His Virgin Mistress. Anne Mather
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was sliding her fingers into her hair now, scooping its loosened weight back from her face and winding it into a coil on top of her head. Soft tendrils tumbled from the impromptu knot, spiralling down against cheeks that were as smooth and velvety soft as a peach. Realising he couldn’t stand much more of this without disgracing himself completely, Demetri sprang out of the water and grabbed a towel to wrap protectively about his hips.
She heard him, of course. Although the ocean surged constantly onto the beach only a couple of hundred yards from the villa it was a muted sound, heavy and rhythmic. His vaulting out of the pool was a much more abrasive sound, and she swung round almost guiltily to confront him.
‘Oh…’ She was clearly taken aback by his sudden appearance. ‘Um—Mr Kastro. I didn’t see you there.’
‘No.’ Demetri acknowledged the fact, and, accepting that they couldn’t go on addressing each other across the width of the terrace, he pushed his damp feet into his deck shoes and walked towards her. ‘Did you sleep well?’
She managed a faint smile. ‘Like you care,’ she said drily, and he admired her courage. ‘Did you?’
Demetri shrugged his bare shoulders. ‘Not very,’ he conceded, just as candidly. Then, dragging his eyes back to her face, ‘Where is my father?’
‘Where do you think he is at this hour of the morning?’ she asked, a delicate flush invading her cheeks. ‘He’s still in bed.’ She paused a moment and then added significantly, ‘Asleep.’
Demetri’s mouth compressed. ‘So, what are you doing up so early? Or is this your only chance to escape?’
‘To escape?’ Her blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘To escape from what, Mr Kastro? Your father and I have a perfect understanding.’
‘Do you?’ Demetri was annoyed to find he half believed her. But he couldn’t let her know it. ‘That must be very convenient for both of you.’
‘It is.’ She turned away from him then, bracing her hands on the terrace wall again and gazing purposefully out to sea. ‘Oughtn’t you to go and get some clothes on, Mr Kastro? I shouldn’t like you to catch a chill.’
‘Oh, I am sure you would,’ he corrected her, making no move to go back into the villa. ‘But I would hate to waste this opportunity for us to get to know one another better.’
‘We don’t need to get to know one another better, Mr Kastro,’ she retorted, and although she wasn’t looking at him he could see the tension in the slender cords of her neck.
‘Well, there, you see, you are wrong,’ he argued softly, resisting the temptation to run his finger along the sensitive curve of her nape. He drew a steadying breath. ‘And I think we can dispense with formality, no?’
She licked her lips then, and his stomach twisted with sudden emotion. Theos, he thought, the intensity of his reaction reminding him that he was playing with fire here. Why was he persisting with this? It was his father he should be harassing, not her.
‘What formality are you talking about?’ she asked now, and he had to concentrate hard to remember what he’d said.
‘I—think you should call me Demetri,’ he essayed at last, congratulating himself on his memory. ‘May I call you Joanna?’
Her lips were pressed together when she turned to give him a doubtful look, and Demetri guessed she had expected some kind of accusation. Long lashes, several shades darker than her hair, shaded her expression, however, and instead of feeling any sense of triumph Demetri found himself imagining how they would feel against his lips. He wanted to kiss her, he realised suddenly. He wanted to press that slim luscious body against his own and ease his aching need between her legs…
‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Mr Kastro,’ she said, and his arousal abruptly deflated. ‘You don’t like me, so why pretend you want to get to know me?’
Why indeed?
‘Because I do,’ he insisted, deciding that he had nothing more to lose. ‘Why are you so afraid to talk to me?’ His dark brows elevated. ‘I am not so terrifying, am I?’
She turned then, resting her hips on the low wall behind her and folding her arms across her midriff. ‘I am not afraid to talk to you, Mr Kastro,’ she said, and once again he had to admire her spirit. ‘What do you want to talk about?’
Demetri’s hair was dripping onto his neck and he lifted one hand to wipe the moisture from his nape. He refused to accept that it was done to buy himself a little time, but there was no doubt that she had caught him off guard.
‘Entaxi.’ It was an indication of his state of mind that had him lapsing into his own language for the exclamation. ‘All right. Tell me how you met my father?’
There was a perceptible hesitation when that tempting tongue appeared again, and then she seemed to straighten her spine before saying slowly, ‘We met in London.’
Demetri gave her a dry look. ‘Yes. I had gathered that.’ He paused. ‘I asked how you met my father, Mrs Manning. Not where.’
She looked down at her feet then, and Demetri found himself doing the same, watching as she crossed one slim bare foot over the other. Until then he hadn’t realised she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and there was something infinitely sensuous about the way she rubbed the sole of one foot across the arch of the other.
To distract himself, he spoke again, his words a little harsh as he struggled to sustain his composure. ‘Were you his nurse?’
‘His nurse?’ She smiled then, and he was treated to the sight of a row of almost perfect white teeth. ‘Heavens, no!’
‘What, then?’ Demetri was impatient at the way she could apparently best him at every turn. ‘His doctor?’
She shook her head, and her hair dipped confidingly over one shoulder. ‘I am not a member of the medical profession, Mr Kastro.’
Demetri’s nostrils flared. ‘Do not play with me, Mrs Manning. You might just get more than you—what is the expression you use?—bargained for, no?’
Her smile disappeared. ‘I wouldn’t dream of playing with you, Mr Kastro,’ she declared coolly. ‘I just wonder why you are so interested in what I do for a living.’
‘I am not.’ But he was and she knew it, damn her. ‘I am merely curious to know how a man who has spent the last two weeks in hospital could have acquired such a—close relationship with a woman his family knew nothing about.’
She took a deep breath. ‘As you say, your father has been in hospital.’
‘Where I visited him,’ put in Demetri shortly. ‘On more than one occasion. Yet he apparently chose not to mention your existence to me.’
Her slim shoulders lifted. ‘I suppose he preferred to wait until we could be introduced.’
‘You are prevaricating again, Mrs Manning.’ Demetri’s temper was slipping. ‘I suggest that, far from knowing my father for some considerable time, as you told Livvy, yours has been what a kinder person might call a whirlwind romance, no?’
‘No.’ She was angry now. ‘What I told your sister was—is true. I work—I have worked—for Bartholomew’s for several years. They’re—’
‘One of the foremost auction houses in London,’ Demetri inserted tersely. ‘I have heard of Bartholomew’s, Mrs Manning.’
‘Good.’ Her eyes challenged his. ‘As you’re aware, your father is a keen collector of antique snuffboxes. He has been a regular customer there for many years.’
Demetri was stunned. He was ashamed to admit that, because of her beauty, he’d been inclined to dismiss her as an airhead. Now, learning that she had a career far removed from any cosmetic pursuit disturbed him more than he cared to admit. It also made her relationship with