His Virgin Mistress

Constantine looked less than pleased now, his narrow features mirroring his discontent. ‘I am not an invalid, Demetri,’ he declared irritably, even though his wasted body belied the fact. ‘The doctors have given me a clean bill of health, and I do not appreciate you behaving as if I had only just got out of hospital.’

Demetri made no response to this. Instead, his eyes moved to the woman standing at his father’s side, and, because they were surrounded by interested spectators, Constantine was obliged to introduce his companion to his son.

‘My dear,’ he said and Demetri stiffened at the implied intimacy in the term. ‘Allow me to present my son to you. Demetrios: this is Joa

‘How do you do?’

The woman didn’t make the mistake of calling him by his first name and Demetri’s thin lips stretched into a tight smile. ‘It is my pleasure to meet you, Kiria Ma

‘On the contrary.’ Despite the faint film of perspiration on her upper lip, she denied it. ‘I love the heat. It’s so—sensual.’

Sensual?

Demetri had to work hard to prevent himself from showing his incredulity. He had heard his father was besotted by the woman, but he hadn’t expected her to disconcert him. And why was she watching him with that air of amused speculation? She was taller than most of the women of his acquaintance—easily five feet eight or nine—and, although he was still almost a head taller than she was, she didn’t have to tilt her head too far to look up at him. If he hadn’t known better he’d have wondered if she wasn’t deliberately trying to irritate him. But that was ridiculous. Nevertheless, there was a definite look of challenge in her face.

‘Katalava.’ I see. Conscious that his father was enjoying his confusion, Demetri inadvertently spoke in his own language. But he quickly corrected himself. ‘You are familiar with our Greek weather, Miss Ma

‘It’s Mrs Ma

Now, why am I not surprised?

It was all Demetri could do to prevent himself from saying the words out loud. But at least he knew a little more about her now. No one had seen fit to tell him that she’d been married. But it figured. And if he’d had any doubts about her relationship with his father they’d been dispelled by the familiarity of that look.

‘Do you live on the island—um—Demetrios?’ she asked suddenly, surprising him again. ‘Or do you have your own home?’

‘This is my home,’ replied Demetri, unable to quite disguise his indignation. ‘This house is our family home.’ He paused. ‘But do not worry, Mrs Ma

He was pleased to see that her soft mouth tightened a little at this rebuff. The upper lip was drawn between her teeth and the lower, which was so much fuller and more vulnerable, curved protectively. Then he scowled. When had he started thinking that her mouth was soft, or vulnerable, for that matter? She was a kept woman, for heaven’s sake. Hardly better than the sluts who plied their trade on the streets of Athens. He had no need to feel sorry for her. It was his father who was the vulnerable one. Vulnerable, and foolish. What on earth did he think she saw in a man at least thirty years her senior?

‘Demetri has his own apartments in the house,’ Constantine put in now, the look he cast at his son promising retribution later. ‘As do Alex and Olivia. As my son says, this is our family home. Our island fortress, if you will. I regret you will discover that security is paramount in our situation.’

Joa

‘I doubt you do,’ put in Demetri pleasantly, though his feelings were anything but. ‘My father is a constant target for terrorists and paparazzi alike. Only on Theapolis can we—usually—ensure that he is not at the mercy of unscrupulous men—and women.’

Her eyes flashed then, and he noticed how deep a blue they were. ‘I trust you are not suggesting that I am any threat to your father?’ she demanded coolly, her earlier amusement all gone now. He could hardly suppress a smile.

‘Of course not,’ he said, but when his dark eyes strayed to his father’s taut face he saw he was by no means convinced by his son’s denial. ‘I am sure you and my father must have a lot in common. Tell me, Mrs Ma

‘No.’

Her answer was almost curt, but it didn’t have quite the effect he’d expected. Instead of showing surprise, his father put his arm about her shoulders and drew her closer to him. Demetri was almost sure Constantine was reacting to something she’d told him, and he wondered what it was. He didn’t like the idea that their relationship might be more than a temporary aberration on his father’s part. A desire to prove his masculinity was one thing; a threat to his mother’s memory was quite another.

But, before he could say any more, Constantine himself severed the conversation. ‘Come,’ he said to Joa

It was hardly a question. Although Demetri bowed his head in silent acknowledgement they both knew he wasn’t being given an option. Instead, he stepped back to allow them free passage, aware as he did so that Joa

‘Demetri! Demetri, pos iseh?’ How are you? ‘Na seh keraso kanena poto?’ Can I get you a drink?

With an effort, he became aware that there were other people around him. Neighbours; friends, relatives. They had all gathered to welcome the old man home, and his own absence until just a few minutes ago had not gone u

And he was devoted, dammit, he thought, taking the glass of champagne he was offered with controlled grace. But he was also his father’s son, his deputy, and he couldn’t help thinking that the last thing the old man needed at this time was the respect he’d always enjoyed among the shipping community weakened by some woman taking advantage of his vulnerability.

‘She is beautiful, is she not?’

Spiro was at his elbow and Demetri turned to give the other man an impatient look. ‘Yes, she’s beautiful,’ he agreed. ‘But what does she want, Spiro? More importantly, what does she hope to gain from this liaison?’

‘Perhaps she loves him,’ suggested Spiro, accepting a glass of champagne in his turn and smiling at the dark-eyed waitress who had proffered the tray.

‘And perhaps she sees him as a very convenient meal ticket,’ retorted Demetri. ‘My father is sixty-seven, Spiro. A woman like that does not attach herself to a much older man for love.’

‘How cynical you are, Demetri.’ He had been unaware that his older sister Olivia had joined them, until her soft words were whispered in his ear. ‘Mrs Ma

‘How do gold-diggers look?’ enquired her brother shortly, looking down into Olivia’s olive-ski