perceived, making it difficult to dismiss Dimitri Cristopoulis from her mind.
A silent derisive laugh rose and died in her throat. As if that was going to happen any time soon. His image was just as powerful now as it had been four years ago.
Worse, he invaded her dreams…teasing, taunting, enticing in a way that brought her awake heated, restless and wanting.
‘We’ll have an early lunch,’ Anouk relayed as she began unloading the grocery bags. ‘Then we begin preparations, oui?’
It proved to be a busy afternoon, and Chantelle stood with Anouk and Jean-Paul for a final inspection before they retreated upstairs to dress.
The large terrace looked festive with a tracery of coloured lights, lanterns and potted flowers gracing the area. Holly and mistletoe, a tall Christmas tree festooned with decorative ornaments, with wrapped gifts for the guests. Bottles of wine for the men, and handmade chocolates for the women which Anouk and Jean-Paul would hand out at the evening’s close.
A kindly protestation not to go over the top fell on deaf ears, for Anouk had merely smiled, patted her daughter’s hand, bestowed a fleeting kiss to one cheek, and assured it was just an informal gathering of friends.
Given her mother’s penchant for entertaining, and the many formal social events Anouk had hosted in Sydney over the years, Chantelle conceded with musing humour that tonight’s soirée fell into informal by comparison.
Samuel’s delighted enchantment with everything was sufficient reward for the requisite part she was expected to play.
Consequently she selected a stunning black evening trouser suit, draped a long red silk wrap across her shoulders, added minimum jewellery, and went with subtle make-up before leading Samuel downstairs.
Jean-Paul greeted guests in the main foyer, directed them through to the terrace, whereupon Anouk ensured they mixed and mingled seamlessly while hired staff offered liquid refreshment and proffered trays of hors d’oeuvres.
Anouk was a charming hostess, and Chantelle joined her mother as they moved effortlessly from one guest to another, pausing while Anouk exchanged a few words, a smile as she introduced her daughter and grandson.
Everyone seemed pleasant, and Chantelle silently commended her parents’ circle of friends.
Samuel was in his element, and determined to illustrate his good manners as he formally offered his hand at each introduction.
He was a hit, she acknowledged with maternal bemusement, exuding the charm of a child twice his age.
Just like his father.
Where did that come from? A hollow laugh rose and died in her throat.
Not a day went by when she wasn’t reminded of the man who’d fathered him.
Chantelle was aware of her mother’s voice as she effected yet another introduction, and she summoned a smile as she greeted the guest.
‘Andreas recently moved to the Coast,’ Anouk explained. ‘And purchased a mansion in a neighbouring Sovereign Islands boulevard.’
There was something about the man’s stance, the way he held his head that drew her attention.
‘Your parents very kindly included me in this evening’s festivities,’ he informed in a voice that held a faint accent that was difficult to place.
Andreas…The name was of Greek origin.
‘We have something in common,’ he offered. ‘My son is also visiting for Christmas. He’s in the car finishing a call on his cellphone.’
She envisioned with some scepticism a high-powered entrepreneur digitally available twenty-four by seven, negotiating and closing deals worldwide.
‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy his visit,’ Chantelle conceded politely, aware of a momentary intentness evident as the man’s attention focused on her son.
Was it her imagination, or did she glimpse conjecture before it was quickly masked?
Then the moment was gone as Anouk steered her towards a young couple who spent several minutes enthusing about their recent trip to Paris.
Chantelle enjoyed their praise of a city she adored, and they lingered together awhile.
‘If you’ll excuse us?’ Anouk inclined with a warm smile. ‘Another guest has arrived.’
The last, surely? Chantelle mused as she followed her mother’s line of vision to a tall, broad-framed man whose stance portrayed an animalistic sense of power.
Even from a distance he managed to exude a physical magnetism most men would covet.
The set of his shoulders beneath their superb tailoring held a certain familiarity, and she fought against the rising sense of panic, tempering it with rationale.
How many times had she caught sight of a male figure whose stature bore a close resemblance to that of Samuel’s father, only to discover his facial features were those of a stranger?
As it would prove on this occasion, she mentally assured as she saw Andreas move towards him.
Father and son. Had to be, she registered as the two men greeted each other with familial ease.
Seconds later they both turned at Anouk’s approach, and Chantelle froze, locked into speechless immobility in recognition of a man she’d hoped never to see again in this lifetime.
Dimitri Cristopoulis.
What was he doing here? Here, specifically in her parents’ home?
Dimitri’s family resided in New York…didn’t they?
He’d never said, and she hadn’t asked. She choked back a hollow laugh. Had she even given it a thought?
In seeming slow motion Chantelle witnessed the introduction process, aware of Dimitri’s calculating gaze as it encompassed first her, then her son, before settling with ruthless intensity on her own.
‘Chantelle.’
The sound of his voice sent shivers scudding the length of her spine. How could so much be conveyed in a single word?
No. The silent scream rose and died in her throat at what she glimpsed in those dark eyes before it was masked.
With mounting consternation she watched as he sank down onto his haunches and extended his hand to her son.
‘Samuel.’
The similarity between man and child was indisputable. Her son, but undeniably his.
Everything faded to the periphery of her vision, and she was conscious only of Dimitri and Samuel. Her hand closed over her son’s shoulder in a protective, reassuring gesture.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ Samuel offered with childlike politeness.
Dear heaven, this was the culmination of her worst nightmare. Instinct screamed for her to scoop
