Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife. Robyn Donald

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      ‘You’d damned well better not be.’

      Iona froze. Not Angie—definitely not Angie.

      Deep, slightly accented, very much male—a voice chilled by a contempt that sent slivers of ice jostling down her spine.

      And familiar…oh, so familiar. That voice still haunted her dreams.

      Her head jerked up. In the mirror her stunned gaze met eyes like a lion’s—tawny and arrogantly disdainful in a bold masculine face.

      A man straight out of a Greek fable.

      Or a Tahitian fantasy…

      A shocked sound tore from Iona’s throat when she registered the starkly classic beauty of his features. She swallowed, then croaked, ‘Luke?’

      ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Luke Michelakis asked in a voice so cold it froze her brain.

      Hot colour washed up from her naked breasts as she grabbed at the discarded smock and wrapped it around her, only to see her bra slither onto the floor. ‘I was—I’m checking the place over,’ she muttered. She dragged in a jagged breath and demanded, ‘Why are you here?’

      ‘I’m staying here,’ he said icily.

      ‘You are?’ she blurted, heart pounding so heavily in her chest she was afraid he might hear it. Indignation sharpened her tone. ‘Well, you’re not due for another five hours!’

      Black brows lifted. For a disturbing few seconds he let his unreadable gaze roam her face, then he stooped, picked up the bra and held it out to her, skin-coloured cotton dangling from a long-fingered olive hand.

      ‘Th-thank you.’ She snatched the offending scrap of material and tried to regain some shred of dignity. ‘Please go.’

      The black lashes drooping over those exotic eyes couldn’t hide a glitter that sent a shameful shiver through Iona.

      Nothing of that gleam of awareness showed in his tone when he drawled, ‘Gladly.’

      Humiliated, she turned away. Not that there was any refuge—the mirrored walls revealed every inch of her shrinking, exposed skin to his scathing survey.

      For a taut, hugely embarrassing second it seemed he was going to stand there and watch her dress.

      She said harshly, ‘Go now!’

      ‘My pleasure,’ he bit out, and left with the lithe, silent menace of a predator.

      Weak from shock and relief, Iona slammed and locked the door behind him, then seized the wet bra and struggled back into it. Her bones felt like rubber and she had to draw several difficult breaths before the colour returned to her skin and she could think clearly.

      From the moment they’d met, Lukas Michelakis had had that effect on her—he literally took her breath away.

      Charisma, she thought wildly. Presence, impact—whatever the term, Luke possessed it in spades. Eighteen months previously it had been the first thing she’d noticed when he’d strode towards her across pristine sands in Tahiti—that, and the authority with which he’d ordered her off, telling her the beach was private.

      Luke—here in New Zealand. He was the man she and Angie had cheerfully referred to as the unknown plutocrat.

      This penthouse had to be possessed by a demon, and it had set her up nicely. It was probably laughing its evil head off.

      She’d just scrambled back into her smock when the doorbell pealed again.

      Oh, at last—Angie…

      And no sign of Luke as she hurtled out and opened the door. But instead of the calm presence of her cousin, she was confronted by a harried apartment maid holding a bag.

      ‘The linen from the laundry,’ she informed Iona, eyes widening as she looked past her.

      Bracing herself, Iona turned. Tall and tigerish, darkly dominating, Luke paced silently towards them.

      ‘I’ll show you the rooms to be made up,’ Iona said swiftly. Holding her shoulders so stiffly they protested, she almost frog-marched the maid down the corridor towards the three bedrooms.

      ‘Who’s the guy?’ the other woman hissed just before Iona left.

      ‘A guest of the owner,’ Iona said crisply.

      ‘He can be my guest any time he likes,’ the girl growled, then giggled.

      Iona left the room, unconsciously walking quietly. To no avail; a grim-faced Luke appeared and said curtly, ‘I need to talk to you. Come with me.’

      Her spine tingled, every nerve in her body sending out a red alert. Ignoring a foolhardy impulse to announce that she didn’t take orders from him, she assembled the tatters of her composure and looked up to meet his hooded, intent gaze.

      A dangerous move, she thought in dismay when her body suffused with heat.

      It took every scrap of control she could produce to steady her voice. ‘I’m sorry the bedrooms aren’t made up, but the laundry managed to lose the sheets. They’ve just arrived.’

      A negligent shrug of broad shoulders informed her he wasn’t interested. He said, ‘I can still see a sticky trail of something on your skin. You’d better finish cleaning up, then I want to see you on the terrace.’ He paused, his expression unreadable, before drawling, ‘I can lend you a shirt if you want one.’

      Once—in Tahiti—he’d slung his shirt around her when her shoulders started to burn in the sun, and its removal had led to an erotic interlude that came surging back into her mind only too vividly.

      Of course he knew. Colour burned across her cheekbones, and he lifted an arrogant eyebrow, his eyes narrowing in sardonic challenge.

      ‘That won’t be necessary,’ Iona said, before swinging on her heel and heading back into the powder room. She locked the door behind her, leaned back against it and bit her lip.

      Arrogant? Forcing herself to move, she wiped off the detergent.

      Arrogant was far too insipid a word to describe Luke Michelakis. She ran her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to restore its sleekness, and listed words much better suited to the man—words like cynical, dominating, and intimidating…

      It was a satisfying exercise, but she couldn’t concentrate on it. Different, infinitely dangerous words refused to budge from her brain.

       Sexy. Magnetic. Compelling.

      And those words were why eighteen months previously on a hot, deserted beach in Tahiti she’d made the craziest decision in her life. One look at Luke Michelakis had told her he was just what she needed—a man vibrant with charisma, his personality vital enough to rescue her from the emotional desolation that had followed the death of her fiancé, followed soon afterwards by the car crash that took both her parents.

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