The Greek Millionaire's Mistress. Catherine Spencer

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

      “Not that I’m aware of,” she lied, taking umbrage at his answering her question with one of his own. “But you sound awfully suspicious suddenly.”

      “Do I?” He flicked a glance her way, then turned his attention to the bubbles rising in his glass as if they were the most fascinating things he’d ever come across.

      “Yes,” she said again, and when he made no attempt to deny the fact, continued, “Are you?”

      He deliberated at length before replying, “Let me put it this way. I’m not a man easily swayed by a beautiful face or an alluring body. It takes more than that to capture my interest. But I’m so strongly drawn to you that I’m at a loss to know how to deal with it.”

      “You don’t strike me as the type to be at a loss about anything or anyone.”

      “Normally I’m not. But I’d be lying if I said I find this situation normal. In truth, I consider it to be quite extraordinary.”

      “And you don’t like not being in charge.”

      “No, I don’t,” he said. “I am, as you say in your part of the world, a control freak. It’s what makes me so good at my job.”

      “Which is what, exactly? You told me you work for Mr. Tyros, but you never said what it is you do.”

      “I’m in management. An executive vice president, in fact.”

      Which told her precisely nothing. Well, I didn’t think you were a janitor! she almost retorted, struck by the sense that he’d edited his answer very carefully.

      Realistically she supposed it wasn’t surprising. Likely no employee of a high-powered tycoon like Angelo Tyros, was at liberty to share top-level information with an outsider, and she only had to remember his imperious commandeering of the limousine to recognize that Mikos was very top-level indeed. “Do you like your job?” she asked him instead.

      The interior car lights were dim, but not enough to hide the grimace that passed over his face. “Not always,” he admitted. “But then, who does? Take you, for instance. Are you entirely happy with what you do every day?”

      She turned and looked out of the window, her reasons for coming to Greece suddenly back in the forefront of her mind where they rightly belonged.

      Ms. Hudson…Gina, this is very awkward, but I’m quite sure I left my earrings on the dresser before we went out this morning, and they’re not there now….

      Gina, is that you? I just caught your mother down on the beach, waist-deep in the water…in November, Gina…!

      Seen Maeve? Not since this morning, Gina, no. When did you realize she was missing…?

      How did one rate a labor of love, she wondered, leaning her forehead against the cool glass. She hated what had happened to her mother. Hated the slow slipping away of the woman who’d once been the mainstay of her life. So, to answer his question, no, she wasn’t happy with what she had to do every day. But not for the reasons he might think.

      Turning to face him again, she said, “Some days are better than others. I guess that’s true of every job.”

      “Tell me about that.”

      “What?”

      “Your job. You said you live on one of the Gulf Islands.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Isn’t that rather inconvenient? If my memory serves correctly, they lie quite some distance from the mainland. I’d have thought that rather limiting for a writer interested in covering the international social set.”

      “Many people commute from the islands to Vancouver. I can make it by seaplane in twenty minutes, if I need to.”

      “But what made a young woman like you decide to live at home again?”

      “How do you know I live at home?”

      “You told me so, when we were dancing.”

      Oh dear! She’d have to keep a tighter rein on her tongue or he’d definitely become suspicious. Or was it just that he was killing time in idle conversation and hoping she wouldn’t notice that they’d left the city behind and were approaching a bridge spanning a stretch of dark water? A lake? The sea? And if the latter, which one?

      Her earlier fears resurfacing suddenly, she said, “Why don’t you tell me where you’re taking me?”

      “To a place where we can be alone.”

      “We’re already alone.”

      “Not quite.” He glanced meaningfully at the smoked glass partition separating them from the driver. “My work is such that I’m seldom able to escape it, but tonight…” He traced the tip of his forefinger lightly over her lower lip, leaving it throbbing for more. “Tonight, I’m playing hooky. With you.”

      Soon, they’d crossed the bridge and were passing through a fair-size town where lamps still shone from many houses. “Are we still on the mainland?”

      “No. We’re on Evia, our second largest island after Crete. Many Greeks consider it to be the most beautiful, but because it lies so close to the mainland, it’s often overlooked by tourists and, as a result, has retained much of its traditional customs and charm.”

      “Is it where you have your weekend place?”

      He folded his fingers around hers. “No,” he said again.

      The blood raced through her veins, not only because the simple touch of his hand on hers electrified her senses, but also from growing apprehension. Too soon, the lights of the town faded into the night. About fifteen minutes later, they passed through a village. Not long after that, the car cruised to a stop on a deserted stretch of coast road far from any sign of civilization. “Come,” Mikos said, drawing her out of the vehicle, the very second the driver raced around to hold open the door.

      She stepped onto the road, stumbling a little in her high heels. Steadying her, Mikos spoke to his chauffeur who, to her dismay, climbed back into the Mercedes, turned the car around and sped back toward the village they’d left behind.

      Within seconds, the night was filled with nothing but star-shine, the swish of the restless sea and the erratic thud of her heart. At her side, Mikos stood tall and dark as a monolith, his grip still firm on her elbow. Struggling to keep her tone even, she said, “I’m really not very comfortable with this situation. Exactly what do you have in mind?”

      “A walk on the beach. What did you think?”

      “That it’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and most people are in bed at this hour.”

      He laughed softly. “Are you saying you’d rather be in bed with me, Gina?”

      The thought had crossed her mind often enough over the course of the evening that she was glad the night hid her blush. “No,” she snapped. “I’m saying that I don’t understand why we’re СКАЧАТЬ