Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife

by Robyn Donald

  She wanted—oh, she wanted Luke…

  Couldn’t he sense she longed for him to sweep her off her feet, to banish every doubt and fear with passion, convince her with fierce lovemaking that she’d made the right decision?

  Instead he seemed determined to stay detached and practical. The splendid moulding of his face revealed no emotion; he looked at her with cool golden eyes, and all through the day he’d treated her with the sort of neutral, impersonal courtesy that forbade any emotional response.

  They could be entering on a business partnership, she thought dismally.

  Actually, that’s almost certainly how he saw it.

  Unless he too was wondering if he’d made the wrong decision—if tying himself to a woman he didn’t love would doom him to a life of barren emotions and sex.

  Somehow she knew he’d keep the promises he’d made to her, but here in lush Tahiti that knowledge was no consolation. She didn’t want him chained to her by his sense of honour.

  Coolly, he said, ‘I hope you’re not considering a change of mind, Iona.’

  Startled, she looked across the table to him. His relentless gaze roamed her face, and then he smiled, a humourless movement of his lips.

  ‘I thought as much,’ he said, and got to his feet.

  Eyes widening, she watched him stride around the table. Even in a casual shirt with a lavalava swathed around his narrow hips, he projected an air of effortless intimidation.

  A reckless hope surged through her, sweeping away common sense in a few wild, nerve-racking seconds.

  He said objectively, ‘It’s called pre-wedding nerves, and I have been best man at enough weddings to know that it affects both sexes.’

  How could he be so reasonable?

  Coming to a stop behind her, he rested his hands on her bare shoulders. Only a few moments before she’d been longing for him to touch her; now it was not enough. The sensation of those long, tanned fingers against her pale skin dried her mouth and smoked through her brain, rendering her almost witless.

  ‘It would have been better if we could have had a week or so by ourselves, so that we could get reacquainted,’ he said, still in that pleasant, level tone. ‘At least by marrying here we won’t be faced with a media circus. No one knows we are here, and even if they do they certainly won’t know our plans.’

  Iona blinked. ‘I doubt that very much,’ she said trying to match his level tone. ‘News travels very fast in the Pacific. By the time we’ve established residency I imagine everyone who’s interested will know exactly why we’re here.’

  The tension within her was spiralling out of control, but she managed to stay still, soaking up pleasure from his nearness and the steady warmth of his hands.

  Yearning softened her mouth, brought a flush to her skin. Surely he could feel it heating beneath his fingers?

  And then he said, ‘You must be tired. And I unfortunately have this—situation to deal with. So I shall say goodnight.’

  But before he moved away he stooped and brushed his lips across the nape of her neck. Every tiny invisible hair on her skin stood upright at that lightest of touches and she stopped breathing as a tide of delight filled her.

  Without volition she turned and lifted her face. Stonefaced, he looked down at her and she held her breath, and then he said in a harsh voice, ‘I cannot stay.’

  ‘I know.’

  Tension wound between them. His eyes kindled and he muttered, ‘You are too tempting, and I must go…’

  His mouth came down on hers in a kiss that ended far too soon. He lifted his head and put her from him, and without a backwards look strode from the room.

  It was little enough to dream on, that swift kiss, but it comforted her as much as it frustrated her.

  The next morning Luke was closeted with a telephone until after lunch. From her seat beneath the big tree that shaded the terrace, Iona looked up from her book. His face was drawn, the strong framework emphasised.

  ‘Everything all right?’ she asked tentatively.

  He shrugged, as though easing out kinks in his shoulders. ‘As far as it can be.’ He paused, then said, ‘A family matter.’

  She frowned. ‘I thought—I thought you had no contact with your family.’

  ‘That is so. A young cousin rang me—we have not met since I left home, but she was distraught and I was her last hope. Her parents have been trying to push her into a marriage she does not want—her father’s business is going under, and the groom-to-be is prepared to help. My father thinks it will be a good alliance, so she has no help there. To be fair to Aristo he has bailed them out several times before—my uncle is not a good businessman. So my cousin was reduced to calling on me.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  He gave a brief, mirthless smile. ‘It took a little time, but I managed to persuade her parents that saving the family business was not worth their daughter’s happiness.’

  Indignation burnt through her. This was the family who’d accepted his father’s version of events and cut him out of their lives. Without thinking she got up and went to him, putting a hand on his arm. Every muscle was flexed and taut. ‘In other words, you bailed them out?’

  He looked down with hard, unreadable eyes. ‘Of course. She was a charming child, and she has always wanted to become a doctor.’

  Iona said quietly, ‘They don’t deserve your help.’

  He smiled, and cupped a cheek with one hand, eyes warming as he looked down at her. Anticipation soared, but almost immediately he stepped back and said, ‘My uncle did not enjoy the conditions, but his desperate situation means he has no option. Enough of them—they are not important. It’s unlikely we’ll hear from them again. I have some unsettling news about our wedding.’

  A cold pool of foreboding opened up under Iona’s ribs. She said, ‘You’ve discovered that you haven’t quite divorced your fifth wife?’

  His brows shot up, followed by a shout of laughter. ‘I’m not so careless,’ he said dryly. ‘You need have no fear that any discarded woman will cast a shadow over our union. No, it is just that before we have our charming beach wedding we need to marry in a civil ceremony at the office of the local mayor, in what passes for the city hall here.’

  ‘Of course—Tahiti is a French territory. So why is that unsettling?’

  ‘Because the media are already gathering.’

  Frowning, Iona chewed at her lip.

  He said, ‘Don’t do that! It pains me to see you maltreating your soft mouth.’

  Thrilling at his hot, thick voice, she said, ‘You sound like my mother.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he said roughly, and the air between them was suddenly charged with an intensity that tightened every nerve in Iona’s body.

  ‘I’ll try to stop myself, but apparently it’s always been a habit of mine.’ Her voice emerged oddly off-key, and she went on hurriedly, ‘I’m not…I’ve never had to deal with the media.’

  ‘You will not deal with it,’ he said instantly. ‘I shall put out a press release as soon as we are married, but it wouldn’t surprise me if we have to run some sort of gauntlet. It seems word has somehow got out that my father is suing for custody.’ He ignored Iona’s shocked dismay. ‘Which means we will leave Chloe here when we go for that first ceremony; I will not have her worried by any questions. And the security will have to be increased.’

  Iona didn’t blame him for being thoroughly fed up; this new development, combined with the pressure of the family situation, was enough to erode the control of any man, even one as accustomed to pressure as Luke.

  She turned as he said something in Greek. Eyes narrowed, he was looking across the silken, empty sands of the beach to the aquamarine depths of the lagoon, placid and devoid of any activity except for a canoe edging in towards the beach.

  Following his gaze, Iona saw two men appear briefly from the coconut palms that bordered the sand. One spoke into some sort of communications device while the other strode down to meet the craft and the three men in
it.

  ‘Journalists?’ she ventured.

  ‘Probably,’ he returned austerely, switching his gaze to her face. ‘I will make sure this fuss affects you as little as possible, even if I have to blanket the island with security men.’

  A couple of expert swishes of the paddle from the oarsman in the canoe had it backing away from the beach, but Iona saw a man in a loud Hawaiian shirt lift a camera and take several shots of the house.

  The downside of power and privilege, she thought, the chill hollow beneath her ribs expanding. And this would be her life…

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Luke said crisply. He came towards her and took her hands, lifting them to his lips for a lingering second.

  His heavy-lidded eyes gleamed with a golden promise—a promise extinguished too soon when he said, ‘That should provide them with a photograph romantic enough to show we’re lovers.’

  Although the last thing Iona wanted was an embrace then, she had to fight a bitter spasm of disappointment when he released her.

  Almost offhandedly he said, ‘Most of the time the only media interested in me are reporters for the financial columns. If it weren’t for the custody case our wedding would have been the quiet affair we both want.’

  ‘Do you think your father released the information to the press?’ she asked, appalled.

  Thin-lipped, he said, ‘It seems likely. Forget about him. On my island in Greece we will have complete freedom; everyone has known me since I was born, and while they are interested, as everyone there is in all their neighbours, they would not dream of intruding—just as I would not intrude in their lives.’

  Iona wondered if his island, as he so tellingly described it, was the one place where he felt truly at home.

  She said, ‘I can cope with journalists, however intrusive, but I hope your heavies can keep them away from the beach ceremony. I’d hate Chloe to be frightened by any sort of media pack.’

  Luke said grimly, ‘My men will have it under control.’

  ‘That canoe got close enough a few minutes ago.’ When he lifted a brow at her, she said, ‘Ah—of course. They were allowed to.’

  ‘You see too much,’ he said, with a brief unamused smile. ‘No one else will get that close. And we may be overreacting. We are not film stars marrying for the third time, or royalty with jewels to display.’

  And I am a complete nobody, she thought wearily, then turned her head when he said, ‘Is that Chloe I hear?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ But she went to look, only to find her charge slumbering, cheeks flushed, her toy lion hugged to her chest.

  Wondering if he’d deliberately changed the subject, Iona turned to slip out again, but, as if realising that someone was watching her, Chloe woke, and smiled sleepily at her before holding out her arms.

  Iona’s heart expanded. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said softly, and went across to lift the small warm bundle from the bed. ‘Good sleep?’

  Chloe buried her face in Iona’s shoulder and snuggled, before yawning prodigiously and rubbing her eyes. ‘Can I have a drink?’ she asked, before adding seriously, ‘Please?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ And, because Chloe seemed perfectly content to stay in her arms, Iona carried her through to the kitchen.

  Halfway there she met Luke. ‘She is too heavy for you,’ he said, and took her from Iona’s arms, kissing Chloe’s cheek before he set her on her feet. ‘You must not let Iona carry you,’ he told her firmly. ‘You are a big girl now, and Iona is not strong enough. See, she is slim like a princess.’

  Chloe nodded, but when her mouth trembled Iona interposed, ‘Truly, carrying you for short distances won’t hurt me at all.’

  Luke straightened. ‘For short distances only,’ he said sternly, adding, ‘And Chloe must jump.’ He smiled down at his daughter. ‘Let’s show Iona how we lift you up. One, two, three, jump!’

  Chloe leapt into the air, was caught by his strong arms, and laughed joyously, holding her face up to be kissed again. Iona watched them with something like envy. Whatever happened she’d never regret adding to this child’s security. She already loved her, and to take her away from Luke would cause him as much pain as it would the child.

  Chapter Ten

  THAT evening before dinner Iona changed into a pair of soft aqua trousers, topping them with a camisole the same colour. After a moment’s frowning pause in front of the mirror she shook her head.

  Nobody could call the camisole tight, but the fabric clung to every soft curve. It was stupid, but she felt self-conscious. She pulled on a floaty polyester tunic in mingled shades of blue and green and critically inspected her reflection again.

  ‘Yes,’ she said aloud. She loved that tunic, because it gave her skin a glow and turned her eyes into deep pools the same turquoise as the lagoon.

  Of course, she thought with a hint of wistful irony, Luke was accustomed to women who wore designer clothes in exquisite fabrics.

  She slid her feet into cork-soled green sandals that gave her an extra inch or so of height, and set her shoulders. Two-year-old chainstore clothes or not, if she wanted to eat she had to leave her room.

  The meal was served outside on the long terrace, romantically lit by candles. The food was superb, but afterwards Iona couldn’t remember it, only the conversation—she remembered every word of that.

  And the way the candlelight flickered on Luke’s dark, arrogant features, playing over the angles and planes so that sometimes he looked like an avenging Zeus, sometimes like a magnificent Apollo, sometimes distant, periodically amused.

  And always stimulating—in every sense of the word, she thought wildly, thoughts zooming randomly around her head as her body responded to his vital male physicality.

  ‘Chloe tells me she has the prettiest dress in the whole world,’ he said. ‘I did suggest she model it for me, but she said I wasn’t allowed to see it until the wedding.’

  Iona laughed softly. ‘She loves it. And she’s looking forward so much to Angie’s arrival with the boys. I had to explain to her how Angie and I are related.’

  ‘She will enjoy having cousins,’ he said calmly, but his eyes had turned cold. ‘When my father decided to disinherit me, he made it very clear to both my mother’s family and his that anyone who so much as recognised me in the street from then on would immediately suffer the same fate.’

  Scandalised anew, she said, ‘I don’t understand how they could do that—believe the lies and turn their backs on you.’

  The chill in his eyes was intensified by a flash of bitter amusement. ‘It was convenient for them to do so. At that time he was the one with the power and the money.’

  Iona said indignantly, ‘And apart from your desperate cousin no one has made any effort to get in touch with you since then?’

  He laughed, a cynical sound that lifted the hairs on her neck. ‘Some have made approaches.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I ignored them,’ he told her crisply. ‘I do not subscribe to the notion of revenge, but I learn—and learn well—each lesson that comes along in my life. I trust only those who earn my trust.’

  ‘Or those whose CVs convince your security men that they’re decent citizens,’ she teased.

  His smile returned, the humour plain. ‘I can see that will be cast up at me for ever,’ he said with mock resignation. ‘Perhaps I have something that will help you forgive me.’

  She leaned back in her chair as he got to his feet, and watched him walk away, his effortless masculine grace and power working its usual response in her.

  What now?

  He went into the house, emerging a few seconds later with a small parcel in his hand. Iona eyed it apprehensively, and that smile curved his lips again.

  ‘It is quite harmless,’ he said, and handed it to her. ‘Consider it a wedding gift.’

  She took it, but a thought caused her to lift a dismayed face to him. ‘I haven’t got you anything,’ she said, appalled.

  ‘You have,’ he said calmly, golden
eyes warming. ‘You are giving me yourself—that is all I want.’

  If only he wanted her for herself, not for her usefulness…Iona bent her head to the parcel, fumbling to undo it.

  It contained a jeweller’s case, sleek and expensively branded in gold. Iona didn’t dare look at him; her fingers trembled as she opened it.

  A sighing gasp escaped her lips. Inside were pearls, exquisitely matched, perfectly graded, their soft silvery-white sheen draping across her fingers like sensuous drops of moonlight. They made a necklace, and beneath them hung a pendant, a heart-shaped pearl framed in diamonds and platinum.

  She said quietly, ‘Thank you. It’s utterly exquisite.’

  ‘Would you like me to help you put it on?’ And when she hesitated he said dryly, ‘Perhaps not.’

  Iona hesitated only a moment before making up her mind. The hunger that gnawed constantly at her had become a driven thing, demanding, insistent, compelling. In silent answer she handed him the pearls and slid the tunic over her head, dropping it over the back of her chair to stand before him in the camisole and trousers.

  His eyes kindled, and that involuntary reaction gave her the courage to say, ‘Perhaps you could fasten it for me.’

  Her voice sounded oddly throaty. Swept by an unexpected attack of shyness, she turned around and presented the tender nape of her neck to him, her breath catching in her throat while she waited for what seemed an eternity.

  But it probably only took a few seconds before she felt the silky glide of the gems from the sea against her skin and heard him say, ‘So, turn around and let me see.’

  She turned, half hiding her eyes with her lashes.

  In a voice that sent little shivers of anticipation through her he murmured, ‘Ah, I thought that skin like yours, delicate and translucent, would match the pearls for beauty.’