The Greek's Virgin Temptation

by Susan Stephens

  Rafael raised both eyebrows and looked at his godfather wryly.

  David Dunmore might look the very soul of benevolence, with his round spectacles and his tufting grey hair and his jolly, might-almost-be-related-to-Father-Christmas appearance, but Rafael knew very well that behind that façade there beat the heart of someone as sharp as a tack and not averse to a little emotional blackmail.

  He also knew that his godfather would never have requested his presence if it hadn’t been something urgent. The more convoluted the road he took to get there, the more significant the request would be and right now, after an hour of going round the houses, the size of the favour had increased exponentially.

  Rafael relaxed back in his chair, drink in his hand, and braced himself for the long haul.

  He hadn’t been to his godfather’s house in a while. At least a couple of months and not since the old man had been confined to bed and climbing the four walls. When they met, they generally met at the old-fashioned gentleman’s club David was a member of where, as he was fond of saying, a chap could hear himself think over a decent whisky and food that hadn’t been tampered with by a celebrity chef. ‘Cabbage and cottage pie—who needs it?’ Rafael would routinely retort, both comfortable in a relationship in which easy familiarity was the offspring of mutual respect and great love.

  Rafael had almost forgotten how exquisite this house in Belgravia was, with its graceful proportions and expensive clutter that harked back to a time before minimalism had become the fashion. Soft Persian rugs covered the rich, wooden floor and artefacts from trips abroad jostled with priceless works of art and dainty sculptures.

  ‘I thought you’d stopped playing the “dying” card,’ he said mildly. ‘After the consultant gave you the all clear and declared you as fit as a fiddle.’

  ‘What do consultants know?’

  ‘A lot, considering the years they’ve spent practising medicine. Hillman, as it happens, is top of his field when it comes to dodgy tickers, so it’s fair to say if he’s given you the all clear then the “dying” card is no longer appropriate.’

  ‘Well, superficially I may look as though I’m on the mend, but you have no idea the sort of stress I’ve been enduring for the past few months.’

  The smile dropped from Rafael’s face. ‘Freddy? Throwing his weight around again? Let me take care of the bloody man.’

  ‘You can’t. You have no pull in my company and threatening him with hell and damnation isn’t going to work. Right now, he can tell that I’ve been mortally wounded. I no longer have the stamina or the interest to go into my offices nearly as much as I used to, and he’s been...making mischief. But you know how it is, Rafael. He is my stepson, for better or for worse, and he’s also a significant shareholder thanks to the divorce settlement. There is nothing I can do about him, but three of my trusted directors have handed in their resignations, and I fear he is systematically going to try and get his cronies in to replace them. Five years ago, I would have had the energy to keep more of an eye on the boy, but...’

  He sighed. ‘The old guard are ready to go. They’re just allowing themselves to be pushed out slightly ahead of schedule. But that’s by the by. For the time being. No, I asked you here to discuss something entirely different.’

  Rafael said nothing. His antennae were picking up undercurrents swirling beneath the surface. The silence stretched and then, eventually, David Dunmore reached into the old-fashioned briefcase on the walnut coffee table next to him and extracted an envelope.

  He leant forward, handed it to Rafael and then sat back, linking fingers on his protruding stomach to watch his godson with keen interest.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Read it.’

  Rafael met his godfather’s steady gaze, his dark eyes veiled, revealing nothing of the sudden cool chill of apprehension sweeping through him. He opened the envelope. One sheet of paper. It was almost a shock to see that it was a handwritten letter because nowadays nearly everyone communicated by email. The writing was decisive, indicating someone with a strong will, and loopy, indicating that its author was probably a woman.

  He felt his godfather’s eyes on him, and knew that a response was going to be required, but as he read the letter, then reread it for good measure, for once in his life Rafael found himself at a complete loss for words.

  ‘I know you’re probably a little surprised at the content.’

  ‘A little surprised? That’s the understatement of the century! When did this bombshell drop on your lap and how much is it going to cost you?’

  ‘Now, now, don’t jump to conclusions, Rafael. First of all, it’s true.’ David sighed and sat back and closed his eyes for a few seconds, then he looked at his godson. ‘I met Maria Suarez over twenty years ago when I was in my late forties. She was just twenty-six and the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. At the time, I was between wives.’ He grimaced. ‘Shelling out a small fortune in alimony to Fiona and pretty jaded when it came to the opposite sex. Maria was...a breath of fresh air.’

  ‘Okay,’ Rafael said crisply. ‘Before you start waxing lyrical about beautiful women and breaths of fresh air, David, let’s cut to the chase.’ The urge to protect—a primal force that harked back down the years to a time when this man sitting in front of him had been his safe harbour in turbulent waters—kicked into gear with a vengeance.

  ‘This woman, if it even is her, gets in touch with you to tell you that you have a long-lost kid on the other side of the world. Says she’s about to kick the bucket and her conscience has got the better of her.’ He clicked his tongue with rampant disbelief. ‘Question—how does she know where you live? And presumably, if she knows where you live, then she also knows how wealthy you are.’

  David shifted uncomfortably and shot his godson a jaundiced look.

  ‘How did you meet her?’

  Long-lost daughter...? Presumably as poor as a church mouse...? In need of some cash...? And that was if there was any daughter at all and if the mysterious letter-writer was who she claimed to be! Could this tender and touching story have any more holes?

  And, if his godfather was inclined to believe all this tosh, then it was up to Rafael to rescue him from his folly. There was no way he was going to allow any more potential gold-diggers to run roughshod over him and the ‘prodigal daughter’ angle was just the sort of cunning ploy his godfather would fall for. Was falling for, from the looks of it.

  ‘I was in Argentina all those years ago,’ David reflected with the sort of wistful expression that made Rafael want to grind his teeth together in frustration. ‘Out there for a year, sourcing locations for my flagship South American boutique hotels, introducing them to the concept of the eco hotel. Met her when I was there. My word, what a raven-haired beauty. As sweet-natured as it was possible to be. I fell head over heels in love with her.’

  ‘But no happy ending.’ Rafael yanked him back to reality. ‘Considering you returned to London and promptly married Ingrid and kissed sweet goodbye to yet another sizeable chunk of your assets when you divorced her—not to mention bidding farewell to the shares in the company which your dear stepson is intent on taking over.’ He sighed. ‘And you still haven’t answered my question. How does this woman, if she is who she claims to be, know where you live?’

  ‘She could easily have contacted me via any one of my hotels—and let’s not forget the Internet, dear boy. There’s no such thing as privacy any more.’

  ‘And yet here you are. No raven-haired beauty to be seen for miles and never has been. So what happened?’

  ‘I was called away on an urgent family matter. Had to leave without warning, practically in the dead of night. Mother had been rushed to hospital with a heart attack. Left a message with Antonio, who was my right-hand guy over there at the time. Told him to explain... Well, got back and she’d absconded. Turned out she felt she wasn’t good enough for me, that our wor
lds were too far apart, felt that she would end up holding me back—even though I never, not once, gave any hint that that was or ever would be the case. Obviously didn’t feel as strongly about me as I felt about her. Wasn’t prepared to give it a go. It broke my heart, Rafael. Broke my heart.’

  ‘Worlds too far apart...hmm. And her world was...?’

  ‘She worked as the chambermaid in the hotel where I was based while I oversaw work on my buildings. She was the love of my life, Rafael, and now...now, from nowhere... I receive this letter telling me that I have a daughter. My own flesh and blood.’

  Rafael didn’t say anything. Chambermaid? Had his godfather really thought that he could hitch his wagon to someone who worked as a chambermaid? Not that a chambermaid could have been any worse than the horror with whom he had eventually tied the knot, an Amazonian Swede who had taken him for everything she could get her hands on when, three years post-walking up the aisle, the marriage had fallen apart in a welter of acrimony and infidelity on her part. Not only had she left with a juicy injection of cash and three houses, but she’d also managed to wangle a tasty chunk of shares for her useless son. His godfather was still paying the price for that particular mad dash down the aisle in search of love.

  ‘I’m filling in the blanks,’ David continued, voice rising in direct proportion to his excitement now that the cat was out of the bag. ‘I think she ran away, just disappeared, but returned to her place of birth at some point because that’s where the girl is. Working as a nanny for an expat couple in the suburbs.’

  Rafael didn’t say anything because he didn’t know where this was leading. Eventually, he asked neutrally, ‘Have you had a DNA test done?’

  David bristled. ‘The timing works.’

  ‘Don’t believe what you want to believe.’

  ‘And I won’t approach the situation ready to assume that it’s dead in the water before it’s begun.’

  ‘Okay.’ Rafael sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. ‘So have you contacted the woman? The daughter?’

  ‘Maria has passed away.’ His eyes clouded. ‘That much I do know. I’ve naturally set in motion the standard enquiries. I’ve got sufficient information at my disposal to contact my daughter and I’ve had enough time to figure out...the way forward when it comes to doing that.’

  ‘Long-haul flight to Argentina?’ Rafael looked at his godfather, whose head was tilted to one side while his mind played with the abundance of revelations that unexpectedly had been dumped on his plate. ‘You’ll have to check with the consultant. You don’t need another heart scare.’ Something inside twisted at the thought of that, a mixture of fear and panic.

  ‘It was more than a scare!’

  ‘Tell me why I’m here, David,’ Rafael coaxed gently. ‘As a confidante to this information or for some other purpose?’

  ‘I can’t go to Argentina—but you can, my dear boy, and you must.’ He sat forward, as serious as Rafael had ever seen him ‘I’ll make it worth your while...’

  * * *

  Sofia Suarez impatiently tapped her foot and stared out towards the imposing wrought-iron gates that protected the owners of this fabulous property from any strays who might decide to drop in to see whether they might be in luck with handouts.

  In this exclusive enclave on the outskirts of Buenos Aires, the wealthy always made sure that they were well protected, rarely opening their doors to anyone they didn’t know.

  They had enough money to make sure that hired help took care of whatever they considered beneath them. Which, she thought now—tapping her foot ever-quicker and checking her watch—was why she was here, waiting for the appearance of a gardener who should have showed up an hour and a half earlier.

  James and Elizabeth Walters were off skiing with their two young children.

  ‘No idea why we’ve been landed with this gardener chap when I’ve been perfectly happy getting a team in once a week,’ James had complained to her a week earlier, when he had appeared in the doorway of her bedroom without any advance warning. ‘But my boss has asked me to take the man on as a favour for a friend in London. Anyway, Lizzy and I won’t be around, so you’re going to have to show him the ropes.’

  ‘Yes, of course, although you did say that this would be allotted holiday time for me,’ Sofia had said, taking a deep breath and counting to ten. James and Elizabeth Walters were very, very fond of dictating exactly what she did with her free time, even though her hours were clearly stated in the job-acceptance form she had signed a year ago.

  But she needed this job. The pay was fantastic and she had paid upfront for her online accountancy course. It hadn’t been cheap and, added to that the fact that she tried to help out financially with her aunt, well, unless she won the lottery she was pretty much stuck. Someone in debt was not someone holding any trump cards.

  ‘We were more than understanding when you had to interrupt your working hours to visit your mother in the hospital,’ her boss had retorted without batting an eyelid. ‘So, grounds for complaint? Don’t think so. We’re going to be gone for a fortnight. You’re going to be twiddling your thumbs, and getting damn well paid for it, so I don’t see where the problem is.’

  He had raked his eyes over her in that insolent way that bordered on sexual harassment and stared narrowly. ‘The man is only going to be here for a month at the most. Some nonsense about him needing money while he bums his way around South America. God only knows why these types don’t find decent jobs like everyone else but I have no choice in the matter.’

  He’d straightened and stared at her for a few seconds longer than was comfortable and Sofia had done what she always did when her boss made her feel uncomfortable—she gritted her teeth and stared down silently at the floor until he lost interest.

  Which he had, having reminded her of the thousand other things she was charged to do in their absence, from sorting out the gardener to cleaning the proverbial silverware. So, twiddling her thumbs? What a joke. That was the one thing she could never be accused of having done and certainly not when she was staring at a list of instructions.

  The blazing sun was sinking into a violet sky when, finally, the intercom went and a disembodied voice announced the arrival of the gardener.

  ‘You’re late,’ Sofia said, not bothering to mince her words. The man had spoken in English and she had replied in same. A nomadic life had made her fluent in it and it helped that the people currently employing her refused to speak Spanish. ‘I’ve been hanging around waiting for you to show up for the past two hours.’

  She could scarcely make out the figure on the visual display. She was keen to get him in and out of her way because she had a busy evening lined up with her accountancy books. It was hard enough finding the time to study without wasting precious hours with her ear to the buzzer.

  ‘Who am I talking to?’

  ‘This is Señorita Suarez and I’m to show you the ropes while the Walters are away.’ There was a brief pause, and for some reason Sofia felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, but the moment passed—to be replaced with mounting irritation, because a minute in and the man was already beginning to get on her nerves.

  ‘Are you going to let me in?’

  Sofia bristled. ‘I will need to ask you some security questions.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Why?’ Rafael repeated.

  Sofia looked around her at the massively expensive furnishings. ‘El señor de la casa,’ she intoned with saccharin sweetness, ‘is a little cautious when it comes to allowing strangers into his house. He’s fond of his possessions remaining on the premises.’

  ‘El señor,’ Rafael drawled in response, ‘has nothing to fear. I very much doubt there’s a single thing he possesses that I could possibly want.’ He held up the introductory letter David had handed over to him some days ago. He had barely been able to contain his
amusement at the thought of his high-powered and much-feared godson slumming it with a lawn mower and taking orders from someone he didn’t know. ‘Peer carefully and you’ll be able to see that I am exactly who I say I am. Name is Rafael and I’m here to look after el señor’s garden for a couple of weeks. Rest assured, I won’t be leaving with his lawn mower and the pruning shears.’

  ‘You’re Spanish?’

  ‘So it would seem. Now, open the gate. I’ve spent hours travelling. It’s been a hellish trip. I’m hot and tired and I’m not prepared to spend the next half an hour sweltering out here while I answer pointless questions that don’t need to be asked.’

  Sofia could scarcely believe what she was hearing. For one very wicked moment, she almost wished that James and his stuck-up wife were here so that they could experience a cocky, arrogant hired hand who wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.

  But they weren’t, because they were busy having fun on the slopes. No, she was here, working, as always, beyond her brief. She buzzed open the iron gates and waited until she heard the sharp ring of the doorbell, immediately followed by the thundering of the lion-head brass knocker, as though the man outside couldn’t wait the seconds it might take her to answer the door.

  She sprinted and yanked open the front door, letting in the fragrant smell of grass and trees and the soothing orchestra of twilight insects, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

  Just for a few seconds. Just as she registered the guy towering in front of her, his hand raised as though about to bang the knocker again.

  Drop-dead gorgeous. The breath left her in a whoosh, as though she’d been punched in the stomach. Her eyes widened and she instantly went into self-defence mode, taking one step back, arms folded, although this time, unlike when her boss turned lascivious eyes on her, it was for an entirely different reason.