Читать книгу Powerful Greek, Housekeeper Wife - Robyn Donald - Страница 7

STILL, Lukas reluctantly conceded Iona had a point.

Yesterday he’d ordered his security people to check her and her cousin out; the report had arrived first thing that morning. They were clean—practically saints, he thought sardonically.

After a glance at Chloe’s absorbed little face as she rocked rhythmically on the horse, Luke made up his mind, but even so, he chose his words with care.

‘Her mother has never been part of Chloe’s life.’ She hadn’t even named her. He’d called her Chloe after his maternal grandmother.

Irritated, because the silken allure of Iona’s skin and the grace of her movements still had the power to stir him, he went on more curtly than he’d intended, ‘I have always cared for her, and her nanny has been with her since she was a year old. Unfortunately she was called away to England last night, so it is possible Chloe will talk about Neelie. I have explained the circumstances to her—that Neelie had to go to her sick mother—and she appears to understand and accept that. I have left a contact number beside the telephone; if there is any emergency—but only in an emergency—ring me.’

Her eyes veiled by her lashes, Iona nodded and replied with composure, ‘I don’t panic easily.’

Lukas resisted another flash of hunger, deep and arousing. She didn’t fit the classical standards of beauty—her face was striking rather than pretty—but something about it and her smoothly lissome body still retained a disturbing power to intrigue him.

However, he had responsibilities he couldn’t neglect, and although it was some months since he’d last had a woman it would be inconvenient to embark—re-embark, he corrected cynically—on an affair right now with a woman who’d already caused him enough sleepless nights.

And if he’d learned anything in his life it was to control the urges of his body.

Iona resolutely turned her face away to watch Chloe, absorbed on her flying steed. Luke should mean nothing to her, and neither should the possibility that he’d been married when he’d made love to her with such blazing desire.

Yet she struggled with a foolish sense of betrayal.

Ignoring it, she asked, ‘Roughly what time are you planning to be back?’

‘This meeting should finish at a reasonable time—before five o’clock,’ he told her, a note of austerity in his words telling her he wasn’t used to being questioned. ‘If it threatens to stretch further I—or my PA—will contact you. Do you have an appointment tonight?’

Iona met eyes that were unexpectedly keen. ‘No.’

His expression didn’t change as he turned and called, ‘Chloe, I have to go now.’

The child scrambled down from the rocking horse and came running with outstretched arms. Watching him swoop down to lift her high, Iona relaxed. Luke wasn’t effusive, but his love for his daughter was clear; he held her with great tenderness, and murmured something in a language Iona supposed to be Greek.

Forget the way that voice sends shivers down your spine, she warned herself. Concentrate on Chloe.

Nothing to worry about there—the child’s body language proclaimed her complete faith and trust in her father. Nestled against his big frame, she looked tiny as she gave him his kiss with perfect confidence, and his hard-hewn, handsome face softened.

Somehow that touched a nerve in Iona.

Gently he put Chloe down and straightened up. ‘So, be good for Miss Iona while I’m gone.’ He looked at Iona. ‘I have ordered a snack to arrive at ten for both of you, and lunch will be brought up at midday. Chloe has a nap after lunch for half an hour, and then a drink and some fruit when she wakes.’

‘Lukas, can Miss Iona take me for a swim when I wake up?’

Smiling down at her, he replied, ‘No, because she will not have brought anything to wear in the water.’

His daughter pouted, but didn’t push her luck. Obviously Luke’s decisions were non-negotiable.

Iona said, ‘Actually, I noticed the pool yesterday so I brought my togs.’ She looked at him directly, aware of a swift streak of colour along her cheekbones. In Tahiti she’d swum naked, and from the gleam beneath his lashes she suspected he was remembering. ‘I have a lifesaving certificate.’

For an intimidating moment he was silent before his mouth curved in an oblique smile. ‘I know you are an excellent swimmer. I see no reason why you shouldn’t swim together,’ he conceded to a beaming Chloe, adding, ‘But only if you promise me that when Miss Iona tells you it is time to get out you do not plead to stay in for just a few minutes longer.’

Chloe’s face wrinkled in earnestness. ‘I won’t, Lukas. I will be as good as gold, like Neelie says.’

He looked amused, but spoke directly to Iona. ‘Chloe is an excellent swimmer for her age, but too much time in the water turns her lips blue and makes her shiver.’

During the morning the child’s artless frankness built a picture for Iona of a man who could be stern but wasn’t unfair, and whose arms held all Chloe wanted. She referred to the nanny with affection, but clearly it was her father who was the sum and substance of her life.

The situation nagged at Iona. Perhaps he hadn’t known about the child when they’d had that fling in Tahiti?

But he’d said her mother had never figured in Chloe’s life.

Apart from bearing her and giving birth, Iona thought ironically. Whatever, she told herself severely as she tucked the child into bed for her afternoon nap, it was absolutely none of her business.

While Chloe slept Iona sat out on the terrace with the book she’d been reading for the past few days, exasperated when it no longer held her attention. She got up and walked over to the edge of the terrace and leant against the railing.

Up above, the glinting waters of the harbour clouds marched in ranks across a radiant sky. After Gavin had drowned she hadn’t been able to bear even looking at the sea; she’d deliberately chosen Tahiti for her holiday because the island location made it impossible for her to avoid the ocean. She’d forced herself to accept and overcome her fear.

It had worked, although not in the way she hoped. The bleak sense of responsibility for Gavin’s death had been overwhelmed by the haze of sensuality Luke had woven around her—a sensuality she’d welcomed, enjoyed, basked in…

Driven by restlessness, she turned away and paced around across the terrace. Whoever had designed this garden had created a rooftop paradise, its almost tropical lushness forming a background to a carefully tended magnolia that held breathtaking, opulently rosy goblets up to the sky.

Idly, she bent to sniff a gardenia flower, wondering what it would be like to be truly rich, one of those people whose deep pockets meant that money was the least of their concerns.

People about as far removed as they could be from Angie, who had three full-time workers to worry about as well as her children, and the ever-present burden of the debts her ex-husband had left behind when he’d skipped out of the country.

Angie had admitted last night that things were tough. How tough? Was she secretly hoping Iona might return to her previous career as a nursery teacher?

If so, surely she’d have said something?

Probably not. She and Angie had no other relatives but each other. Angie could be keeping her on from some sense of family duty.

Entirely unnecessary family duty! Iona made up her mind; she’d ask Angie directly, because she could always find a job in a nursery school or a daycare centre. It wouldn’t pay as well as working for Angie, but she’d manage.

Earlier she’d read Chloe one of the books she’d packed, delighted when the story sparked the child’s imagination. They’d acted it out, with Chloe suggesting embellishments, some outrageous, some affecting—like her suggestion that a baby brother be incorporated so the heroine would have someone to play with.

‘Would you like to keep that book for yourself?’ Iona had surprised herself by asking at lunchtime, when she’d noted that Chloe was reluctant to put the book down.

Chloe’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed, adding conscientiously, ‘Yes, please, Miss Iona.’ She held it out. ‘Can you write in it?’

Touched, Iona said, ‘Of course I can.’ She fished out her pen and printed on the title page: ‘For Chloe, so she remembers a lovely day in Auckland. From Iona.’

But Chloe frowned when Iona read out the dedication. ‘You have to say ‘With love from,” she said.

Iona’s heart stilled a precarious second, then began to beat again. It would be very easy to become fond of this child.

She said, ‘Goodness, how could I have forgotten?’ And inscribed the extra words in the right place.

Chloe beamed. ‘I will be careful of it,’ she promised earnestly.

The book had gone to bed with her after another reading. Now, thinking of the pleasure the simple gift had given the child, Iona smiled, then turned as a voice from behind interrupted her thoughts.

‘I’m awake.’

And ready for the swim she’d been promised.

Chloe’s nanny had brought her up to be self-sufficient; she was already wearing a cute little two-piece, almost covered by a towel draped around her shoulders. A bright yellow cap dangled from one small hand.

Hiding a smile, Iona organised them both into the pool, relaxing a little when she discovered the child was like a small eel in the water. They splashed and played together until a cry of ‘Lukas!’ from Chloe whipped Iona’s head around.

Luke was striding through the glass doors and into the pool enclosure, tall and extremely sophisticated in that killer suit, the sun gleaming blue-black on his arrogantly poised head.

Iona’s spine melted and sharp darts of sensation shot through her. She knew what it was—desire, sweet and treacherous, hauntingly familiar…

Yet different now, deeper and more potent than the purely sensuous sensations he’d previously aroused. Somehow Luke’s obvious love for the child swimming at top speed towards him had worked a change in Iona’s response to him.

A dangerous change, she thought, nerves quivering as she stood up, only to sink back into the water. Her sleek one-piece clung to her like a second skin, tempting her to duck beneath the surface in a stupid, childish reflex.

Luke had seen her naked so often any novelty value had to be long gone, but she was relieved he wasn’t looking her way; in fact, she might just as well not have been there. His whole attention was focused on Chloe, and the smile he gave when he pulled his clamorous daughter out of the pool did something very odd to Iona’s heart.

He said something that lit up the little girl’s face then smiled and wrapped her wet body in the towel like a small, wriggly mummy before hugging her.

Only after he’d kissed her forehead did he look over her sleek black head towards Iona. Acutely and foolishly self-conscious, she stood again, feeling the water stream from her.

‘There is a problem,’ he told her, eyes on her face. Without waiting for an answer he said, ‘This meeting might not finish until late tonight. So you will stay until I come back.’

It was not a request.

‘Very well,’ Iona said, irked by his cool assumption that her time was his to command.

He set Chloe down and commanded, ‘Run off and get back into your clothes. I wish to talk to Miss Iona.’

Chloe raced off, obviously eager not to miss a single precious moment of his presence.

Luke said abruptly, ‘I presume your cousin can bring you clothes for an overnight stay.’

‘No, she’s busy today.’ And when she did get back home with her two tired boys Angie certainly wouldn’t want to be forced to collect clothes from across the city.

Eyes slightly narrowed, he said, ‘In that case I can organise for someone on my staff to fetch them.’

The thought of some unknown person going through her clothes revolted her. ‘No,’ she said definitely, and hauled herself out of the water to give herself time to collect her wits.

And also because for some reason she found it demeaning to be at his feet—below his feet in fact, so that he stood looking down at her like some medieval despot with authority over life and death.

Or the power to take whatever woman he desired.

Somewhere deep inside Iona those long-repressed sensations stirred again, tantalising and decadent.

Frowning, he agreed, ‘I suppose not. So what do you suggest?’

Reminding herself of Angie’s shaky financial situation, Iona bit back impetuous words. ‘I’ve brought a change of clothes,’ she told him. His brows lifted and she said wryly, ‘It’s a sensible precaution if you’re looking after children.’ And her underclothes would dry overnight.

He nodded. ‘Toothbrush? Toothpaste?’

‘I’ll use salt.’ And when he looked startled she added, ‘Or baking soda. It tastes vile but it does the job.’

His mouth twitched. ‘It sounds appalling, but fortunately there is no need for you to suffer. I’ve already organised with the concierge for you to order what you want.’

The slight shrug of her shoulders reminded her she was barefoot and revealing far too much wet skin. Her hair hung in sopping confusion around her face, and water dripped off the end of her nose.

So? she thought defiantly. She didn’t—couldn’t—care what Luke was thinking while he watched her with burnished intent eyes, as opaque as gold.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll go and change.’

She turned away, only to be stopped in mid-stride by his crisp command. ‘A moment. Stay very still.’

Iona froze, aware of the tickling of some insect on her shoulder. ‘It is only a bee,’ Luke said, and flicked it off, then smoothed over her skin.

The brush of his fingers sent swift needles of pleasure through her before he pulled his hand away, leaving her oddly bereft.

She didn’t dare look at him, and no words would come past the lump in her throat until she’d stepped away and picked up her towel, wrapping it around her waist as though it were armour. ‘Poor thing. It must have fallen into the pool.’

‘Possibly. Or perhaps it thought you were another flower.’

A faint trace of cynicism in his tone made her bold enough to say, ‘In that case it’s got a very poor future, I’m afraid. I hope it didn’t go back into the water.’

His voice sounded cool and faintly speculative when he said, ‘It flew into one of the trees. You worry about a bee?’

‘They sound like summer. And I like honey. Thank you.’

His expression was unreadable. ‘It was nothing. Tonight you will sleep in the bedroom next to Chloe’s. She goes to bed at six-thirty, and usually sleeps without waking until about the same time the next morning.’

‘She sounds the perfect child,’ Iona said lightly, and headed towards the little pavilion where they’d left their towels and a change of clothes. She felt shaky and lightheaded, as though she’d been secretly starving for Luke’s touch, missing some essential part of her life without even realising it.

She had to get a grip. The pavilion beckoned like a small haven. She was almost there when Chloe came dashing out, her clothes pulled on anyhow. If Iona had been the child’s nanny she’d have caught and tidied her, but that could wait.

And so, she thought as she closed the door behind her, could Luke Michelakis.

When she emerged, fully dressed and a little more composed, father and daughter had gone inside. After a moment’s hesitation she followed the sound of voices to Chloe’s room; she hovered before the door, repressing a start when it opened unexpectedly.

‘Chloe’s in the shower,’ her father said. ‘She was shivering so I thought it wise. Come, I’ll show you your room.’

He strode past her and opened the door, standing aside so that she could see into the room. During her inspection of the penthouse she’d wondered who would sleep here. Clearly Chloe’s nanny shared the lifestyle of her employer.

She said, ‘It’s charming, thank you.’

‘I have to thank you,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘I am extremely grateful to you for staying with Chloe.’