That feeling only increased as she was shown through the house. It was undeniably beautiful, and built right on the edge of the beach, so an infinity pool and terrace gave way to white sand and then pristine ocean. All of the rooms were on a large scale, with high ceilings, more impressive artwork adorning the crisp, white walls.
Cameron’s room—or suite of rooms—made her heart clutch. No expense had been spared, but it was more than that. Whoever had overseen the decorating had done so with care. The books were perfectly chosen for a child his age, the toys likewise. There wasn’t a cacophony of plastic. Instead, it was wooden blocks and construction toys, a selection of board games and paints. She inwardly approved of the selection, though she couldn’t help but feel the stark contrast with the way Cameron had been living previously. She knew from brief conversations with Cynthia that their home had been a small flat above the high street where the smell of the fish and chip shop below had infiltrated each of the rooms with its greasy pungency. There was only one bedroom—Cameron’s. Cynthia had slept on a fold-out sofa in the lounge.
It was hard not to judge Santos for that—for leaving the mother of his child to suffer in such abject poverty. Was it really possible he hadn’t known about Cameron?
Compressing her lips on that thought, and attempting to blot Santos from her mind, she completed the tour with Talia and Cameron. When Talia suggested taking Cameron to the kitchen for a snack, Amelia was secretly pleased. She felt overwhelmed with what she’d done; the enormity of stranding herself on this island with a man like Santos Anastakos had her wanting to beg the helicopter pilot to fly her right back to the mainland airport.
But she didn’t.
Cameron’s face swam before her eyes and all her doubts left her. She was right to be here. He needed this of her.
* * *
As it turned out, her anxiety was somewhat misplaced. After Cameron had a snack, she watched Talia and him swim, then joined them in a game of Snakes and Ladders before finishing a few chapters of a book in her room. She read Cameron his bedtime story and sat with him as he fell asleep—he hadn’t asked her to but she’d sensed his sadness, understood that essential loneliness and wanted to comfort him as best she could.
She ate alone—the housekeeper Chloe had prepared some chicken and salad. Afterwards, Amelia took a cup of tea onto the terrace along with her book and curled her knees beneath her chin as she watched the sun set, the sky filling with a sensational mix of colours—purple, gold, orange, the beginning of berry-black. Despite all that she knew about the formation of the universe, and the metaphysics behind the sunset, she could never fail to be awed by the repetitive cosmic phenomenon, and particularly not when it took place over a seemingly limitless ocean.
It was dark by the time she’d finished her tea. She stood and moved into the kitchen, washed the cup and placed it on the side of the sink before filling a water glass to take to her bedroom. Carrying it and her book—a heavy hardback—she walked from the kitchen, her eyes flicking towards the night sky beyond on autopilot. The stars shone so brightly here, it made Amelia long for her telescope.
She wasn’t looking where she was going, and apparently neither was he, because a second later Amelia connected not with a wall or a door but with a solid shape that knocked her backward. Her water spilled all over Santos’s chest, covering his shirt in a spreading pool of liquid.
‘Oh!’ Her eyes dropped to his chest and couldn’t look away. The water made every sculpted delineation visible. His torso was ridged with abdominal muscles, just like the statues of Greek gods she’d studied as a girl.
‘I’m so sorry!’ The words stumbled from her mouth and she briefly risked a glance at his face, then wished she hadn’t. Fire seemed to arc from his eyes to hers, his perfectly shaped lips flattening into a line that could have represented disapproval, impatience or irritation. Far better to believe that than anything else.
She swallowed hard, trying to bring moisture back to her dry mouth.
‘Let me...’ She pressed her hand against his shirt, intending only to wipe away the water, but the same flames spiralled through her at the slight contact. ‘Get you a towel,’ she finished, spinning away from him quickly so she could retrieve something from the kitchen. Only she bumped into the edge of the kitchen door in her haste and embarrassment, and squawked awkwardly at the pain that flooded her.
Amelia closed her eyes on a wave of mortification.
Great. Just great.
‘Is there anything else you’d like to walk into?’ he asked and, heaven help her, Amelia had somehow managed to forget the deep huskiness of his voice, the sultry heat of his accent. It wrapped around her now, making thought and words impossible.
Amelia had begun speaking in full sentences at six months of age—apparently one of the first markers for an unusually high IQ—but in that moment she struggled to wrap her brain around a single word whatsoever.
She made do with firing him a terse smile then continued her trajectory—more carefully this time—into the kitchen, rifling through drawers until she found a tea towel. Spinning round to take it to Santos, she realised he’d followed her into the kitchen and was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt.
Good Lord. Her mouth was drier than the desert.
‘Oh.’ She stared at him. ‘You’re getting undressed.’
His grin was rich with amusement. ‘I’m removing a wet shirt. It’s not quite the same thing.’
‘Isn’t it?’ It sure felt the same. ‘I was just...going to bed.’ Oh, no! That sounded like an invitation! She furrowed her brow, shaking her head a little. What the heck was happening to her? ‘To read.’
‘Do you have everything you need?’
She lifted her book. ‘Yes.’
His smile was slow to spread but her reaction was instant. Her skin prickled all over with tiny darts of heat. ‘I meant in the house. Did Chloe show you where everything is?’
Amelia nodded. ‘Yes. She did.’ And then, with a small shake of her head, ‘Though not an office I can use.’
‘Would you like to see it now?’
Her chest tightened. She did—she wanted to start her work routine the next day, and knowing exactly where she could work from would be vital to that, but the naked chest of Santos Anastakos was almost too much to bear. ‘Would you like to get...erm...dressed first?’
‘Would you like me to get dressed first?’ He put the question back on her and somehow managed to make her feel like a child. Naïve and gauche. She shook her head and tried to look cool, as though she frequently spent time with half-naked, bronzed living replicas of sculpted Greek gods.
‘That’s fine.’ She shrugged with an assumed and not entirely credible air of nonchalance. ‘Which way?’
‘Did you want to refill your water glass first?’
Heat stained her cheeks. She shook her head—she could come back later. He took a step backward, allowing her space to precede him from the kitchen, and she skirted past him, ever so careful not to so much as brush his skin. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, though she was sure she caught the tail end of a smile on his face when she glanced up at him.
‘How was your flight?’
‘Fine.’ She lifted her shoulders. ‘It was my first time in a private jet.’
‘I thought it would be easier with Cameron.’
‘He travelled well.’ She fell into step beside him, feeling a little calmer as they moved onto safer conversational ground. ‘He was excited by the helicopter.’
Santos’s expression was distracted. ‘I thought he might be.’
‘Where do you work?’
‘I have an office here.’
‘On the island?’
‘Yes.’ He dipped his head forward. ‘Though I travel to Athens most days. We have headquarters there and I usually have meetings that require my personal attention.’
Amelia’s brow furrowed as she digested this. ‘So you won’t be here much?’
He fixed her with an enquiring gaze.
‘I mean long-term. With Cameron.’
Santos’s pace slowed to a stop. ‘You’re asking if I intend to neglect my son?’
Heat flowed in her cheeks. ‘I—’
‘You have a habit of seeing the worst in me, when it comes to him.’
‘Do I?’
‘You think I’ve moved him here and plan never to see him?’
‘If today is any indication.’
‘I work long hours.’ He expelled a breath so his nostrils flared. ‘Up until three months ago I had no idea I was a father. I am intending to make whatever changes are necessary to fit Cameron into my life but it will take time. Forgive me, Miss Ashford, for not having all the answers just yet.’
She felt a small shift of sympathy for him, but an even greater one for Cameron; after her own childhood she knew the facts Santos was failing to see. ‘So long as you love him, above anything and anyone else, you’ll work it out.’
The words seemed to lash Santos. He shifted a little, a physical reaction—a rejection?—and then began to walk once more, his stride longer this time, his face glowering.
‘This area is generally off-limits to my domestic staff.’ He didn’t look at her. ‘It will also be off-limits to Cameron and Talia. I work on sensitive projects. I require privacy and peace.’
Amelia’s stomach squeezed. He was changing the subject, but she didn’t want him to do that. She reached for his arm, ignoring the tingling wave that crashed through her at the small touch. ‘Santos?’
He stopped walking, turning to face her without meeting her eyes, his nostrils flaring as he expelled a deep breath.
‘You don’t agree with me?’
Now his eyes dragged to hers, slowly, something dark in their depths. ‘About...?’
But he understood. He was evading her question on purpose. ‘You don’t need to overthink things with Cameron. In time, and with an abundance of love, he’ll find his way to you.’
A muscle jerked low in his jaw. ‘And if I cannot give him those things?’
‘What do you mean?’ She lifted a brow, impatient for him to explain.
‘You think it’s so easy? You simply say “love the child” and it is done? A matter of months ago, I didn’t even know about him.’
Defence of Cameron raised her hackles. ‘So? That’s not his fault. You’re his father.’
‘Whatever that means.’ He spun round, walking once more, his stride long, not stopping until he reached an office door beside the one he’d indicated as his. ‘From time to time my assistant flies to the island to work with me—she uses this space. In her absence, consider it yours.’ It was a swift conversation change but she allowed it, seeing the futility in pushing him further at this point.
Amelia looked around the room—yet again, on a rather grand scale—and nodded. Two computer screens sat side by side on a large desk. Another desk, free of any clutter or technology, was set at a right angle to it, forming an L shape in which a comfortable looking black leather chair was anchored. A leather armchair sat across the room and the walls were lined with bookshelves.
‘I presume this will suffice?’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, noting the things it had and those it did not, while her mind analysed his throwaway comment ‘whatever that means’.
‘But it’s lacking something?’
Was she so transparent? ‘No, it will be fine.’
‘You’re easier to read than a book. What do you need?’
She bit down on her lower lip but promptly stopped when his gaze was drawn to the gesture, overheating her already frantic blood. ‘A whiteboard.’
He nodded crisply. ‘Of course. I suppose as a teacher you’re used to writing vertically.’
It took her a moment to connect her vocation with this work. ‘Right.’ She cleared her throat.
‘I’ll have Leo arrange one for you in the morning.’
‘I don’t want to put him to any trouble.’
‘It’s not a problem.’
‘Well, not for you,’ she pointed out, surprising them both with the joke. His smile was instinctive, but it died almost instantly. He stared at her for several moments and she felt as though he was choosing his words carefully.
‘What if I can’t love him?’
Amelia’s eyebrows shot up. ‘You’re serious?’
His features were like stone as he nodded once. ‘Nai.’
‘Oh, Santos.’ She was so swept up in his worry that it didn’t occur to her to use his surname. ‘You will. Not just because he’s your son, but because he’s an amazing little boy. Open yourself up to the possibility of loving him and it will happen without you realising it.’
‘Your confidence is naïve.’
She blinked, trying to remember the last time anyone had said anything even remotely approaching an aspersion cast on her intelligence.
‘I can only assume your own childhood was a picture of rosy parental doting, but that’s not the norm for many people. I am not close to my father. Nor is my brother. In my family, “love” is very far from how we do it. So how can you expect me to open myself to the possibility of loving him? How can I ever replace the mother he lost? I’m simply not built that way. Christos, I chose to not have children for this very reason, Amelia.’
She flinched a little, wanting to refute his assumption about her and his words about himself. Her childhood had been far from what he believed. But his own summation of his life and choices filled her with such sadness. His uncertainty was so unexpected that she was lost for words.
He spoke before she could, anyway.
‘Regardless, he is my son, and I will care for him to the best of my ability. I will raise him so that he wants for nothing it is within my power to provide. But do not expect miracles while you are here. Your concern is my son’s happiness, not his relationship with me.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AMELIA SLEPT FITFULLY and woke early. Santos had filled her dreams. He’d overtaken every single one of them, his words filling her with a strange heaviness.
She wasn’t sure why his confession had caught her off-guard. Because he seemed so confident, so ruthlessly capable of anything he set his mind to? Or because he’d echoed one of her own deeply held fears? Her parents had hardly given her a shining example of what family life should be like, yet deep down, despite that, she knew that the love between a child and parent was generally inviolable.
Santos would see that. He had to.
Throwing back the lightweight cover, she pushed out of bed and padded across the room to the enormous windows that overlooked the ocean. Waves tumbled towards the shore in the cool dawn light. There was no heat accompanying the sun—yet—though she knew it would come.
But for the moment, the view beyond the window was so tantalising she didn’t think twice. Pausing only to pull on a simple cotton dress and some sandals, she slipped out of her room, quietly moving through the enormous house that, at this early hour, seemed to be almost completely asleep. Which suited her perfectly.
She opened the glass doors just enough to slide between them, then almost ran towards the water. How long had it been since she’d swum in the sea? Years. Not since she was last in Cape Canaveral.
A smile lifted her lips as the tiled deck gave way to the cool sand, crunchy underfoot, and she could smell the tang of salt in the air. At the water’s edge she slowed but kept moving forward. The water was warmer than she’d expected and she walked up to her knees; then, chancing a look over her shoulder towards the house to reassure herself that she was completely alone, she tucked her dress into the elastic hips of her underpants and went deeper still. It was the most sublime feeling—she wished she’d taken a little longer to change into bathers. Tomorrow,
she’d know better. The idea of floating on her back as the waves rolled beneath her was almost too tempting.
With a small sigh, she began to walk parallel to the coastline, staying mid-thigh-depth, so each step required her to push through the water. The exercise felt good, the weight of the water a pleasant obstacle.
The coastline on the island was flat here, but only ten minutes or so later the sand gave way to small dunes that morphed into hills and finally cliff-faces, white with tufts of green sprouting through them. She eyed them with curiosity, wondering at the stones in their formation. Cliffs on islands like this tended to boast caves and naturally occurring dens. She wondered if there were any here. If she followed the water round, would she find a disused pirate sanctuary? The idea had her curiosity piqued and she walked on, further than she’d intended, until the wall of the cliff jutted out far enough to make further exploration impossible. She looked upward, the sheer size of the rock wall causing her to hold her breath a moment.
It would be impossible to explore without a swimming costume—and possibly without a boat. Putting it on the ‘another time’ list, she turned and began the walk back to the house, this time wading through water that was a little shallower, up to her calves.
The sun was just fully bursting into the sky by the time she reached a place in the water that was parallel with house. She stood for a moment with her back to the ocean, simply staring at the beautiful property. Had he built it? Or had his father? It was modern in style but it could still have been built anywhere from the fifties and refurbished over the years. While it was beautiful, it was isolated, and she wondered about that too. Did he feel lonely here? Or did he like that?
And why did she care? With a small groan, she began to move back towards the house, deciding coffee was in order. She scooped down to pick up her sandals from where she’d slipped out of them and carried them the rest of the way. On the terrace, she moved her feet back and forth, trying to get the sand off, before looking around for a tap.
‘It’s over there.’ His voice ran down her spine, seductive and warm, but despite that she shivered, an involuntary tremble that made her legs a little unsteady. She looked at Santos as he gestured towards a tap, only his eyes remained on her, tracing the outline of her legs that must have been visible beneath the flimsy fabric of her dress.
Hired by the Impossible Greek Page 5
