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.’
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