Anne Mather - His Virgin Mistress

Joanna came swiftly to the bed, but she didn’t sit in the chair he’d indicated. Instead, she edged her hip onto the bed beside him, taking one of his hands between both of hers and gazing down at him with troubled eyes. ‘Don’t even suggest such a thing,’ she reproved him sharply. Then, hesitatingly, ‘Have you sent for a doctor?’

‘What can a doctor do for me?’ Constantine was dismissive. ‘I am already sick of the cocktail of drugs I am forced to swallow every day, without inviting a handful more. No, Joanna, I have not sent for a doctor. A few hours’ rest is all I need. Will you tell Demetri and Olivia that I am being lazy this morning?’

Joanna sighed. ‘Shouldn’t you tell them yourself?’

‘And have them see me like this?’ Constantine moved his head from side to side on the pillows. ‘I know what they are like, Joanna. I would have no choice in the matter. Demetri would have Tsikas here immediately, and it is totally unnecessary.’

‘Tsikas?’ Joanna frowned. ‘I assume he is your doctor.’

‘He is the island doctor, yes,’ agreed Constantine wearily. ‘Look, Joanna, I do not wish to worry anyone. Livvy has enough to worry about, making the final preparations for Alex’s wedding, and Demetri is already working flat out, trying to cope with my work as well as his own. Let him go on thinking that I am waiting for his explanation as to why two of my ships are not making me any money. Do not, I beg of you, put any doubts in their minds.’

Joanna shook her head. ‘I don’t think they’ll like me making your excuses,’ she said unhappily. ‘But I take your point about worrying them unnecessarily. If it is unnecessarily,’ she added doubtfully.

‘It is.’ Constantine was determined. ‘You can tell Demetri I will speak with him this afternoon. I have taken my medication and in a few hours I should be as good as new.’

You wish, thought Joanna uneasily, but she knew better than to argue with him. Despite his physical weakness, Constantine’s will was as strong as ever.

‘All right?’ he prompted when she didn’t say anything, and Joanna gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ she promised, not looking forward to telling either of the Kastro offspring what their father had said. ‘Now, get some rest, hmm?’ She bent to bestow a warm kiss on his dry cheek. ‘I’ll come back at lunchtime to see how you are.’

Constantine nodded. ‘We will have lunch together,’ he said, patting her cheek. ‘Oh, Joanna, how I wish I were twenty years younger. I would not be lying here like a beached whale while the woman I admire above all others was spending her time with my son instead of me.’

Joanna smiled, but as she got up from the bed she couldn’t help thinking she’d bitten off more than she could chew by coming here. Yes, she cared about Constantine. Yes, it was easy to spend time with him. But dealing with his immediate family was another thing altogether. She supposed she had been naïve in imagining that they might welcome her into their midst, but she certainly hadn’t expected them to be so openly hostile.

Though hostility was not what she had initially felt when Demetrios had surprised her on the terrace that morning. When he’d wrapped a towel about his nakedness—and she was pretty sure he had been swimming in the nude—and walked towards her, she’d felt a most unhostile surge of emotion. Indeed, for the first time in years she’d been physically aroused by a man’s body. And although she’d later dismissed it as an aberration, now, faced with the prospect of confronting him again, Joanna knew she was apprehensive of the effect he had on her.

Philip was waiting for her outside the bedroom door. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d discovered him with his ear pressed to the panels, but her exit had been sufficiently telegraphed to allow him time to move away.

‘Mr Kastro is going to rest this morning,’ she said coolly, deciding she was going to take no guff from him. ‘I’ll come back at one o’clock. Perhaps you’d ask the housekeeper to serve a light lunch on the balcony.’

Philip gave her a mutinous look. ‘For one, kiria?’

‘No, for two.’

She managed to keep her cool, but Philip wasn’t finished yet. ‘What would you like?’ he asked, probably knowing full well that Joanna wasn’t familiar with Greek food.

But she refused to let him confuse her. ‘I suggest an omelette and some salad,’ she answered sweetly. ‘Mr Kastro is very fond of omelettes, you know?’

‘Veveha, kiria. I know,’ he muttered, as she headed towards her own rooms, and Joanna breathed a sigh of triumph as she closed the connecting doors behind her.

DEMETRI was having breakfast on the terrace when Joanna appeared. At this hour of the morning the air outdoors was extremely pleasant, and the view from this elevated position never failed to lift his spirits.

And they’d needed lifting, he conceded grimly, picking at a currant-filled roll between generous gulps of the strong black coffee he favoured. His earlier encounter with his father’s mistress had left him feeling piqued and morose. And provoked; definitely provoked. Though not in any way he wanted to acknowledge.

Now here she was again, slim and alluring in a sleeveless top and clinging silk shorts which had surely not come off the peg in some downtown department store. Her legs were bare and her glorious mane of hair had been secured in one of those loose knots atop her head. Strands of white-gold escaped to caress her cheeks, and although when she saw him she made a half-hearted effort to tuck them back behind her ears, they refused to be tamed.

Oh, she was beautiful, he thought bitterly, forced to push back his chair and get to his feet as she came towards him. But what the hell was she doing with his father? He simply didn’t buy into May and December love affairs. She wanted something from this relationship, and he’d swear on a stack of Bibles that it wasn’t sex.

The morning mail had been spread out on the table in front of him, but he shuffled it together at her approach. He guessed his father wouldn’t be far behind her, and the last thing he wanted to do was talk about private business matters with her present.

He was pleased to see that she wasn’t wholly relaxed about meeting him again. He wondered if she’d told Constantine about seeing him earlier that morning. If she had, he could probably look forward to his father’s displeasure as well. Particularly if she’d mentioned that he’d been swimming in the nude.

Perhaps she hadn’t noticed. After all, she hadn’t noticed he was there at all until he’d vaulted out of the pool. Thank heaven for towels, he reflected drily. They could hide a multitude of sins.

‘Mrs Manning,’ he greeted her politely, inclining his head, and she managed a faint smile in return. But she was definitely antsy, and he decided to take pity on her. ‘Are you and my father joining me for breakfast?’

‘No,’ Her denial was swift. But then, as if realising she had been a little hasty, she added, ‘That is, your father won’t be joining us.’

‘Why not?’ Demetri’s eyes moved past her almost accusingly. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘He’s—tired, that’s all,’ she told him quietly, apparently not knowing what to do with her hands. She finally folded them together over her midriff, inadvertently drawing his attention to the narrow strip of pale flesh exposed between her top and her shorts. ‘He asked me to tell you he’ll see you later today.’

Demetri’s jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to being given news about his father from a third party. He’d had to comply while his father was in the hospital, but being given information by a doctor was vastly different from hearing it from her.

‘Are you sure you are telling me everything?’ he asked, regarding her from beneath lowered lids, and he felt rather than saw the quiver of emotion that rippled over her at his question.

But, ‘Of course,’ she said quickly. Then, to his surprise, ‘May I join you?’

Demetri frowned. ‘Please,’ he said without expression, but his thoughts were busy as she hurriedly seated herself in the chair across the table from his own. Was it only his imagination, or was this a deliberate attempt to divert him? He subsided again into his own chair. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘I—no.’ She moistened her lips. ‘But I’m not hungry. Perhaps I could have some coffee—’

She broke off as a white-aproned maid appeared at Demetri’s elbow. The girl—for she was little more—gave her employer’s son a proprietary smile before saying in their own language, ‘Can I get you anything else, kirie?’

Demetri hesitated. And then, deciding that Mrs Manning couldn’t be allowed to starve, he replied, ‘Yes. Some toast and coffee for my guest, if you will? Thank you.’

The maid withdrew and Demetri, feeling a little more in command, lay back in his chair. ‘Tora,’ he said pleasantly, ‘perhaps you will now explain to me why my father is really not joining us for breakfast.’

A hint of colour entered her face. ‘I’ve told you—’

‘No.’ His denial was soft but implacable. ‘You have told me nothing. Are you saying he is not well enough to get out of bed?’

Her cheeks were definitely pink now. ‘He said to tell you he was going to be lazy this morning,’ she insisted. ‘I’ve explained that he’s feeling tired. The journey from England, yesterday’s reception, and then dinner last night. He’s not used to so much activity. Not—not all at once.’

‘And entertaining a much younger woman?’ suggested Demetri dangerously. ‘Let us not forget your role in his recovery—or lack thereof. Whatever. Perhaps you are tiring him out, Mrs Manning.’

His words were unforgivable, and he knew a moment’s remorse at his own cruelty. He had no excuse for blaming her for his father’s weakness. Cancer didn’t discriminate between its victims, and he should be grateful that she had brought the old man some comfort during his convalescence. Grateful, too, that to all intents and purposes his father had beaten the disease. And who knew that she hadn’t had some part in that, as well?