Constantine's Defiant Mistress Read online

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Did you have breakfast?’

  ‘Yes, I had it with Constantine.’ Alex grinned. ‘We had yoghurt—with honey! And Constantine and me went and picked oranges from the tree and then we squeezed them!’

  She gazed down at him, thinking how easily her son had slotted into life here—already. And how easily he seemed to be slotting into a relationship with Constantine, too. Why, he must have felt as if he had landed in heaven with all the space and beauty which surrounded him

  The dark flicker of fear invaded her heart once more. Fear that Alex might just fall in love with Greece and the powerful man who had fathered him—and might not want to return with her to their grey and penny-pinching life back in England…

  ‘Lovely, darling,’ she managed to say. ‘Well, I’m supposed to be working, so I’d better go and see what Demetra wants me to do.’

  Laura made her way to the kitchen to find Demetra, who seemed to have assumed the role of mother hen. First she insisted that Laura sit outside and eat some bread and honey, and drink some of the thick, strong coffee.

  ‘You are too thin,’ Demetra commented as she pushed a bowl of bread towards her. ‘A woman needs her strength.’

  Tell me about it, thought Laura wryly, as she sliced a peach into gleaming rose-tinged slices. But mental strength was surely just as important as the physical kind—and you couldn’t build that up with bread and honey! But she felt oddly moved by the older woman’s kindness—because it had been so long since someone had fussed over her like this.

  And at least working was therapeutic—it was hard to stay troubled when your fingers were busy chopping salads and stuffing vine leaves. Demetra showed her how to make a sweet pastry dish which was soaked in lemon syrup after baking—as well as a pudding studded with nuts and raisins and flavoured with cinnamon and cloves.

  Laura leaned back against the range. ‘Where did you learn how to cook like this, Demetra?’

  ‘Oh, I have cooked all my life,’ answered Demetra simply. ‘First for my husband and then for my living. You see, I was widowed when Stavros was just a baby, and so I came here to work for the Karantinos family. They have been good to me. And Kyrios Constantine is a good man,’ she added fiercely. ‘He used to fish with my husband—and when he died he put Stavros through school and university and made sure the boy wanted for nothing.’

  The housekeeper’s words of praise for Constantine preoccupied Laura as she began to lay the table on the terrace, beneath a canopy of leaves. But the last thing she needed was to hear praise lavished on him. She wanted to put him out of her mind—at least until tonight.

  ‘Do you know, I could stay here all day watching you do that?’ murmured a deep voice from the shadows, and Laura whirled round to find Constantine at the other end of the terrace, his black eyes fixed on her. Clearly fresh from the shower, with tiny droplets of water bejewelling the black hair, he had changed from jeans and T-shirt into dark trousers and a thin silk shirt, and he had shaved, too.

  ‘How long have you been standing there?’ she accused, her heart beginning to race with a ridiculous excitement.

  He began walking towards her, his progress made slow by an exquisitely painful arousal. ‘Long enough to see that delightfully old-fashioned pinafore dress stretched tight over the delectable curve of your bottom,’ he murmured. ‘Making me want to touch it again, quite urgently.’

  Laura sent an agonised glance in the direction of the kitchen, even though the rattle of china told her that Demetra was not within earshot. ‘Constantine, don’t. Please. Somebody might hear.’

  His black eyes mocked her. ‘Ah, Laura! You see how already we are colluding like lovers—even though we are not yet lovers? For that pleasure I must wait—and I am not a man who is used to waiting.’

  ‘No, I can believe that,’ she said quietly, holding the tray in front of her as if it were a shield.

  He lowered his voice until it was nothing but a silken caress which whispered over her skin. ‘Do you know that I feel as a man in prison must feel, ticking off the seconds and the minutes and the hours?’

  Laura swallowed. ‘Constantine—’

  ‘So that the whole day seems stretched out in front of me like a piece of elastic,’ he continued inexorably. ‘Which is tightening unbearably—tighter and tighter—until the time when it snaps and I can once more feel your lips on mine and your honeyed heat as it welcomes me into your body.’

  ‘Stop it,’ she whispered as the siren song of desire began a slow pulsing through her veins ‘Please, stop it. Or how will I compose myself in front of the others?’

  ‘You didn’t think through the potential problems of making such an erotic date with destiny, did you?’ he taunted.

  She hadn’t counted on being on such an erotic knife-edge, no. ‘Do you think your father’s going to ask me anything?’

  ‘If he does, then just answer his questions truthfully,’ he said, his whole mood suddenly sobering. ‘If you think you can manage that.’

  ‘You’re…making it sound as if you think I’m a liar,’ said Laura unsteadily, trying to read his expression—but it would have been easier to have sought some sort of meaning from a statue.

  Constantine shook his head. ‘I haven’t quite decided what you are,’ he said softly. ‘Or just what your agenda is.’

  Her heart slammed against her ribcage. ‘Who says I have an agenda?’

  ‘Women always do—it’s in their genetic make-up.’

  ‘You’re a cynic, Constantine.’

  ‘No, agape mou,’ he contradicted softly. ‘I am simply a very rich man who has seen female ambition in its every form. And you—of all women—have the opportunity to try to take me for everything you can get your hands on.’

  ‘You think that I’d do that?’ she demanded breathlessly.

  ‘I told you—I haven’t made up my mind yet,’ he returned.

  And yet Laura had confounded every one of his expectations of her. Her refusal to marry him and her stubborn insistence on coming here to work instead had left him feeling unsettled. After a lifetime spent dodging matrimonial commitment to some of the world’s most eligible women, he had assumed that this humble waitress would leap at the chance of being a rich man’s wife—yet she had done the very opposite. So was she simply being devious, or principled?

  ‘Now—if you’ll excuse me—I have some business calls I need to make before lunch.’ His eyes glittered with erotic intent. ‘And roll on midnight, my stormy-eyed little temptress, so that we can at last finish off what we’ve started.’

  For a moment after he’d gone Laura stood rooted to the spot—unable to believe how a man could switch so quickly from desire to distrust and then back to desire again. She finished laying the table for lunch, and then went to help Alex get ready.

  ‘Is Constantine’s daddy very old?’ he wanted to know, as he wriggled into a brand-new T-shirt.

  ‘I believe so, darling—and he hasn’t been too well recently, so you must be well-behaved.’ Surprisingly, Alex let her attempt to tame his dark waves into shape and, stepping back, her eyes shone with maternal pride as she looked at him. ‘But I know you will.’

  The lunch table looked beautiful—with little pots of purple and white flowers dotted everywhere—and Stavros and Alex sat at their places, waiting until Constantine appeared with his father. Laura watched as they made slow progress across the terrace, the old man leaning heavily on a stick.

  He’s so old, realised Laura suddenly. Why, he must be in his mid-eighties. Which meant that he…She frowned as she worked out what age he’d have been when Constantine was born. Fifty, at least. Had his wife also been elderly? she wondered. Was that why she’d succumbed to a bout of pneumonia?

  Kyrios Karantinos was, as Constantine had said, very frail—but it was easy to see how handsome he must once have been. He had the most amazing bone structure, and Laura found herself wondering with a pang whether Alex would look a little like this when he was an old man. Whether
Constantine would.

  And whether she would still be around to see it.

  The faded eyes looked her up and down as he waved Constantine away and looked at Laura. Was it wrong to play the part of being some kind of waitress in this elderly man’s house? she wondered, as a sudden pang of guilt washed over her. But it wasn’t a part, was it? She was a waitress. This was far more honest than turning up here as Constantine’s new bride, married to a man who seemed to alternate between despising and desiring her—now, that really would have been a living lie. And one that any father would surely veto.

  Nervously, Laura smoothed down the front of her pinafore dress. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Kyrios Karantinos,’ she said.

  ‘My son tells me that you met in England?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And that you persuaded him to let you come and work here for the summer?’

  ‘That’s right. It seemed a great opportunity to give my son a holiday.’

  There was a momentary pause before he gestured towards the curly-haired little boy in his new shorts and T-shirt. ‘And this is your little boy?’

  ‘Yes, this is Alex.’

  The faded eyes were now turned in the direction of the child, and for a moment Laura thought that she saw them narrow. But the moment passed, and slowly he sat down and began asking Alex about his morning. To Laura’s delight and pride her son began to chatter away. He began to tell the old man about his swimming lesson, and she longed to stay and listen, but Constantine was raising his hand to get her attention.

  Her cheeks burned as she met the mocking look in his black eyes and registered the arrogant tone in his voice as he clipped out an order for wine. He’s enjoying this, she thought to herself suddenly as she hurried out towards the kitchen. He’s enjoying rubbing in my subservient status.

  She tried to tell herself not to be affected by Constantine’s sardonic scorn, but that was easier said than done. When he gestured arrogantly for the bread basket she found herself wanting to hurl its contents at his hateful head. Or to tip the cool yoghurt and cucumber dish of tzatziki all over his lap.

  In fact, she was so busy keeping everyone’s glasses filled and bringing out dish after dish that Laura had no real opportunity to take in what was going on—much as she longed to listen to what Alex was saying to his grandfather, or to see whether the old man showed any sign of guessing who the little boy really was. And it felt peculiar to be serving her own son his lunch in the guise of a waitress.

  Never had she felt more of an outsider than she did during that seemingly endless meal—it was as if she was an observer, watching a play unfold before her. As if she had no real place anywhere.

  And wasn’t there a rather frozen lack of communication between Constantine and his own father? As if the two men tolerated each other rather than loving one another? Is that the kind of role model Constantine is planning to provide for Alex? she wondered, feeling suddenly fearful. That of emotional containment?

  But at least Alex himself seemed to have come into his own, blossoming in a way she had never seen him doing before. He was lapping up all the attention, she realised. From Constantine, from his father, and from young Stavros, too. Because he wasn’t used to the company of men. For the first time she could see how limiting his life must be, living with two women in a cramped apartment above a village shop.

  And all the time she was aware of Constantine watching the scene too, his shuttered black eyes hidden behind the dark lashes, his gaze drifting to the animated features of the little boy. Had he sat at that very table and chattered away like that when he was Alex’s age? she wondered.

  She watched as he began to peel an orange for his son, her gaze drawn inexorably to the strong fingers as they pulled away petal-shaped segments of the peel. Shadows fell from the high-angled slash of his cheekbones and the sensual curve of his lips had relaxed into a half-smile. And then he suddenly looked up, and the ebony spotlight of his gaze swept over her, and she found herself flushing as he raised his glass in her direction.

  ‘Can you fetch me some more ice for my water?’ he questioned carelessly, and Laura’s colour heightened as she nodded and went off to the kitchen in search of some.

  He watched her go. Watched the high, tempting curves of her buttocks thrusting against the dowdy clothes, and once again he felt his heart-rate soar. What was it this plain little creature had which made his body ache like this? he asked himself bitterly. Was it because she was the mother of his child? Or because she was the only virgin he had ever bedded? Perhaps his desire for her was stronger than anything he had ever known simply because she had refused him time and time again. More importantly, would this terrible hunger cease once he had possessed her? His lips curved. Of course it would. As if someone like her could hold his attention for more than one night!

  Laura returned, carrying the ice, and bent to put some in his glass, temptingly aware of the tantalising warmth of his body and the faint trace of his musky scent. Was he silently laughing at the image she presented as she served him—and when those black eyes swept over her in insolent assessment what did they see? A too-slight woman serving drinks in an unflattering floral pinafore dress? A mother who had willingly put herself in the role of outcast by waiting at her lover’s table?

  Laura wondered if that was all they saw. Perhaps his gaze was perceptive enough to delve beneath the surface and guess at her feelings of apprehension and vulnerability. Was he feeling quietly triumphant as he anticipated the assignation she had so willingly agreed to tonight—and might he use it against her? To do what?

  She thought of all the empty promises she had made to herself—that she would not succumb to the overwhelming chemistry which still sizzled between them. That she would protect her heart from pain by not getting close to him in any way.

  And then she thought of their midnight assignation, closing her eyes as her body registered an automatic thrill of anticipation—despite the damning quality of the words he had whispered. What had they been? Ah, yes. To finish off what they’d started.

  Laura bit her lip as she carried out a dish of almonds to the table. Was there any scenario more potentially heartbreaking than the one which lay ahead of her?

  CHAPTER NINE

  A CRACK of light slanted across the floor as the door opened, and Laura held her breath as she saw the dark and formidable shape of Constantine standing silhouetted there. If he thought she was sleeping, would he creep away again? she wondered. Would he remember that she had been working and perhaps might need her rest? Spare her this sensual ordeal which she suspected might open the door to a terrible kind of heartache? And yet her heart was pounding so hard that she was certain he must be able to hear its frantic beat.

  A low laugh beside the bed put paid to her half-hearted hopes. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to believe you are asleep do you, ghlikos mou?’ he questioned softly.

  She heard the rasp of a zip, and then the soft thump of something slithering to the ground—presumably his jeans—before a rush of air to her skin as he peeled the sheet away from her body and climbed into bed. Laura trembled as she felt that first contact with his warm, muscular flesh.

  ‘You’re…naked,’ she breathed.

  ‘What did you expect?’ With comfortable assurance he hooked his arms around her and drew her close, the glitter of his eyes discernible in the moonlight, his breath warm on her face. ‘Ah…perhaps you wanted to watch me strip?’

  ‘I….’ His easy provocation left her feeling cheated and out of her depth. He does this kind of thing all the time, she reminded herself—and he has no idea that it’s been eight long years since you slept with a man. This man. Had she mistakenly hoped that there might be some kind of wooing, and that he might be gentle with her? Perhaps taking her tenderly in his arms and tossing her a few compliments, before beginning a slow lovemaking? Was she crazy?

  ‘Meanwhile, you…are most definitely not naked,’ he murmured, as he skated his hand down over one cotton-covered hip, and
she heard the faint deprecation in his voice. ‘Shame on you, Laura—I cannot believe you always wear something this unflattering in bed when you make an assignation with your lover.’

  She guessed that now was not the time to tell him that this was her first such assignation. But she realised that Constantine hadn’t been expecting a reply—his question had merely been the precursor to skimming the nightie up and over her head, and tossing it over the side of the bed like a flag of surrender. She shivered as her nakedness was revealed.

  ‘Cold?’ he murmured, as his lips found the line of her jaw and began to whisper along its curve.

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘Surely not scared?’

  Scared? She was terrified—because didn’t sex play havoc with a woman’s emotions? And weren’t hers already see-sawing their way towards chaos and a terrible feeling of vulnerability? But she shook her head, unwilling to admit to fear or doubt or anything else which might put her at even more of a disadvantage in his arms.

  ‘Good.’ He lifted his hand to smooth some of the fine mass of pale hair away from her face. ‘You see, you have made me wait too long for this, Laura. Much too long…longer than any other woman would have dared or been able to. You have driven me half mad with temptation—do you realise that?’ His voice was unsteady as he drove his mouth down on hers with a hunger so fierce that it made his body shudder, and her hands reached up to cling to him so that even his taunting words about other women were forgotten beneath the power of his kiss.

  Constantine groaned as her lips opened eagerly to welcome him and he felt the softness of her breasts. His fingers skimmed her body, reacquainting themselves with all its curves and secret places, luxuriating in the soft, silken feel of her skin—and he groaned again.

  He had found the delay before getting into her bed almost unendurable—their snatched and teasing foreplay something he had not experienced since he was a teenager—and it had been compounded by the fact that she was the mother of his child. For once his feelings were less than straightforward—she had captured his imagination as well as his desire. But in the sweetness of the moment all that was forgotten, and now she was so compliant beneath his embrace that Constantine knew this was all going to happen very quickly. Too quickly.