Anne Mather - Sleeping With A Stranger

‘Women from your background,’ she retorted, not prepared to give in even though he was sure he must be hurting her. He was hurting himself, for God’s sake, but in an entirely different way. ‘I’m not like you.’

‘Oh, but you are,’ he countered harshly. ‘Whatever that—youth you married was like, when we were together you didn’t care who I was.’

‘That was because I didn’t know who you were,’ she exclaimed. ‘And don’t—don’t speak about Richard. He—he was a decent man.’

‘That’s not what your daughter says,’ Milos taunted recklessly. ‘As far as I can gather, he definitely had faults of his own. Why did you marry him, Helen? Did you really love him? Or was it just to stop your mother from finding out what a promiscuous creature you’d turned out to be?’

‘You bastard!’

She wanted to strike him then. For a heart-stopping moment, she stared at him, and although the hostility between them was palpable there were other, less-identifiable emotions swirling in the violet depths of her eyes. She tried to jerk back, but she didn’t make it, and the raging heat of her body against his sent the blood rushing to his groin.

‘Did you really believe we could be indifferent to each other?’ he asked thickly, aware of a violent desire to kiss her, to pull the quivering curve of her thighs even closer to his aching shaft. This wasn’t meant to happen, the voice of sanity warned him, but right then he was deaf to everything but his own urgent needs.

‘Hey—what’s going on?’

The child’s voice provided the necessary draught of cool air to bring him to his senses. His hand dropped instantly to his side and he stepped back on legs that were almost as unsteady as Helen’s own.

‘Melissa,’ he said, and he was amazed to hear how controlled he sounded in the circumstances. ‘Um—your mother had something in her eye. I was just trying to get it out.’

M ILOS was persuaded to stay for lunch, after all.

Helen had been hoping he would go so that she could sort out her chaotic feelings. But with Melissa adding her support to Maya’s renewed invitation, for some reason Milos had acquiesced.

Helen dared not wonder why. He was a devil, she thought, viewing her flushed face in the bathroom mirror. She’d sought refuge in her own suite of rooms, leaving Melissa and Maya to entertain their visitor, desperate to avoid another destructive altercation with him.

But she knew that sooner or later she had to go down again and behave as if nothing had happened. As it was, leaving Melissa with him had been a calculated risk. Who knew what her daughter might say if she was asked personal questions about the man she believed to be her father? After the way she’d spoken in the car, it was obvious she retained little respect for Richard.

However, what worried Helen most was her own unwelcome response to Milos. She’d never dreamt he might behave as he had, or that what had begun as a childish provocation should so quickly deteriorate into a mindless assault on her senses. She’d sensed he’d wanted to kiss her, and the awful thing was she’d wanted it, too. Wanted more, if she was honest.

Dear God, she must be crazy!

Lunch itself wasn’t quite the ordeal Helen had anticipated. Her father joined them and Melissa seemed to be easier to manage when he was there. Not that he’d persuaded her to abandon her jeans in favour of a pair of her mother’s shorts, but Helen had noticed that her daughter no longer smeared black lipstick all over her mouth whenever they left their rooms.

She was relieved, too, to find that Maya had made sure that Milos was seated between her and Sam, which negated any private conversation between her guests. Which suited Helen just fine.

Nevertheless, she was intensely conscious of Milos’s dark eyes resting on her frequently throughout the meal, and, although she wasn’t particularly hungry, she was grateful for the wineglass at her fingertips, which provided at least a fragile barrier between them.

Melissa, however, was another matter, and just when Helen was beginning to think she was out of danger the girl addressed Milos directly.

‘Did you come in your car?’ she asked eagerly. She pushed aside the plate of beef and lamb kebabs that Maya had served with rice and salad in favour of the loukouma-des , or deep-fried doughnuts dipped in a honey syrup, which were much more to her liking. ‘How fast can it go?’

‘On this island?’ Milos spoke tolerantly. ‘Not very.’ His eyes flickered to Helen’s anxious face and away again. ‘Why don’t you ask your mother if she’ll let you come for a drive with me and I’ll show you?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Helen disliked him putting her on the spot again. ‘I—we couldn’t put you out like that.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he assured her smoothly, and Helen wanted to scream in frustration when Melissa said, ‘There you are, Mum. At least someone cares if I have some fun.’

‘Oh, Melissa.’ It was her grandfather who spoke now, and Helen saw the way the girl visibly wilted beneath his wounded gaze. ‘And I thought you were happy here. Was I wrong?’

Melissa’s pale skin turned a little pink. ‘Oh—no,’ she protested, and Helen realised in amazement that she genuinely wanted to please him. ‘I mean, going out in the Jeep’s okay, but it’s not a Mercedes!’

Her grandfather pulled a wry face. ‘Well, that’s put me in my place, hasn’t it?’

‘No.’ Melissa didn’t realise he was teasing her. ‘But Milos has offered.’

‘Mr Stephanides,’ corrected Helen shortly, but her nemesis merely shook his head.

‘Milos will do,’ he said, with annoying complacency. ‘So—what do you think, Sam? Um—Helen?’

Maya gave an impatient exclamation. ‘You surely can’t seriously be considering entertaining a child, Milos,’ she exclaimed. ‘Sam?’ She turned to her husband. ‘Am I not right?’

‘I suppose it’s up to Milos,’ declared her husband mildly. ‘Helen?’

How could she object? She could hardly say she didn’t want Milos anywhere near her daughter when she couldn’t offer an explanation why. They all thought her reservations were ones of politeness, when in fact she lived in fear of Milos discovering exactly who Melissa was.

‘I—well—’

‘That’s settled, then,’ said Melissa triumphantly. She looked at Milos. ‘Can we do it today?’

‘I don’t see why not.’ Milos frowned. Then he said, ‘I wonder if you’d like to come to Vassilios. That’s my house. There’s a pool there. And horses. And you’ll probably meet my sister, Rhea. She’s staying at my parents’ villa at the moment, but she spends more time at Vassilios because of the pool. She’s actually not that much older than you are.’

‘How old is she?’ asked Melissa at once, and Helen’s heart faltered in her chest.

‘Oh—eighteen, I think,’ said Milos carelessly, apparently unaware of Helen’s tension. Then, before Melissa could comment on her own age, he added, ‘Your mother’s welcome to join us.’