by Robyn Donald
But he’d said her mother had never figured in Chloe’s life.
Apart from bearing her and giving birth, Iona thought ironically. Whatever, she told herself severely as she tucked the child into bed for her afternoon nap, it was absolutely none of her business.
While Chloe slept Iona sat out on the terrace with the book she’d been reading for the past few days, exasperated when it no longer held her attention. She got up and walked over to the edge of the terrace and leant against the railing.
Up above, the glinting waters of the harbour clouds marched in ranks across a radiant sky. After Gavin had drowned she hadn’t been able to bear even looking at the sea; she’d deliberately chosen Tahiti for her holiday because the island location made it impossible for her to avoid the ocean. She’d forced herself to accept and overcome her fear.
It had worked, although not in the way she hoped. The bleak sense of responsibility for Gavin’s death had been overwhelmed by the haze of sensuality Luke had woven around her—a sensuality she’d welcomed, enjoyed, basked in…
Driven by restlessness, she turned away and paced around across the terrace. Whoever had designed this garden had created a rooftop paradise, its almost tropical lushness forming a background to a carefully tended magnolia that held breathtaking, opulently rosy goblets up to the sky.
Idly, she bent to sniff a gardenia flower, wondering what it would be like to be truly rich, one of those people whose deep pockets meant that money was the least of their concerns.
People about as far removed as they could be from Angie, who had three full-time workers to worry about as well as her children, and the ever-present burden of the debts her ex-husband had left behind when he’d skipped out of the country.
Angie had admitted last night that things were tough. How tough? Was she secretly hoping Iona might return to her previous career as a nursery teacher?
If so, surely she’d have said something?
Probably not. She and Angie had no other relatives but each other. Angie could be keeping her on from some sense of family duty.
Entirely unnecessary family duty! Iona made up her mind; she’d ask Angie directly, because she could always find a job in a nursery school or a daycare centre. It wouldn’t pay as well as working for Angie, but she’d manage.
Earlier she’d read Chloe one of the books she’d packed, delighted when the story sparked the child’s imagination. They’d acted it out, with Chloe suggesting embellishments, some outrageous, some affecting—like her suggestion that a baby brother be incorporated so the heroine would have someone to play with.
‘Would you like to keep that book for yourself?’ Iona had surprised herself by asking at lunchtime, when she’d noted that Chloe was reluctant to put the book down.
Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, adding conscientiously, ‘Yes, please, Miss Iona.’ She held it out. ‘Can you write in it?’
Touched, Iona said, ‘Of course I can.’ She fished out her pen and printed on the title page: ‘For Chloe, so she remembers a lovely day in Auckland. From Iona.’
But Chloe frowned when Iona read out the dedication. ‘You have to say ‘With love from,” she said.
Iona’s heart stilled a precarious second, then began to beat again. It would be very easy to become fond of this child.
She said, ‘Goodness, how could I have forgotten?’ And inscribed the extra words in the right place.
Chloe beamed. ‘I will be careful of it,’ she promised earnestly.
The book had gone to bed with her after another reading. Now, thinking of the pleasure the simple gift had given the child, Iona smiled, then turned as a voice from behind interrupted her thoughts.
‘I’m awake.’
And ready for the swim she’d been promised.
Chloe’s nanny had brought her up to be self-sufficient; she was already wearing a cute little two-piece, almost covered by a towel draped around her shoulders. A bright yellow cap dangled from one small hand.
Hiding a smile, Iona organised them both into the pool, relaxing a little when she discovered the child was like a small eel in the water. They splashed and played together until a cry of ‘Lukas!’ from Chloe whipped Iona’s head around.
Luke was striding through the glass doors and into the pool enclosure, tall and extremely sophisticated in that killer suit, the sun gleaming blue-black on his arrogantly poised head.
Iona’s spine melted and sharp darts of sensation shot through her. She knew what it was—desire, sweet and treacherous, hauntingly familiar…
Yet different now, deeper and more potent than the purely sensuous sensations he’d previously aroused. Somehow Luke’s obvious love for the child swimming at top speed towards him had worked a change in Iona’s response to him.
A dangerous change, she thought, nerves quivering as she stood up, only to sink back into the water. Her sleek one-piece clung to her like a second skin, tempting her to duck beneath the surface in a stupid, childish reflex.
Luke had seen her naked so often any novelty value had to be long gone, but she was relieved he wasn’t looking her way; in fact, she might just as well not have been there. His whole attention was focused on Chloe, and the smile he gave when he pulled his clamorous daughter out of the pool did something very odd to Iona’s heart.
He said something that lit up the little girl’s face then smiled and wrapped her wet body in the towel like a small, wriggly mummy before hugging her.
Only after he’d kissed her forehead did he look over her sleek black head towards Iona. Acutely and foolishly self-conscious, she stood again, feeling the water stream from her.
‘There is a problem,’ he told her, eyes on her face. Without waiting for an answer he said, ‘This meeting might not finish until late tonight. So you will stay until I come back.’
It was not a request.
‘Very well,’ Iona said, irked by his cool assumption that her time was his to command.
He set Chloe down and commanded, ‘Run off and get back into your clothes. I wish to talk to Miss Iona.’
Chloe raced off, obviously eager not to miss a single precious moment of his presence.
Luke said abruptly, ‘I presume your cousin can bring you clothes for an overnight stay.’
‘No, she’s busy today.’ And when she did get back home with her two tired boys Angie certainly wouldn’t want to be forced to collect clothes from across the city.
Eyes slightly narrowed, he said, ‘In that case I can organise for someone on my staff to fetch them.’
The thought of some unknown person going through her clothes revolted her. ‘No,’ she said definitely, and hauled herself out of the water to give herself time to collect her wits.
And also because for some reason she found it demeaning to be at his feet—below his feet in fact, so that he stood looking down at her like some medieval despot with authority over life and death.
Or the power to take whatever woman he desired.
Somewhere deep inside Iona those long-repressed sensations stirred again, tantalising and decadent.
Frowning, he agreed, ‘I suppose not. So what do you suggest?’
Reminding herself of Angie’s shaky financial situation, Iona bit back impetuous words. ‘I’ve brought a change of clothes,’ she told him. His brows lifted and she said wryly, ‘It’s a sensible precaution if you’re looking after children.’ And her underclothes would dry overnight.
He nodded. ‘Toothbrush? Toothpaste?’
‘I’ll use salt.’ And when he looked startled she added, ‘Or baking soda. It tastes vile but it does the job.’
His mouth twitched. ‘It sounds appalling, but fortunately there is no need for you to suffer. I’ve already organised with the concierge for you to order what you want.’
The slight shrug of her shoulders reminded her she was barefoot and revealing far too much wet skin. Her hair hung in sopping confusion around her face, and water dripped off the end of her nose.
So? she though
t defiantly. She didn’t—couldn’t—care what Luke was thinking while he watched her with burnished intent eyes, as opaque as gold.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and change.’
She turned away, only to be stopped in mid-stride by his crisp command. ‘A moment. Stay very still.’
Iona froze, aware of the tickling of some insect on her shoulder. ‘It is only a bee,’ Luke said, and flicked it off, then smoothed over her skin.
The brush of his fingers sent swift needles of pleasure through her before he pulled his hand away, leaving her oddly bereft.
She didn’t dare look at him, and no words would come past the lump in her throat until she’d stepped away and picked up her towel, wrapping it around her waist as though it were armour. ‘Poor thing. It must have fallen into the pool.’
‘Possibly. Or perhaps it thought you were another flower.’
A faint trace of cynicism in his tone made her bold enough to say, ‘In that case it’s got a very poor future, I’m afraid. I hope it didn’t go back into the water.’
His voice sounded cool and faintly speculative when he said, ‘It flew into one of the trees. You worry about a bee?’
‘They sound like summer. And I like honey. Thank you.’
His expression was unreadable. ‘It was nothing. Tonight you will sleep in the bedroom next to Chloe’s. She goes to bed at six-thirty, and usually sleeps without waking until about the same time the next morning.’
‘She sounds the perfect child,’ Iona said lightly, and headed towards the little pavilion where they’d left their towels and a change of clothes. She felt shaky and lightheaded, as though she’d been secretly starving for Luke’s touch, missing some essential part of her life without even realising it.
She had to get a grip. The pavilion beckoned like a small haven. She was almost there when Chloe came dashing out, her clothes pulled on anyhow. If Iona had been the child’s nanny she’d have caught and tidied her, but that could wait.
And so, she thought as she closed the door behind her, could Luke Michelakis.
When she emerged, fully dressed and a little more composed, father and daughter had gone inside. After a moment’s hesitation she followed the sound of voices to Chloe’s room; she hovered before the door, repressing a start when it opened unexpectedly.
‘Chloe’s in the shower,’ her father said. ‘She was shivering so I thought it wise. Come, I’ll show you your room.’
He strode past her and opened the door, standing aside so that she could see into the room. During her inspection of the penthouse she’d wondered who would sleep here. Clearly Chloe’s nanny shared the lifestyle of her employer.
She said, ‘It’s charming, thank you.’
‘I have to thank you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I am extremely grateful to you for staying with Chloe.’
How could a smile melt bones? It was totally unfair; Luke did not need his enormous wealth and position to win his reputation as a playboy. When he turned on the charm he was knee-weakeningly magnetic.
And seeing him with his daughter had added an extra depth to that stunning, sexy smile.
This is business, Iona thought bracingly, and so was that smile—a deliberate attempt to win her over. ‘It’s my job.’
‘I didn’t expect the discussions I’m involved in to last as long as they are, but politicians and their advisors cannot be hurried.’ Wide shoulders lifted in an unapologetic Mediterranean shrug. ‘Meals have been organised for you both. If you need anything at all, ask the concierge.’ He turned, then stopped to say, ‘I always ring Chloe to say goodnight to her, so expect a call soon after six.’
Arrogant he certainly was, but no one could doubt his love for his daughter. Iona’s heart expanded. ‘When I go to bed I’ll leave our doors open so I can hear her if she wakes.’
‘Thank you. There should be a baby monitor,’ he said, his tone tinged with exasperation. ‘I assume Neelie forgot to unpack it before she left. However, Chloe doesn’t wake at night unless she’s ill. And if that happens I wish to be told immediately.’
Iona nodded. ‘As well as being a nursery school teacher, I’ve had quite a bit of experience babysitting my cousin’s children, so I have a fairly good idea of the difference between just a sore tummy and something more serious.’
He smiled again, and Iona felt a languorous appreciation shimmer through every nerve in her body. ‘How very fortunate I am to rediscover you,’ he said softly.
Struggling to resist that compelling charm, Iona said coolly, ‘Good luck can come to the most unlikely people.’
Although Luke’s lashes drooped, his expression remained controlled. ‘Indeed it can. And a sensible person will always be grateful for what the gods offer without expecting any further favours.’ Switching subjects, he finished, ‘I hope to be back before midnight, but feel free to go to bed whenever you wish.’
‘I shall,’ she said sweetly, relieved to hear Chloe call from the bedroom. ‘I’ll go to her,’ she told him. ‘I’m sure you want to get away.’
Ignoring her, he strode back into his daughter’s room. After a moment’s hesitation Iona followed. He stooped to drop a kiss on his flushed, towel-draped daughter, tickled her until she collapsed into giggles, then gathered her hands in one of his own and pressed a kiss into one palm before straightening. Tall and commanding as he was, the combination of leashed male strength and tenderness touched Iona’s newly vulnerable heart.
Careful, she thought warily. This was a very temporary situation—Luke and Chloe would be gone within days and she’d be stupid to let herself become emotionally involved with either the man or his child.
To Chloe he said, ‘Soon we’ll be staying on the island and I shall not go to a meeting for at least seven sleeps. How does that sound?’
Judging by the radiance of her beam he’d offered his daughter a taste of paradise. Iona felt like an intruder in this picture of domestic felicity.
Innocently the child asked, ‘Can Miss Iona come too?’
‘Miss Iona is too busy here to take a holiday with us,’ Luke said smoothly, his gaze cool and dismissive as it travelled to Iona. ‘Besides, Neelie should be back by then.’
Well, that relegated her to her proper place, Iona thought on a foolish spurt of defiance. Substitute nursemaid—yet she’d loved being a nursery school teacher, so why should his words sting?
Because she was so stupidly, violently aware of him?
Iona followed Luke out into the hall, watching with some bemusement while he fitted a nightlight into an electric socket there. He kept startling her with small actions that seemed at odds with his intimidating character, but then, his daughter was clearly his Achilles’ heel.
Iona was smiling slightly at the Greek reference when he stood up. Lord, but he was big, she thought involuntarily. Big in every sense of the word—tall, broad-shouldered, lithely elegant, and with a presence that filled the place.
He turned and caught her watching him. Iona’s heart gave a nervous leap in her chest and a traitorous anticipation stabbed her with sweet heat.
The smoky gleam in his eyes was banished by a will far stronger than hers. Coolly he said, ‘If she wakes she likes to see a glow outside. We do a lot of travelling, and I think it helps her orient herself in a new place.’
‘I’ll make sure it’s left on when she goes to bed,’ Iona promised in her most professional tone.
Luke had barely gone when Angie rang. ‘How are things going?’ she enquired.
‘Fine,’ Iona said automatically.
‘Do you think your gorgeous alpha boss would approve of us—you and me—taking the little girl to the zoo tomorrow? It’s Children’s Day, and the forecast is for gorgeous weather; I’ve promised the boys we’ll check out the tiger babies and penguins.’
‘I doubt if he’ll say yes, but no harm in trying,’ Iona told her.
To be fair, a man with his position and power had reason to be cautious about his daughter’s security. Not in New Zealand, s
he thought, then frowned, because even New Zealand wasn’t necessarily safe.
Half an hour after Iona had put her cell phone down there was call from the concierge. ‘I have a parcel here for you,’ he said. ‘I’ll send it up with a porter.’
It came from a very exclusive shop, one that specialised in overseas labels, and was addressed to her.
Tense for no reason, Iona let Chloe open the bag. Inside, tenderly tucked into a sheet of pastel tissue paper, was a garment in a soft rose-beige that turned out to be a nightgown.
So Luke had ignored her—just gone ahead and organised this. Warily Iona eyed another smaller parcel in the bag.
‘Are you going to open that one too?’ Chloe asked eagerly when she made no attempt to do so.
‘You can if you like.’
Very carefully Chloe peeled back the seal and folded the paper away, first the wrapping, then the tissue beneath. Colour surged into Iona’s skin. As well as the exquisite nightgown Luke had bought her a bra and a pair of panties, lace-trimmed scraps of frivolity that deepened the blush on her cheeks.
A swift glance showed her that he’d judged her size perfectly. Iona bit her lip, feeling obscurely as though she’d been bought.
‘Oh, here’s a toothbrush,’ she said with relief. ‘And some toothpaste.’ With them were soap and moisturiser, cosmetics so expensive she suspected they’d cost more than her week’s salary.
Her stomach contracted. Of course she wouldn’t use them. Well, the toothpaste and brush would be fine, but the others smacked of some sort of pay-off.
For Tahiti? Surely not?
Of course not, she told herself robustly. That would be nastily petty, and the Luke she’d known wasn’t petty. OK, so she’d left him in Tahiti with no explanation, nothing more than the briefest of notes, and he’d probably been astonished—possibly even angry—but they had made no promises to each other, and there were plenty of women eager to warm his bed.
While she’d been his lover she’d met several of those women.
She looked down at the exquisite fripperies. It was silly to take the contents personally; Luke was a very rich man, accustomed to giving orders. He’d probably commanded some minion to buy and despatch these pretty things. As for getting the size right—well, he was the sort of man who noticed things.
