Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 15

CHAPTER SIX

HE HADN’T MEANT to come back. Angelos Mena headed down the garden path, half inclined to turn around and climb back into the helicopter. He hadn’t been intending to return to Kallos for another two weeks at least.

But he’d found himself thinking about returning almost since the moment he’d left. He wanted to make sure Talia Di Sione was indeed a suitable nanny, and even though Maria had assured him in several emails that she was, Angelos needed to see for himself. His daughter’s welfare was paramount.

At least that was why he told himself he was back so soon. He just didn’t completely believe it.

Now he stepped into the quiet of the villa, breathed in the scents of bougainvillea and heliotrope from outside. Maria hurried towards him.

‘Kyrie Mena! I was not expecting you. You didn’t send word you were coming.’

‘It was a last-minute decision,’ Angelos said as he shed his suit jacket. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve inconvenienced you.’

‘Not at all,’ Maria clucked, bustling around him as she always did. ‘I will make up your bedroom. And as for dinner...?’

Angelos hesitated. He normally didn’t stay on Kallos for many meals, and those he took were by his desk, working. ‘Have you eaten?’ he asked. Maria shook her head.

‘No, not yet. We were just going to have something simple in the kitchen...’

‘Then I will join you for dinner.’ Maria looked flummoxed; Angelos never joined them in the kitchen.

‘Very good, sir,’ she murmured, and he turned away, towards the solitude of his study.

He worked until he heard Sofia and Talia come downstairs; he listened to their chatter, a pidgin mixture of English and Greek, punctuated by much laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard his daughter sound so excited, so happy.

The realisation felt like a fist clenching his heart.

Finally when he could hear Maria putting the meal on the table he rose from his desk and went into the kitchen. The moment he stepped into the doorway the room fell silent, and three heads swivelled expectantly towards him.

‘Kalispera,’ Angelos greeted them, his voice terser than he would have liked. ‘You are all well?’

‘Very well,’ Maria answered when no one else seemed inclined to say anything. Angelos sat down at the table and after a brief pause Talia and Sofia joined him there.

‘Hello, Papa,’ Sofia whispered, and Angelos smiled at her. She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to hide her scarred cheek. Everything inside him tightened in regret and dismay, and he looked away to compose himself. His interactions with Sofia were always like this.

As he put his napkin in his lap he could feel Talia watching him, and when he looked up he saw how she was gazing at him in what almost seemed like disapproval, her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed.

He raised his eyebrows in silent enquiry, and flushing, she looked away.

She looked good, he noticed. The last week had left her tanned, the freckles across her nose coming out in bold relief. Her hair had golden streaks, and she seemed more relaxed than she had a week ago, even if she seemed determined to give him a death stare all dinner long.

The meal was awful. The food was as delicious as always, but the conversation was stilted and awkward, punctuated by long, taut silences. Whenever Angelos asked Sofia a question she stammered or mumbled an answer, and then hung her head.

Talia didn’t speak at all, but Angelos could feel the censure and even the animosity rolling off her in waves and when the plates were cleared Angelos decided he had had enough of it. He excused himself before dessert was served, claiming he needed to work.

Back in his study he paced the room before he reached for the bottle of ouzo he kept in a drinks cabinet and poured himself a small measure. Then he cursed and slammed the glass back onto the desk. Alcohol was not the answer.

He went to his laptop, but he’d finished writing his notes on the last consultancy and he’d done nearly all the prep work on his next client. He had an unprecedented five days to spend at his leisure, and the truth was he didn’t know what to do with it. At least when he worked he didn’t have time to think. To remember.

He was staring blindly into the empty hearth when a quiet knock sounded at the door.

Angelos stiffened. No one disturbed him in his study. Maria knew it was off-limits, and Sofia would never dare. Which left one person who could be knocking at his door, one person who dared to disturb his privacy.

‘Enter,’ he barked, and the door swung open to reveal Talia standing there, her hands on her hips, her eyes blazing.

* * *

Talia was furious. She’d been furious ever since Angelos’s helicopter had landed three hours ago, and he hadn’t even come upstairs to say hello to his daughter.

When he’d appeared for dinner, she’d managed to calm down a little. Maybe he really was busy with work. He’d come back earlier than he’d intended, and he was making the effort to have a meal with them. She was willing to be appeased, even impressed. But then his behaviour during that meal—the bitten-off questions, the stony looks—had made her fury return in full force. And no matter what happened, even if the man fired her, she knew she couldn’t stay silent any longer. For Sofia’s sake she had to speak.

‘Did you need something?’ Angelos asked, his tone as curt as ever. He looked devastatingly sexy standing there, with the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt unbuttoned, revealing the tanned column of his throat, and the sleeves rolled up to show his powerful forearms. His hair was slightly mussed, and a five-o’clock shadow glinted on his strong jaw. Just the sight of him was enough to make every thought empty out of Talia’s head, and she had a hard time remembering why she was so angry.

‘I thought,’ Angelos continued as he turned to his desk, effectively dismissing her, ‘that Maria would have told you my study is off-limits.’

‘You mean you’re off-limits,’ Talia returned. She was fast recalling her fury, especially when Angelos didn’t even look up as he answered her. No matter how sexy the man was, he could still act like an ass.

‘When I am working, yes.’

She gestured to his closed laptop. ‘Have you been working, Kyrie Mena?’

Angelos glanced up then, clearly annoyed by her challenge. ‘What is it you want, Miss Di Sione?’

‘I thought you were going to call me Talia,’ she reminded him with acid sweetness. ‘Not that you’ve ever asked me to call you by your first name.’

‘I am your employer.’

Talia rolled her eyes. ‘You are also the most stiff and formal man I’ve ever met. In this day and age, I think it would be perfectly appropriate for us to call each other by our first names.’

He looked utterly nonplussed by this apparently outrageous suggestion. ‘Is this why you came into my study? To discuss how we address each other?’

‘No.’ Talia let out her breath in a huff. She was picking the wrong fight, but there was so much about Angelos and his distant, disdainful attitude that got up her nose. Made her want to come out swinging for Sofia’s sake. ‘But I thought I’d mention it, as an aside.’

‘Fine. You’ve mentioned it.’ He turned away again and Talia clenched her hands into fists.

‘You know, I think you love your daughter,’ she said, her voice shaking with the force of her feeling, ‘but I wouldn’t be able to tell from your behaviour. At all.’

Angelos turned around slowly. His face was blank, his eyes like two dark pools, his huge body radiating menace. Talia felt a tremor of trepidation go through her; she’d already learned that Angelos was at his most terrifying when she couldn’t tell anything from his expression.

‘I have no interest in what you think,’ he said, enunciating each harsh word with cold precision. ‘And no desire for you to come and invade my privacy with your ridiculous presumption.’

She blinked, half amazed at the blatant insults he delivered with such deliberate cruelty, even as part of her recognised it as a tactic. A defence, and one she was determined to break through. ‘You really are incredibly rude,’ she told him, glad her voice came out evenly. ‘As well as—dare I say it?—short-sighted. I spend more time with your daughter than anyone else does. Maybe you should care what I think.’

Two spots of colour appeared high on Angelos’s sharp cheekbones, but his expression remained glacial, his eyes like chips of dark ice. ‘You overstep yourself, Miss Di Sione,’ he said, his voice a quiet, warning hiss. Talia felt a tremble of fear, and yet courage or perhaps just a deep conviction of what Sofia needed propelled her onwards.

‘So what are you going to do, fire me?’ she demanded as she took a step towards him, felt the heat from his body and inhaled the clean male scent of him. ‘I’m overstepping myself because I care about your daughter. And your behaviour hurts her terribly, even though she tries to hide it. Why can’t you be more—’ She broke off, searching for a word, and Angelos raised his eyebrows, his whole body tensed with suppressed fury.

‘Be more what?’ he asked, biting off each word and spitting it out.

‘Loving,’ she burst out. ‘She’s a little girl. She has so few people in her life. She wants to be loved by her papa.’

Her words seemed to echo in the taut stillness of the room, and for one brief second Angelos’s features twisted in what looked like a grimace of anguish, and Talia felt as if her heart was suspended in her chest as realisation slammed into her. He was hurting...just as Sofia was hurting.

Just as she was hurting.

Then his expression ironed out and he turned away, busying himself with some papers on his desk, his back to her.

‘This conversation is over.’

‘Angelos...’ It was the first time she’d dared to call him by his first name, and it felt weirdly intimate, as if she had just used an endearment. She took a step towards him, reaching a hand out, wanting to touch him, to offer him that little comfort, and her too. She imagined the feel of his shoulder under her palm, hot and hard and strong. She craved that connection, however brief and illusory it was, and she imagined, foolishly perhaps, he craved it too. Yet even so she didn’t dare. ‘Surely someone else,’ she said quietly, ‘Maria or one of the nannies, has spoken to you about this? Has been as concerned as I have?’

‘The other nannies were not nearly as interested in Sofia as you seem to be,’ Angelos answered tonelessly. ‘Now I wonder if that was no bad thing.’ He glanced up at her, his expression as cold and implacable as it ever had been, and Talia knew any moment of connection she had been hoping for was well and truly severed. ‘I am not asking for your opinion on these matters. You are here for a short time only, Talia. You are not part of our lives. In a month you will be gone from here, as good as forgotten.’

The deliberate brutality of his words felt like a slap to the face, a fist to the gut. She blinked rapidly, startled by how hurt she felt by Angelos’s cold statement. She may have only been on Kallos for ten days, but she felt as if she’d become part of Sofia’s life, as if she mattered. And, Talia realised with a stab of remorse, she mattered to so few people in her life. Her grandfather, her brothers and sisters...her circle of loved ones was incredibly small. She hadn’t thought she minded, but now...

‘That may be true,’ she managed when she trusted her voice not to tremble with the force of her hurt. ‘But I’m part of Sofia’s life now. I matter to her now, and she matters to me.’ Angelos simply stared, blatantly unimpressed. Talia fought the urge to cry, or maybe scream. She felt as if she were banging her head against a wall. A very hard wall. Maybe Angelos was right, and she should just stop. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see these people again after the next month. Why was she pushing so much? Why did she care so much?

Because you know how Sofia feels.

She took a deep breath and forced all the feelings back. ‘How long are you staying for this time?’ she asked, and she saw surprise flicker across Angelos’s face at the abrupt change in topic.

‘I have not yet decided. I came to make sure you were doing an adequate job—’

‘And am I?’

‘That remains to be seen,’ Angelos answered coolly. ‘Now, as I said before, this conversation is—’

‘Perhaps you should assess my performance,’ Talia suggested before she lost her courage. She felt reckless now, almost wild; he’d already hurt her so what did she really have to lose? ‘Surely you need to see if I really am doing the thing properly. Appropriately.’ Angelos narrowed his eyes, clearly trying to figure out her game. Talia gave him her sunniest smile, even though she felt fragile inside, ready to break. ‘Tomorrow Sofia and I are going on a picnic,’ she stated, although she hadn’t planned any such thing. ‘I’ve been wanting to walk to the far side of the island. Why don’t you come with us?’

He stared at her for a long moment, a muscle flickering in his jaw, his eyes utterly opaque. Talia waited for his answer, her breath held, trying not to hope too hard.

‘Well played, Miss Di Sione,’ he finally said, and there was a faint note of reluctant admiration in his voice that made Talia release her breath in a relieved rush. ‘You are a positive terrier.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘It wasn’t necessarily meant as one.’ Angelos turned back to his desk, bracing his hands flat on the burnished surface, almost as if he were steeling himself—but for what? ‘As tempting as a picnic sounds,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I will have to forego such pleasures. I have a lot of work to do.’

‘Why did you come back at all, then?’ Talia demanded, hurt audible in her voice, making her cringe. She’d thought he’d been going to accept, and the intense disappointment she felt at his refusal felt like an overreaction, yet one she couldn’t keep herself from.

‘I told you—’

‘To assess my capabilities? But you haven’t spent any time with me or Sofia. How can you possibly know how capable I am?’

He swung around, anger igniting in his eyes again, making them burn. ‘Why are you so damnably persistent?’

‘Because I know what it’s like to be without a father,’ Talia confessed. She felt the blood rush to her face at this unwarranted admission. ‘Or a mother. I lost both my parents when I was a year old.’

Angelos stared at her for a long moment, his jaw bunched, his arms still folded, and yet Talia sensed a softening in him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said, his voice gruff. ‘I would not wish that on anyone.’

‘Sofia’s already lost her mother,’ Talia pressed while she had an advantage. ‘She needs you—’

‘And she has me.’ He cut her off swiftly, his tone and expression hardening once more. ‘I provide for her every need, and I visit here as often as I can. And frankly, Miss Di Sione, Sofia is better off without me around.’ He swung away again, driving a hand through his hair, his back, taut and quivering with tension, to her. ‘Now, go please,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Before either of us says something we will later regret.’

Talia stared at him for a long moment, everything in her wanting to go comfort this man. She sensed a grief and even a darkness in him that she hadn’t expected, and it called to a similar emotion in her that she’d long suppressed.

‘Angelos...’ she tried, hesitantly, because they did not remotely have the kind of relationship that would allow her to offer comfort, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to give it anyway. Reaching out to this man, actually connecting with him, would be dangerous for both of them.

And yet she stayed, even lifted her hand as she had before, fingers trembling, straining... Her fingertips brushed his shoulder, and she felt his muscles quiver and jerk in response, or perhaps she was the one who moved, a jolt running through her body that surprised her with its impossible force. She’d barely touched him.

‘Go,’ Angelos said, his voice low and insistent, his head bowed, and dropping her hand, her whole body reacting to that tiny touch, Talia went.

* * *

Angelos stayed in his study working until the small hours of the morning. Better to work and try to blot out all the damning accusations Talia had hurled at him. The pleas to spend time with his daughter, when that was the one thing he couldn’t do.

For a second, staring blankly at the page of notes he’d been making on his new client, Angelos remembered what it had been like to be close to Sofia. To hold the warm baby weight of her in his arms, tuck her head against his shoulder and rest his chin on top of her silky hair. He remembered how she’d always tugged on his ears, giving a great big baby’s belly laugh. How Xanthe had watched them, smiling that secret smile, love shining in her eyes...

With a curse he shoved the pad of paper away, driving his hands through his hair, his nails raking his scalp, as if he could push the memories right out of his head. As if he could change the past, the night that had claimed Xanthe’s life and scarred Sofia for ever. The night that had been his fault.

He glanced at the ouzo in the drinks cabinet, and then turned away.

The house was quiet as he headed upstairs, the night breeze cool. He paused outside Talia’s room, wondering how she’d taken his rebuttals. He’d been harsh, he knew, but she’d been so damnably determined. She’d been trying to make him see, and the trouble was, he saw all too clearly. He saw that when he was near his daughter he made her uncomfortable, reminded her of all they’d lost. Sofia might need a father, but she needed a better one than him.

And yet Talia didn’t know that, didn’t realise how unworthy he was. She’d tried to comfort him, and for a second, his eyes clenched shut, Angelos remembered the feel of her fingers on his shoulder, barely the brush of a hand, and yet it had made him feel as if his skin had been scraped raw, every nerve exposed to stinging air. Not a pleasant feeling, and yet it had made him feel so alive. For a second he’d craved even more; the kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t had in seven years. It would have felt like the ripping of a bandage from a wound, the sudden exposure to light and air and life, painful and necessary and good.

And not for him.

Banishing all thoughts of Talia, he moved past her room to Sofia’s, slipping inside silently as he did every night he was on Kallos, while his daughter slept.

Sofia lay on her side, her knees tucked up as they always were. As Angelos came closer, his throat constricted as he saw the dried traces of tears on his daughter’s cheek. She’d been crying...because of him? Because of what he had or hadn’t done? He glanced down and saw the last letter he’d written her on the floor, having slipped from her fingers as she’d fallen asleep.

Guilt lashed him, a scourge whose sting he accepted as his due. Sofia’s sadness was his fault. He knew that. He’d always known that. He just didn’t know how he could make it better.

‘S’agapo manaria mou,’ he said softly, and then, as he always did, he slipped silently from the room before she could wake.

* * *

Talia woke the next morning determined to give Sofia the day she should have had with her father, if he’d only been willing. She asked Maria to pack a picnic, and, a few games to play on the beach and plenty of sun cream.

As soon as Sofia had finished her lessons, she announced her intentions.

‘A picnic?’ Sofia’s face lit up as she smiled shyly. Talia had noticed how quiet and downhearted she’d seemed since Angelos’s arrival yesterday afternoon, and she was glad to see the girl brightening now. ‘Just...just the two of us?’ She glanced inadvertently towards her father’s study, the door firmly closed.

‘Yes,’ Talia said, injecting as much cheer as she could into her voice. ‘Won’t it be fun? I’ve been wanting to explore the other side of the island. We can swim on the other beach.’ Sofia frowned in confusion, and with exaggerated movements Talia mimed what she meant. She deserved an Academy Award for her acting talents, she thought wryly as Sofia nodded in understanding.

Talia slathered them both in sun cream, and cramming the wide straw hat she’d borrowed from Maria on her head, she headed outside with Sofia.

The sky was cloudless blue, the sun already high and hot above, and the other side of the island beckoned enticingly. Kallos wasn’t very big, a few square miles at most, but Talia hadn’t ventured much beyond the landscaped gardens and beach right in front of the villa.

Now, despite the disappointment caused by Angelos’s absence, she found she was looking forward to seeing a little more of the island. The sense of adventure that had been dormant for so long rose up once more, so she walked with a spring in her step as they left the bright tangle of the villa’s gardens for the stony hill above the house.

They’d just crested the hill and Talia was gazing in interest at the rock-strewn valley below when Sofia suddenly exclaimed in Greek.

Afraid she’d seen a snake or something dangerous, Talia whirled around. Sofia was pointing back towards the villa.

‘Papa,’ she exclaimed.

Talia held up her hand to shade her eyes from the sun, and her heart felt as if it had leapt into her throat when she saw Angelos coming up the hill they’d just climbed with long, purposeful strides.

‘Papa,’ she agreed cautiously, and she glanced down at Sofia to see a look of apprehension coming over her face as Angelos drew nearer. He was dressed as casually as she’d ever seen him, in shorts that emphasised his powerful thighs and calves and a T-shirt that clung to the well-defined muscles of his chest. He was also, Talia saw as her heart sunk from her throat to her toes, scowling ferociously.