Sleeping With A Stranger

She got into the car when Milos indicated that she should, but she noticed that he was far from relaxed when he flung open his door and got in beside her. What was he thinking? she fretted. Had he seen anything in Melissa’s face, in her words, to give him pause? Oh, God, what was she going to do if he had?

Her skirt had ridden up her thighs as she got into the vehicle and she concentrated on pulling it down as Milos thrust the car into drive and depressed the accelerator. But she couldn’t help being aware of him beside her, of his lean strength coiled behind the wheel, of his long fingers on the controls. Long fingers that had once…

‘I’m gonna have a car like this when I’m older,’ declared Melissa from the back seat, and Helen wondered if she’d sensed the tension between them.

‘You’ll have to do some work first,’ she said, anything to distract herself. ‘Cars like this cost money.’

‘I could always find myself a rich husband,’ remarked her daughter irrepressibly. ‘Even one who’s more than twice my age.’

Helen sucked in a breath. But she refused to let herself be drawn by Melissa’s unsubtle reference to her employer. ‘Do—er—do you live at Aghios Petros, too?’ she asked, addressing Milos, and, although she sensed his reluctance, he was forced to look her way.

‘I live—not too far from there,’ he replied at last. ‘But I don’t spend all the year on Santoros. I also have a home in Athens.’

‘You do?’ Helen was surprised. If he did work for her father, he was evidently paid very well.

‘My family isn’t involved in winemaking,’ he told her flatly, successfully shattering her preconceived ideas about him. ‘My father owns—ships.’

‘Ships?’ It was Melissa who broke in again. ‘What? Like that leaky old crate that brought us from Crete?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen cast another impatient look at her daughter, but Milos had apparently had enough of her insolence. ‘No,’ he said harshly. ‘Not ferry boats, thespinis .’ He emphasised the word. ‘Tankers. Oil-tankers. Regrettably, I am one of those rich old men you spoke of so scornfully a few minutes ago.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ue199f032-3c2b-5b7e-8804-eb326a27528b)

T HE villa stood on a rise above terraced slopes burgeoning with green vines. A long drive wound between cypress and olive trees, with the flowering blooms of tamarisk bushes edging the road. It was a fairly large dwelling with hanging eaves, overgrown with flowering vines and bougainvillea.

‘Is this it?’

Melissa was leaning forward now, her elbow digging into the back of her mother’s neck, and Milos wondered what the hell Sam would make of his granddaughter. She was obviously going to be nothing like he’d expected.

‘Mum!’

Helen had said nothing and Melissa prompted her to speak. ‘I think this must be your grandfather’s house,’ she said, glancing sideways at Milos. ‘Those are vineyards, aren’t they?’

‘ Ineh —they are,’ he agreed. ‘This is the Ambeli Kouras .’

‘ Ambeli Kouros?’ Once again, Melissa had to have her say. ‘What the hell is that?’

‘Melissa!’

Helen tried to restrain her, but Milos decided she was wasting her time. ‘It means the Kouros vineyard,’ he told her patiently. ‘Kouros was your grandfather’s wife’s family name. When he took over, he retained it.’

Melissa was reflective for a moment. ‘My grandfather’s wife,’ she said at last. ‘That would be that evil bitch Maya , right?’

‘For goodness’ sake, Melissa—’

Helen was obviously horrified, but Milos recognised Helen’s mother’s voice in that description. ‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘So be warned. Maya doesn’t take any prisoners.’

Melissa huffed, but she sat back on her seat, clearly disappointed she hadn’t aroused a more explosive reaction. Helen felt obliged to intervene. ‘I’m afraid Maya’s name isn’t particularly welcome in my family,’ she said. ‘I have to admit, my mother didn’t want me to come.’

So, what’s new? thought Milos drily. Sheila Campbell hadn’t liked him either. ‘I expect she doesn’t trust Sam,’ he ventured mildly. ‘Either that, or she thinks it’s too soon for you to be thinking of starting over.’

‘You mean, since Richard died?’ Helen queried, her lips folding together in a thin line. ‘No. She—er—she’s of the opinion that I should get married again.’ And he could make what he liked of that! she seemed to add silently.

‘Yeah, she wants Mum to marry a wrinkly,’ put in Melissa, before Milos could make any comment. Which was just as well. Helen’s statement had thrown him for six. ‘Mark Greenaway. He must be sixty if he’s a day. Like I’d want him for a daddy !’

Helen caught her breath. ‘Mark is not a wrinkly,’ she protested hotly. ‘And he’s nowhere near sixty.’ She cast Milos an awkward glance. ‘He’s my boss. He owns an engineering company and I’m his personal assistant.’

‘Really?’ Milos managed to sound only marginally interested. ‘Does he have family, too?’

‘If you mean, is he married, then no,’ said Helen stiffly. ‘He’s a widower, without any children of his own.’

‘Oh, bliss!’ muttered Melissa contemptuously. ‘The man’s a wimp and you know it. If it wasn’t for the fact that Dad never did any work, you’d never have considered taking a job with him.’

‘That’s not true!’

Helen was embarrassed, and Milos wondered how she could let her daughter get away with saying what she did. It was as if Helen was scared of what Melissa might do next, and, judging by the girl’s attitude, she might have a point.

Suddenly aware that he was staring at her, Milos dragged his eyes away. Was it only nervousness that was stopping her from making any attempt to get out of the car, or was there something else she wanted to say?

His stomach tightened, but before he could identify the reason Melissa broke the uneasy silence that had fallen. ‘Well, duh—are we getting out or what?’ she asked, and Milos steeled his expression and swung open his door.

By the time he’d circled the car, Helen had got out, too, her long legs, in the ridiculously high heels, attracting his unwilling gaze. ‘ Iseh kala?’ he probed. ‘Are you okay?’

There’d been a reluctant concern in his voice and she responded to it. Though not in the way he’d anticipated. ‘Do you care?’ she exclaimed, exposing her real feelings for the first time. ‘Do you care about anyone but yourself? Forget it, Milos. It’s too late to pretend you have a conscience now.’

Milos’s jaw dropped, but the angry retort that sprang to his lips was stifled by the sight of Melissa clambering over the seats to the front of the car.

‘Do you mind?’ she demanded as he stared at her now instead of her mother. ‘I want to get out. You’re in the way.’

Milos was too stunned by the way she was trashing his vehicle to do anything but reach for Helen’s hand with the intention of drawing her aside so that the girl could open the door.

But he’d acted without thinking, and before his fingertips could register the silky feel of her skin or the palpitating pulse at her wrist Helen had yanked her arm away, rubbing her hand as if he’d contaminated her.

‘Don’t—don’t touch me!’ she said accusingly, and for once he was grateful to Melissa’s overloud, ‘Thanks a bunch!’ for drowning out her mother’s choked words.

They’d been given rooms at the back of the villa. Pale tiled floors, high ceilings, and lots of dark wood furniture, contrasting their coolness with the shimmering heat outside. A balcony with white painted chairs and a table invited inspection, and beyond the hillside fell away to the coastal plain.

What a view, thought Helen, cupping the back of her neck with hands that were still damp from the emotions she’d felt earlier when she’d met her father’s second wife. Dealing with Milos had been hard enough, but Maya had proved another matter entirely.

It was obvious she didn’t want them here. She’d made that perfectly plain, despite her almost sickening treatment of Milos. He was evidently persona grata at the villa. They were not, and she’d wasted no time in letting them know it.

But what had really shocked Helen was the news that her father was working. Working! When she’d imagined him wheelchair-ridden or worse. That was the impression he’d given her in his letters. That he desperately wanted to see her again before he—

Before he, what? He’d stopped short at saying he was actually dying, she remembered. He’d just let her believe he was seriously ill; that he didn’t know how long he had left.

‘What do you think?’ Melissa had come to lean in the doorway of her room that adjoined Helen’s suite. For once, there was a look of uncertainty on her young face. ‘Are we gonna stay or do we just spit in his eye and catch the next ferry out of here?’