THE IDEA HAD come to him in the early hours of Saturday morning. After a short and frustrating evening with Maria—he was far from the perfect companion given his preoccupation with a certain schoolteacher—he’d lain awake brooding over his predicament. He deeply resented anyone trying to run his life—he’d been doing a damned fine job of that since he was sixteen years old—but at the same time her opinion hadn’t been completely unwarranted. On the face of it, he could even admit she had a good point. But staying in England was out of the question—Santos needed to believe there was another way he could live his life and still help Cameron settle into the reality of life without his mother.
And, some time before sunrise, it had struck him: the perfect solution.
A less than ideal weekend with Cameron had cemented the plan in his mind. What had he expected—that he could turn up in Cameron’s life and be instantly accepted? That they would gel immediately? Santos wasn’t close to his own father—he had no real model for parental behaviour—and Cameron was a grieving, troubled boy who seemed determined to keep Santos at arm’s length.
He needed help and Amelia could provide that...all he had to do was convince her of the sense of his proposal.
Santos Anastakos had been born into a fortune but before his sixteenth birthday it had almost all gone—his father’s lifestyle, poor business acumen and belief that each marriage would be ‘everlasting’ had meant he’d failed to sign pre-nups, meaning the fortune had been divided and re-divided enough times to diminish it significantly.
Santos had restored it, piece by piece, investment by investment, so that by his twenty-fifth birthday Anastakos Inc had been the fastest growing brand in the world and his personal fortune was one of the largest. It took skill and determination, and several habits had always guided Santos. He read people and committed their traits to memory but, more importantly, he looked for their weaknesses, things he could exploit to his advantage.
Amelia had shown him her weakness and he had no doubts as to how to exploit it to get exactly what he wanted. The ends justified the means, though—they had to. He was sinking, with no idea what to say or how to behave with his own damned son. For a man who commanded any room he entered, the complete lack of power made him feel impotent. He hated it.
He’d never wanted children; he’d been very careful to avoid having children—or so he’d believed. Nonetheless, Cameron was in existence, a six-year-old boy who was the spitting image of Santos at around the same age. His eyes were unmistakable—it was like looking in a miniature mirror. The DNA test he’d flown to England prepared to organise had been rendered unnecessary from the first meeting. Cameron was his son.
All that was left to do was work out how to be a father. People talked about parenting instincts but Santos had none. He didn’t really like children—they were illogical and emotional, demanding. And yet there was something else, something he hadn’t expected: a kind of soul-deep connection. He looked at Cameron and felt a link to his past, as though a part of himself had been severed from his body and become independent. He also felt an overwhelming fear: fear of ruining Cameron’s life; of hurting him; of making him miserable; and, yes, of compounding the grief he was feeling now; fear that he wouldn’t be the father Cameron needed—that he wasn’t capable of being any kind of father.
He was terrified that his son would come to hate him.
He ruminated on this as he waited in his car, watching the entrance to the school. It was a nice enough school, he conceded, though far from what he might have chosen had he known he was a father. Cynthia had enrolled him in the local comprehensive—because anything else had been beyond her budget. The area was good, though, the buildings quaint in that English style and the street he was parked in lined with leafy trees.
Something shifted in the periphery of his vision and he responded immediately, training his gaze on the movement: Amelia. He pressed his hand to the door handle, preparing to step out.
But, for just a moment, he watched her. It was another warm day and today she was wearing a dress. Pale grey with an intricate pattern—perhaps flowers—it wrapped around her chest and tied at the waist, drawing attention to her gentle curves, the roundness of her breasts and neatness of her waist, so the same torpedo of attraction was spiralling through him, unwelcome and completely unwanted.
He wasn’t here to notice her damned figure, no matter how tempting he found it. More important considerations were at stake. Cameron had barely spoken to Santos since coming to stay with him, but when he had it had all been about Miss Ashford.
‘Miss Ashford this...’
‘Miss Ashford that...’
‘Miss Ashford makes me feel happy...’
‘Miss Ashford understands me...’
‘Miss Ashford says...’
And on and on and on.
It had been a little irritating before but, now that he’d met Miss Ashford for himself, it was downright distracting. He didn’t need any help putting that woman front and centre of his mind. All weekend he’d found his thoughts straying to her, remembering the husky little breath she’d made up close, the way her lips had parted when he’d moved close, as though silently inviting him to kiss her. To the way her eyes had rolled back at the simple touch of his fingertip to her lips, almost as though she’d been on the brink of an orgasm from the light, meaningless flirtation.
And he’d wondered about what would have happened if he’d acted more swiftly, kissing her as soon as he’d wanted to rather than trying to fight his desire. She’d been doing the same exercise, he was certain of it, and she’d triumphed in a way he hadn’t. She’d put an end to the preamble—for surely it had been? Another minute and his mouth would have claimed hers, his lips dominating hers...and then?
Yes, that was where he came unstuck, because ‘and then’ was a slippery slope to the kind of fantasies that made it hard for him to watch Miss Ashford even at this distance without feeling a stirring in his groin.
Pushing out of the car with a determined tilt of his head, Santos strode across the street, arriving at her side before she’d even registered his presence. She glanced up at him and, at the moment of realisation, made a husky noise of acknowledgement that almost skittled the carefully thought out proposal he was about to make, given how much it reminded him of Friday night.
‘Miss Ashford.’ He couldn’t help it. The words were drawled with a hint of sensuality, so her pupils darkened and her cheeks filled with that ready blush once more.
‘Mr Anastakos.’ She took a step back, her eyes failing to meet his. Didn’t she realise how crazy that made him?
‘I need to speak with you.’
‘Oh?’ Her brows drew together and her hands fidgeted with her car keys. ‘You do? About what?’
It was an artless response and inwardly he smiled. If she thought he’d come to talk about their obvious chemistry then it proved she was at least as aware of it as he. It was a short-lived triumph. Desire for this woman would only complicate what he needed, and he was quite certain now that she was essential to his plan.
‘Cameron.’ Her expression shifted speculatively at the mention of the young boy. She hadn’t been expecting that. ‘Do you have a moment?’
‘I...’ Her teeth dragged on her lower lip and her body swayed a little, tiny gestures of temptation that didn’t escape his notice. ‘If it’s a parent-teacher interview then I suggest you make an appointment through the headmaster’s office.’
His smile was laced with scepticism. She’d already shown him how deeply she cared for Cameron. Her objection was weak at best, born of a desire not to act on the crazy, sensual impulses that were fogging them both. ‘It’s important.’
He could feel her prevaricating and then, finally, she sighed. ‘Fine. What is it?’
He gestured towards a bench, a little way down the path in the shade of a considerable elm tree.
‘That’s okay. I don’t have long right now so I suggest you cut right to it.’ She cast a glance at her wristwatch, a small frown pulling at her features. The statement pushed under his skin, making him wonder where she was going, making him wonder a great many things: what was her life like, what did she do outside of school?
‘I’ve thought about your objections to my plans.’
Her eyes clearly showed surprise.
‘You weren’t expecting that?’
‘Frankly? No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Honestly?’
‘Always.’ It was a husky encouragement.
She bit down on her lower lip as she thought about that. ‘You don’t strike me as the kind of man who would change his mind.’
‘No?’
She shook her head. ‘You seem too arrogant for that.’
His brows shifted upwards and she clamped a hand over her mouth, her eyes sweetly apologetic. Sweetly? What the hell...?
‘Oh, I still believe taking Cameron to Agrios Nisi is the correct decision.’ He spoke firmly, allaying any relief she might have felt.
Her features shifted, sparking with the defiance that was instantly familiar.
‘Then you haven’t changed your mind?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’ Her disappointment was obvious, her full lips instinctively dropping into a small frown, and he repressed an impulse to wipe his thumb across her lower lip once more to remind himself of how soft and sweet they felt beneath his touch. As if she could read his mind, she lifted her own fingers to her lower lip, tracing the outline there. It was almost painful to watch her reciprocate, so he jabbed his hands in his pockets, focussing on his reasons for being here.
‘I do not want to make Cameron’s life harder than it needs to be. I am, naturally, mindful of what he’s been through, and for how that’s affecting him. I concede that these changes must be overwhelming to the boy and, like you, I want to protect him.’
‘You do?’ Her brow furrowed, her lip dropping further. His body tightened in an immediate and unwelcome response.
‘Of course. Do you think I’m some kind of monster? That I’d revel in my own son’s pain?’
‘I didn’t mean that.’ Her cheeks bloomed into a pink the colour of plum blossoms.
‘Didn’t you?’
He scanned her face—not dowdy, not even remotely. ‘Considered’ would be a better word. Measured. Everything about her was carefully audited, even her reaction in his office. Desire had been swamping them both but she’d pulled herself back, wrapping herself in a veneer of ice, pushing him away before things could get out of hand. Her control was impressive. Or perhaps he was just surprised to meet a woman who wasn’t vying to be taken to bed by him. It had been many years since he’d been turned down—if ever. It was little wonder the experience had dominated his thoughts since. It was the novelty factor.
‘No!’ Her denial was emphatic. ‘But moving him to Greece is, in my opinion, going to be very difficult for him.’
‘And you don’t want that.’
‘No.’ Her voice softened, the hint of a smile curving her lips. ‘I—I told you the other night...’ She stumbled awkwardly over the words. ‘I care for Cameron very deeply. I understand the position is awkward for both of you but you’re the adult. It’s your job to protect him.’
‘And I intend to.’ His eyes sparked with hers, narrowing speculatively. ‘Which brings me to why I’m here.’
She waited, silent, her eyes boring into his now, her lips parted ever so slightly. He wished she wouldn’t do that.
‘I have a proposition for you.’
Her eyes grew more round, her lips parting further as she whooshed out a deep breath. ‘Go on,’ she prompted, though it sounded as if she’d rather do just about anything than hear whatever was coming next.
‘Come with us.’
She blinked, shaking her head a little. ‘What do you mean?’
‘At the end of the school year, I will take Cameron to my island to live. Come with him and help him to adjust to his new life. Help him adjust to me.’ The final request surprised him; he hadn’t planned to admit how hard he was finding it to bond with his son, nor to forgive Cynthia for keeping their child a secret. Whenever he looked at Cameron he could see only what he’d missed out on, not what he’d gained.
‘You’re asking me to go to Agrios Nisi with you?’
‘I’m offering you a job,’ he clarified. ‘Six weeks as Cameron’s companion.’
Amelia frowned, again shaking her head a little. ‘He has a nanny.’
‘He’s had three nannies since his mother died but, yes, right now he has a nanny and she seems competent. I think he probably likes her better than the other two. However, she is a career nanny. While she takes excellent care of him, I don’t feel that she has much of a personal connection with Cameron. You apparently do.’
Amelia looked sideways a moment, lifting a hand and brushing her hair from her face. She wore on her middle finger a gold ring with a flat face, the kind of ring one might get at a college graduation ceremony. He didn’t recognise the engraving; and she moved her hand again, much too quickly for him to commit the design to memory.
‘I think Cameron is a very unique little boy and what he’s been through...’ Her voice tapered off a little, her eyes suspiciously moist. But when she turned back to face him there was a strength in her eyes, a look of determination. ‘I care for all my students, Mr Anastakos.’
‘But particularly for Cameron.’
She bit down on her lower lip, anguish in her eyes. He could feel her prevarication, her torment. She wanted to accept his offer but she was scared. Of what—him? Of what happened between them the other night?
‘This would be a formal offer of employment,’ he said smoothly. ‘My lawyer would arrange a contract, you’d be paid a salary—given set hours and weekends—just like a regular job.’ And then, after a pause, ‘I would expect nothing of you personally.’
He saw his words affecting her, drawing her out, and she made a noise of consideration.
‘I don’t know. On the one hand, I’d do anything for Cameron, but...’
‘But?’ He challenged, though he knew the answer. Their chemistry frightened her. For whatever reason, the strength of desire that had arced between them wasn’t something she wanted to indulge—ever.
Desperation drove him to tighten the screws regardless. ‘Let’s be clear: my plans will not change. One way or another, in two weeks I will take Cameron with me, away from here. If you care about him, and want to help ease him through the transition period, then accept my offer.’
She sucked in a sharp breath. ‘You know, this runs pretty darned close to emotional blackmail.’
His expression didn’t shift but he was left wondering in what way this didn’t constitute full-blown emotional blackmail.
She flicked a glance at her wristwatch. ‘I have to go.’
Something uncomfortably like panic had him reaching for her wrist, his fingers curving around her fine bones, his thumb padding over her skin before he could stop himself. ‘Wait.’ The word emerged as a deep, husky command. ‘You haven’t given me an answer.’
‘Do I get to think about it?’
‘Do you need to think about it?’
She pulled her hand away, rubbing her wrist; her eyes holding his were awash with doubts. ‘I would have conditions.’
‘Go on.’ He dropped her hand, stepping backward, crossing his arms over his chest. He forced himself to give her the entirety of his concentration.
‘I have work commitments outside of the school. I’d need an office for my use.’
That sparked his curiosity—hell, it ignited it into a full-blown fireball—but he knew better than to probe her further at this point. Once she was on the island, he could ask her all sorts of questions, if he found she still held his interest. Not now, while her acceptance was in the balance.
‘That is not a problem.’
‘Okay.’ She chewed on her lip in a way that drove him utterly crazy.
‘Okay? You’ll do it?’
She stopped nodding and frowned. ‘Okay, I’ll think about it. Send me a contract and I’ll advise your lawyers as to my response.’