ANA had nominated a restaurant not far from Blooms and Bouquets for lunch with her father.
Although the occasion proved something of an anticlimax, for he arrived late, greeted her affectionately, then he apologetically declared he couldn’t stay long.
Of average height, he’d always had a presence. It was in the way he held himself, the easy way he moved. Yet today he seemed… Diminished, she perceived a trifle sadly.
They ordered from the menu, and sipped chilled water as they waited for their food.
‘Are you OK?’
Was it something in her tone that caused the pain reflected in his eyes?
‘Luc told you.’
To pretend ignorance was a useless exercise, and she hated the guilt that momentarily haunted his features.
‘Did you think he wouldn’t?’
He had the grace to look embarrassed.
What would his reaction be if she confided Luc had used the knowledge as leverage to effect a reconciliation?
A waiter served their order, and they both ate, mindful of the need not to linger.
‘I only have one question,’ Ana began without preamble. ‘Why?’
‘There was a woman…’ Her father paused, then continued with obvious reluctance. ‘By the time I discovered she was playing at least three men against each other, I’d run up a fortune on credit.’
The most immediate question came to mind. ‘What will you do now?’
‘Sell the apartment, and try to rebuild my reputation. Overseas,’ he elaborated. ‘I have connections in New York.’
Maybe it would be a good move, and she told him so.
‘Did you enjoy the Coast?’
‘It’s good to be back.’ A fabrication, yet the stark truth wasn’t something she was prepared to confide. Although there was something she could share, and did. ‘How do you feel about becoming a grandfather?’
His smile reflected pleasing warmth, and he covered her hand with his own. ‘Are we talking a fait accompli?’
It was after two when Ana returned to the shop, and the remainder of the afternoon passed quickly as she brought computer records up to date, dealt with accounting entries, and handled the phone.
Traffic was heavy, and it took a while to reach Vaucluse. The thought of a shower, changing into casual clothes, and a long, cool drink…in that order, was uppermost in her mind as she garaged the car.
A light meal, maybe she’d view a video, then she’d catch an early night.
Petros emerged into the foyer as she entered it, and she offered him a stunning smile. ‘Hi, how was your day?’
‘The usual, Ms Dimitriades. And yours?’
‘The same.’ Her response held a musing solemnity that wasn’t lost on the manservant.
‘Luc asked that I inform you he’ll be late. A business dinner, I understand.’
‘So it’s just me, and the kitchen cat. A salad will be fine.’
His lips thinned in visible disapproval. ‘I have prepared something more substantial than a salad. If you’ll kindly tell me where and at what time you’d like to eat, I will be on hand to serve the meal.’
‘And the kitchen cat?’ It was a query she couldn’t resist, and brought forth the glimmer of a smile.
‘Sulked the entire time you were absent.’ As did the master of the house, although one didn’t use sulk and Luc Dimitriades in the same sentence. A heightened temperament was more appropriate.
‘Then I should make amends.’
One would imagine if Luc owned a four-legged feline, it would be an exotic breed. Except Oliver had turned up at their back door a month ago, hungry, wet, and looking pitifully pathetic. Towelled dry, given a saucer of milk, he declared the house his new abode. And stayed. Supposedly consigned to the kitchen and laundry, he enjoyed the run of the house from morning until night.
‘An excellent suggestion.’
Ana found Oliver curled in his laundry basket, and he eyed her carefully as if weighing up whether to greet her or not. She had, after all, not been around for a while. Except there was something in the tone of her voice, a caring gentleness to her touch that won him over, and he allowed instinct to rule by rolling onto his back.
Unconditional affection, Ana reflected as she stroked Oliver’s arched throat, then his exposed belly.
If only it were as uncomplicated with the human species, she mused as she ascended the stairs to the upper floor.
After a leisurely shower she donned jeans, a blouse with its edges tied in a careless knot at her midriff, gathered the length of her hair into a careless knot, then she retraced her steps to the kitchen, where Petros was in the process of arranging a succulent stir-fry on a bed of steaming rice.
Ana caught up a fork and dipped it into the rice, directed Petros a cheeky grin at his mock-severity, and collected a plate. ‘I’ll go eat on the terrace.’
The air held the balmy warmth of early summer, and she had a yen to feel the slight breeze against her face, breathe in the faint scents of growing blooms, and gain some tranquillity.
‘It’s my job to serve you.’
She spared him a level glance and began spooning rice and stir-fry onto her plate. ‘We’ve had this argument before.’
‘I’m sure we’ll have it again.’ Petros released a long-suffering sigh. ‘Luc would—’
‘Luc isn’t here,’ she reminded solemnly. ‘So do me a favour and lighten up.’
He appeared to tussle with his conscience. ‘Very well.’
It was a beautiful evening, and the view from the terrace out over the inner harbour spectacular. Everything appeared so still, the water glassy-smooth with small craft moored close in to the rock-faced cliffs.
Above, the sky was pale with an opalescent glow that appeared as the sun sank lower towards the horizon. Soon streaks of colour in varied shades of rose-pink would appear, brightening to orange in a final flare before the dusk preceded night.
It was easy to let her mind wander back to the first time she came into this house. The pleasure in loving the man who’d brought her here, and the promise of what could and would be, in spite of the knowledge a part of his heart would always belong to Emma, the young girl he’d married and lost much too soon.
In the eleven years between his first and second marriage there had been women. A man of Luc’s wealth and calibre was an inevitable magnet for female attention. She could accept that.
She could even handle the relatively harmless flirtatious games played out by the social set.
A mistress, however, was something she refused to condone.
Celine would have Ana believe the affair was alive and well. But was it? Luc swore no. So who did she believe?
‘If you’ve finished, I’ll take your plate.’
She turned at the sound of Petros’s voice and offered him a winsome smile. ‘Thanks. It was delicious.’
‘Would you like some dessert? Fresh fruit?’
She shook her head.
‘Some tea, perhaps?’
‘I’ll come in and get it.’
‘Stay there.’ He looked out over the gardens. ‘It really is very pleasant at this time of evening.’
The edges of her mouth tilted. ‘Conversation, Petros?’ Her eyes assumed a slightly wicked gleam. ‘You so rarely indulge.’
‘I’ll fetch your tea.’
Ana moved from the table and curled onto a nearby chaise longue. Seconds later there was a soft plop as a furry bundle landed beside her on the cushion and Oliver began systematically digging in his front paws, circled twice, then settled into a ball close to her thigh.
She lifted a hand and stroked the cat’s head, then fondled his ears, and was rewarded with a quiet throaty purr.
‘Well,’ Petros exclaimed softly as he carefully placed a cup and saucer on the side-table. ‘It appears he’s decided to attach himself to you.’
Oliver lifted his head, offered Petros an unblinking feline stare, then rested his chin on his paws.
‘I’ll go fetch you a sweater.’
Ana sipped the tea, and when darkness fell she donned the sweater Petros brought, taking care not to disturb Oliver.
Electric street-lights were visible in the distance, and seemed to merge with stars in an inky sky. ‘Would you like more tea?’
She turned towards Petros, whose silent tread she’d failed to detect. ‘No, thanks.’
It was there Luc found her, asleep, her head resting against the cushioned rest.
She wasn’t to know Petros had remained indoors keeping her in plain sight until Luc returned home. Or that both men exchanged brief words before the manservant crossed to the foyer and took the internal stairs to his flat.
Luc stood in front of the chaise longue, looking at her features in repose, then he hunkered down and gently tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear.
She stirred, and he cupped a palm over her shoulder and ran it lightly down to rest at her elbow, watching as her eyelashes fluttered, then swept slowly upward.
‘What are you doing out here, pedhi mou? Stargazing?’
Ana reached out a hand and found an empty space where the cat had slept. ‘Oliver?’
‘Petros has settled him into his basket for the night.’ He rose to his full height in one fluid movement, then he leant forward and lifted her into his arms.
She didn’t feel inclined to struggle. ‘I can walk.’
His mouth brushed her temple. ‘Indulge me.’ He carried her easily, dousing lights, setting the security alarm as he moved through the house, then he ascended the stairs and traversed the gallery to their bedroom.
‘I don’t think—’
His lips touched hers, savouring with a slow provocative sweep of his tongue. And left her wanting more.
He shouldered the door shut and advanced towards the bed. ‘Is it so important that you think?’
She thought sadly of hopes and dreams, of what was, and what could be. Mostly, she thought of now.
‘Yes.’
He slowly lowered her to her feet, and let his hands slip down to cup her bottom. Then his head descended, and his lips caressed hers with a gentleness that made her want to weep.
‘I don’t want to do this.’
It was an ache-filled whisper that curled around his heart and tugged a little.
‘Then tell me to stop.’
Dear God…she hungered for his touch.
The slow, tantalising sweep of his tongue caused heat to lick through her veins, and her body swayed into his, as if driven there by a force stronger than she.
His mouth parted, moving hers to open to accept his probing exploration, and she whimpered in part need, part protest as he deepened the kiss.
He spread one hand over her buttocks and slid the other up her spine to hold fast her nape, and wrought havoc with her senses.
It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.
She needed to feel her skin against his, without the barrier of clothes, and her fingers tore at the buttons on his shirt, loosening them, then she dragged the cotton free from his trousers.
A low, guttural sound emerged from her throat as he pulled off her sweater, and followed it with her blouse, then her bra.
A hand shaped her breast, his thumb on one roseate peak, caressing until heat pooled at the juncture of her thighs, flaring in a radiating spiral that almost drove her mad.
Buttons, fasteners, each were undone in haste and fell to the carpet, quickly followed by silk, until there was nothing between them.
Ana cried out, and the sound became lost against the invasion of his mouth as he tumbled her carefully down onto the bed.
Then his body rose over hers, large, powerful, and fully aroused. His eyes were dark with passion, hard muscle and sinew corded as he supported his weight above hers.
There was leashed control apparent as he brought his mouth down to her breast, and suckled there, taking her almost to the edge of pain before trailing a path to her navel, pressing a tracery of light kisses over her stomach as he moved low.
She should cry out for him to halt this madness before it went any further. But she was powerless to utter so much as a word.
She needed his possession, craved it. To deny him was to deny herself, and she damned her sybaritic soul as he tipped her over the edge, then held her as she fell.
He entered her slowly, inch by exquisite inch until she thought she’d go mad. He was in control, his hands cupping each hip, holding her there as he set an unhurried rhythm that made her want to weep.
When she would have quickened and deepened the pace he brought his mouth down over hers in a kiss that alternately cajoled, caressed, soothed.
His release when it came completed her, and his shuddering body brought feminine satisfaction for as long as it took for her emotions to settle.
He lay on his side, facing her, with one arm tucking her body in close to his.
He pressed a kiss to the edge of her shoulder. ‘Pedhi mou, I adored your reluctance.’
‘I hate you.’
‘Uh-huh.’ His lips reached her elbow, then trailed to the inside of her wrist.
‘Celine—’
‘Has no part in what we share together,’ he assured, and felt the rapid acceleration of her pulse.
‘That isn’t how she sees it.’
His lips were as light as the brush from a butterfly’s wing as he retraced a path and settled in the sensitive curve of her neck.
‘You want to talk of another woman, when the only woman who interests me is you?’
Oh, God. He had the touch to drive her wild. ‘They’re only words.’
‘What would you have me say?’
I love you. The silent, beseeching cry came from her heart. And it broke a little with the knowledge they were words he would never declare.
He reached down and drew the bedcovers over them both, then caught hold of her chin and tilted it so she had no choice but to look at him.
‘You are mine, kyria. You carry my child. It is enough.’
He was wrong. It wasn’t nearly enough.
‘You want to continue this discussion?’
It took every effort to force her voice to sound calm. ‘Why?’ She swallowed the betraying lump in her throat. ‘There is nothing to discuss.’