Kate Hewitt - A Di Sione For The Greek's Pleasure

‘I...’ she began, helplessly, because she had no idea what to do. Sofia was gazing at her with puppy dog eyes and Angelos Mena was clearly seething with impatience. How could she refuse? How could she not?

‘You did come here to apply for the position, didn’t you, Miss Di Sione?’ Angelos demanded. ‘I am now offering you the position. Are you prepared to take it or not?’

Still Talia hesitated, caught by Sofia’s silently imploring look. She turned back to Angelos, whose gaze was narrowed, everything about his powerful form exuding impatience and irritation. ‘Yes,’ she said, the word catching in her throat. She cleared her throat, and then lifted her chin. ‘I am.’

The words seemed to set everything in motion, and the next hour was a blur as Angelos barked out orders to his assistant and Talia was shunted back to the reception area with Sofia. She got out her pad and pencils while people bustled around them, and she and Sofia took turns drawing funny pictures, laughing softly together, until Angelos stood before them, hands on trim hips, his dark and commanding gaze fastened on Talia in a way that made every thought evaporate from her brain.

‘Where are your things, Miss Di Sione?’

‘Um, back at the hotel where I checked in.’

‘And that is?’

‘Near the Acropolis...’

Angelos let out a sigh, no more than a hiss of breath. ‘The name of the hotel, please?’

‘The Adriana,’ Talia recalled, wishing she could act a bit more with it in front of Angelos Mena. She’d dealt with plenty of rich and powerful people through her work as a portrait artist, but no one had reduced her to insensible babbling the way Angelos Mena did with his narrowed gaze and overwhelming presence, not to mention his obvious annoyance. He clearly did not suffer fools gladly, and from the moment she’d entered his impressive office she’d felt like a fool.

‘I’ll arrange for someone to collect your bags,’ Angelos said. ‘In the meantime you can wait here with Sofia.’ He strode away without waiting for her reply, and Talia watched him leave. He had not even looked at his daughter, much less spared her a kind word or a smile.

She glanced at Sofia, wondering how they were going to overcome the language barrier for the next six weeks. ‘Perhaps you should teach me some Greek,’ she suggested, and Sofia’s forehead furrowed. ‘Elinika,’ she tried, fishing for the few phrases of Greek she’d learned on the plane trip over here. She touched her mouth to indicate speaking, and Sofia brightened.

‘Ne, ne.’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Speak Anglika.’

Talia nodded, smiling in understanding. ‘We can teach each other.’

They spent the next hour teaching each other words and phrases in both English and Greek, amidst much laughter when one of them, usually Talia, got it wrong.

‘Gi-neck-a,’ Talia repeated after Sofia. ‘Now what is that?’ Laughing, Sofia pointed to her. ‘Nanny?’ Talia guessed. ‘American? Foreigner?’

‘Woman,’ Angelos said quietly, and everything in Talia jolted as she turned to look at him. He was standing in front of them, gazing at her with an inscrutable expression, which was better than his usual scowl, although it still made Talia feel uncertain. ‘Gyneka,’ he added, making Talia realise she’d butchered the pronunciation once again. ‘Woman.’ For a second, no more, his gaze remained on Talia; she felt as if he’d pinned her there, so she was unable to look away, or even to breathe.

Then he flicked his gaze away, towards his daughter. Talia couldn’t understand the Greek but the quick jerk of his head towards the elevator conveyed his meaning well enough. It was time to go.

She slipped the pad and pencils back into her bag and stood with Sofia. Angelos turned back to her.

‘The helicopter is ready, and your things have been fetched from the hotel.’

‘Helicopter...’ She stared at him in alarm. ‘You didn’t say anything about a helicopter.’

Angelos frowned. ‘How else would we get to Kallos?’

‘By car?’ she guessed hopefully, and Angelos’s nostrils flared.

‘Kallos is an island, Miss Di Sione. We will travel there by helicopter. It should only take an hour.’

An island. She thought of Sofia’s drawing, the blue water, the beach. Of course it was an island.

She realised she must have been gaping at him because Angelos’s lips compressed as he looked at her. ‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, his tone deceptively mild.

‘No, of course not.’ But she was lying, because she could already feel the panic starting its insistent staccato pulse inside her. What on earth was she doing, going goodness knew where with this stranger? In a helicopter?

Her breath hitched and Angelos glanced at her. ‘You aren’t going to faint again?’

‘No,’ Talia said with far more certainty than she felt. In the past twenty-four hours she’d gone about five thousand miles outside her comfort zone. She wasn’t sure she could manage another step.

Then she felt a small, cold hand slide into hers and she looked down to see Sofia smiling at her. ‘Okay?’ she asked, and Talia was touched and humbled by the girl’s obvious concern.

‘Okay,’ she confirmed shakily, and hand in hand they walked towards the lift.

Even with Sofia’s support Talia couldn’t keep the fear from kicking up her heart rate as they took the lift up to the top of the building where a helicopter was waiting on a helipad.

She glanced at Angelos, who was striding towards the machine, the wind from the whirring propellers moulding his shirt and suit jacket close to his body so Talia could see the impressive outline of his well-defined pecs. The helicopter looked small and menacing, its curved windshield looking like the giant eyes of a bug. Talia clutched Sofia’s hand harder.

She really didn’t think she could do this.

Angelos climbed into the helicopter, and then reached down first for Sofia’s hand. Talia watched as the little girl clambered easily inside and then sat down. Angelos turned back to her, the wind whipping about him, his hand outstretched. Talia simply stared.

‘Miss Di Sione,’ he shouted over the noise of the propeller blades. ‘Take my hand.’

Talia’s heart was pounding painfully, and her palms were icy and damp with sweat. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t deal with confined spaces, ones where it was impossible to get out. A closed door, a dark room, a locked car...she avoided them all. And the passenger jet she’d been on a few hours ago had been hard enough, but a helicopter...

And then suddenly she thought of Giovanni smiling at her as he’d given her his instructions. ‘I know you will try your hardest. And you will succeed.’

Taking a deep breath, she reached for Angelos’s hand and then she let him pull her up into the helicopter. She practically collapsed into her seat, her legs rubbery and her heart thudding sickly. She had just managed to jam her seat belt together when the helicopter lifted off the building and began its ascent into a cloudless blue sky, heading for the Aegean Sea.

CHAPTER THREE

ANGELOS STUDIED HIS new nanny, noting dispassionately how pale she’d gone, her eyes closed as she leaned back against the seat and took several deep, even breaths. What on earth was the woman’s problem?

‘Do you suffer from travel sickness?’ he asked abruptly, raising his voice to be heard above the noise of the helicopter, and her eyes flew open.

‘No.’

‘Then why do you look so terrible?’

‘You’re quite the flatterer, aren’t you,’ she muttered, and Angelos stared at her, nonplussed.

‘You look as if you are about to be sick.’

‘You’d better hope I’m not,’ Talia answered, and he grimaced in distaste.