‘How old is he?’ Eros demanded in a driven undertone.
‘Eighteen months. He’s tall for his age,’ Winnie muttered.
‘And in all that time you didn’t once think of contacting me?’ Eros intoned through clenched teeth of restraint.
‘You were married,’ Winnie reminded him with a lift of her chin.
‘That’s irrelevant,’ Eros countered with ferocious bite. ‘It’s not an excuse.’
‘I’m not making excuses. I don’t regret not telling you,’ Winnie responded, outraged by his lack of guilt.
‘But you will,’ Eros murmured, soft as a cat padding round her on velvet paws of menace. ‘You will learn to regret it.’
A faint chill stiffened Winnie’s already rigid spine but she squared her slight shoulders, rebelling against that sense of threat. Eros couldn’t push her around; he couldn’t do anything to her. Teddy was hers and she didn’t work for Eros any more or indeed depend on him in any way.
Her defiance infuriated Eros. Evidently he had underestimated Winnie when he had deemed her to be a quiet, restful sort of young woman; the type who would never cause waves in his life. He had trusted her as far as he trusted any woman, had believed he knew her inside out, had only registered how mistaken such an assumption could be after she had vanished into thin air. His wide sensual mouth compressed into a grim line.
Winnie glanced at him and her tension zoomed to a new high, her eyes lingering against her will on his lean, powerful length, her breath catching in her throat. With an effort she tore her attention away again but her senses were humming, her heart was pounding, teaching her that she had yet to attain the level of indifference she needed to be safe around him. Instead she was mesmerised by that stormy, striking male beauty of his, the honed, flawless angles of his high cheekbones, the definitive shape of his nose and the unforgettably stunning impact of those jewelled green eyes, once seen, never forgotten. She shifted her feet, fighting off her susceptibility, hating herself for noticing afresh just how gorgeous he was.
‘My only regret is that I ever met you,’ she declared stonily.
‘A little late in the day,’ Eros purred, impervious to the insult. ‘I will take you to my apartment, where we will talk about where we go from here.’
‘No,’ Winnie argued. ‘I’m going home. Teddy needs his nap.’
To Eros’s mind, Teddy looked more as if he was good to go for another few hours as he gripped the swing and kicked up his legs with excitement.
‘We can’t talk with your sisters present,’ Eros countered very drily.
‘My sisters will have left for work.’ Rigid with resentment that he was somehow contriving to force her into a discussion she didn’t want as well as granting him access to her home, Winnie slung him a look of loathing, big brown eyes awash with annoyance.
She hated Eros Nevrakis. She had never hated anyone before but she hated him for a whole host of reasons. But she had to find out what he wanted, had to remember that he was Teddy’s father and should for the present be handled with tact, she reminded herself quellingly. This time running away wasn’t an option because she would only leave a bigger mess behind her. Her soft full lips compressed, she lifted her son out of the swing, ignoring his bitter wail of complaint. He looked up at her with green eyes swimming with tears and her heart clenched as she set him down to walk beside her.
‘We’ll use my limo,’ Eros informed her.
‘No, Teddy and I will walk back. I’ll meet you there,’ Winnie told him without hesitation and she turned on her heel, needing the time alone and the peace to regroup and calm down.
Teddy dragged his heels all the way, tired now and cross, but Winnie barely noticed because all the memories she had buried were flooding her to drowning point.
Fresh from catering college and a variety of jobs in which she’d picked up experience, she had secured a sous chef position in a small family-owned Greek restaurant. When a virus had put the head chef in bed, the responsibility for providing dinner for a large party of Greek businessmen being entertained by Eros had fallen on Winnie’s shoulders. At the end of the meal she had been invited to meet the client, and she could still recall getting into a panic at the prospect and dragging off her chef’s hat and tidying her hair for the sort of public appearance that had never come her way before.
Eros had complimented her with flattering enthusiasm on the meal she had prepared. She had hovered there with bright red cheeks, trying not to gawp at the best-looking man she had ever met, wondering how anyone could have such extraordinarily green eyes, intense as polished tourmalines in that lean, darkly handsome face of his. He had passed her his business card, telling her that he was looking for a personal chef for his London home and that when she was free she should ring him for an interview.
She had been quite happy where she was working, but she didn’t see much of her sisters because she worked such awkward hours and that more than anything had persuaded her to make that phone call. When she had been offered a salary far beyond her current earnings and accommodation in central London to boot, she had accepted, reasoning that working as a billionaire’s private chef would offer her even more exciting opportunities to advance herself. With two sisters who were still students, invariably broke and in need of clothes, the ability to earn a decent wage had been very important back then.
‘So, how did you get into cooking?’ Eros had enquired, strolling informally into the kitchen on her first night while she’d been preparing his evening meal, his every fluid movement attracting her attention, particularly to the fabric defining his long, powerful thighs.
‘My mother was a cook and she started teaching me when I was five,’ Winnie had confided as she’d struggled not to look back in the same direction, perplexed by her random thoughts and embarrassing impulses in his presence. ‘Both my parents were Greek, although my mother’s family had been living here for years when she met my father—’
‘Yet you don’t speak our language,’ Eros had remarked in surprise.
Winnie had tensed, her eyes shadowing. ‘My parents died when I was eight and I’ve forgotten most of the Greek words I knew. I’ve always meant to go to classes but I’m too busy. Some day I’ll take it up again.’
‘So, what are you making me tonight?’ Eros had asked with a lazy smile, his accented drawl smooth as silk in her ears.
‘I put a little menu on the dining table for you.’
‘Cute,’ Eros had commented with lancing amusement.
‘Just tell me what you want and I’ll provide it,’ she had urged, eager to please for he had been paying generously for her services and she’d wanted him to feel that she was worth her salary.
An ebony brow had skated up. ‘Anything?’ he had pressed, laughter sparkling in his spectacular eyes, his wide sensual mouth lifting at the corners.
‘Pretty much anything,’ Winnie had muttered, belatedly grasping the double entendre she had accidentally made, her colour rising accordingly. ‘And if I don’t know how to make it, I can soon find out.’
‘Is your accommodation adequate?’ Eros had prompted.
