by Anne Mather
This was getting more and more complicated and Helen strove desperately for a lifeline. ‘You must love coming here,’ she said, gesturing at the view. ‘Who looks after the garden? Your mother?’
‘Hardly.’ Rhea giggled a little at that. ‘If you ever meet my mother you’ll understand how unlikely that scenario is. Athene is an ornament, not a worker. She considers giving my father five children was quite enough.’
Helen managed a polite smile and she was relieved when Rhea went on in a different vein. ‘But, yes, I do love coming here. It’s so much more appealing than the college apartment I share with a girlfriend in Athens.’
‘Oh, but surely you could—’
Helen broke off and Rhea finished the sentence for her. ‘Live at home?’ she queried. ‘Well, yes, I could. But I wanted to be independent. To prove I could—what do you say?—hack it, ne, with my fellow students? Unfortunately Papa was right. I would have been more comfortable living with them.’
‘So you come here when you can?’ Helen breathed a little more easily. ‘I don’t blame you. It’s very beautiful.’
‘You like it?’ Rhea stared at her and Helen could almost see the cogs of her brain turning.
‘Very much,’ she said.
Rhea frowned. ‘Melissa must just have been a baby when you met Milos,’ she said, returning to her previous theme, and Helen suppressed a groan.
‘I—suppose she must have been,’ she said, hating the lie, but unable to do anything about it. She got determinedly to her feet. ‘I really think we ought to be going now.’
Rhea squinted in the sunlight as she looked up at her. ‘I’ve embarrassed you.’
‘No.’ Helen spoke sharply. ‘Why—?’
‘Talking about Milos,’ broke in Rhea softly. ‘I get the feeling there was more to your relationship than just a casual encounter.’
‘You’re wrong.’ But Helen was breathing faster now and she knew the other girl had noticed.
‘I’m not suggesting you had an affair,’ Rhea continued lightly. ‘After all, you were married, as you say. But I know how attractive my brother is. And he was obviously quite—intrigued—by you.’
‘No.’
It was all Helen could think of, but Rhea wasn’t to be put off. ‘There is some history there, I know it,’ she said. ‘And if you will not tell me, then I will just have to ask Milos. Then pirazi, it doesn’t matter. Shall we go and see if Melissa is awake?’
Conversely, Helen was loath to leave the subject now. She dreaded to think what Milos would say if Rhea asked him how they’d met. And if he gave her different dates, she was bound to be suspicious. Oh, what a tangled web she’d woven for herself.
But there was nothing she could do or say to change things now and she was grateful that Melissa’s chatter meant there were no awkward silences on the journey home. The younger girl had awoken from her nap full of energy and eager to arrange another meeting with Rhea.
Helen wished there were some way she could discourage their association, but there wasn’t. Not without alienating her daughter, anyway. She just wished she didn’t have the feeling that Rhea might be using her friendship with Melissa to find out more about Melissa’s mother.
It was a relief of sorts when Rhea dropped them at Aghios Petros and took her leave. Melissa insisted on going to see her off and Sam Campbell, who had offered the Greek girl a drink, which she had declined, now invited his daughter to join him as he checked on the grapes.
She realised it had just been an excuse for them to be alone together when he said abruptly, ‘You didn’t enjoy it, did you? Melissa obviously did, but you didn’t.’
Helen sighed. ‘Rhea and Melissa have more in common with each other,’ she replied, forcing a light tone. Then, once again taking the defensive, ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Is it Milos?’ Her father was either astonishingly shrewd or Helen’s face was pathetically easy to read. ‘You’ve seen him today, haven’t you?’
‘How do you know that?’
Her father shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
Helen bit her lip. ‘Well, only for a short while,’ she admitted, not altogether truthfully. ‘He left for Athens—’
‘Not until this afternoon, surely,’ remarked her father mildly. ‘I spoke to him a couple of hours ago from the helicopter.’ He paused. ‘He told me he’d taken you to Vassilios. Did you like it?’
Did she like it? Helen knew an almost hysterical desire to laugh. ‘I—thought it was an impressive house,’ she said at last, wishing she could escape all these questions. She had thought that she’d be free of them once Rhea had left.
‘Did Melissa go with you?’
‘I—no.’ Helen was obliged to be truthful. ‘She and Rhea went to the beach. I’d have liked to go with them.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’
‘Because Milos invited you to see his house?’
Because Milos insisted she see his house, Helen wanted to answer tersely. But all she said was, ‘Yes,’ hoping Sam would leave it at that.
Of course, he didn’t. ‘You dislike Milos, don’t you?’ he said, picking a handful of tiny green grapes from the vine and handing them to her to taste. ‘I’m curious why. What happened between you two when he came to England? He must have done something to make you dislike him so much.’
‘I don’t dislike him.’ Helen used the grapes as an excuse to turn away. ‘Mmm, these are really delicious.’
‘They’re not sweet enough yet,’ said her father drily. ‘In another three months, they’ll taste altogether different.’ He hesitated. ‘I’d like to think you and Melissa would visit us again for the harvest. I hope it’s not my imagination, but I think Melissa has changed since she came here.’
At last, Helen could speak freely. ‘Oh, she has,’ she said eagerly. ‘I think she needed a masculine influence in her life. Since Richard—well, since Richard died, she has become increasingly rebellious. Although I have to admit, she wasn’t much different when he was alive.’
‘She never talks about him, you know.’
‘I know,’ Helen sighed. ‘That used to worry me, too.’
‘Mmm.’ Her father was thoughtful. ‘She doesn’t seem to have any problem in talking to Milos.’
‘She hardly knows him.’ Helen tried to sound dismissive.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Sam was persistent. ‘You should have heard her chatting to him the other evening when you were talking to Alex. I think she likes him. A lot. I just wish you felt the same.’
‘Dad!’
‘What?’ He held up his hands in self defence. ‘Milos is a good friend of mine, and Maya’s. Is it so unreasonable that I’d like my daughter to show him some respect?’
‘I do respect him,’ said Helen shortly, glancing back towards the house. ‘I’m sorry if you think I’ve been rude. That wasn’t my intention.’
‘I didn’t say you’d been rude to him,’ Sam corrected her mildly. ‘But you must see how you react when I mention his name. You’re immediately on the defensive.’
Helen shook her head. ‘I haven’t noticed it,’ she muttered, but of course she had. ‘Look, I’m feeling rather sticky. I need a shower. Would you mind if I—?’
‘I think he’s attracted to you,’ Sam interrupted her, and Helen’s jaw dropped.
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’
‘What’s ridiculous about it?’ Sam was unperturbed by her reactions. ‘It was he who invited you to San Rocco, wasn’t it? Not Rhea. Oh, yes, he told me all about it. He said he thought you might refuse the invitation if you’d known it had come from him. And you would have, wouldn’t you? You’ve just proved it.’
Helen didn’t know what to say. ‘I—all right, yes. I would have refused. I don’t think it’s a good idea to let Melissa think that we have anything in common with people like them.’
‘Milos and Rhea, you mean?’
‘Who else?’
‘But why?’ Sam’s tone gentled. ‘What�
��s your objection? Are you afraid of what people will say if you admit to being interested in another man less than a year after your husband was killed?’
‘No!’
‘So what is it?’
‘Oh, Dad!’ For the second time in as many minutes, Helen used the familiar form of address without even thinking about it. ‘Men like Milos Stephanides do not get involved with—with women like me.’
‘How right you are,’ declared a contemptuous voice from behind them, and Helen turned to find Maya striding towards them along the row of vines. The woman made some other vituperative comment in her own language and then, when her husband remonstrated with her, she added irritably, ‘Kalia, you are filling the girl’s head with nonsense, Samuel. How many times must Milos tell you he is not interested in marrying again. Nor in having meaningless affairs. Is that not good enough for you?’
Helen made her escape then, telling herself she was glad Maya had interrupted them. Despite her protestations, the temptation to listen to what her father had had to say had been appealing. She didn’t believe it; would never believe Milos had had anything more than a fleeting flirtation in mind when he’d first invited her to have a drink with him. But it was flattering nonetheless.
Of course, if her father knew the truth he’d have an entirely different outlook on the situation. And when he’d first mentioned Richard, and Melissa’s liking for Milos, she’d been half afraid he’d guessed who the child’s father was.
But she was worrying unnecessarily. The only way Sam could find out about that was if he learned it from her, and she couldn’t tell him. Not because she didn’t want to, she acknowledged painfully. But because he would insist on telling Milos, and her whole relationship with her daughter would be put in jeopardy.
Was she being selfish? In her heart of hearts, she rather thought she was. But how could she risk losing the only child she was ever likely to have?
She wondered if she’d have surrendered herself to Milos so willingly if she’d known what a shattering effect he was going to have on her life. The answer was obvious, but at that time it hadn’t seemed such a big deal. Seduced by Milos’s lovemaking—and the champagne—she’d given herself to him with a joyful abandon she could hardly conceive of now. When had she acquired such a belief that what she was doing was right? She seemed to have forgotten everything she’d ever been taught about sex and its aftermath. She’d been warned often enough that condoms were not always foolproof.
At the time of course, she hadn’t been thinking of things like that, and now, as she stood in the shower, letting the cool water cascade over her hot skin, she had to admit that she had been as much to blame for what had happened as Milos. Oh, she might have had less reason to worry about the future—she hadn’t been married, for one thing—but she had done everything she could to break down his control, to make him as much at the mercy of his feelings as she was.
And she’d succeeded. She’d known the moment he’d said in that hoarse, sexy voice, ‘Yes, I want you,’ that she’d got her way.
She shivered in the cool spray, remembering the tormented look in his eyes when he’d drawn back to cradle her hot face between his palms. Then, as if seeing a reflection of his own needs in her eyes, he’d taken her hand and led her into his bedroom.
A bedroom that had been every bit as glamorous as she’d imagined, Helen recalled tensely. There’d been long velour curtains at the windows that matched the deep gold piled carpet on the floor. The bed had already been turned down for the night, the coverlet folded neatly at its foot. There’d been soft pillows, edged with lace, and fine cotton sheets that had been cool against her hot skin.
Her shirt had already been unbuttoned and Milos had paused to tug on the ties at her waist before slipping it off her shoulders. She’d been trembling, she remembered, when he’d unfastened her jeans, but she couldn’t recall any moment when she’d wanted to draw back.
‘You, too,’ she said, reaching for the buttons on his shirt, and Milos humoured her by shrugging off his shirt before slipping his hands behind her to loosen her bra.
It joined her shirt on the floor and then Milos took her breasts into his hands, his thumbs rubbing abrasively over her sensitive nipples.
‘Is that good?’ he asked, hearing her sudden intake of breath, and Helen had swayed eagerly against him.
‘Some,’ she whispered, sliding her arms around his waist, hooking her fingers into the waistband of his trousers. Her breasts were now crushed against his chest, the hair that grew there both tickling and arousing her. ‘But I want more.’
With hands that were only slightly less unsteady than her own, Helen remembered Milos feeling between them to unbuckle his trousers, before taking one of her hands and pressing it against the impressive bulge swelling beneath his silk boxers. She remembered how big and powerful his erection had felt and even now she felt her body grow slick with the same anticipation she’d felt then.
Afterwards, he knelt in front of her, drawing her jeans down her legs, exposing the bikini pants that were all she was wearing underneath. He lifted each leg almost tenderly, disposing of the jeans with gentle expertise.
When he straightened again, it was to thrust his own trousers down his thighs, kicking them off almost carelessly. Helen recalled that that was when she’d become aware of her own body and of the fact that she was standing before him almost naked.
He had—still did, for that matter—a lean, powerful body. Strong, athletic limbs, a broad muscled chest, flat stomach. And he was brown; all over, she mused enviously. A natural tan that owed nothing to artificial means.
His kiss, when it came, was warm and searching. It tingled on lips that were still swollen from his previous assault. Helen had to clutch helplessly at his shoulders as the kiss deepened, her legs turning to jelly beneath her.
She thought he half nudged, half carried her to the bed, murmuring to her in his own language, words that even now could cause a shiver of excitement to feather her spine. Her skin felt so tender, she remembered, so sensitised; as if he’d somehow removed a layer to expose the vulnerable flesh beneath. But she unbearably stimulated, too, and she almost welcomed the cool brush of the sheets against her bare back.
Helen stepped out of the shower now, aware that she was arousing herself again by even thinking about the events of that evening. There’d been something so extraordinarily decadent about being in bed so early in the evening, even if her reasons for being there had had little to do with sleep.
When Milos had stretched his length beside her, she’d turned to him with all the resistance of the moth to the flame. He’d been naked, she’d discovered, and she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from staring at him. It was the first time she’d actually seen a nude male outside movies, and, far from feeling apprehensive, she’d been fascinated.
‘You’re embarrassing me,’ Milos said huskily, burying his face between her breasts. But Helen had the feeling now that it would have taken a lot more than her innocent appraisal to embarrass him.
‘Am I?’ she recalled saying, with a pathetic attempt at coyness, but Milos’s hands were sliding down her body and a quivering knot twisted in her belly.
She did remember being a little apprehensive when his fingers slid over her stomach and beneath the elastic waist of her briefs. He probed the tight curls at the apex of her legs, and Helen had to suck back the convulsive sob that surged into her throat.
Her instincts were urging her to open her legs and let him have his way with her, but her conscience was less certain and instead she pressed her legs together.
‘Relax,’ Milos breathed into her ear, catching the soft lobe between his teeth and biting on it almost painfully. ‘Just relax. You know you want to.’
And, amazingly, she did. When Milos eased her briefs down her legs, she arched her back to make it easy for him. Then somehow her legs were parted, and she could feel her wetness on his hands. On the sure and certain fingers he pressed into her.
His thumb
had other work to do, rotating the sensitive nub of her womanhood with such effortless expertise that she climaxed almost immediately. Of course, she didn’t know what was happening to her. She was comparatively naïve, after all, despite all Richard’s efforts in that regard.
She remembered she was laughing and crying with wonder when he parted her legs again and positioned himself above her. So bemused was she that she hardly felt any pain when he pushed into her. And, although there was a momentary hesitation on his part when he encountered the unmistakable proof of her virginity, he was much too aroused to draw back. Besides, she didn’t want him to. She wanted to feel him inside her. And, even though initially it wasn’t the most comfortable position in the world, as her body accommodated itself to his size, the exquisite excitement started to build again.
Helen trembled now, shocked by the awareness of how sharp the memories were. She would have thought that what had happened after would have soured the feelings Milos had stirred inside her, but it wasn’t true. They were still as acute and devastating as ever, causing not just frustration but a painful need inside her.
She wondered how old Milos had been at that time. Twenty-two, perhaps? Twenty-three? Certainly no more than twenty-four. Yet he had had a skill and sensitivity that had seemed as natural as breathing to him. He’d given her the most marvellous experience of her life—and the most shattering. With hindsight, it was difficult to decide which was the most important.
At the time, she’d been sure she knew. Milos had made love to her with a warmth and passion that she’d never experienced either before or since. With his innate sensuality, he’d ensured that she’d achieved an equal satisfaction, and when his own climax had left him shuddering in her arms she’d been happy to share his pleasure, too.
Of course, Eleni’s phone call had proved to be equally devastating. Or perhaps destructive was a more appropriate word. Her call had come as Helen had been drowsing against the pillows, her body and mind still sated by the delicious aftermath of Milos’s passion, and to begin with she hadn’t been able to make any sense of what the other woman was saying.
