her a long time to come to terms with her mum’s death in a horrific accident. Tragically, Stelios had arrived in England in search of Marion six months too late.
The muted sounds of the party drifted across the terrace and Isla was glad to be outside, away from the spotlight for a few minutes. The ruby necklace felt heavy around her neck and she wished she hadn’t allowed Stelios to persuade her to wear it. But he had insisted that the necklace and matching drop earrings were perfect accessories for the red dress he’d suggested she should wear to the press conference and dinner party. The tight-fitting dress clung to her body and the scooped neckline revealed more of her cleavage than Isla was comfortable with. She did not normally wear attention-grabbing clothes. But the point of her overtly sexy outfit and the reason for the announcement of their engagement was to draw attention away from Stelios’s ill-health.
The sound of footsteps on the terrace behind her caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, a sixth sense warning her of imminent danger. She froze when a mocking voice drawled, ‘Ah, the blushing bride-to-be! You have been a clever girl, Isla.’
Her heart gave an annoying flip, as it always did when Stelios’s son was in the vicinity, and it took every ounce of her willpower to turn towards him when her instincts urged her to flee. Somehow she managed to say calmly, ‘Whatever do you mean, Andreas?’
The simple act of uttering his name evoked a wild heat inside her, and she prayed he would think her cheeks were flushed because the temperature in Greece was much warmer than the chilly, grey England she had left two days ago. Isla hated that Andreas Karelis made her feel like a gauche teenager but she suspected he had the same effect on most women.
Handsome did not come near to describing his sculpted features, with those razor-edge cheekbones, square jaw and outrageously sensual mouth that looked as if it had been shaped entirely for the purpose of kissing. His hair was the same shade of dark brown as the rich Greek coffee she had served him when he had visited his father at the house in Kensington.
It was not just his height—she estimated that he was three or four inches over six foot—or his attractive features, dominated by his startling blue eyes, that set him apart from other men. Andreas possessed a smouldering sensuality that Isla could not ignore, however much she wished she could.
Although he had retired from motorbike racing he was still regarded as a sporting legend by an army of adoring groupies. His reputation as a playboy was reinforced by stories of his love-life played out in the pages of tabloid newspapers and celebrity gossip magazines. Not that Isla took the slightest interest in the scandalous headlines about Andreas, but she knew they upset his father and she had resolved to protect Stelios from stress and worry as much as she possibly could for the time he had left.
It was inexplicable the way her pulse quickened and her breasts rose and fell jerkily when she was anywhere near Andreas. Worse was the realisation that he knew the effect he had on her. He smiled, baring his teeth and reminding her of a wolf that had cornered its prey. Isla considered walking as quickly as her skyscraper stiletto heels would permit, back inside the villa where Stelios was chatting with some of his dinner guests. But before she could move Andreas stepped towards her and she found herself edging up against the stone balustrade.
In the moonlight he seemed even bigger and distinctly menacing as his muscular, whipcord body loomed over her. There was nothing she could do but brazen it out and she forced herself to tilt her head and meet his hard stare.
‘I have a feeling that you were not paying me a compliment when you called me clever,’ she remarked, pleased that she sounded composed when she felt anything but.
His eyes narrowed, but not before she’d glimpsed a flash of surprise at her challenging tone. ‘There are words to describe women like you and none of them are complimentary.’
Isla blinked, taken aback by the ferocity in Andreas’s low voice. The contemptuous curl of his lips caused a stab of hurt beneath her breastbone. Her treacherous heart hammered when he lifted his hand and ran his forefinger over the rubies at her throat.
‘Very pretty,’ he said, still in that harsh tone that seemed to come from deep within him. But although he touched the blood-red stones strung alternately between sparkling diamonds, his eyes were on her face and his expression made her shiver and burn simultaneously. She held her breath when he moved his hand up to one of her ears and flicked his finger against the huge ruby surrounded by diamonds dangling from her earlobe. ‘Was this jewellery, and the shiny bauble on your finger, your price for agreeing to marry my father?’
‘I don’t have a price.’
He gave a disbelieving snort. ‘Tell me, Isla, why would a beautiful young woman choose to become engaged to an elderly billionaire if not for financial gain?’
Her temper flared at his implication that she was a fortune hunter. ‘Do you think I’m a gold-digger?’
‘Well done. I said you were clever,’ he mocked.
The condemnation in Andreas’s eyes was unjust. For a moment Isla was tempted to defend herself by explaining the truth about her relationship with his father. But she’d given her word to Stelios that she would keep his secret. A secret which was going to have huge implications for his family and possibly for his oil refining business. As yet Andreas was unaware that Karelis Corp was threatened by a hostile takeover bid from another company. Soon he would learn that her engagement to his father was intended to make Stelios appear strong and in control of the company, and Andreas might even thank her.
‘Your father and I have an understanding...’
He swore, his voice low but no less savage. ‘Does Stelios know about us?’
‘Us?’ Isla’s brows lifted and she injected cool disdain into her tone. ‘There has never been us.’
‘We shared a scorching kiss at my father’s house in London. Theos! The chemistry between us was explosive,’ Andreas reminded her.
Heat spread across Isla’s face. She needed no reminding of her uncharacteristically wanton behaviour. She had declined Stelios’s invitation to join him and Andreas when she’d served coffee in the drawing room. Making the excuse that she was doing some baking, she had carefully not met Andreas’s speculative gaze. But later he had returned the tea tray to the kitchen.
‘Thanks. You can leave the cups in the sink,’ she told him in a dismissive voice, hoping he would take the hint and return to his father. Her heart-rate quickened when he lounged against the kitchen counter.
‘So you weren’t lying,’ he murmured, watching her take a tray of madeleines out of the oven. ‘I assumed you’d said you were busy in the kitchen because you wanted to avoid me.’
‘I never tell lies,’ she said crisply, focusing her attention on lifting the delicate little cakes onto a cooling rack rather than look at Andreas. But she was fiercely aware of him, casually dressed in jeans that hugged his lean hips and a black T-shirt moulded to his muscular torso. His rampant masculinity disturbed her and the sensual musk of his aftershave in the warm kitchen assailed her senses.
‘I’m glad to hear it. Perhaps you can explain why my father has fallen asleep in his armchair in the middle of the day. I know he is not getting any younger, but he has always had the energy of a man half his age.’
Weeks of gruelling chemotherapy had drained Stelios’s strength, but Isla couldn’t reveal to Andreas that his father was undergoing treatment for cancer. So much for her boast that she did not tell lies,
