Constantine's Defiant Mistress

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ demanded a severely dressed middle-aged woman as Laura walked up to the bar to place her order.

Laura smiled nervously at the catering manager, who had summoned all the agency staff into a cramped and stuffy little room half an hour earlier to tell them about the high expectations of service which every Granchester customer had a right to expect. ‘I just offered the gentleman a drink—’

‘Gentleman? Gentleman? Do you know who that is?’ the woman hissed. ‘He’s the man who’s giving this party which is paying your wages! He’s a bloody world-famous Greek shipping tycoon—and if anyone is going to be offering him drinks then it’s going to be me. Do you understand? I’ll take over from now on. What did he ask for?’

‘Just…just water.’

‘Still or sparkling?’

‘He…he didn’t say.’

The manager’s eyes bored into her. ‘You mean you didn’t ask?’

‘I…I…No, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t.’ Inwardly, Laura squirmed beneath the look of rage on her supervisor’s face, and as the woman opened her mouth to speak she suspected that she was about to be fired on the spot. But at that moment there was some sort of hubbub from the other end of the ballroom, as the harpist arrived and began making noisy demands, and the manager gave Laura one last glare.

‘Just do what you’re supposed to do. Offer him both still and sparkling, and then fade into the background—you shouldn’t find that too difficult!’ she snapped, before hurrying away towards the musician.

Laura tried to ignore the woman’s waspish words as she carried her tray towards Constantine. But inside she was trembling—mainly with disbelief that she had managed to get so close to him. And thrown into the complex mix of her emotions at seeing him again was also her body’s unmistakable reaction to seeing the biological father of her son. It was something she stupidly hadn’t taken into account—the powerful sense of recognition at seeing him. The sense of familiarity, even though this man was little more than a stranger to her.

Because here was Alex in adulthood, she realised shakily—or rather, here was a version of what Alex could become. Strong, powerful, prosperous. And wasn’t that what every mother wanted for her son? A lion of a man, as opposed to a sheep.

Whereas the Alex she had left back at home being looked after by a frankly cynical Sarah—well, that Alex was headed in a completely different direction. Bullied at school and living a life where every penny mattered and was counted—how could he possibly achieve his true potential like that? What kind of a future was she offering him?

And any last, lingering doubt that she must be crazy to even contemplate a scheme like this withered away in that instant. Because she owed Alex this.

It didn’t matter if her pride was hurt or the last of her stupid, romantic memories of her time with Constantine was crushed into smithereens—she owed her son this.

But as Laura approached him again, it was difficult not to react to him on so many different levels. His had always been an imposing presence, but the passing of the years seemed to have magnified his potent charisma. There had been no softening of the hard, muscular body—nor dimming of the golden luminance of his skin. And, while there might be a lick of silver at his temples, his wavy dark hair was as thick as ever.

But with age had come a certain cool distance which had not been there before. He carried about him the unmistakable aura of the magnate—a man with power radiating from every atom of his expensively clad frame.

Laura felt the erratic fluttering of her heart. Yet none of that mattered. His eyes were still the blackest she had ever seen, and his lips remained a study in sensuality. She still sensed that here was a man in the truest sense of the word—all elemental passion and hunger beneath the sophisticated exterior.

‘Your water, sir,’ she said, trying to curve her mouth into a friendly smile and silently praying that he would return it.

Hadn’t he once told her that her smile was like the sun coming out? Wouldn’t that stir some distant memory in his mind? And didn’t they say something about the voice always striking a note of recognition—that people changed but their voices never did?

She spoke the longest sentence possible under the circumstances. ‘I…I wasn’t sure if you wanted still or sparkling, sir—so I’ve brought both. They both come from…from the Cotswolds!’ she added wildly, noticing the label. A fact from a recent early-morning farming programme on the radio came flooding back to her. ‘It’s…um…filtered through the oolitic limestone of the Cotswold Hills, and you won’t find a purer water anywhere!’

‘How fascinating,’ murmured Constantine sardonically, taking one of the glasses from the tray and wondering why she sounded as if she was advertising the brand. She didn’t look like the kind of out-of-work actress who would moonlight as a waitress, but you could never be sure. ‘Thanks.’

He gave a curt nod and, turning his back on her, walked away without another word and Laura was left staring at him, her heart pounding with fear and frustration. But what had she expected? That he would engage her in some small-talk which would provide the perfect opportunity for her to tell him he had a son? Start remarking that the slice of lemon which was bobbing around in his glass of fizzy water was vastly inferior to the lemons he grew on his very own Greek island?

No. The smile hadn’t worked and neither had the voice. Those black eyes had not widened in growing comprehension, and he had not shaken his coal-dark head to say, in a tone of disbelief and admiration, Why, you’re the young English virgin I had the most amazing sex with all those years ago! Do you know that not a day goes by when I don’t think about you?

Laura chewed on her lip. Fantasies never worked out the way you planned them, did they? And fantasies were dangerous. She mustn’t allow herself to indulge in them just because she had never really got over their one night together. She was just going to have to choose her moment carefully—because she wasn’t leaving this building without Constantine Karantinos being in full possession of all the facts.

The evening passed in a blur of activity—but at least being busy stopped her from getting too anxious about the prospect which lay ahead.

There had been a lavish sit-down dinner for three hundred people, though the space beside Constantine had remained glaringly empty. It must be for his girlfriend, thought Laura painfully. So where was she? Why wasn’t she sticking like glue to the side of the handsome Greek who was talking so carelessly to the women in a tiara on the other side of him. It was a royal princess! Laura realised. Hadn’t she recently come out of a high-profile divorce and walked away with a record-breaking settlement?

Laura had managed to pass right by him with a dish of chocolates, just in time to hear the Princess inviting him to stay on her yacht later that summer—but Constantine had merely shrugged his broad shoulders and murmured something about his diary being full.

The candlelight caught the jewels which were strung around the neck of every woman present—so that the whole room seemed to be glittering. In the background, the harpist had calmed down, and was now working his way through a serene medley of tunes.

It was not just a different world, Laura realised as she carried out yet another tray of barely touched food back to the kitchens, it was like a completely alien universe. She thought of the savings she had to make so that Alex would have a nice Christmas, and shuddered to think how much this whole affair must be costing—why, the wine budget alone would have been more than the amount she lived on in a single year. And Constantine was paying for it all. For him it would be no more than a drop in the ocean.

The guests had now all moved into the ballroom, where the harpist had been replaced by a band, and people had started dancing. But the minutes were melting by without Laura getting anywhere near Constantine, let alone close enough to be able to talk to him. People were clustering around him like flies, and it was getting on for midnight. Soon the party would end and she’d be sent home—and then what?