Greek's Baby Of Redemption. Kate Hewitt
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turned around slowly, blinking into the dim gloom of the wood-panelled study, the curtains drawn against the Aegean’s azure sky, the tiniest sliver of lemony sunlight peeking through the heavy material. It was a beautiful summer’s day, but in the gloomy shroud of the study it could have been the depths of a dark winter’s night, the thick stone walls of the villa keeping out the island’s baking heat.
‘Stay.’
It was clearly a command, uttered with brusque authority, and so slowly she closed the door, the final-sounding click echoing in through the room.
She hadn’t even realised he was in the study when she’d opened the door to do her usual dusting, only to stumble back at the sight of him sitting in the shadows, barely visible.
Alexandro Santos’ instructions had been clear—he was not to be disturbed. Ever. And now she’d unwittingly done just that, because she’d heard the car motor starting and she’d thought he’d gone out. Her heart climbed its way to her throat as she tried to make him out through the gloom. Was he angry? How could she have been so careless? ‘I’m sorry, Kyrie Santos. I didn’t realise you were here. Is...is there something you need?’ she asked in as steady a voice as she could.
In the nearly six months since she’d been hired as housekeeper by Alexandro Santos, she’d never spoken to him, save for the first, rather abrupt conversation on the telephone when he’d offered her employment. This was the first time he’d been back to his luxurious retreat on the Greek island of Naxos since she’d started work, and she’d been tiptoeing around the villa for the last two days, trying to avoid him since he’d made it so clear he didn’t want to be bothered. At all. And now she might have messed it up completely.
‘I’m very sorry,’ she blurted, wishing he would say something to break the taut silence. ‘I won’t disturb you again...’
‘Never mind that.’ He dismissed her words with a flick of his fingers; she sensed the movement rather than saw it. ‘You asked if I needed something, Miss James.’ He spoke in a cold drawl, more than a hint of darkness in his tone. She wished she could see his face; the room was so very dark, and the sliver of light barely touched the top of his midnight-dark head.
She blinked, her eyes straining to see more, and, as if he sensed her scrutiny, he moved from where he’d been sitting behind his desk, walking to the window so his back was to her, the light gilding his outline in gold—all six feet three of powerfully built man, his crisp white shirt stretching tautly across his back and broad shoulders.
‘Yes,’ he answered his own question. ‘I do need something.’
‘Then how can I help you?’ Milly asked, glad that there might be something she could do. ‘Would you like a meal...or the room tidied...?’ She trailed off, because she had the sudden, inexplicable sense that he didn’t want either of those things, and she felt foolish for offering them.
Alexandro Santos didn’t answer her. He hadn’t moved, and she still couldn’t see his face. She knew what he looked like from the Internet search she’d done when she’d first been hired: dark hair, sculpted cheekbones, cold, blue eyes, a body of leashed and lethal power.
Ridiculously handsome, but in a way that had trailed a chilly finger of unease along her spine. He’d looked both intent and remote, a fierce determination in those blue, blue eyes, a sense of distance about him so even in a crowd he stood out, apart. Now she couldn’t see him at all, and that wasn’t any better.
‘How long have you been working for me, Miss James?’ he asked after another endless moment.
‘Nearly six months.’ Milly shifted where she stood, trying not to fidget. He had no reason to fire her, surely? No cause for complaint. For the last five and a half months she’d kept the villa clean, helped in the garden, and paid all the household bills. As housekeeper for a house that was empty most of the time, she knew she had an easy job, but she loved the villa and the island of Naxos, and she’d been very glad for the work—and the pay.
Although some might have found her life lonely, it suited Milly perfectly. After too many years on the fringes of her parents’ chaotic social scene, bounced from boarding school to boarding school, with an endless round of vapid and dissipated parties in between, she’d been looking forward to some solitude...as well as the extremely generous salary Alexandro had offered. He couldn’t take it away now, not when she was getting closer to saving the kind of money she needed to make Anna safe and happy, for ever.
‘Six months.’ Alexandro turned slightly so she could make out his profile—the close-cut dark hair, the straight nose, the angled cheekbone and full lip. He looked like a statue—a dark, dangerous and beautiful block of marble, perfect and so very cold. Even in the dim room, she sensed a remoteness about him, a certain distance in the way he held his body, angled his head. ‘Are you happy here?’
‘Happy?’ The question, the idea, startled her. Why should he care for her happiness? ‘Yes. Very.’
‘It must be rather lonely, though.’
‘I don’t mind my own company.’ She relaxed a fraction, because it seemed as if he were merely concerned for her welfare. And yet...that didn’t seem like her employer at all, a man who, according to the Internet, at least, was a cold, driven workaholic, with whispers of ruthlessness towards his competitors. A man who was photographed at various social scenes looking hard and unsmiling; sometimes there would be an elegant woman draped on his arm, but he rarely paid them any attention, at least in the photos and videos she’d looked at. It was almost as if they weren’t there at all.
‘Still, you’re quite young.’ He paused, and Milly waited. ‘How old...?’
‘Twenty-four.’ Which he must have known from her rather brief and unremarkable CV.
‘And you went to university...’
‘Yes, in England.’ Four years studying modern languages, and she was fluent in Italian and French as well as her native English, and now she had a smattering of Greek, as well. But Alexandro Santos knew all this.
‘Surely you have more ambition, then?’ he asked. ‘Than cleaning rooms...?’
‘I’m perfectly happy as I am, Kyrie Santos.’
‘Please, call me Alex.’ She remained silent. ‘You haven’t considered moving back to Paris? You were working as a translator, I believe, before you came here?’
‘Yes.’ And being paid peanuts compared to her salary now. She thought of her days in a drab office, translating dreary business letters. Then she thought of Philippe, with his golden hair and gleaming smile, his oh-so-honeyed words, and her insides shuddered. ‘I have no desire to go back to Paris, Kyrie—’
‘Alex.’
She said nothing, uncertain and again on edge, wondering where this unsettling line of inquiry was meant to lead.
‘What about romance?’ he asked abruptly, shocking her. ‘A husband, children...? Do you want those things, eventually?’
Milly hesitated, unsure how to respond. Surely the question was inappropriate, coming from an employer? And yet how could she not answer?
‘I ask because I prefer continuity,’ Alex resumed, almost as if he’d been able to read her thoughts. ‘If you’re going to leave after a year to follow some man...’
‘I am not going to follow some man,’ Milly retorted with stiff dignity. Once upon a time, she would have followed Philippe. She would have followed him anywhere, until she’d found out the truth. Until he’d told her. Even now she could recall the mocking glint in his eyes, the cruel twist to his mouth. She forced the image away and focused on Alex Santos, even though she could barely see him. ‘The question is offensive.’
‘Is it?’ Alex continued to gaze out through the crack between the curtains. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. She felt like a prop in a play, something he could almost forget was there. And yet he was asking her such personal