Carol Marinelli – Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (страница 1)

Three rich, powerful tycoons bent on

revenge, and what sweeter way than

by seduction?

greek affairs In His Bed

Three red-hot romances from great writers:

Anne Mather, Carol Marinelli,

Kate Walker

Greek

affairs

in his Bed

Sleeping with a Stranger

Anne Mather

Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon’s Bed

Carol Marinelli

Bedded by the Greek Billionaire

Kate Walker

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Sleeping with

a Stranger

Anne Mather

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author ANNE MATHER has written since she was seven, but it was only when her first child was born that she fulfilled her dream of becoming a writer. Her first book, Caroline, appeared in 1966. It met with immediate success, and since then Anne has written more than one hundred and fifty novels, reaching a readership which spans the world. Born and raised in the north of England, Anne still makes her home there, with her husband, two children and now grandchildren. Asked if she finds writing a lonely occupation, she replies that her characters always keep her company. In fact she is so busy sorting out their lives that she often doesn’t have time for her own! An avid reader herself, she devours everything from sagas and romances to mainstream fiction and suspense.

CHAPTER ONE

HELEN was standing at the rail when the ferry docked in Santoros. Milos could see her clearly, despite the roiling tension in his gut. And he had to admit, she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever seen.

Or slept with, he appended, trying to make light of the fact that he was meeting her again. Although it was over fourteen years since he’d had anything to do with her, there was no denying his jumping nerves or the seething emotions just the sight of her inspired.

Theos, what was wrong with him? She’d been a wife, a mother, and a widow since that mindless interlude in London. He should be long over her—and he was, he assured himself fiercely.

Was it his imagination, or did Helen look a little harassed after her journey? Two plane flights and a ferry ride at the end of it could do that to you, he guessed. But he had no firsthand experience. He’d been spoilt by private planes and helicopters and fast, turbo-driven yachts.

Still, she was here now and Sam—her father—would be delighted. He’d talked of little else since she’d accepted his invitation. Milos had been sure Sam would want to meet her himself, but he’d asked Milos to do it. He’d assumed their previous association would give Milos a lever he didn’t have.

If he only knew!

But Sam was naturally anxious about the visit. It was almost sixteen years since he’d last seen his daughter. And then under less than favourable circumstances. According to him, his first wife had ensured that their daughter only heard one side of the story. A story that entailed a disillusioned Sam getting involved with and subsequently marrying a darkly attractive Greek woman he’d met on a business trip to Athens.

When Milos had met Helen some twenty months later she’d been no less hostile towards her father then than when she’d first discovered he’d been unfaithful to her mother. She’d blamed him. She’d been young and idealistic and impossibly naïve.

But so vulnerable, Milos reflected with unwilling honesty. And he’d taken advantage of that vulnerability. Not for her father’s sake, but for his own ends. Endaxi, it hadn’t been all his fault, he defended himself impatiently. She’d been more than willing to satisfy his demands.

The guilt had come later, of course. When he’d gone back to Greece. He’d told no one what had happened during his trip. Not his own family; not Maya, Sam’s second wife; and most particularly not Sam, who had trusted him. But the worst feeling of all was that somehow he’d betrayed himself.

He scowled now, watching as the ferry’s captain eased his vessel up to the quay. The trouble was, his own marriage—the marriage his father had arranged against his will—had been breaking up at that time and he’d been looking for a diversion. Helen had certainly provided that, he thought bitterly. And then she’d run out on him proving what an immature creature she was.

Naturally, he’d never expected to be in the position he was in now. Helen’s alienation from her father and Maya had foolishly persuaded him that there would be no reconciliation in this lifetime. How wrong he’d been. He’d been stunned when Sam had announced that Helen and her daughter were coming to the island for a holiday. But, Helen’s own husband had been killed almost a year ago, Sam had explained, and the letter he’d written expressing his condolences had apparently gone a long way to mending the rift between them.

A more cynical man might wonder if Sam’s amazing change of fortune had had anything to do with his daughter’s change of heart. Despite the fact that his background as a wine importer in England had had little to do with the actual cultivation of the grapes, meeting Maya and subsequently taking over her family’s failing vineyard had made him a wealthy man. During the past ten years, Ambeli Kouros, as the vineyard was known, had gone from strength to strength and Sam Campbell had become a much respected man on the island.

A girl appeared as the ferry was docking, pushing her way through the crowd of passengers to join Helen at the rail. Not her daughter, he assured himself, despite their apparent familiarity. In a black tee shirt with some logo sprawled across the front and baggy black jeans that pooled around her ankles, she was the type of visitor Milos thought the island could well do without. Black lipstick, hair sprayed a lurid shade of green, a semi-circle of piercings etching her ears, she was as different from Helen as it was possible to be.

Skata, he thought, waiting for her to be claimed by the group of backpack-toting teenagers that were hustling to disembark. This was one of those occasions when he wished his family owned the whole island and not just a large part of it.

A wooden gangplank was run out from the quay and as the passengers moved towards it Milos saw the girl speak to Helen. He couldn’t make out what she said, of course, but it appeared it wasn’t something Helen wanted to hear. There was a brief heated exchange and then they both joined the rapidly decreasing exodus.

Milos blew out a breath. No, he told himself shortly. He was prepared to accept that travelling could promote the most unlikely friendships and that creature could not be Helen’s daughter.

Whatever, they were coming down the gangplank now and his eyes were irresistibly drawn to Helen’s flushed face. Was she hot? he wondered. Certainly, the skirt and jacket she was wearing were unsuitable attire for this climate. But was that the only reason she looked so distrait?

She’d cut her hair, he noticed, with a pang he quickly suppressed. But she was still as slim and lovely as ever. Would she recognise him? It had been over fourteen years, after all. Was he flattering himself in thinking she might remember him as well as he remembered her?

And then their eyes met and held, and the breath he’d hardly been aware he was holding got caught somewhere in the back of his throat. Theos, she remembered him all right. Why else would there be such a mixture of fear and loathing in her eyes?

‘Who’s that?’

Without her being aware of it, Melissa had noticed her distraction, and Helen managed to drag her eyes away from Milos’s and say with admirable restraint, ‘Who’s who?’

‘That man,’ said Melissa flatly, hauling her backpack higher on her shoulder. ‘Come on, Mum. He’s staring at us. He’s not your dad, is he?’

Helen gave a nervous little laugh. ‘Hardly,’ she said, acknowledging that only she could know the irony of that statement. ‘His name’s Milos Stephanides. Your grandfather must have sent him to meet us.’

‘Yeah?’ Melissa arched dark brows that were so exactly like her father’s that Helen felt a momentary pang. ‘So how do you know him?’

‘Oh …’ This was not a conversation Helen wanted to be having right now. ‘I met him—years ago. Your grandfather asked him to look us up when he was on a visit to England.’ She moistened her dry lips. ‘That—that was before you were born, of course.’

‘And he still remembers you?’ Melissa reflected consideringly. ‘What happened? Don’t tell me my stiff-assed mother actually had a thing for a sexy Greek labourer!’

‘No!’ Helen was horrified, glancing about her to make sure no one else had heard her daughter’s coarse words. ‘And as far as I know, he’s not a labourer. He just works for your grandfather, that’s all.’

‘Well, what else is there to do on a farm?’ asked Melissa impatiently, and Helen sighed.

‘It’s not a farm.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Melissa gave her a sardonic look. ‘You’re not going to tell me.’ She snorted. ‘I should have had more sense than to ask.’

Helen had no time to answer that. They’d reached the stone quay and Milos was coming towards them. He was wearing a loose-fitting shirt, open halfway down his chest, she noticed, and black chinos that hugged his narrow hips and only hinted at the power of his long legs. He looked good, she thought uneasily. Dear God, it was devastating how good he looked. Cool and dark—was his hair a little longer than she remembered? But so horribly familiar, his lean handsome face the one that had haunted her dreams for all these years.