She Can't Say No to the Greek Tycoon

Even now, after so much time to pull herself together, to perfect a semblance of nonchalance when he was near, she felt the skitter of awareness, that thrill of self-destructive excitement under her skin.

And it was far worse now. For this time they were alone. No Eleni, no medical staff, no hovering relatives to fill the room and break the tension between them.

The tension was there all right. A taut awareness that vibrated like a wire humming between them. It made her movements choppy, uncoordinated. Her breath came in short, jagged gasps till she found the strength to regulate it.

Now wasn’t the time to try to fathom Costas or the extraordinary hold he exerted over her. There’d never be a right time for that. She wasn’t a masochist.

She needed to concentrate on something else. Like the duty she had to discharge. Just thinking about it made her nervous.

‘Hello, Sophie.’ His voice was as deep as ever, like the soft, low rumble of thunder in the distance.

‘Costas.’ She inclined her head, trying to seem unfazed by his liquid dark eyes and the way he loomed over her. ‘Eleni seems a little brighter this afternoon,’ she offered. ‘She was laughing and there’s colour in her cheeks.’

He nodded but his brooding gaze didn’t leave her face.

‘I’m about to go and check whether the results of the latest tests are back,’ he said and she read fierce control in the grim lines bracketing his mouth.

She wished she could offer to go with him. To support him when he got whatever news was awaiting him.

How stupid was that? He didn’t want her help, her sympathy. He’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t need anything from her except the use of her body for a night.

And yet, idiotically, she couldn’t stop the surge of empathy for him as he stood alone, facing the dark, uncertain future.

She’d lain awake night after night wondering if that was the real reason she’d stayed in Crete. Not just because of little Eleni. But because Costas Palamidis needed someone.

Needed her.

She shook her head. How mind-blowingly pathetic could she get? The man had turned independence into an art form. And as for truly needing anyone as ordinary as her.

‘Sophie? We need to talk. I—’

‘I was wondering if you’d help me,’ she burst out before he could continue. Anything to stop him. Whatever he was going to say, whatever trite apology or explanation he was going to make, she didn’t want to hear it.

‘I need to find another one of the private wards,’ she said quickly. ‘And I need to convince the nursing staff to let me in.’

‘Your grandfather.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yes.’

Her grandfather. The man she’d vowed never to forgive.

‘You’ve decided to see him, then.’ Costas’ dark eyes bored into her, penetrating her defences, her would-be careless posture.

She shrugged. ‘It seemed appropriate.’

The information Costas had given her about the old man and the discovery that he was here in this very hospital had irrevocably altered her daily visits. Knowing that she passed so close to the tyrant who’d shaped her mother’s life. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the guilt had come. It had been compounded by the vague feeling, after watching a valiant child struggle through each new day, that perhaps life was more important than old grudges.

An uncomfortable suspicion had grown inside her. However right she was in her judgement of Petros Liakos, life was too precious for feuds. Was she was growing into someone just as stubbornly cruel as he’d been to her mum?

She didn’t intend to forgive him for what he’d done. But she couldn’t be as pitiless as he’d been.

Maybe he wouldn’t want a visit from her. That wouldn’t be a surprise. But if he did, then she’d swallow her resentment and see him.

‘Sophie?’

She looked up, wondering if she’d missed something Costas had said.

‘Are you ready?’ he murmured. ‘I can show you the way, I’ve visited him myself.’