, for the pres ent, that was all that mattered.

Which reminded her-where was Constantine? He had said he would order breakfast to be served on the balcony again, as he had done the previous morning, but when she stepped outside again there was still no one about. The wrought-iron table wasn't even laid, and she knew a mo ment's apprehension. What was going on? Surely Demetrios hadn't delayed him. His son had been eager to speak to him, it was true, but all the same...

Turning back into the room, she crossed to the connecting doors and tapped lightly on the panels. It was the first time she had had to initiate their meeting, and she felt a little awkward when Philip, Constantine's valet, opened the door.

'Kalimera, Kiria Manning.' The man greeted her politely enough, though she sensed a certain reserve in his manner. 'Boro na sas voithisso?'

Joanna contained her impatience. Constantine had told his valet that she didn't understand his language, and therefore the man's behaviour was a deliberate attempt to disconcert her.

However, she had taken the precaution of learning one phrase, and with smiling courtesy she said. 'Then katalaveno,'

which she knew meant, I don't understand. 'Signomi.' Sorry.

Philip's thin lips tightened. He was a man in his late fifties, who Constantine had said had been with him for more than thirty years. Gaunt and unsmiling, he was the exact opposite of Joanna's idea of a genial manservant, his only concession to vanity the luxuriant black moustache that coated his upper lip.

'Kirie Kastro is not-up, kiria,' he said at last, in a thick barely comprehensible accent. 'Then sikothikeh akomi.'

Joanna frowned, looking beyond him into the living area of Constantine's suite. The door to the bedroom was ajar, but she couldn't see into the room, and she could only take Philip's word that Constantine was still in bed.

'Is he all right?' she asked, not much caring if the valet cared to stand here trading information with her. 'Can I see him?'

'I do not think-'

'Pios ineh, Philip?' Who is it?

Constantine's voice was frail, but he had obviously de duced that the manservant was talking to someone, and, ig noring Philip's attempt to bar her way, Joanna sidestepped him into the apartment, it's me, Constantine,' she called, crossing the floor to the bedroom door. 'Can I come in?'

'Please...'

Constantine showed no reservations about inviting her into his room. And why should he? she asked herself drily. When they were deemed to be lovers.

All the same, she halted in the doorway of the huge, dis tinctly masculine chamber, briefly shocked by his appear ance.

Constantine was lying propped against the pillows of the ma.s.sive bed, his face as white as the linen sheets that covered him from chest to foot. Brown hands, slightly gnarled with veins, were a stark contrast to the bedlinen, his nails sc.r.a.ping against the fabric in a mute display of frus tration.

'Come-come in,' he said weakly, lifting his hand to point at the tapestry-covered chair beside the bed. 'Do not look like that, aghapitos. I am not dying yet.'

Joanna came swiftly to the bed, but she didn't sit in the chair he'd indicated. Instead, she edged her hip onto the bed beside him, taking one of his hands between both of hers and gazing down at him with troubled eyes. 'Don't even suggest such a thing,' she reproved him sharply. Then, hes itatingly, 'Have you sent for a doctor?'

'What can a doctor do for me?' Constantine was dismis sive. 'I am already sick of the c.o.c.ktail of drugs I am forced to swallow every day, without inviting a handful more. No, Joanna. I have not sent for a doctor. A few hours' rest is all I need. Will you tell Demetri and Olivia that I am being lazy this morning?'

Joanna sighed. 'Shouldn't you tell them yourself?'

'And have them see me like this?' Constantine moved his head from side to side on the pillows. 'I know what they are like, Joanna. I would have no choice in the matter. Demetri would have Tsikas here immediately, and it is to tally unnecessary.'

'Tsikas?' Joanna frowned. 'I a.s.sume he is your doctor.'

'He is the island doctor, yes,' agreed Constantine wearily.

'Look, Joanna, I do not wish to worry anyone. Livvy has enough to worry about, making the final preparations for Alex's wedding, and Demetri is already working flat out, trying to cope with my work as well as his own. Let him go on thinking that I am waiting for his explanation as to why two of my ships are not making me any money. Do not, I beg of you, put any doubts in their minds.'

Joanna shook her head, 'I don't think they'l like me mak ing your excuses,' she said unhappily. 'But I take your point about worrying them unnecessarily. If it is unnecessarily,' she added doubtfully.

'It is.' Constantine was determined. 'You can tell Demetri I will speak with him this afternoon. I have taken my med ication and in a few hours I should be as good as new.'

You wish, thought Joanna uneasily, but she knew better than to argue with him. Despite his physical weakness, Constantine's will was as strong as ever.

'All right?' he prompted when she didn't say anything, and Joanna gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders.

'I'll do what I can,' she promised, not looking forward to telling either of the Kastro offspring what their father had said.

'Now, get some rest, hmm?' She bent to bestow a warm kiss on his dry cheek, 'I'll come back at lunchtime to see how you are.'

Constantine nodded. 'We will have lunch together,' he said, patting her cheek. 'Oh, Joanna, how I wish I were twenty years younger. I would not be lying here like a beached whale while the woman I admire above all others was spending her time with my son instead of me.'

Joanna smiled, but as she got up from the bed she couldn't help thinking she'd bitten off more than she could chew by coming here. Yes, she cared about Constantine. Yes, it was easy to spend time with him. But dealing with his immediate family was another thing altogether. She sup posed she had been naive in imagining that they might wel come her into their midst, but she certainly hadn't expected them to be so openly hostile.

Though hostility was not what she had initially felt when Demetrios had surprised her on the terrace that morning. When he'd wrapped a towel about his nakedness-and she was pretty sure he had been swimming in the nude-and walked towards her, she'd felt a most unhostile surge of emotion. Indeed, for the first time in years she'd been phys ically aroused by a man's body.

And although she'd later dismissed it as an aberration, now, faced with the prospect of confronting him again, Joanna knew she was apprehen sive of the effect he had on her.

Philip was waiting for her outside the bedroom door. She wouldn't have been surprised if she'd discovered him with his ear pressed to the panels, but her exit had been suffi ciently telegraphed to allow him time to move away.

'Mr Kastro is going to rest this morning,' she said coolly, deciding she was going to take no guff from him. 'I'l come back at one o'clock. Perhaps you'd ask the housekeeper to serve a light lunch on the balcony.'

Philip gave her a mutinous look. 'For one, kiria?'

'No, for two.'

She managed to keep her cool, but Philip wasn't finished yet.

'What would you like?' he asked, probably knowing full well that Joanna wasn't familiar with Greek food.

But she refused to let him confuse her. 'I suggest an om elette and some salad,' she answered sweetly. 'Mr Kastro is very fond of omelettes, you know?'

'Veveha, kirio. I know,' he muttered, as she headed to wards her own rooms, and Joanna breathed a sigh of tri umph as she closed the connecting doors behind her.

CHAPTER FOUR.

Demetri was having breakfast on the terrace when Joanna appeared. At this hour of the morning the air outdoors was extremely pleasant, and the view from this elevated position never failed to lift his spirits.

And they'd needed lifting, he conceded grimly, picking at a currant-filled roll between generous gulps of the strong black coffee he favoured. His earlier encounter with his fa ther's mistress had left him feeling piqued and morose. And provoked; definitely provoked. Though not in any way he wanted to acknowledge.

Now here she was again, slim and alluring in a sleeveless top and clinging silk shorts which had surely not come off the peg in some downtown department store. Her legs were bare and her glorious mane of hair had been secured in one of those loose knots atop her head. Strands of white-gold escaped to caress her cheeks, and although when she saw him she made a half-hearted effort to tuck them back behind her ears, they refused to be tamed.

Oh, she was beautiful, he thought bitterly, forced to push back his chair and get to his feet as she came towards him. But what the h.e.l.l was she doing with his father? He simply didn't buy into May and December love affairs. She wanted something from this relationship, and he'd swear on a stack of Bibles that it wasn't s.e.x.

The morning mail had been spread out on the table in front of him, but he shuffled it together at her approach. He guessed his father wouldn't be far behind her, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about private business mat ters with her present.

He was pleased to see that she wasn't wholly relaxed about meeting him again. He wondered if she'd told Constantine about seeing him earlier that morning. If she had, he could probably look forward to his father's displea sure as well. Particularly if she'd mentioned that he'd been swimming in the nude.

Perhaps she hadn't noticed. After all, she hadn't noticed he was there at all until he'd vaulted out of the pool. Thank heaven for towels, he reflected drily. They could hide a mul t.i.tude of sins.

'Mrs Manning,' he greeted her politely, inclining his head, and she managed a faint smile in return. But she was definitely antsy, and he decided to take pity on her. 'Are you and my father joining me for breakfast?'

'No,' Her denial was swift. But then, as if realising she had been a little hasty, she added. 'That is, your father won't be joining us.'

'Why not?' Demetri's eyes moved past her almost accus ingly.

is something wrong?'

'He's-tired, that's all,' she told him quietly, apparently not knowing what to do with her hands. She finally folded them together over her midriff, inadvertently drawing his attention to the narrow strip of pale flesh exposed between her top and her shorts. 'He asked me to tell you he'l see you later today.'

Demetri's jaw clenched. He wasn't used to being given news about his father from a third party. He'd had to comply while his father was in the hospital, but being given infor mation by a doctor was vastly different from hearing it from her.

'Are you sure you are telling me everything?' he asked, regarding her from beneath lowered lids, and he felt rather than saw the quiver of emotion that rippled over her at his question.

But, 'Of course,' she said quickly. Then, to his surprise, 'May I join you?'

Demetri frowned. 'Please,' he said without expression, but his thoughts were busy as she hurriedly seated herself in the chair across the table from his own. Was it only his imagination, or was this a deliberate attempt to divert him? He subsided again into his own chair. 'Have you eaten?'

'I-no.' She moistened her lips. 'But I'm not hungry. Perhaps I could have some coffee-'

She broke off as a white-ap.r.o.ned maid appeared at Demetri's elbow. The girl-for she was little more-gave her employer's son a proprietary smile before saying in their own language, 'Can I get you anything else, kirie?'

Demetri hesitated. And then, deciding that Mrs Manning couldn't be allowed to starve, he replied, 'Yes. Some toast and coffee for my guest, if you will? Thank you.'

The maid withdrew and Demetri, feeling a little more in command, lay back in his chair. 'Tora,' he said pleasantly, 'perhaps you will now explain to me why my father is really not joining us for breakfast.'

A hint of colour entered her face. 'I've told you-'

'No.' His denial was soft but implacable. 'You have told me nothing. Are you saying he is not well enough to get out of bed?'

Her cheeks were definitely pink now. 'He said to tell you he was going to be lazy this morning,' she insisted. 'I've explained that he's feeling tired. The journey from England, yesterday's reception, and then dinner last night. He's not used to so much activity. Not-not all at once.'

'And entertaining a much younger woman?' suggested Demetri dangerously. 'Let us not forget your role in his recovery-or lack thereof. Whatever. Perhaps you are tiring him out, Mrs Manning.'

His words were unforgivable, and he knew a moment's remorse at his own cruelty. He had no excuse for blaming her for his father's weakness. Cancer didn't discriminate between its victims, and he should be grateful that she had brought the old man some comfort during his convales cence. Grateful, too, that to all intents and purposes his fa ther had beaten the disease. And who knew that she hadn't had some part in that, as well?

Nevertheless, he despised himself for the sudden sym pathy he felt when she turned her face away, blinking rap idly. She could be acting, of course, but he suspected he had upset her, and common sense told him that that was not the wisest thing to do.

He had told Spiro he would handle this with kid gloves, but instead he was trampling finer feel ings underfoot.

The return of the maid put an end to his self- admonishment.

And if Joanna had been thinking of walking out on him, her actions were baulked by the serving woman setting a steaming pot of coffee and a linen-wrapped basket of toast at her elbow.

'Afto ineh entaxi, kirie?' Is that all right? the maid asked, looking at Demetri, and he drew a deep breath.

'Ineh mia khara, efkharisto.' It's fine, thanks, he re sponded, but Joanna was looking at him now, and she looked anything but pleased.

'Did you order this?' she demanded, uncaring that the maid was still standing beside the table, clearly understand ing the tone of her voice, if not the words.

Demetri wasn't used to being embarra.s.sed in front of his staff, and a muscle in his jaw jerked spasmodically as he strove to hide his anger. 'You have to eat something, Mrs Manning,' he said, aware that he no longer thought of her that way. Her first name was becoming far more familiar to him, and that was dangerous. ' Efkharisto, Pilar. You may leave us.'