A Di Sione For The Greek's Pleasure. Кейт Хьюит
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acknowledged she had nothing remotely appropriate to wear for dinner that night. In her normal life she never needed to dress to impress, and her career as an artist meant work wear was usually paint-splattered jeans and old T-shirts. She hadn’t even considered bringing something businesslike to wear for her meeting with Angelos Mena; in truth, she hadn’t thought much beyond surviving the journey. She hadn’t had the heart or head space for more.
Sighing, she wondered if she had time to wash her sundress and let it dry in the sea breeze.
She discovered that she almost had time, when she headed out of her bedroom at five to seven, the dress clean and far less wrinkled, but slightly damp across the shoulders. Hopefully Angelos wouldn’t notice.
The villa was quiet as Talia came down the stairs, the rooms darkened and empty. She peeked into an enormous living room scattered with linen sofas in natural shades, and then a masculine-looking study with a huge mahogany desk and book-lined walls. Finally she found the dining room towards the back of the house; Angelos was already standing in the room, gazing up at a large portrait of a woman hanging on the far wall.
He turned as Talia tiptoed in, his face snapping into its usual frown. ‘You’re late.’
‘I’m sorry. I was looking for the dining room.’
His frown deepened as he took in her outfit. ‘You have not changed.’
‘Actually, I have. I washed my dress and put it back on.’ For some reason that made her blush, and to cover it she did a ridiculous little twirl. ‘Can’t you tell?’ She stopped, her dress swishing around her legs, and saw that Angelos’s frown had morphed into a positive scowl, grooves visible from nose to mouth, eyes dangerously narrowed.
Even scowling, the man was devastatingly attractive. He’d changed his grey business suit for a crisp white shirt, open at the throat, and dark trousers. The clothes were basic and should have been boring, but on his powerful frame the white cotton drew Talia’s attention to his broad shoulders, the dark trousers to his trim hips and powerful thighs.
Appalled by her perusal, she yanked her gaze away from his muscular form. She’d been looking at his thighs, for heaven’s sake. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed her moment of shameless goggling.
Now she saw the plush velvet chairs and huge polished table set for two. ‘Is Sofia not joining us?’
‘You washed your dress?’ Angelos sounded incredulous and Talia lifted her chin.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I’d be required to wear an evening gown.’ She walked to the place setting at one end of the table, resting her hand on the back of the chair. ‘Where’s Sofia?’
‘She’s eating with Maria.’
‘Is that what usually happens?’ Talia watched as Angelos walked around the table to pull out her chair.
‘In future, you may dine with her if you wish, but tonight I wanted to speak to you alone.’
‘Oh.’ Since he was holding out her chair Talia sat down. She breathed in the woodsy scent of his aftershave as he pushed her chair in; his face was close to hers, close enough to make goose bumps rise on her arms, and she suppressed the urge to shiver. She wondered what his jaw would feel like, if his clean-shaven face would be smooth, or possess a hint of roughness. Like the man himself, urbanity not quite cloaking a cold, ruthless interior.
Angelos walked smoothly around the table and sat down at the opposite end, placing his napkin in his lap with a brisk flourish. Talia did the same. Although she lived in a house that more than rivalled Angelos Mena’s in terms of space and sheer luxury, she still felt awed by his home and his presence. Back on Giovanni’s estate, she took most meals in the kitchen or in her studio while she was working. When she ate with Giovanni, they had a quiet meal listening to the radio or watching TV. She hadn’t been to a dinner party since...well, she couldn’t even remember since when. A Christmas or Thanksgiving meal with her brothers and sisters hadn’t felt as ornate or intimidating as a meal alone with this man.
Maria came in with the first course, a salad of plump tomatoes and slices of cucumber sprinkled with feta cheese. ‘This is very civilised,’ Talia said when the housekeeper had left. ‘Thank you.’
‘May I never be accused of being uncivilised,’ Angelos responded dryly.
Talia watched him covertly as she ate her salad, wondering at this man who, if her research was correct, possessed a priceless volume of poetry and had bid on a second by the same anonymous poet. That was how she’d tracked him down; she’d found an obscure website with a message board where people could post the rare books they were looking for. She’d stumbled across a message posted by an agent acting on Angelos’s behalf, or at least on the behalf of Mena Consultancy. She just hoped it meant that Angelos actually had the book.
What if after everything she’d endured and agreed to, this was nothing more than a wild goose chase?
‘So do you and Sofia live on Kallos all year long?’ she asked.
‘Sofia does. I travel for work. In fact, I have to leave tomorrow.’
So he wouldn’t be here for the six weeks of her stay? Talia felt a wave of relief at the thought, as well as a twinge of disappointment for Sofia. No matter how stern or autocratic Angelos seemed, it couldn’t be good for him to be away from his daughter so much.
‘Isn’t it rather lonely here for a girl her age?’ she asked.
‘Sofia prefers it. She has a tutor who comes in by boat for her lessons, and Maria and the other staff for company. And, of course, now you.’
‘Has she had other nannies?’
‘Yes, but I’m afraid none of them have lasted very long.’ Angelos’s voice was clipped, his gaze shuttered. ‘I hope this next one will be a better fit.’
‘Why haven’t they lasted very long?’ Talia asked, curious. Sofia didn’t seem like a difficult child, and the setting was practically paradise. Surely it was a dream job for anyone looking for a position in child care.
Angelos shrugged. ‘They did not find the situation to their liking. But you are asking all the questions, Miss Di Sione, and I invited you to dinner so I could ask the questions.’
‘And here I thought we were just having a conversation,’ Talia answered lightly, but Angelos did not give so much as a flicker of a smile. She speared a cucumber. ‘Ask away, then,’ she said with an insouciance she didn’t remotely feel. She didn’t want Angelos Mena asking her probing questions, at least not yet. She had no idea how to answer anything. She hated the thought of lying, but total honesty felt impossible at this point. ‘But first,’ she added, ‘I must ask one last thing, and that is that you call me Talia.’
She popped the cucumber in her mouth only to have it stick in her throat as Angelos answered, an edge to his smooth voice, ‘Very well, Talia. I want to ask you just why you came to Athens, and more to the point, to my office, since it obviously wasn’t to seek a position as nanny.’
WITH THE CUCUMBER stuck in her throat, Talia erupted into an inelegant fit of coughing. Angelos poured her a glass of water and pushed it across the table, watching unsympathetically all the while.
Talia took a few sips, thankful that she’d managed at least to stop coughing. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said on a gasp.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’ Angelos’s gaze was narrowed, his lips compressed, his arms folded. He wasn’t exuding warm fuzzies—that was for sure.
Talia took another forkful of salad in order to give her time to think of a reply. How much to admit? She felt instinctively that if she were to talk about her true reason for coming to Greece now, Angelos would have her back on that helicopter so quick her head would be spinning as fast as the propeller