His Virgin Mistress Part 4

A gesture of his hand sent the young maid scurrying back into the villa, but he was going to have no such swift com pliance from Joanna. 'I said I only wanted coffee,' she said, her blue eyes glittering now, her earlier emotion banished by a surge of indignation, 'I am not hungry, Mr Kastro. In fact, I can't think of anything I'd like less than sharing a meal with you!'

Demetri was outraged. 'You asked if you could join me, Mrs Manning,' he reminded her harshly, and her lips twisted in sudden distaste.

'That was a mistake,' she informed him, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring herself a cup. Her hand was un steady, he noticed, but he got little satisfaction from it. 'It was before I realised what a small-minded, selfish boor you are!'

Her voice was shaking by the time she'd finished, but with an admirable dignity she got to her feet. Then, picking up her coffee cup, she turned away, evidently intending to drink it in more congenial surroundings.

'Wait!' Despite the resentment he was feeling, Demetri was loath to let her go like this. 'Signomi,' he said through clenched teeth. 'I am sorry. I did not mean to offend you.'

'No?' She'd paused, regarding him with scornful eyes. 'You virtually accuse me of exhausting your father with my demands and then try to tell me you didn't mean to offend me? Come on, Mr Kastro. Surely you can do better than that?'

Demetri breathed deeply, 'I spoke-without thinking,' he declared, but he could see from her expression that she didn't believe him.

'On the contrary,' she said, 'I think you knew exactly what you were saying. You might wish you hadn't exposed your feelings quite so openly, but that's all. Don't worry, Mr Kastro. I shan't tell your father what you said. I, at least, have more respect for him than that.'

She would have turned away then, but he moved swiftly round the table to detain her. 'All right,' he said tersely, aware that she was looking up at him now with a certain amount of apprehension. 'All right. You are right and I am wrong. It was a deliberate attempt to provoke you.' He paused. 'But, Theos, Joanna, you cannot have expected to come here without arousing some resentment.'

'Why not?' She blinked, and then said faintly, 'You called me Joanna. Was that another mistake?'

Demetri stifled an oath. 'No,' he said impatiently. Then, wearily, 'You must surely see that it is ludicrous for us to call one another Mrs Manning and Mr Kastro? My name is Demetri. Only my enemies call me Demetrios. And if we are to come to any kind of an understanding we should perhaps try and be civil with one another.'

Joanna hesitated, 'I notice you didn't suggest that we might be friends,' she remarked drily, but she was definitely thawing.

'Let us take each day at a time,' Demetri ventured, ges turing towards the breakfast table. 'Please. Will you sit with me?' He paused, and then added ruefully, 'My coffee is getting cold.'

She was reluctant, but her obvious desire to be accepted by her lover's family seemed to persuade her to give him a second chance. For his part, Demetri was grateful to have avoided an open rift between them. Despite the fact that even the thought of this woman and his father sharing a bed together filled him with revulsion, until he knew how much influence she had over the old man he would be wise not to make an enemy of her.

As if you could, a small voice inside him mocked con- temptuously. Even knowing who she was and what she was doing didn't seem to make a sc.r.a.p of difference to the un holy feelings she aroused inside him. However unscrupulous she might be, he wanted her. And that was something else he intended to change.

But, for now, she'd seated herself again and he was obliged to do the same. And there was no doubt that in other circ.u.mstances he would have enjoyed her company. She was good to look at, she made no demands on him, and her slightly husky voice gave everything she said a sensual in tonation.

'This is a beautiful place,' she murmured after a few mo ments, and, acknowledging her effort to behave naturally, he gave a nod of a.s.sent.

'Beautiful, yes,' he agreed, his eyes lingering on her del icate profile. And then, when she sensed his regard and turned to look at him. 'My father built this house twenty- five years ago.'

'Twenty-five years?' She arched brows that were much darker than her hair. 'He must love the island very much.'

'It is where he was born,' remarked Demetri simply. 'Did he not tell you that?'

'No.' She bent her head to study the coffee in her cup. 'I suppose I a.s.sumed he'd been born in Athens.'

'Because his business was established there?'

'Maybe.'

'Or perhaps you think that Theapolis seems an unlikely place for a successful man to have his roots?'

Joanna looked up. her clear eyes mirroring a faint sus picion that his question hadn't been entirely innocent. 'We all have our roots somewhere, Mr-Demetri.' She paused. 'Even you.'

'And where are your roots, Joanna? London?'

'England, certainly,' she said evenly. Then, when he showed he expected her to go on, 'Actually, I was born in Norfolk. But my parents were killed in an accident when I was quite young and an elderly relative brought me up.'

He was surprised. Somehow he'd expected her to have a different background. Or was he only painting her with the brittle strokes of sophistication because it made it that much easier to despise her?

'Were you born on the island, too?' she asked, when he didn't say anything, and Demetri gathered his thoughts.

'No,' he conceded flatly. 'I was born in Athens. Olivia and me both. My younger sister, Alex, is the only one of us who was born here.'

She inclined her head. 'Alex,' she said thoughtfully, 'I haven't met her yet.' She waited a beat, 'Is she like you?'

Demetri's eyes narrowed, 'In what way? In looks? In tem- perament?'

'I suppose I meant, is she likely to resent me, too?' ob served Joanna quietly. 'What are you afraid of, Demetri? I mean your father no harm.'

He was taken aback. He had never expected her to broach her relationship with his father so openly. But perhaps he had been naive in thinking he was in control. After all, he had always believed his father to be a shrewd judge of char acter, yet he had apparently been attracted to her. She had infatuated him. Why should he be any different?

But he was!

'I do not know what you mean, Joanna,' he said now, his smile as guileless as his words. 'I understood we were to attempt a reconciliation.'

'A reconciliation-or an inquisition?' she demanded shortly.

'Why don't you come right out and ask me what you want to know?'

Demetri's lips twitched with reluctant amus.e.m.e.nt, 'I thought I was,' he admitted. Then, dispa.s.sionately, 'As to your enquiry about Alex, I think you will like her. She is nothing like Olivia, if that answers your question.'

'And you?'

'Me?' He pushed his cup aside and lay back in his chair.

'Modesty prevents me from making any comparisons.'

'Really?'

Joanna was sceptical, and he felt a momentary dislike of his own duplicity. What he would have really liked to do today was to go sailing and escape the machinations of both his father and his mistress. It was weeks, months, since he had had a completely free day, and although he knew he was being selfish in thinking this way when his father had been so ill, he was only human.

His eyes were drawn towards the jetty where the sailboat rocked at anchor and, as if sensing his frustration, Joanna murmured. 'Whose boat is that?' in a different, gentler tone.

'She is mine,' Demetri responded, with some satisfaction.

'The Circe. She is a two-masted schooner, but one person can handle her with ease.'

'And you do?' she prompted, and he was aware of her eyes on him rather than the yacht.

'When I can,' he conceded, turning to meet her gaze and surprising a faintly envious expression on her face. He con sidered for a moment, and then added, 'Do you sail?'

'Unfortunately not.' Her eyes moved to the sailboat again. 'I envy you. Where I used to live when I was young, people sailed dinghies. Nothing as sophisticated as your boat, of course. But it looked fun.'

'The Broads,' he said, after a moment, and she was star tled into looking at him again.

'You know Norfolk?'

'I spent a year backpacking around Europe,' he told her lightly. 'Naturally I spent some time in England. Then, later, I spent a year at the London School of Economics.'

'The LSE?' She was obviously surprised. 'Did you enjoy your time there?'

'I liked London.' Demetri realised he was in danger of becoming too familiar with her. 'Small world.'

'Isn't it?' She hesitated for a moment, and then said, 'You know, I think I will have a slice of toast, after all. Do you mind?'

Demetri could think of few things he'd like less at this moment than to sit here and watch her consume her break fast.

To see those even white teeth digging into the toast, to observe the delicate tip of her tongue emerging to lick a crumb of bread from the corner of that luscious mouth: that was the stuff of fantasy and he wanted no part of it. But civility demanded that he at least ensure that what she ate was hot, so he glanced round, saying quickly, 'I will have Pilar bring you some fresh-'

'No!'

Her denial was instantaneous, and accompanied by an instinctive reaching for his arm to prevent him from raising it to summon the maid. He was less formally dressed this morning, and his cotton tee shirt left his arm bare. In con sequence, her fingers brushed across his flesh with devas tating effect.

Her touch seemed to burn his skin, but he knew it was just his own unwelcome attraction to her that caused the sensation.

Those cool, slim fingers couldn't burn anything, but that didn't prevent an answering flame of awareness from spreading along his veins like wildfire.

The blood surged to the surface of his skin and it was all he could do not to act upon the impulses that had him in their grip.

The desire to stretch out his hand, loop it around her nape and bring that parted tantalising mouth to his was almost overwhelming. He could almost taste her sweetness; almost feel the softness of her lips and the satisfying inva sion of his tongue.

His eyes dropped to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and saw, as if through a haze, the hard nubs straining at the cloth. Theos, he thought dizzily, if he didn't get out of here soon he was going to do something he'd definitely regret.

Thrusting back his chair, he got abruptly to his feet. Es cape, he though unsteadily. Like everything else in life, es cape was relative. He'd imagined his only escape was in getting away from his responsibilities, but it wasn't true. Now, he knew, he needed quite desperately to get away from her.

'As you wish,' he said politely, as if all he'd been think ing about was her satisfaction. He pushed slightly unsteady fingers through his hair. 'And now I am afraid I must leave you. Spiro will be waiting for me. If you do change your mind about the food, Pilar will be more than happy to serve you.'

CHAPTER FIVE.

'To serve you,' muttered Joanna under her breath as he walked away. She'd seen the way the young maid had looked at Demetri, and the hunger she'd exhibited had been unmistakable. She wondered if he practised droit de seig neur with the female staff, and then scoffed at the thought. It was sour grapes. She didn't even like him, but that didn't stop her from being aware of him in a purely s.e.xual way.

She scowled, suddenly losing all taste for the toast she'd put on her plate. She couldn't be attracted to him, s.e.xually or otherwise, she told herself severely. The man despised her, for G.o.d's sake, and he made little effort to hide it. He'd been civil to her this morning, but she didn't delude herself that he was doing it for anyone other than his father. And she'd agreed to come here for Constantine's sake, she re minded herself. How convincing would their relationship seem if she allowed herself to be seduced by his son?

But that wouldn't happen. She didn't want another man in her life, period. She was twenty-six, but in terms of ex perience she sometimes felt she was twenty years older. Which made her a suitable companion for Demetri's father. He had thought so, and, what was more, he wouldn't make any demands on her that she couldn't fulfil.

A shiver slid down her spine and she gave herself a little shake to dispel it. How long was it going to take her to put her marriage to Richard out of her head? Occasionally she had the depressing feeling that it would never happen.

A soft breeze blew up from the water, cooling the damp tendrils of hair that clung to her temple, bringing a rea.s.sur ing wave of awareness of where she was and why she was there.

Constantine wouldn't approve of her sitting here feeling sorry for herself. He wanted her to enjoy this trip. Apart from what he'd asked of her, he'd wanted to give her a holiday to remember-an opportunity to escape once and for all from the psychological walls she'd built around her self.

And she would enjoy it, she a.s.sured herself, reaching for the b.u.t.ter and spreading it thickly over the now cold toast. She was not going to let the young Kastros spoil it for her. She was tougher than that. She had had to be. And the sooner they realised it, the better.

To her dismay, Constantine was weaker at lunchtime.

She had spent the morning avoiding any further confron- tations with members of his family, but when she presented herself at the doors to his suite at a little after twelve, Philip let her in with a decidedly anxious look on his face.

'Khriazoniasteh enan yatro, kiria,' he exclaimed as soon as the door was closed behind her. 'Stenokhori-emeh!'

Joanna made a helpless gesture, 'I'm sorry-' she began blankly, and to her relief Philip seemed to understand.

'A doctor, kiria,' he said urgently. 'We need a doctor. Kirie Constantine- ineh arostos, kiria. He is-ill!'

Joanna pressed an anxious hand to her throat. 'Why do you say that?' she demanded in an undertone, glancing to wards Constantine's bedroom door, which was, mercifully, closed.

'What's happened?'

Philip shook his head. 'I have-I know Kirie Constantine pola-many-years, kiria. He-he sleeps-too much.'

'He's tired.' protested Joanna, not altogether convinced she was right, and Philip waved an impatient hand.

'I think we ask Kirie Demetri, kiria. He know what to do, ne?'

'Ne. I mean, okhi.' Joanna remembered just in time that ne meant yes and not no, which was what it sounded like. 'That is,'

she continued, trying to think, 'is that what Kirie Constantine said?'

'Then katalaveno, kiria.'

Philip looked mutinous and Joanna suspected he knew exactly what she'd said. 'Have you spoken with Kirie Constantine?' she persisted, speaking slowly so he had no excuse for saying he didn't understand, and the manservant shrugged.

'Okhi, kiria,' he said offhandedly, and she hoped he wasn't going to insist on speaking Greek. Then, with a slight softening of his expression, 'I tell you, kiria. He sleep all the time.'

Joanna tried not to feel too anxious. Ever since Constantine had got out of hospital he had spent much of the day resting.

And, as she'd thought earlier, yesterday had been a particularly strenuous day for a man in his condition. Especially as it had followed on from another tiring day. It was surely reasonable that he was sleeping. It was probably the best thing for him.

But...

'I think I'd better see for myself,' she declared, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. Then, not really caring whether Philip had understood her or not. she crossed the room to Constantine's bedroom door. 'Give me a few minutes,' she said, opening the door. 'Then I'l speak to you again.'

'Ne, kiria.'

Philip shrugged again, turning his head away, but she felt him watching her out of the corners of his eyes as she went into Constantine's room. She sighed. She supposed the man had a right to his feelings. He had known his employer a lot longer than she had.