He had survived, strapped in his sturdy booster seat, while his parents lay lifeless and bloodied before him. He had cried and howled, and his mother had not responded. He had cried and howled but his daddy’s body was broken and lifeless. He had cried and he had screamed and he had begged for help, but it took hours for the rescue workers to secure the vehicle and cut him loose. Hours in which he stared upon the broken bodies of his most loved souls.
Mikey believed that a huge part of Andrew had died with them. His developing soul and spirit had been crushed by that accident. And it was her job to slowly help him come back to life.
She watched from beneath shuttered eyes as he drew another little scribble, then launched the texta across the room.
His face was crumpled, his eyes squeezed shut.
Mikey was trained not to react, and she didn’t react now. Calmly, she bent down and picked up the discarded pen. She passed it back to Andrew with a completely accepting smile. “How about a tree, Andy? Would you like to draw a big, green tree for me?”
The little boy shook his head, his eyes angry and accusing. In fact, they reminded her of another pair of eyes. A pair of eyes she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind in the three days since returning from Athens. She pushed thoughts of Loucas Aleksandros from her mind with effort, and focused on her small charge. “You’re tired, huh?”
He looked up at her, and his face relaxed.
“Okay, Andrew. That’s enough for today. You’ve done well.” She looked down at the scribbles. His drawings perfectly reflected his anger and confusion. Every one was angry. Tight little circles, made with dark colors. Having pressed the textas too firmly into the paper, the ink felt tips had all been pushed back into the plastic cylinders of the pen. He was so tightly wound he might pop.
“I have an idea, Andrew. How would you like to go outside and kick the ball with me?”
He didn’t smile. He rarely did; but he nodded, and it seemed as though the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. Mikey tousled his blonde hair and stood up. “Come on then, slow poke. We’ll do fifty kicks each. Then Nanny Paxton will get you ready for bed.”
She could tell by his scowl that the last part of her statement was not what he wanted, and she laughed. “Don’t you want to go to sleep?”
He was silent.
She reached down and took his small hand in hers, guiding him towards the enormous glass doors that led to the grassed courtyard. The villa was on the top of the island. Three edges overlooked the sparkling Aegean sea. One side of the property had a sloped garden which led to a path. Beyond it was a private stretch of beach, formed as a cove, and it was completely theirs to use. She and Andrew had become friends on the shores of that beach. She took a moment to admire the view, which surely surpassed anything else on Earth, then scooped up the soccer ball.
“Okay, Andy. I’ll make you a deal. If you can help me count out the kicks, you can stay up a bit later tonight. Let’s say, every number you count buys you an extra fifteen minutes. Deal?” She knew it was a reasonably safe bet to make. He hadn’t said a single word in the two months she’d been working with him.
He dropped his head and moved to the other side of the garden, assuming the position he had stood in every other time they’d played this game.
The late afternoon sun was beating down. Even at this hour, the heat of the Greek islands was relentless. At least a gentle coastal breeze was providing some occasional relief. Not enough, though. Mikey unbuttoned her cardigan and laid it down over the edge of a chair. Even though she had dressed in a simple cotton sundress, she still felt sticky and too warm.
She ignored her own personal discomfort and gave Andy an encouraging smile. “Here I go. First kick. Number one.”
With a gentle snub from her toe, the ball glided across the perfectly manicured lawn, and stopped at Andrew’s feet. He returned it with gusto, and now, the hint of a grin tipped his mouth. Mikey stopped it easily. She was the youngest of five children – the only girl in a tangle of noisy, athletic boys. She’d grown up kicking balls, and catching pitches. She was an effortless sport player, and loved being outdoors and mucking about. It made her the perfect speech pathologist to assist Andrew in his recovery, as he was never more communicative than when distracted by physical rough-housing.
Back and forth they sallied the ball, and with each kick, Mikey gently encouraged Andrew to count along with her. There was a fine line between encouraging and pressuring, and she knew she had to be careful not to push him further into his shell. Though he remained silent, she knew he would speak again one day. She just had to be patient.
As they approached the final few kicks, she saw his concentration waver, and he froze. Standing completely still on the edge of the garden, he looked like a small, frightened statue. Only there was emotion in his eyes. A dark emotion. One she hadn’t yet seen on his face. His eyes were trained on something behind her and she spun her head around to see what he was looking at with such passionate feeling.
Loucas Aleksandros stood, looking every bit as sexy as a model for a Ralph Lauren advertisement. His darkly tanned skin was on display today, in a pair of khaki shorts and a casual cream polo shirt. A pair of gold-rimmed Ray Bans were pushed up onto his head.
Mikey’s mouth went dry as she stared at him, open-mouthed. He was walking towards her and she had the strangest sensation she might actually faint.
Her pale hair was loose about her shoulders, and her cheeks were pink from the heat and exertion. Her eyes were enhanced by the blue of the ocean. As for the sundress she wore, while perfectly modest, it flattered her figure so much better than the outfit she’d worn to his office that he had to do a double take.
“What are you doing here?” She stammered, flickering her eyes back to Andrew. It was important to appear calm and in control for his sake. Dependability was something he was learning to have faith in again, and he depended on her to be emotionally predictable.
Andrew was still standing, as if frozen, beneath the tree.
“I came to see the boy. Is that not what you wanted?” His eyes flickered to Andrew. Mikey was right. He had so much of his mother in him. Unfortunately, he was mainly the spitting image of his father. Chad Washington. And it was difficult for Loucas to forget how much he had despised the American man.
“Of course,” she nodded, her throat thick, her movements jerky. “We were just finishing. Do you mind waiting?”
His brow furrowed. “Actually, I do. I don’t wait. Ever.”
She rolled her eyes and lowered her voice, so that only Loucas could hear her. “Of course you don’t. Because you’re a narcissist.” His eyes seemed to be laughing at her, but his face was expressionless. “But I am running a session and it’s important to finish. You may wait in the shade and watch if you’d like.”
He did like.
Since Mikey Jones had left his Athens office, he had become almost obsessively focused on her, and the words she’d thrown at him. He’d half hoped he’d imagined the degree of her sass and fire. He could see now that he hadn’t exaggerated a single point. She was spirited and she was like a lioness defending her cub, when it came to his nephew.
As they batted the ball back and forth, he had to remind himself that he’d come to spend time with Andrew. But it was difficult to stop staring at Mikey. How had he ever thought her plain? Admittedly her clothes and hair had been drab to the extreme, when first she’d appeared in his office. Now, she was so full of life and light that he could have watched her for hours. As Andrew kicked the ball and it went sailing overhead, she jumped up to catch it, and the floaty dress she wore rose with her arms, revealing her athletic, toned thighs. The ball continued to fly overhead, and Loucas moved forward, running across the grass to take it in his hands. He carried it back to Mikey.
“You missed.” He said, not ready to relinquish his hold on the ball.
Mikey’s response was predictably tart. “Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious.”
&n
bsp; His laugh was warm and rich. “Now who needs the lesson in manners?”
Mikey reached forward to take the ball but his grip was firm. “And you think you could teach me anything on that score?”
His eyes flickered with some indecipherable emotion. “I’d have fun trying,” he promised throatily.
Was he flirting with her? Impossible, she thought, with a small shake of her head. Men like Loucas Aleksandros moved in a completely different sphere to her. He was rich, he was gorgeous, and he was a bit of a bastard. No doubt he had lots of skinny supermodel types lining up to hang off his tanned, muscled arms. Yuck. That was certainly not for Mikey, even if he was sending her some kind of signal. She’d put money on the fact that he was just making fun of her. Teasing her. Well, she had four big brothers who’d teased her mercilessly, and she wasn’t going to be bothered by this man, now. She wrenched the ball from his hands and sent him a fulminating glare.
“As I said, you may wait in the shade.”
He laughed again, and Mikey felt cross. Cross with herself for rising to his bait.
“I thought you wanted me to spend time with the boy.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Andrew, is his name.” She flickered a gaze guiltily to the young boy she had come to adore. “And I do.” She was wrong to be keeping Loucas at arms’ length just because he drove her crazy. “Fine. Come on.”
Andrew’s eyes were wary as they approached. The young boy watched as Loucas crouched down on his haunches, an easy smile on his face. “Hello, Andrew.” It pained him to address the child in English rather than his native Greek, but the boy had lived in America all his life. He very much doubted if Helena had exposed him to his Mediterranean heritage at all
Andrew’s eyes were wary, and instinctively, he clung to Mikey’s leg. His small face nuzzled into the hem of her skirt. The look she gave Loucas was filled with reproach. “Andrew, you remember your uncle Loucas,” she prompted, aware that they’d met once before, when Andrew had first been spirited away to Greece. It had been in the dizzying first few days after the accident, and no doubt his tiny brain had been too shell-shocked to remember the details.
The small boy shook his head. Mikey couldn’t be sure if it was a spasmodic reaction, or a non-verbal response to her question, but either way, it felt like a victory of sorts. She lifted him up and held him on her hip, so that he was more easily able to see Loucas’s face. “Look, his eyes are just like yours, aren’t they?”
Andrew did look. Intently, he stared into Loucas’s face, scanning his eyes, and a flicker of emotion crossed his face.
Heartened, Mikey continued. “And look, his skin is just like yours.” She was so intent on getting through to Andrew that, without thinking, she reached out and touched Loucas’s arm, lifting it for Andrew to inspect. She ran her finger down the muscular forearm, admiring the even tan, and comparing it to Andrew’s almost identical shade of skin. Then, as if realizing with a bolt just what she was doing, she dropped Loucas’s arm, and lifted her eyes to his amused face. Her cheeks burned with shame as she forced an over-bright smile to her face. “Now, dear one. We have pushed your bedtime out as late as we can. Nanny Paxton will be cross with me if I don’t take you inside this minute.”
The little boy’s face fell, earning an unknowing smile from Loucas. “You remind me of myself as a child,” he said quietly. “I never wanted to go indoors, either. All this beach and wild, rugged land to explore, and my mother wanted me learning lessons, and clean for tea.” He grimaced, and winked conspiratorially. “Far more fun to scamper down the hills and go fishing from the shore, in my opinion.”
Andrew nuzzled into Mikey, but his face was bright, his eyes almost smiling. Mikey rewarded him with a big bright smile of her own. She wasn’t aware of the way Loucas was watching her. The way he watched her face transform as she showered Andrew with affection using expression alone.
Envy! He actually experienced a shard of jealousy towards the four year old. It was ridiculous. An emotion thoroughly unworthy of him, and he pushed it aside. What was it about this woman that seemed to infuriate and fascinate him in equal measure? She had verbally abused him in the most unimpressive way, and yet he remained singularly impressed; and drawn to her.
“Come on, little Master Washington. I’m sure Nanny Paxton will be watching the clock waiting for you to reappear, blaming me for your lateness.”
He waited until the small boy had been dispatched to the somewhat officious Nanny Paxton and then cornered Mikey. She was humming along to a Beatles song, doing something with a mixing bowl in the kitchen. He watched, fascinated, as she wiggled her hips, so that the summery dress she wore flicked and lifted a little, exposing another hint of her short, but perfectly curved, legs.
“Oh!” She exclaimed, startled when she turned around to remove cheese from the fridge, to find him leaning against the kitchen wall. His dark eyes had the ability to send shivers tingling along her spine. Despite the frantic palpitating of her heart, she feigned an air of disinterest. “You’re still here?”
He nodded. “As you see.”
She swallowed down the lump of awareness that had suddenly made breathing difficult.
“You know,” he said with a small flicker of a frown, “you’re rather beautiful when you’re nervous.”
Mikey rolled her eyes, but her mouth was dry. “Whatever.”
It was such an American expression that he couldn’t help laughing. “Okay, so you’re not one for flattery.”
“No.” She didn’t meet his eye. “And I’m not nervous.”
“No?”
“No,” she spoke more firmly than intended. “I just thought you’d be on your way back to Athens by now.”
He should have been. His helicopter was waiting on the other side of the island, his pilot no doubt cooling his heels, literally, in the calm shallow seas of the island. Why was he still here? He hadn’t been to Nisi Ourano since the boy had first arrived, and before that, it had been several months. Over time, the pull of the place had lessened for the man who’d grown up in the sand dunes and rugged cliffs of the small island off the coast of the Greek mainland. Athens, with its bright lights and frenetic pace, and never ending activity, was more his speed now.
“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” A smooth, American accent rolled into the kitchen. Different to Mikey’s soft, lilting Californian, this was a voice of the deep south. Cluttered with deep vowels and heavy consonants.
“Bobby.” Mikey’s smile was spontaneous and relaxed as she looked beyond Loucas. Curious, he half-turned to see who had interrupted them. ‘Bobby’ looked as his voice sounded. As though he’d rolled off the back of a horse, he was pure cowboy, right down to the torn jeans and dark blue singlet top he wore. Loucas’s eyes narrowed as he took in the way Bobby practically leered at Mikey. There was a definite familiarity there. A depth of feeling that he didn’t approve of. He told himself it was because they were both in his employ. His corporation was staffed by tens of thousands of individuals, and romantic liaisons were heavily discouraged. Productivity was never strong when interpersonal relationships were allowed to flourish in the work place.
“Have you met Mr. Aleksandros?” Mikey asked, nodding towards the still-reclining Loucas.
“No, ma’am. I haven’t had the pleasure. How d’you do?”
Loucas shook the hand that had been extended towards him, but his eyes remained trained on Mikey. “Fine.”
“I’m Robert Carlisle.” He didn’t see any recognition in the Greek’s face, so he expanded. “Andrew’s tutor?”
“You’re his tutor?” Loucas tried to remember the qualifications this man had boasted in order to be hired.
Mikey, grating cheese in the kitchen, looked over with a knowing expression. “I know he looks like he should be hoeing the fields, but Bobby’s a great teacher.”
There was pride in her pretty face. Loucas was certain he wasn’t imagining it. “I see.” His mouth was a grim line, his eyes giving nothing away.
“Shucks,” Bobby said, playing up his Southern accent. “She’s my biggest fan.” His tone was apologetic. “But my specialty is early childhood, and I’ve had some great success with helping little tikes like Andy recuperate.” He moved into the kitchen and picked up some grated cheese, piling it into his mouth.
Mikey slapped his hand away, a mock-serious pout on her lips. “Hey! Wait until dinner’s ready.”
“You’re cooking dinner?” Loucas queried, drawing a sharp look from Mikey.
“Yeah? What’s wrong with that? Don’t you think I can cook?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t thought about your culinary abilities, Mikey.”
Of course he hadn’t. She dropped her gaze. He probably hadn’t thought about her at all, except to wonder what had possessed him to hire such a harpy.
“The villa has a full time chef.” Loucas pushed away from the wall and came to stand opposite Mikey. Shoulder to shoulder with the American. Mikey couldn’t help but draw comparisons. One was the poster-child for American good looks; Bobby could have been the missing member of a boy band, with his blonde hair, symmetrical face and straight, white teeth. The other was a study in wild, untamed strength. Oh, he’d tried to tame it. He wore conservative clothes, and had his hair cropped short, but with every breath he took, Loucas Aleksandros emanated a completely elemental passion and vitality.
“Yes. And she’s very nice.” Mikey shrugged. “But we don’t like to put her out.”
The ‘we’ bothered him. It was another sign of familiarity. She had unconsciously coupled herself to Bobby. He didn’t like it. “Oh?”
Marrying Her Enemy & Stolen by the Desert King Page 34
