Helen Bianchin - Greek's Pride

Alyse found it impossible not to feel apprehensive as she boarded the large Boeing jet the following morning, and as each aeronautical mile brought them steadily closer to their destination the anxiety intensified.

A stopover in Melbourne and change in aircraft was instrumental in the final leg of their flight, and Alyse followed Aleksi into the arrival lounge at Coolangatta, aware that Georg, who had travelled surprisingly well, was now wide awake and would soon require the bottle the airline stewardess had kindly heated prior to disembarking.

Aleksi gave every appearance of being a doting uncle— father , she corrected silently, incredibly aware that he exuded dynamic masculinity attired in dark casual-style trousers, pale shirt and impeccably designed jacket that served to emphasise his breadth of shoulder—and she mentally squared her own, tilting her chin fractionally as he moved forward to lift various items of their luggage from the carousel and load them on to a trolley.

‘I arranged to have my car brought to the airport,’ he told her as Georg broke into a fractious wail. ‘Wait here while I collect it from the car park.’

Alyse nodded in silent acquiescence, her entire attention caught up by the baby in the carrycot, whose tiny legs began to kick in vigorous rejection of what she suspected was a freshly soiled nappy.

By the time Aleksi returned Georg was crying lustily, and she opted to care for the baby’s needs while Aleksi dealt with the luggage.

‘Forceful young fellow,’ Aleksi drawled minutes later as he eased the large BMW away from the terminal.

‘Who’s obviously intent on continuing in the same domineering vein as his forefathers,’ Alyse offered sweetly as she gave Georg his bottle.

‘Of whom you know very little,’ reproved Aleksi, shooting her a quick mocking glance via the rear-view mirror, and she was quick with a loaded response.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m learning more each day.’ She deliberately focused her attention on Georg, pacing the baby’s attempt to drain the contents of his bottle in record speed, then when he had finished she burped him and laid him down in the carrycot, watching anxiously until he lapsed into a fitful doze.

Alyse pretended an interest in the darkened scenery beyond the windscreen, viewing the clearly lit highway and abundance of neon signs with apparent absorption.

‘Is this your first visit to the Gold Coast?’ he asked.

She turned towards him, glimpsing strength of purpose in features made all the more arresting by reflected headlights in the dim interior of the car.

‘My parents brought Antonia and me here for a holiday about ten years ago,’ she revealed.

The tiny lines fanning out from his eyes became more pronounced and his mouth widened into a slight smile. ‘You’ll notice a lot of changes.’

‘For the better, I hope?’

‘That would depend on whether you prefer the relaxed, casual holiday atmosphere the locals enjoyed all year round with only the inconvenience of visiting tourists during peak season, or the bustling commercial centre Surfers’ Paradise has now become.’

‘I guess one has to admit it’s progress,’ Alyse opined as the luxurious vehicle purred swiftly north along the double-lane highway.

‘There’s been a massive injection of Japanese-controlled funds into the area—hotels, resorts, golf courses,’ Aleksi told her. ‘The flow-on has resulted in a building boom: houses, shopping centres, high-rise developments, offices.’

‘As a builder, you must be very pleased with the increased business.’ It was a non-committal comment, and not meant to be judgemental. However, it earned her a quick piercing glance before the road reclaimed his attention.

‘The Coast has a long history of boom-and-bust cycles in building and real estate. Only the foolish choose to disregard facts and fail to plan ahead.’

No one in their right mind could call Aleksi Stefanos a fool, Alyse thought wryly. Remembering the force of his kiss, the steel-like strength of his arms as they had held her immobile, provided a vivid reminder of what manner of man she intended playing against. Yet it was a game she must win.

As the BMW pulled into the outer lane and sped swiftly past a line of slower-moving vehicles with ease, Alyse could only wonder at its horsepower capacity. There were outlines of densely covered hills reaching into the distance as Aleksi veered inland from the coastal highway.

‘Sovereign Islands comprises a number of bridge-linked residentially developed islands situated to the east of Paradise Point, less than an hour’s drive from the airport,’ he told her. ‘It’s a prestigious security-guarded estate, and accessible by road from the mainland via a private bridge. Every home site has deep-water anchorage.’

‘A gilded prison for the fabulously wealthy, with a luxury vessel moored at the bottom of every garden?’

‘The residents prefer to call it civilised protection, and are prepared to pay for the privilege.’

‘Suitably cushioned from the harsh realities of life.’ Alyse couldn’t believe she was resorting to sarcasm. It simply wasn’t her style. Yet for some unknown reason the man behind the wheel generated the most adverse feelings in her, making her want to lash out against him in every possible way.

He didn’t bother to reply, and she sat in silence, aware of an increasing anxiety as the car sped steadily north. Her home in Perth seemed a million kilometres away; the relative ease of life as she’d known it equally distant.

Her marriage was one of necessity, and merely mutually convenient. So why was she as wound up as a tightly coiled spring?

‘We’re almost there,’ Aleksi declared drily, and Alyse spared her surroundings a swift encompassing glance, noting the numerous brightly lit architect-designed homes and established well-kept grounds.

Aleksi had said his home was a showcase, and she silently agreed as he turned the car on to a tiled driveway fronting a magnificent double-storeyed residence that seemed far too large for one man alone.

Pale granite walls were reflected by the car’s powerful headlights, their lines imposing and classically defined. At a touch of the remote control module the wide garage doors tilted upwards, and Aleksi brought the BMW to a smooth halt alongside a Patrol four-wheel-drive vehicle.

Minutes later Alyse followed him into a large entrance foyer featuring a vaulted ceiling of tinted glass. A magnificent chandelier hung suspended from its centre, lending spaciousness and an abundance of light reflected by off-white walls and deep-piled cream-textured carpet. The central focus was a wide double staircase leading to the upper floor.

Wide glass-panelled doors stood open revealing an enormous lounge furnished with delicately carved antique furniture, and there were several carefully placed oil paintings gracing the walls, providing essential colour.

‘I suggest you settle Georg,’ said Aleksi as he brought in the luggage. His expression was a inscrutable mask as he chose a passageway to his left, and Alyse had little option but to follow in his wake.

‘The master suite has an adjoining sitting-room overlooking the canal—’ with a wide sweep of his arm he indicated a door immediately opposite ‘—an en suite bathroom, and, to the left, a changing-room with two separate walk-in wardrobes.’

The décor had an elegance that was restful and visually pleasant, utilising a skilful mix of pale green and a soft shade of peach as a complement to the overall cream.

‘There’s the requisite nursery furniture in the sitting-room,’ he continued, moving forward. ‘And a spare bed which you can use until—’

‘Until— what ?’ Alyse’s eyes blazed blue fire in an unspoken challenge.