The Greek's Million-Dollar Baby Bargain

by Julia James

  ‘Uncle Nikki, when will Auntie Annie come back?’

  Ari’s plaintive question cut Nikos to the quick.

  ‘Not for a while,’ he answered. ‘But,’ he said, forcing his voice to lighten, ‘I’ve got nice news for you, Ari. Tina is going to come back to look after you. She’ll come across from Maxos every day in the launch. In the evenings Maria will put you to bed, and get you up in the morning, but all day you’ll have Tina.’

  ‘I want Auntie Annie too,’ said Ari dolefully.

  ‘Well, we can’t have her.’ Nikos’s voice was short.

  No, neither Ari nor he could have Ann any more.

  The familiar reaction kicked again, as it had done every time since he’d returned to Sospiris and faced up to the fact that Ann wasn’t there any more. The villa, despite the presence of Ari, his mother, her cousin and all the staff, felt deserted—echoingly empty.

  He wanted Ann there. Badly. He wanted her in the villa, just being there. He wanted her and he could not have her—and the knowledge kicked in him like a stubborn mule.

  Why? Why the hell had she not wanted to come back here? Why the hell had she not wanted to be with Ari? And why the hell had she not wanted to be with him? Emotion roiled in him, angry and resentful—and more than that, but he would not acknowledge it.

  Why had she walked out on him? Why?

  The question went round in his head, over and over again, as if there might be an answer. But there wasn’t one. How could there be?

  We were good together! Hell, we were more than good, we were—

  But his thoughts broke off, as if hitting a wall. A wall he didn’t want to think about. Instead his mind went back to brooding—resentful, unforgiving—at Ann Turner, who had come willingly, so willingly, to his bed, whose possession had filled him with a searing fulfilment the very memory of which kept him sleepless, and who had lain in his arms as if there was no other place she could ever be. Yet she had walked out on him. Just—gone.

  As if what we had was nothing to her. Nothing.

  His brow darkened.

  Why? Why had she done it? His face hardened. She’d said she loved Ari, but she’d been prepared to abandon him in tears. What kind of love was that? None. Ari clearly meant nothing to her.

  Nor do I.

  He felt the knife thrust again in his side. He tried to yank it out. Why should he care? He didn’t care.

  But even as he scored the words in his mind he knew them for the lie they were. He wanted Ann. He wanted her now, here—with him, with Ari, in his home, his life.

  And he didn’t have her.

  He went back to his resentful brooding, his face closed and dark.

  Work was all he could do, so he did it.

  After five days on Sospiris—knowing he was being like a bear with a sore head, and knowing that the fact that his mother had received his curtly uttered intelligence that Ann had returned to London with nothing more than a placid calm only, illogically, made his mood worsen—he decided to take himself off to Athens.

  His mother was just as placid and calm about his removal as she had been about Ann’s desertion. And it aggravated him just as much. At the doorway of the salon he turned abruptly.

  ‘I asked Ann to come and live here, to make her home here,’ he said, out of the blue. He paused. ‘She said no.’

  His mother’s eyebrows rose. ‘Did she?’

  ‘I thought she’d snap at it. Devoted to Ari as she is.’ His brow darkened. ‘As she claimed to be.’

  ‘Well, she has her own life to lead,’ Sophia Theakis replied tranquilly.

  ‘She could have led it here,’ her son retorted brusquely. ‘And I could have—’ He broke off.

  ‘Perhaps,’ his mother said gently, ‘you didn’t make your… request…sound sufficiently inviting?’

  Nikos glowered at her. ‘I told her it was the ideal solution. Ideal for her, and for Ari, and for m—’ He broke off yet again.

  His mother folded her hands into her lap. ‘Nikos, my darling.’ Her voice was different now. ‘It’s not something to undertake lightly. You must understand that. If Ann makes her home with us, here, not only does she have to give up her own life, but she has to think very carefully about what her life will be like here. We are not talking about a brief holiday—we are talking about years. Because the longer she is here, the more Ari would feel her loss if she were to leave again.’

  ‘She doesn’t have to leave again! She can just live here,’ Nikos said stubbornly.

  His mother looked at him. ‘As what, Nikos? My permanent house guest?’

  ‘No. As my—’ He broke off.

  For one long moment mother and son looked at each other. Then, his mouth pressed tightly, he spoke. ‘I know what I want of her,’ he said.

  She looked at him measuringly. ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. And it is not the assumption you are making!’

  The ghost of a smile played at Sophia Theakis’s lips. ‘But perhaps, my darling, I am not the only one making such assumptions?’

  His brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ he replied shortly.

  His mother gave a gentle sigh. ‘Think about it, my darling boy, on your way to Athens. Now, off you go—I’m sure you are keeping your pilot waiting.’

  He took his leave, brow still furrowed. What did his mother mean? That he was making assumptions? Assumptions that Ann would want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her? Angry resentment bit again. That was exactly the assumption he’d made. Of course he had! He’d had every reason to assume she shared his feelings!

  Because why wouldn’t she? He’d come to terms—belatedly, but finally—with the bitter circumstances surrounding Ari’s birth. And if he could not exonerate Carla Turner’s exploitation of Andreas, at least he could now pity her for what she had endured for her sister’s sake. As for Ann, he’d come to terms, too, with why she’d taken his money—and why he’d hated her for the power she’d had to deny him his brother’s child, then gone on hating her because he’d realised, when she’d come to Sospiris, that he desired the woman he had told himself he could only despise.

  But that was all in the past! He no longer needed to despise Ann—now he could desire her to his heart’s content. His face darkened again. Except she did not want his desire any more. She’d had enough. Taken what she’d wanted of him, enjoyed him, and gone.

  Why? That was the question, stark and unanswerable, that went round and round in his head, as remorseless as the pounding blades of the helicopter taking him back to Athens. Why?

  But it wasn’t until that evening—sitting at his desk in his apartment, catching up with his personal finances for something to occupy a mind that wanted only to brood on Ann Turner’s defection—that he got the answer to his question. And when he did, his fury with her knew no bounds.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT WAS RAINING. Ann stared out of the window at the heavy skies and the soaking rain coming down in rods. She should go and finish her packing, ready to leave London. She felt her heart clench. What would she give to be heading back to Sospiris? No, she mustn’t let her mind go there. Not in memory or in imagination or in anything at all. Nothing—nothing to do with anything about Sospiris, anything about Ari, and nothing at all, not an iota or a speck or a single mote, about Nikos Theakis.

  But it was hopeless—hopeless to tell herself that. She had no power to ban him from her mind any more than she’d had the power to resist him when he’d wanted her for his bed. The only strength she’d found was in leaving him, and that had taken all she had. But it had been in vain.

  The hammering at the door—demanding and peremptory—made her start. She got to her feet, making her way out of the room and along the narrow corridor to the front door—opening it.

  Nikos Theakis was there.

  Just as he had four long years ago he strode in, not waiting for an invitation. Ann could only stare, her heart pounding wildly, the blood leaping in her veins, her senses overcome with
shock—with far more than shock. She hurried after him into the living room. Why, why was he here? What did it mean?

  Hope—wild, insane—pierced her…

  And crashed and burned. He turned, eyes blazing. But not with desire. Not with the emotion she had for a brief, fragile moment so desperately hoped for. Instead, with an emotion she had once been only too familiar with.

  Loathing. Rage. Contempt.

  Words seared from his mouth, twisted in fury, and his eyes darkened with blackest anger.

  ‘You despicable little bitch!’

  Her breath caught audibly. Then her face contorted. ‘What?’ she demanded. Shock was slamming through her.

  ‘What?’ he echoed. ‘You dare—dare—to stand there and plead ignorance? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’

  ‘Find out what?’ Shock was still numbing her. And something quite different from shock. Something that made her whole body, her whole being quiveringly, shakingly aware of the tall, dark figure that was dominating the space, taking it over. Her eyes were drawn helplessly, hopelessly, to his planed face, its features stark with fury. Even consumed with anger as he was, she could feel her senses leap at the sight of him.

  ‘Don’t stand there looking ignorant and virtuous! Theos mou, to think I was taken in by you. To think I found excuses for you. Justified your actions. Forgave you! And all along—’

  Greek broke from him—ugly and harsh, withering her even though she understood not a word of it. He took two strides and was in front of her, hands curving over her shoulders like talons of steel.

  ‘How dare you target my mother? Go sleazing to her with whatever disgusting tale you’ve trotted out?’ His eyes were blazing—blazing with fury and an emotion that seared her to the spot. ‘To think I wondered why you walked out on me in Paris. I wondered what could be so wonderful about your life without me that you could just dump me—abandon the child you prattled about loving. And now I know. Now I know!’

  Breath razored from him. ‘Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’ He gave a harsh, vicious laugh. ‘Well, for your information I handle my mother’s personal finances! Everything about her bank accounts goes through me. So tell me—’ he shook her again, face black ‘—what lies did you spout to get her to part with so much money?’

  Ann’s eyes flashed fire. ‘It was a gift! And I never, never asked for it! I didn’t even know she’d given it until I got back here and found her cheque waiting for me in the post.’

  ‘Which you cashed.’ The words ground from him, enraged.

  ‘Of course I cashed it. Just like I cashed the cheque you gave me to go out to Sospiris. And the cheque you gave me for taking Ari from me.’

  ‘To fund your luxury lifestyle on other people’s money!’ His head twisted to take in the passport and travel documents on the table. ‘And now you are fully funded to go off travelling again.’ His hands dropped from her shoulders. ‘So where is it to be this time? The Caribbean? The Maldives? The South Seas? What expensive destination are you heading for this time around?’ Contempt dripped from his voice, lacing the anger beneath with savagery.

  Ann’s face set. ‘South Africa,’ she said.

  ‘South Africa?’ he echoed sneeringly. ‘Isn’t it the wrong time of year for there? Save it for the European winter—the Cape is very clement in December.’

  ‘I’m not going to the Cape. I’m going inland. Up-country.’

  ‘Ah—a safari!’ His voice was withering her.

  ‘No. I’m going back to work.’

  His eyes flashed like dark lightning. ‘Work? You wouldn’t know the meaning of the word. What kind of “work” do you intend to tell me that you do?’

  ‘I teach. I train teachers. And I look after children.’

  Derision etched his face. ‘As if I would believe that! With all the money you’ve extracted from my gullible mother you can live a life of ease for the next two years at least!’

  She shut her eyes. She’d had enough. Snapping open her eyes again, she shot back at him. ‘That money was not for me. Nor was the money you handed me to go to Sospiris—nor the money you gave me four years ago! I gave it away—all of it. To charity.’

  He stilled. Then, as she watched him, feeling her heart pumping in her chest, a laugh broke from him. She could only stare. It was a harsh, mocking laugh.

  ‘To charity? Theos, how you trot out your lies. Ann—’ his eyes skewered her ‘—no one, no one, gives away that kind of money. No one gives a million pounds to charity when they’re living in a squalid dump.’

  Her mouth thinned to a white line. Wordlessly, she yanked out a folder from under her travel documents, thrusting it at him.

  ‘Read that—read it! And don’t you dare tell me what I did or didn’t do with all that money!’

  He took it, the sneer still on his face, the savage anger still in his eyes. But as he opened the folder, stared at the contents, she saw them drain away, leaving his face blank, his expression empty. He stared down at what she had thrust at him. Stared at the colourful leaflet lying on top of the other papers. He said something in Greek. She didn’t know what it was, but she could hear the tone. Disbelieving. More than that. Shocked.

  His eyes lifted. Stared at her. There was nothing in them. Then, as if every word were costing him, he spoke.

  ‘You built an orphanage with the money?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The tips of his fingers were on the printed leaflet, which showed rows of dark, smiling children outside two substantial buildings, with a smaller one in between and one further on a little way away, all set amongst trees in a garden, with the hot African sun beating down and a white picket fence all around. Around the entrance to each of the two larger buildings was lettering in bright colours. His finger traced the lettering.

  ‘Andreas’ House. Carla’s House.’ There was no expression in his voice, none, as he read out the names.

  Nor in hers as she answered, ‘One house for the boys, one for the girls. And a schoolhouse in between. The other building is a clinic, because so many of the children there are AIDS orphans and carry HIV. They need medicine and treatment. It serves the local community as well. The money you gave stretched to all of that.’ She swallowed. ‘It’s where I went after I’d given up Ari. The charity I work for has more orphanages across southern Africa. There are so many children in need of care. The money your mother has so generously given can build another one, and run it too. She’s been wonderfully, wonderfully kind—’

  Her voice broke off. Nikos’ eyes were resting on her.

  ‘You told her? About the charity? Your involvement?’

  Ann bit her lip. ‘She asked me what I did and I told her. Why shouldn’t I have? But I never asked her for money, Nikos! I told you—I didn’t even know about this money until I got back to London. She wrote such a kind letter with the cheque—as kind as the one she wrote persuading me to give Ari up to her.’

  ‘I thought my money had persuaded you.’ There was something odd about his voice.

  She shook her head. ‘If I hadn’t known—because of your mother’s letter—how much Ari would be loved, cherished, how desperately she hoped he would help assuage the grief of losing your brother, I would never have willingly let go of Ari! But I was already working for the charity at its London office before Carla arrived, pregnant, and I was planning on going to work out in Africa anyway. Giving up Ari to your mother, giving your money to the charity, all seemed to fit together. And it helped me too—seeing those children there, orphans like Ari, but with no one to look after them. It…comforted me.’

  She met his eyes, but they were veiled, shuttered.

  ‘You told my mother—why didn’t you tell me?’ Again, there was something odd about his voice.

  She gave a sigh. ‘You didn’t ask, Nikos. And you’d been so foul to me, I didn’t see why I should try and justify myself to you. It’s just as well, isn’t it?’ She looked at him with the faintest trace of bitterness in her eyes. ‘You’d have just said I wa
s lying to you…’

  His mouth tightened, but not with anger.

  ‘In Paris you could have told me. When I told you I understood why you’d been so tempted to take the money.’

  ‘I was going to. But—’ she looked away and swallowed ‘—I got distracted.’

  ‘Not sufficiently distracted to stay with me when I asked you to.’ There was more than tightness in his voice. Then, abruptly, it changed. ‘But I had no right to ask you to stay with me. I can see that now. And I can see—’

  His voice broke off. A deep, ragged breath was inhaled. His eyes went down to the leaflet in his hand.

  ‘Andreas’ House, Carla’s House,’ he intoned again, his voice stranger than ever.

  ‘I asked for the houses to be called after your brother and my sister in their memory,’ said Ann quietly.

  His eyes lifted again, going to hers, and in them was an emotion she had never seen before.

  ‘I thought so ill of you for so long,’ he said slowly, as if the words were being prised from him. ‘And you have shamed me, Ann. Shamed me as I have never felt shame before.’ His face was heavy, stark. ‘I came here full of self-righteous rage at you, and now—’ He broke off again. His eyes went as if of their own accord to her passport. ‘When do you go back to Africa?’ His voice was blank, very neutral.

  She answered in the same tone. All she could manage, despite the tumult raging through her. Not because she had finally told Nikos where his money had gone, but because…because seeing him standing there, so close and yet an impossible, unbridgeable distance from her, was agony. Agony….

  ‘Tomorrow. I’d only come home on leave when I…when I saw you in that toy store. The charity was very understanding when I requested an extension to go to Sospiris. Besides—’ she took a breath ‘—they were getting a huge donation in exchange. Worth a lot more to them than a few weeks of my time!’ Her expression deepened. ‘It’s not so much extra helpers they need as funding. There’s a never-ending need—the situation is so bad in so many parts of the region, even in the countries that are politically stable, let alone those with civil war or repressive governments. We do what we can, take in as many children as we can, but there are always more. Some are injured from landmines, and of course as well as AIDS there are other terrible tropical diseases afflicting them, so…’