He saw the warm colour flood her face, accentuate the high contours of her cheekbones. And he felt an answering heat, pooling low in his groin. Her eyes were wide, so clear and enticing that he felt he could lose himself in their promise, just as he wanted to lose himself in the heady temptation of her body.
He inhaled the scent of her, like beckoning spring after a long, cold winter. Enticing, promising, seductive.
He heard her soft breaths, short and rapid. And he could taste her already on his tongue. After last night he’d craved that taste with a frenzied longing that appalled him.
He had only to lift a hand, cup her face as he closed the distance between them and—
‘Kyrie Palamidis.’ The quiet voice of his housekeeper shattered the stillness.
The world tilted and shifted into focus again.
Till that moment it had been as if nothing else existed. There was only this space where he and Sophie stood, bound by a passion so strong it eclipsed all his puny self-control.
He blinked, drew himself up and turned.
The housekeeper stood at the end of the hall, near the door to the servants’ quarters. She held a cordless phone in her hands and her eyes were wide with astonishment. Hastily she looked away.
In all the years she’d worked for him she’d never seen him with any woman other than Fotini. Even before his marriage, he hadn’t been in the habit of seducing guests in his home.
‘It’s the hospital on the phone,’ she explained.
Costas’ heart leapt right up into his throat at her words.
The moment of reckoning had arrived. Something—fearclutched at his chest, squeezing so tight that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
He felt Sophie’s eyes on him and pushed back his shoulders, forced himself to move, to accept whatever news awaited.
He’d done what he could. Now he had to summon the strength to endure what he must.
He paced over and took the phone with a brief word of thanks. Then he turned and met Sophie’s stare across the room.
‘Costas Palamidis speaking,’ he said, automatically switching to Greek.
‘We have the result, sir.’ He recognised the voice of Eleni’s doctor. ‘We’d like you to bring your daughter in for treatment as soon as possible. We believe the donor you found is compatible. We’ll proceed with the transplant.’
CHAPTER TEN
COSTAS STARED THROUGH THE glass wall panel and felt a lump the size of a football lodge in his chest. He swallowed hard and forced down the welling emotion.
He’d coped with the trauma of the transplant procedure and the hard days that followed, helpless to do more than stay with Eleni through her discomfort. Through her raw, aching tiredness and the inevitable tears and upsets.
He’d done what he had to. Kept his emotions in check. He’d cajoled, encouraged, consoled.
And he’d been astounded at his little girl’s strength and determination. She was so tiny. So incredibly fragile. Yet she had the heart of a lion. Possessed a fearlessness that far outstripped his own strength.
Through the long weeks since the transplant he’d held it all together: delegating control of his business empire, fending off Press intrusions, fielding endless queries from friends and relatives, doing what had to be done.
So why suddenly now did the sight of his daughter strike him so hard that it felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and tried to rip it out?
He braced himself ag
ainst the wall, dragging in a tortured breath that sawed painfully into his lungs.
His palm was slippery with sweat. His arm trembled as he fought to brace himself. The cold, bitter taste of fear filled his mouth.
Even now no one knew if the transplant would save Eleni.
He raised his head and looked again into his daughter’s hospital room. She was propped up against a bank of pillows, her tiny frame pathetically thin. Yet a smile lurked at the corners of her mouth and her eyes danced. She looked down at the huge picture book spread before her and said something he couldn’t hear.