His Virgin Mistress. Anne Mather

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      He indicated the silver dishes of sticky sugar-coated pastries on the low table close by. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Help yourself.’

      Joanna, who had eaten little of her dinner, shook her head. ‘I don’t want anything else,’ she said, aware of Demetrios hovering close by, ostensibly studying the rich desserts. She waited until he had chosen a cheese-filled pastry dusted with cinnamon sugar and then retired to the nearest armchair before she felt able to continue. ‘May I get you something instead?’

      ‘Not to eat,’ murmured Constantine archly, provoking a scowling look from his son. Then, to Demetrios, ‘We will talk in the morning. You can brief me on all that has happened since I have been away. For instance, I understand from Nikolas Poros that two of our tankers are lying idle at Piraeus. I hope you have an explanation for that.’

      ‘They are not lying idle,’ retorted Demetrios, hot colour filling his angry face. ‘Did not Poros explain that—?’

      ‘Tomorrow, Demetri,’ said his father finally. Then, to Joanna’s relief, he turned to her. ‘I am a little tired, agapi mou. Are you finished?’

      ‘I—yes, of course.’

      ‘But surely you are not going to deprive us of Mrs Manning’s company also?’ Demetrios broke in, earning his father’s displeasure yet again. Joanna felt Constantine stiffen beside her.

      ‘You have something else in mind, agori?’ he asked, and Demetrios offered a courteous smile.

      ‘I wondered if Mrs Manning might enjoy a stroll in the gardens,’ he suggested mildly, but Joanna detected the look that passed between him and Spiro Stavros as he spoke. ‘I believe the English are very fond of gardening. Am I not right, Mrs Manning?’

      ‘I’m afraid I live in a high-rise, Mr Kastro,’ Joanna returned carefully, but Constantine intervened before she could say anything more.

      ‘Joanna is tired, too,’ he declared, but Demetrios was determined to have the last word.

      ‘Are you sure, Papa? Dare I say it? She is—considerably younger than you are.’

      ‘You overstep yourself, Demetri.’ There was no mistaking Constantine’s anger now, and Joanna wished she could warn the younger man to back off.

      ‘Perhaps you should let Mrs Manning decide for herself,’ he persisted smoothly, and Joanna heaved a heavy sigh.

      ‘I fear your father is right,’ she told him coolly, aware that he probably thought she was taking the easy way out. ‘I am tired. It has been a—demanding day.’

      Demetrios’s lips twisted. ‘I am sure it must have been,’ he remarked, and although his words were polite enough his meaning was plain. He got abruptly to his feet. ‘Then, if you will excuse me…’ And without waiting for his father’s permission he stalked out of the room.

       CHAPTER THREE

      DESPITE the heat in the early-morning air, the pool was cold. Later in the day, when the sun had done its work, the temperature of the water would rise. But right now it was decidedly chilly, and Demetri welcomed its cooling surge against his hot skin.

      He had not slept well. Indeed, he had slept exceedingly badly, tormented by dreams the nature of which he preferred not to dwell on now that he was awake. In fact, he was frustrated by his own inability to control his subconscious mind, and only several vigorous lengths of the pool offered some escape from his tortured senses.

      He swam swiftly from one end of the pool to the other, somersaulting beneath the surface to swim back underwater. He broke through the waves his body had created, desperate for air, and then saw that he was no longer alone.

      A woman had emerged from the villa. She hadn’t seen him. It was obvious from the unhurried way she crossed the sun-splashed patio to rest her hands on the terrace wall. Obvious, too, from the uninhibited way she tilted back her head and allowed the sun to kiss those pale exquisite features.

      She thought she was alone, and Demetri felt a momentary pang of shame in observing her this way. But dammit, he thought, he had more right to be here than she had, and it wasn’t his fault if she didn’t have the sense to ensure she was on her own before behaving like a pagan goddess, worshipping the dawn.

      She was beautiful, though. Given this opportunity to study her without her knowledge, Demetri had to admit he understood his father’s fascination. She was wearing a sleeveless vest this morning, something soft and silky that clung to her rounded breasts with a loving attention to detail. He caught his breath as she cupped her ribcage and arched her back, driving her taut nipples against the thin fabric. A loosely tied sarong circled her waist, a transparent thing of purples and greens that exposed the bikini briefs she wore beneath. It parted to reveal the slender length of her legs, and, despite the coolness of the water, Demetri felt himself harden.

      Theos! He was like a callow youth, he thought exasperatedly. She was beautiful, yes, but he’d seen beautiful women before. He hadn’t reached the mature age of thirty-four without making love to a number of them, too, and it irritated the hell out of him that he desired this woman, his father’s mistress.

      She was sliding her fingers into her hair now, scooping its loosened weight back from her face and winding it into a coil on top of her head. Soft tendrils tumbled from the impromptu knot, spiralling down against cheeks that were as smooth and velvety soft as a peach. Realising he couldn’t stand much more of this without disgracing himself completely, Demetri sprang out of the water and grabbed a towel to wrap protectively about his hips.

      She heard him, of course. Although the ocean surged constantly onto the beach only a couple of hundred yards from the villa it was a muted sound, heavy and rhythmic. His vaulting out of the pool was a much more abrasive sound, and she swung round almost guiltily to confront him.

      ‘Oh…’ She was clearly taken aback by his sudden appearance. ‘Um—Mr Kastro. I didn’t see you there.’

      ‘No.’ Demetri acknowledged the fact, and, accepting that they couldn’t go on addressing each other across the width of the terrace, he pushed his damp feet into his deck shoes and walked towards her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

      She managed a faint smile. ‘Like you care,’ she said drily, and he admired her courage. ‘Did you?’

      Demetri shrugged his bare shoulders. ‘Not very,’ he conceded, just as candidly. Then, dragging his eyes back to her face, ‘Where is my father?’

      ‘Where do you think he is at this hour of the morning?’ she asked, a delicate flush invading her cheeks. ‘He’s still in bed.’ She paused a moment and then added significantly, ‘Asleep.’

      Demetri’s mouth compressed. ‘So, what are you doing up so early? Or is this your only chance to escape?’

      ‘To escape?’ Her blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘To escape from what, Mr Kastro? Your father and I have a perfect understanding.’

      ‘Do you?’ Demetri was annoyed to find he half believed her. But he couldn’t let her know it. ‘That must be very convenient for both of you.’

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