she bore the firm curves of a fruit-bearing tree. Her hips were still slender, but her breasts were rich and ripe and lush and Dimitri had to work hard at appearing impassive, only just succeeding in keeping the studied look of indifference on his face. His body he had less control over.
‘Perhaps I have acquired an identical twin brother?’ he mocked. ‘What do you think?’
Part of her had been hoping that it was all some kind of mistake, even while the other part had prayed for it not to be so, but any lingering doubt fled just as soon as he began to speak, with that heady mixture of deep, honeyed emphasis she remembered all too well.
She could do one of two things. She could stand there, gaping at him like a fish which had suddenly been starved of water, or she could be herself—the bright, successful and independent woman she had become.
She smiled, even though her mouth felt as though she were stretching a coat-hanger through a jar of glue. ‘Good heavens!’ she exclaimed, with just the right amount of amused surprise. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘I can hardly believe it myself,’ he murmured, thinking that this was fevered fantasy brought to life. His eyes strayed to her fingers. No wedding band. Did that mean that she was free? Available? ‘It’s been a long time.’
Too long, and yet not long enough—for surely time should have gone some way towards protecting her from his sensual impact. So why had time failed her? Why did she find herself feeling overwhelmed with weakness when confronted with the sight of her former Greek lover? She sucked in a dry breath as memories of him pressing her naked body against the soft sand washed over her.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she demanded.
‘I am staying here.’
‘Why?’
But before he could reply, she heard the sound of a voice speaking in Greek. A woman’s voice. And reality shot home. Of course he had a woman with him. Probably children, too. Large houses in this part of London were let to families, and he had doubtless brought his with him.
It was no more than she had expected, so why did it hurt so much?
And then she stared in a kind of disbelieving daze as the most beautiful creature she had ever seen came loping down the stairs towards them.
Glossy black hair cascaded down over high, pert breasts—her jeans and T-shirt showing off a slim, boyish figure and emphasising legs which seemed to go on and on forever. Her face was a perfect opal, with deep-set black eyes which dominated it and a luscious, smiling mouth.
And Molly’s determination not to appear fazed almost failed her as the woman grew closer—why, she looked almost young enough to be…Her forced smile faded from her lips. Had he become one of those men who paraded a female on his arm who was young enough to be his daughter?
‘Papa?’
She was his daughter.
Molly found herself doing rapid sums inside her head while Dimitri answered the girl in Greek. She looked seventeen—maybe eighteen—but that would mean…that would mean…She shook her head. She didn’t understand. For that would mean that Dimitri had had a daughter when he had known her. And surely that was not possible? Or had she been so wrong about so many things?
Suddenly, she felt faint, wishing that she could just disappear, but how could she? Instead she stood there like some dumb fool with a bottle of wine in her hand, the last of her youthful dreams shattering as the teenager approached them.
Rather reluctantly, Dimitri spoke. He had been rather enjoying the play of emotions across her lovely face, which Molly had desperately been trying to hide. This was indeed a unique situation, and the novelty factor of that for a man like Dimitri was almost as enjoyable as the sight of Molly Garcia looking so helpless.
‘Zoe!’ He smiled. ‘We have a visitor.’ And the black eyes were turned to Molly in mocking question. Over to you, the look seemed to say, unhelpfully.
Speaking was proving even more difficult than it had been before. ‘I live next door,’ said Molly quickly. ‘I, er—I saw you arrive, and I thought I would bring you this…to welcome you. Welcome,’ she finished. She held up the bottle with a grimace, but the girl smiled widely and took it from Molly, casting an admonishing little look at her father.
‘How very kind of you,’ she said, in softly accented English. ‘Please—you will come in?’
Like hell she would! ‘No, no, honestly—’
‘Oh, do. Please,’ said Dimitri, in a silky voice. ‘I insist.’
She met his eyes and saw the mischief and mockery there. How dared he? Didn’t he have a single ounce of perception? Didn’t he realise that she might actually find it difficult to meet his wife? Though why should he, when she stopped to think about it? Maybe this unusual situation was not so unusual for a man like Dimitri. How many other women were there like her, dotted around the place—never quite able to forget his sweet, sensual skills?
And she noticed that he hadn’t introduced her. Did that mean he had forgotten her name? Nor had he told his daughter that they had once known each other—though maybe that wasn’t so surprising, either. For what would he say?
Molly and I were lovers.
Put like that, it sounded nothing, but it had been something—it had. Or had she just been fooling herself all these years that her first love had been special and had just ended badly? And just how old was his daughter? Even if she was younger than she looked that still meant that he must have fathered her just after Molly had left the tiny island….
She couldn’t think straight.
And maybe that was why she felt as if setting foot inside the door would be on a par with entering the lion’s den. Some memories were best left untouched. Parts of the past were cherished, and maybe they only stayed that way if you didn’t let the present intrude on them.
She shook her head, mocking him back with a meaningless smile of her own. ‘It is very kind of you, but I’m afraid that I have work to do.’
He glanced at the expensive gold timepiece on his hair-roughened wrist. ‘At four o’clock?’ he questioned mildly. ‘You work shifts?’
Did he still think she was a waitress, then? ‘I work from home,’ she explained, then wished she hadn’t, for a dark gleam of interest lightened the black eyes and suddenly she felt vulnerable.
‘Please,’ said the girl, and held her hand out. ‘You must think us very rude. I am Zoe Nicharos—and this is my father, Dimitri.’
‘Molly,’ she said back, for what choice did she have? ‘Molly Garcia.’ She shook Zoe’s hand and let it go, but then Dimitri reached out and, with an odd kind of smile, took her fingers and clasped them inside the palm of his hand.
Outwardly, it was nothing more than a casual handshake but she could feel the latent strength in him and her skin stirred with a kind of startled recognition, as if this was what a man’s touch should be like.
‘Hello, Molly,’ he murmured. ‘I’m Dimitri.’
Just the way he said it made her stomach melt, despite him, despite everything and she wondered
