Carol Marinelli – Greek Affairs: In His Bed: Sleeping with a Stranger / Blackmailed into the Greek Tycoon's Bed / Bedded by the Greek Billionaire (страница 14)
Milos saw at once that Helen was impressed by her surroundings. The feeling of light and space he’d incorporated into his drawings, and which the architect had followed so meticulously, gave the area a cool airiness that owed nothing to artificial means.
Bypassing the living and dining areas, Milos led the way along a screened hallway, and out onto the veranda at the back of the villa. Here, cushioned chairs were set in the shade of the overhanging balcony, the magnificent view of the ocean beyond an ever-changing backdrop.
He heard Helen draw in a breath when she saw the mosaic-tiled pool that lay below the patio. Curved stone steps led down, either into the pool itself or onto the stone apron that surrounded it. Canopied lounge chairs looked colourful and inviting in the sunlight, and she wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t seen some beauty in the scene.
‘Shall we sit?’ suggested Milos, indicating the chairs in the shade of the veranda, but Helen moved towards the steps leading down to the pool.
Standing with her back to him, she was unaware of how the sunlight limned the rounded curve of her hips and her long legs, even through her dress. But Milos was aware of everything about her, and he pushed his hands into his jeans’ pockets, wondering if she had any idea how tense he was.
‘You have a lovely view,’ she said, glancing back over her shoulder as the errant breeze caught a strand of her hair and blew it across her mouth.
Didn’t he just? thought Milos, but he didn’t say anything. After all, he could hardly tell her what was in his thoughts.
She lifted her hand then to tuck the silky coil behind her ear, the thin fabric of her dress now drawn taut against her breasts. Did she know how provocative it was to lick her lips like that? he wondered. Or was this just a studied attempt to distract him?
‘So,’ she said as he fought the urge to go and make her as aware of him as he was of her, ‘what are we really doing here?’
Milos pulled his hands out of his pockets and thrust them through his hair. ‘I’m sure you know,’ he said, pleased that he sounded almost reasonable. ‘Why don’t you sit with me and we’ll talk?’
‘You talk, Milos. You’re the one with all the questions,’ she retorted swiftly. ‘Tell me what you’re thinking and I’ll try and answer you.’
But it wasn’t that easy. Nothing ever was, he acknowledged grimly. His image of her now kept being overlaid with his image of how she’d looked the first time he’d seen her. A tall, slender girl, in the uniform jeans and sweatshirt she’d worn to the sixth-form college she’d been attending, she’d taken his breath away. He remembered his reaction to her then as if it had all happened yesterday and not more than fourteen years ago …
Milos was having afternoon tea in the sitting room with Sheila Campbell when Helen breezed into the house.
‘Hey, who does that swish car belong to?’ she was beginning—meaning the powerful Saab he had hired for the duration of his stay—as she came into the room. Then she came to an abrupt halt when she saw their visitor rising politely from the sofa at her entrance.
It was hard to say who was the most embarrassed at that moment. Sheila—who had admitted him to the house with obvious reluctance once she’d heard of his association with her ex-husband; Helen—because of the brashness of her arrival; or Milos himself—who knew he was here under false pretences and who had never expected Sam Campbell’s daughter would look anything like this.
Because Helen was beautiful, with the kind of untouched English beauty poets wrote about in books. Violet eyes, a faultless complexion, a mouth a man could only think of possessing. In other words, she was gorgeous, the tight faded jeans and navy sweat shirt in no way detracting from her appeal.
Her hair was fairly long, a thick blonde mane that had been streaked even by the weaker English sun. She wore it drawn back in a loose coil at her nape, and Milos guessed it would feel as lush and silky as it looked.
He was staring, he knew, but he couldn’t help it. From the moment her eyes had met his, he’d been aware of the connection between them. He wanted to get to know her; no, he
Her mother spoiled it, of course.
‘This is Mr Stephanides,’ she said stiffly. ‘He works with your father. He’s on holiday at the moment and apparently your father asked him to look us up.’
Milos saw the way Helen’s face froze at the mention of her father. It was as if whatever emotion his name inspired was not for public consumption. ‘My father?’ she said stiffly. ‘You know my father?’ And when Milos inclined his head, she murmured reluctantly, ‘Is he all right?’
‘He’s fine,’ Milos assured her, silently acknowledging what Sam had already told him: that Helen had taken her mother’s side during the divorce. ‘But he sends you his love, naturally. I believe it’s over a year since you’ve seen him.’
‘Almost two,’ Sheila Campbell broke in irritably, not liking being left out. ‘Not that that means anything to him. Helen knows what her father thinks of her. He made that very clear when he left us for that Greek woman. If you’ve come to plead his cause, Mr Stephanides, you’re wasting your time.’
‘I haven’t—that is—’ Milos knew he mustn’t show his hand too soon. Sam had warned him that Sheila would try to block any communication between him and Helen. By taking Sam’s side, he was only going to alienate them both. ‘As I say, I’m on holiday at the moment. As I know—few people in England, Sam gave me your address.’
‘He had no right to,’ said Sheila Campbell at once. ‘I know what his game is. He wants you to go back and tell him that we’re only struggling along without him. What’s the matter? Isn’t his second marriage working either? Well, he needn’t think he can come back here. We’re managing very nicely without him, aren’t we, Helen?’
‘Oh—I—sure.’
Helen looked a little discomforted by her mother’s animosity, but it might be only wishful thinking on his part. ‘Sam’s fine,’ he said anyway. And happy, he could have added, feeling the need to defend the other man. But he held his tongue and turned to Helen. ‘That’s my car out there, actually. I’m glad you think it’s—what was it you said? Swish?’ He smiled, trying to reach her despite her mother’s presence. ‘It’s not mine, I’m afraid. I’ve just hired it from a rental agency.’
Helen gave a careless shrug. ‘I didn’t recognise it, that’s all.’
‘Helen’s not interested in expensive cars,’ Sheila Campbell broke in crisply. Then, looking at her daughter, ‘I expect you’ve got homework to do, Helen. Don’t let us keep you. Helen’s at sixth-form college, Mr Stephanides. She’s hoping to go to university.’
Helen was evidently glad to escape. With a brief word of farewell, she left the room as quickly as she’d entered it. Milos wanted to detain her. He wanted to tell her he’d come to see her, not her mother, but that was impossible at the moment. Apart from anything else, if Sheila Campbell even suspected his motives, she’d probably forbid her daughter from having anything to do with him, and he had no real confidence in his own ability to make Helen listen to what he had to say.
It was two days before he saw her again.
Deciding the Saab was too noticeable, Milos had changed it for a more popular model, realising that if he wanted to get in touch with Helen he would have to do so surreptitiously. Consequently, he’d parked some distance from the house the following morning, hoping he might be able to intercept his quarry on her way to college.
He’d been too late. Although he’d wasted the better part of the morning waiting for her, the only person he’d seen was Mrs Campbell evidently on her way to work. She’d backed an ancient Ford out of the driveway and taken off in the opposite direction, leaving Milos not really knowing if Helen had already left or not.
He’d considered waiting for her after school, but that had presented too many problems. For one thing, he didn’t know where the school was or from what direction she’d approach the house, and for another, her mother would expect her to be home at a certain time. Any deviation from her usual schedule might make her mother suspicious.
Milos took up his position the following morning much earlier than the day before. Hunched over a takeaway coffee, he thought how ludicrous it was that he had to act this way. He hadn’t had time to shave, and he’d had no breakfast. Not exactly the scenario he’d anticipated when he’d agreed to Sam’s request to speak to his daughter.
Once again, the first person to appear was Sheila Campbell. As on the previous morning, she reversed out of her gateway and took off down the street. Milos scowled. Dammit, if Helen was going to school, wouldn’t her mother have given her a lift? He couldn’t have missed her again. It was barely eight o’clock.
He waited until after nine before making any move. When he’d attended university in England, schools had started well before a quarter past nine. She’d either left already without his seeing her, or she was still at home. She could be ill, he supposed doubtfully. He hadn’t thought of that.