Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire

‘Very much,’ said Rhea politely, but Helen guessed the cheap sundress, in shades of blue and green, was not something Rhea herself would ever dream of wearing.

‘It was kind of you to invite us,’ she said, hoping to change the subject. ‘Melissa enjoyed herself so much at Vassilios the other day.’

‘Y-e-s.’ Rhea drew out the word as if she wasn’t exactly sure she meant it. ‘But I’m afraid I’m not the person you should thank for the invitation.’

‘I’m sorry …’

Helen was struggling to comprehend what she meant when a dark shadow emerged through the archway to their right. ‘No,’ said Milos pleasantly, smiling at Melissa who had turned to give her mother a triumphant grin. And, as Helen’s eyes adjusted to the light he added, ‘I fear I’m to blame. Will you forgive me?’

For a moment, Helen couldn’t say anything. But then, her eyes turning from Milos’s dark face to Rhea’s and back again, she said, ‘I thought—that is—Maya said you were leaving for Athens today.’

‘I am.’ Milos was clearly visible now, a tall, disturbing figure in a black shirt and matching jeans. He glanced at his sister. ‘Why don’t you ask Marisa to bring us some refreshments, Rhea? We’ll be on the terrace.’

‘I’ll go with you, Rhea,’ said Melissa at once, and, although Helen wanted to stop her, she knew she could speak more freely without her daughter’s watching gaze.

‘Is that all right with you, Milos?’

Rhea looked to her brother for his approval and Helen’s nails dug into her palms. They were all in thrall to this arrogant man, she thought helplessly. Oh, God, why had she ever agreed to come?

‘The terrace is this way,’ declared Milos politely when they were alone, and, although Helen wanted to tell him to go to hell, she obediently followed him along a cool tiled hallway whose thick walls guarded against the heat. ‘My grandfather built this place more than sixty years ago,’ he volunteered as they walked. ‘There was no road in those days and it was a convenient hide-out for members of the resistance forces during the last war.’

‘How interesting.’

Helen made no attempt to hide her sarcasm, but even she couldn’t deny a gasp of surprise when they emerged onto the terrace. She hadn’t realised the Jeep had climbed so high, but the hillside tumbling away to whitewashed villages, with the spires of hidden churches peeping through the mass of greenery, was breathtaking.

‘Impressive, ne?’ murmured Milos, resting his back against the stone wall that ringed the terrace at waist height. ‘It was originally built as a—what would you say?—a holiday home. Athens, in the heat of summer, is not to be recommended.’

‘How lucky to have the choice,’ remarked Helen drily, resting her hands on the top of the wall some distance from him. ‘So where are your parents now?’

‘They’re cruising in the Pacific,’ said Milos, with some reluctance. ‘And before you make some other scathing comment, I should tell you that my father had a heart attack at the beginning of the year and has been forced to retire. Otherwise, he would be attending the Athens conference himself.’

Helen knew a momentary feeling of guilt but she refused to let him see it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said tersely, and she was. She wouldn’t wish ill health on anyone.

There was silence between them for a few seconds. Then Milos turned and put his hand on the wall only inches from hers. She tensed automatically, but all he did was abrade the stone with his thumb. So why did she feel as if it were her skin he was stroking?

‘Would you like to see where I live when I’m staying on the island?’ he asked suddenly, his voice huskier than before, and Helen had to steel herself not to move away from him.

‘Why would I want to see your house?’ she asked shortly. ‘Melissa’s told me all about it.’

‘Word of mouth is not the same as actually seeing it for yourself,’ he insisted softly. His eyes lingered on her mouth before moving down to the low vee of her cleavage. ‘Come with me, Helen. I want to prove to you I’m not the selfish bastard you think I am.’

‘I don’t have any thoughts about you, good or otherwise,’ she countered hurriedly, keeping her voice steady with an effort. She glanced behind her. ‘Melissa and your sister are taking an awfully long time. Do you think I should go and hurry them up?’

‘I think you should stay exactly where you are,’ retorted Milos harshly. His hand suddenly moved to close about her wrist and she wondered if he could feel her pulse racing against his palm. ‘How long are you going to keep this up, Helen?’ His eyes glittered dangerously. ‘How long are you going to deny that you wanted me as much as I wanted you all those years ago?’

‘Wanted being the operative word,’ said Helen, her breath coming in short, painful gasps. ‘You forget, I didn’t know you were married, Milos. I soon changed my mind about you when your wife explained why you’d really come to England.’

‘My wife explained?’ Milos looked baffled now, but that didn’t stop him from using his hold on her wrist to jerk her closer. ‘My wife and I were separated long before I came to England. I don’t know where you’ve got your information from, but I can assure you that’s the truth.’

‘A pity your wife didn’t see it that way,’ Helen countered, uncomfortably aware of how close he was. ‘Let me go, Milos. Or do you want your sister to see how badly you treat your guests?’

‘Badly?’ Milos was scathing. ‘You don’t know how badly I want to treat you. And I don’t particularly care what Rhea thinks.’ His hot gaze was almost suffocating her now and she was unhappily aware that her body wasn’t responding as it should. He had only to touch her and she trembled. No matter how detached she tried to be, it seemed to have a will of its own. ‘I wonder how you’d react if you were naked,’ he added thickly. ‘Would that have any effect on your treacherous little soul?’

Helen swallowed, unable to prevent herself from looking up at him. ‘Would it have any effect on yours?’ she countered, not knowing where the provocative words came from, but unable to take them back.

‘Oh, yes.’ His response was immediate, and now he turned, imprisoning her against the wall behind her. His taut body pressed hers into the stones, letting her feel every bone and angle. ‘Now tell me that what we had meant nothing to you,’ he exhorted roughly. ‘Tell me you have no lasting memories of that night.’

Even as his tongue trailed a wet path along her jawline panic gripped her. What did he mean? What was he saying? Was all of this—this planned seduction designed to get her to confess?

Dear God, if it was true, he was clever. Because right then she was tempted—unbearably tempted—to give in. With one of his thighs wedged between her legs and her breasts crushed against his chest, it would be so easy to delude herself into thinking this meant something.

Thankfully, it didn’t happen. His mouth had barely brushed her lips when they heard the sound of voices heading in their direction. Melissa and Rhea were laughing and talking together as they came to find them and, despite what he’d said earlier, it was enough to cause Milos to utter a muffled oath and put a decent distance between them before the two girls appeared.

Helen didn’t recover so easily. Although the kiss had been brief, her face was flooded with colour and she was sure Melissa would notice. Her daughter always noticed everything.

But if she did, she said nothing, and it was left to Rhea to say with some concern, ‘Is it too hot for you out here, Helen?’

‘Um—no, I’m fine,’ murmured Helen quickly, but Rhea still looked doubtful.

‘We can sit in the shade,’ she said, nodding to where a trellis overhung with bougainvillea sheltered a wicker table and chairs. ‘Marisa is on her way with the tray.’

‘How nice.’

Helen was sure she must sound as out of it as she was feeling and she was glad when Melissa exclaimed, ‘Rhea and me are going down to the beach for a swim, Mum. You can come with us, if you like.’

‘That sounds inviting.’ Helen didn’t even have the will to correct her grammar, but then Milos intervened.

‘I’m planning on showing your mother a little of the island this morning,’ he inserted smoothly, and Helen was amazed at his arrogance. ‘I believe she’s seen very little of it so far.’

‘Oh, I think a swim sounds much more appealing than riding around in a hot car,’ Helen protested, not looking at him as she spoke. He thought he could just order her around and, remembering what he’d been doing before the two girls had arrived, she rather thought he was right.

‘You can swim at Vassilios,’ he declared, evidently determined to have his own way. ‘I’m sure Rhea and Melissa don’t need a chaperon, do you?’

Melissa quickly came to the same conclusion. ‘Yeah, that’s right, Mum,’ she said as Marisa appeared with the tray. And, obviously hoping to end the discussion, ‘Mmm, lemonade! I love that stuff.’

‘So—it’s agreed.’ Milos seated himself opposite Helen as Rhea took charge of the coffee-pot. ‘We’ll meet back here for lunch, ne?’

No one else was willing to argue with him, but after the girls had driven away in Rhea’s open-topped buggy Helen faced him angrily.

‘I’m not going with you, Milos,’ she said, aware that at least Marisa was within calling distance if she needed her. ‘If you insist on talking, we can. But we’ll do it here. Not at Vassilios.’

Milos regarded her from between lowered lids. ‘Are you afraid of me, Helen?’

Hell, yes, she thought. She was afraid of him. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. ‘I just think it would be more—sensible if we stayed here,’ she insisted. ‘Melissa and Rhea won’t be long.’

‘Long enough,’ said Milos, crossing his arms over his body. ‘Come on. What have you got to lose?’

CHAPTER EIGHT