His Mistress for a Million

by Trish Morey

  ‘I didn’t come for the hotel.’

  ‘No?’ She clutched the rounded stairway newel like a safe haven. If she hung onto that, surely her legs would keep working. Although maybe she should be more worried about her heart. Right now it felt so big it was a wonder it didn’t spill right out of her mouth. ‘Then what are you doing here?’

  ‘I came here to see you.’

  There was no way her legs were going to get her down those stairs, not with the way he was looking at her now.

  ‘And what if I don’t want to see you?’

  The noise from the bar next door was almost overwhelming as the customers spilt back into the cool interior, one topic of conversation and conjecture clearly discernible amongst the shouts and laughter.

  ‘We need to talk. Not here. Somewhere private. Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll explain.’

  ‘Mr Xenides, I presume?’

  Daphne Cooper, the manager’s wife, primped her hair and giggled like a schoolgirl as she spun the register around to face him. ‘If you’d just sign here, please. And if you need somewhere private,’ she continued with a wink in Cleo’s direction, ‘I can serve dinner for two in the honeymoon suite?’

  ‘I would appreciate that very much,’ she heard him say before Daphne’s answering giggle, and Cleo took advantage of the interruption to flee.

  She slammed her door, grabbed her bathroom gear and escaped to there before he would have a chance to follow her. Why was Andreas here? Why now, when he hadn’t bothered to contact her in all the days since she’d fled Santorini and she’d made a start at a new life and forgetting…?

  Who was she trying to kid? she asked herself, when she stepped under the shower. She would never forget those perfect few days and nights in paradise.

  There was a card under her door when she returned.

  Join me for dinner, it simply said, with a time and a room number. The honeymoon suite. What a joke. For a moment she was tempted to send a note back, telling him what he could well and truly do with his kind invitation, before sense got the better of her.

  Why shouldn’t she listen to what he had to say, the excuses he had to offer? Why shouldn’t she hear him out? And then she could tell him exactly what she thought of him and tell him to get the hell out of her life once and for all.

  She refused to hang around the hotel wondering what he was doing all afternoon, so instead she hitched a ride out to the homestead to see her mum, thinking that helping her with the washing or just sorting out the twins would distract her for a few hours. Nanna was there too, full of baby stories that made her laugh and made her almost forget the queasy feeling inside. She didn’t tell them about Andreas. She didn’t want to hear Nanna’s take on the bright side. Because there wasn’t one. Not this time. There couldn’t be, except that soon he would be gone.

  Her stepfather, Jack, wandered in for afternoon tea around four, his khaki work clothes dusty, his hair plastered to his scalp where his hat had been stuck all day. ‘G’day all,’ he said as he plonked his big frame down on a chair, and as Cleo’s mum fussed with getting more tea and cutting slabs of cake. ‘Bit of a commotion down at the pub. This mate of yours, Cleo, what’s he doin’ here?’

  Her mother and nanna swivelled their heads simultaneously, their voices in chorus. ‘What mate?’

  ‘This rich bloke, from Greece, they reckon. Come to see our Cleo.’

  Her head swung around to look at Jack. ‘Our Cleo’? Where had that come from?

  But everyone else was apparently more interested in the rich bloke. Questions fired at her from all sides. They’d known it had all gone wrong with Kurt, but this job she’d had in Santorini she’d said precious little about. What was her former boss suddenly doing here? And why?

  She fended them off the best she could. After all, she didn’t know the answers herself. But she promised she’d let them know. First thing tomorrow when she came out on her day off. By then he’d be no doubt long gone and might cease to be a topic of conversation.

  Her stepfather offered to run her back into town, another surprise. But the biggest surprise was when he pulled up outside the hotel. She was halfway out the door when a big beefy hand landed on her arm. She jumped and swung her head around. Her stepfather’s face looked pained, preferring to study the steering wheel than look at her. ‘Cleo, one thing. Close the door, love.’ He suddenly nodded towards the line of men sitting outside on the verandah, sipping their beers. ‘There’s a pack of vultures out there waiting for any hint of gossip to brighten up their sad lives.’

  She pulled her leg back in and closed the door and he resumed his scrutiny of the steering wheel, crossing both his wrists at the top.

  ‘I know we’ve never been close. I know I’ve never made you feel welcome. And I should have. Because you’re family. I was glad when you came back. Your mum was beside herself with worry and…’ He sighed. ‘Well, it was just good to know you were home, safe and sound. And I just want you to know that if this bloke tries to take advantage of you, or tries to hurt you, I’ll wipe the bloody floor with him myself.’ He swung his head around. ‘Understood?’

  She’d never known Jack to make such a long speech. She’d never known him to more than grunt in acknowledgement, and here he was, letting her know he’d defend her. As part of his family.

  She flung her arms around his beefy neck and hugged him. ‘Thank you.’ And then, because she was as embarrassed as he was, and close to tears, she flung open the door and was gone before either of them could say goodbye.

  She dressed carefully, or as carefully as she could given her now limited wardrobe. A wraparound skirt and vest top with mid-height sandals were the best she could do, although she could still use the make-up she’d been given in London to make the most of her eyes. She wasn’t interested in seducing him, she told herself as she applied mascara. She just wanted him to see that she was surviving, and surviving well.

  And then she was ready. She took one last look at herself, took a gulp of air and headed upstairs.

  He was waiting for her knock, opening the door and standing there, all Greek god and potent male, so potent that the words almost dried in her throat and would have, but that there were questions she needed answers to. ‘What are you doing here, Andreas? What is it that you want?’

  He looked at her hungrily, as if she were the meal. ‘Dinner is served,’ he said, fuelling the feeling, and despite the desperate logical waves from her brain that told her to cling to her anger, to hold onto her hatred of what he’d done, her body hummed with his proximity as she let him usher her inside.

  The door closed with a snick behind her, the table laden with dishes awaiting. The steaming dishes could have smelt good, the cooking here was renowned as the best country cooking could offer, but right now her senses were full of the scent of him, and nothing incited her appetite more. Oh, no. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t do this!

  She turned suddenly, ‘Andreas, I—’, and was surprised to find him so close behind her that they almost collided. He reached out and steadied her with his hands at her shoulders, warm and strong, and the feeling was so intoxicating, so real after the memories she’d been hanging onto, that she forgot what it was she wanted to say. She felt the tremor move within him then as he exhaled, as if she wasn’t the only one fighting their demons. But that was crazy. What demons could possibly plague Andreas?

  Unless he felt guilty about seeing a woman while his child grew within another.

  ‘Come,’ he said at last. ‘Sit.’ And so she did, watching him pour them both wine, knowing she dared not touch it for fear of losing her resolve. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Andreas. Can we please cut to the chase? What are you doing here?’

  He took a deep breath, and placed an envelope before her plate. ‘You left without this.’

  With trembling hands she picked up the envelope and pulled the paper from inside. A cheque. For five hundred thousand pounds. ‘You left without your money.’

  She
stared at the cheque feeling sick. So that was what this was about. Mr Businessman handling the money aspect, ensuring all the i’s were dotted, all the t’s crossed. Of course. Strange, though, when he could have just posted it. Although then she would never have had the opportunity to do this…

  She slipped it back in the envelope and pressed the flap down with her thumb, her eyes not leaving his. His mouth was halfway to a smile, as if he was expecting her to pocket it, which in turn made her smile. And then, over a snowy china plate, she ripped the envelope in half, and tore those two pieces into half again, over and over, until the tiny fragments fluttered to her plate. And then she stood. ‘I don’t want your money. So if that’s all?’

  He was on his feet, blocking her exit, ‘What the hell is wrong with you? We had a deal. The money’s yours. You earned it.’

  ‘No. I didn’t. I left before the contract term expired. Besides which, even if I had stayed, I wouldn’t want your money anyway. I don’t want anything of yours, don’t you understand that?’

  His features looked strained, the flesh across his cheekbones drawn tight. Clearly a man unused to not getting his own way. ‘I pay my debts, Cleo. We had a contract and I—’

  She wanted to scream, suddenly grateful for the foresight Daphne had had to organise dinner for them here in a private room as opposed the dining room, where this discussion would have provided gossip for the next decade at least. ‘I will not take your money! You will not reduce those days I spent with you, making me feel like some overpriced whore!’

  It was Andreas’ turn to stand. ‘I never thought of you like that!’

  ‘No? But Petra did. She found the contract in your suite and made it clear that’s what I was. Remember Petra,’ she charged, ‘the mother of your child?’

  ‘You don’t have to remind me about Petra,’ he said, his teeth clenched. ‘Petra was the woman who took you away from me.’

  How could he be so blind? How could he avoid the truth that had sent her away? The truth that meant he shouldn’t be here with her now or ever, whatever the reason. ‘She never took me away from you. You did that all by yourself, when you got her pregnant and used me as some kind of human shield. How do you think that made me feel? Knowing that all the time I was in your bed, your previous lover was already carrying your child!’

  ‘She was never my lover and she was never carrying my child!’

  Cleo felt the wind knocked out of her sails. ‘She what? But she was pregnant. She told me…And she said you were paying me to humiliate her…’

  His hand raked through his hair; the other rubbed his neck. ‘We had sex. Once. It was a mistake and I told her. But she knew my mother wanted grandchildren, and that she’d had a cancer scare and was worried I’d never get around to it. She admitted as much to Petra, who decided she’d have to bring out the big guns if she was going to get rid of you and clear the way for her. She faked the pregnancy to trap me.’

  ‘But she was sick, dizzy…’

  ‘All of it put on. All of it designed to make everyone believe it was true.’

  It was too much to take in. Too much to accept. And there was still so much that didn’t make sense.

  And yet hadn’t Petra said the very same thing—that Andreas’ mother wanted grandchildren? And hadn’t Cleo remembered his unexpected response when she’d informed him her period had arrived?

  She swallowed. ‘Is that why you’re back here? Because you need a child and you think I’ll provide it for you?’

  ‘What? Cleo, what are you saying?’

  ‘You wanted me to be pregnant, didn’t you? You seemed strangely disappointed that I wasn’t. That was right after visiting your mother, wasn’t it? She told you then that she wanted grandchildren.’

  He took a step closer, knowing the bridge between them was much longer and way more fragile than he’d realised. ‘Cleo—’

  ‘And then you asked me to stay longer, offered to pay me more. Why do that if you weren’t going to try and get me pregnant?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that.’ Except he knew that it was. Hadn’t that been his exact plan? Keep her longer, get her with child. Make his mother happy.

  ‘And then you discover Petra was faking it and you turn up on my doorstep.’

  ‘No! I’ll admit—’ He spun away, troubling his hair again with his fingers, raking his scalp with his nails until he flung himself back, his arms slashing through the air. ‘Yes, I’ll admit I was hoping, that it seemed like an easy option. I’ll admit that I wanted you to stay because I thought you might fall pregnant. But that’s not why I’m here now. I didn’t come for a child, Cleo, I came for you.’

  Her chin kicked up, her blue eyes liquid and shimmering in the rays from the sun setting outside the window. ‘And you expect me to believe that?’

  ‘Cleo, I know I don’t deserve your trust. I know I’m the last person to deserve that. But on that flight to London when I’d left you behind, I learned something. That I wanted you. That I wanted to marry you. And so I turned the plane around and came home.’

  Her face was paler now, her fingers clawed around the back of her chair. ‘Isn’t it the same thing? Why decide to marry me, unless it was to keep me around longer and increase your chances of having a child?’

  His features were tight, his jaw line growing even tighter before he conceded in a nod. ‘Okay, that’s what crossed my mind—initially—and no, I’m not proud of it. And then I got home and learned you’d already left and was about to follow you and bring you back, except there was Petra saying she was pregnant and I knew I had no choice but to let you go.’

  He held out his long-fingered hands in supplication. ‘Do you have any idea how that feels? To bow to responsibility when it feels wrong and when your heart wants something different, even if it doesn’t understand why?’

  She swallowed again and he followed the movement in her throat and down to where she crossed her arms under the breasts he’d missed so much, but not just because of their perfection, he’d learned, but because of the woman he missed more.

  ‘So tell me, Mr Businessman, what is it that your heart wants?’

  He took a deep breath. ‘You once said you loved me.’

  ‘A figure of speech—’

  ‘So you said. I promise you, at the risk of thoroughly humiliating myself here, my declaration won’t be.’ He watched her perfect blue eyes, saw the questions, the suspicion and maybe, maybe, just a flicker of hope to mirror his own. ‘I love you,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know when it happened, or how, or why it took me so long to realise that that was the reason I couldn’t let you go, that you had to stay. And you will probably never forgive me for the way I treated you and for being so blind for so long, but I pray you will, because I love you, Cleo, and I had to come and ask you, beg you if necessary, if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.’

  Time stood still. There was the odd shout from the verandah downstairs, the odd drift of laughter through the French doors and outwardly her world hadn’t changed. But inside it was as if someone had taken the pieces of her world and rearranged them and everything was suddenly new and unfamiliar.

  ‘Cleo, for God’s sake, say something.’

  And she blinked to find Andreas still there, not a dream, not some wild imaginings of a woman who’d been too long in the sun.

  ‘Me? You love me?’ Cleo, the high-school dropout. Cleo, the cleaner, who would never amount to anything. A bubble of hope burst from her heart. ‘You want to marry me?’

  And she must have looked so shaky that he snatched her in his arms and held her so close that she could feel his heart thudding powerfully in his chest, but still she couldn’t quite trust him. ‘And babies, then. I guess you want babies.’

  And he stilled for a moment and held her away from him with his big broad hands until he could see her face. ‘Right now, all I want is you. I love you, Cleo. And if a child never happens, so be it, my mother will have to deal with it. Because it’s you that I want, nothing more. ‘
>
  Her eyes swam with tears, happy tears, as she looked up into his perfect face. ‘I guess you’ve got me, then, Andreas.’

  His dark eyes still looked uncertain. ‘Is that a yes?’

  And she flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. ‘Yes!’ she cried. ‘Because I love you, Andreas, I love you so much!’

  And he kissed her and swung her into his arms and carried her, the meal laid out for them forgotten, to the soft embrace of the queen-sized bed.

  Later, much later, when the passion of their reunion had temporarily abated, they stirred. ‘There’s something else I brought you,’ he whispered, nuzzling her cheek, before disappearing for a moment to withdraw a small package from his jacket. He didn’t hand the box to her; instead he snapped on her bedside light before holding the pendant up before her. She loved it immediately, the geometric Greek pattern in gold surrounding a circle of amazing blue gemstone that looked as if it were on fire.

  ‘I bought this in Fira,’ he said as he clipped the chain around her neck, ‘but I never had a chance to give it to you. But I think it signifies everything about us. For this,’ he said, tracing one finger around the gold border where it lay on her chest, ‘is the Greek, while the core, the inner beauty is an Australian opal, that shows, like your eyes, every colour of the sea and sky.’

  ‘It’s so beautiful,’ she said, lifting and cradling the pendant in her hands so she could study its colour and depth.

  ‘It’s you and me,’ he said. ‘The Greek and the Australian, together.’

  And they kissed and held each other tight.

  ‘There’s one thing I still don’t understand,’ she murmured a little while later as she nestled against him.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘You said you turned the plane around. Didn’t you go to London? I thought you had to go or you could lose the hotel deal.’

  His fingers stilled momentarily in her hair, and she nestled closer, allowing her own hand to explore the perfection of his chest, the feel of his satin skin, the wiry dusting of dark hair that coiled around her fingers, the nub of a masculine nipple. ‘It was important, as you say. But suddenly the hotel didn’t seem to matter any more. And neither did getting even with Darius—or Demetrius, as you knew him.’