Constantine's Defiant Mistress

Staring out at Milmouth high street, where the hazy sunshine spilling onto the cobbled streets seemed to mock at her dark mood, Laura froze. ‘F-forget it?’ she questioned incredulously. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve changed my mind,’ he said slowly.

Laura’s lips parted—she was scarcely able to believe what she’d just heard. Constantine magnanimously telling her that the test was unnecessary when he was the one who had insisted on it in the first place—like a teacher at school deciding to let her off a hastily handed-out detention. He has all the power, she realised bitterly. And she still wasn’t clear what the motives were for his sudden about-face.

‘But you said you wanted proof.’

‘I no longer need it. I believe you,’ he said unexpectedly.

‘You believe that he’s your son?’

‘Yes.’ There was a long silence as Constantine acknowledged the power of the single word of admission which would now change his whole life—whether he liked it or not. ‘Yes, I believe he’s my son,’ he said heavily, as if the full statement would reinforce that fact to both of them. He had known it the moment he had stared at the photo and seen those disobedient curls—and on some subliminal level he had accepted it even before that. Because some instinct had told him to—an instinct he had not understood at the time and probably never would.

‘But…why?’ Her confused words cut into the turmoil of his thoughts. ‘Why now, after all you said? All you accused me of?’

Constantine curled his hand into a tight fist and stared at it. All he had said had been rooted in denial; he hadn’t wanted to believe her. He had been reluctant to accept the enormity of the possible consequences if what she said had been true. But suddenly he allowed himself to see that this news could have all kinds of benefits—and perhaps it had dropped into his life at just the right time. A solution had begun to form in his mind—as perfect a solution as such circumstances would allow. All he needed was to convince her to go along with it.

The determination which had driven him to rebuild one of the most powerful companies in his native Greece now emerged in a different form. A form which could be used to tackle a private life which had suddenly become complicated. Constantine’s mouth hardened, and so did his groin as he remembered the way she had let him kiss her in that scruffy little hotel corridor last night. Of course she would go along with his wishes! She wasn’t exactly the kind of woman who was going to turn down a golden opportunity if it fell into her lap, now, was she?

For a moment he was tempted to put his proposition to her there and then—until he was reminded that she had shown signs of stubbornness. Better to have her as a captive audience and to tell her face to face. Better to allow his lips and his body to persuade her if his words couldn’t.

‘Your co-operation has convinced me that you are telling the truth,’ he said silkily. ‘A woman like you would be unlikely to pit herself against an adversary like me if she was lying.’

The unexpected reprieve made Laura blink her eyes rapidly. ‘Th-thank you,’ she said, after taking a moment to compose herself—though when she thought about it afterwards she realised that she had completely missed the sting behind his words.

Constantine was aware that this was the moment to choose—when she was both vulnerable and grateful. ‘We’ll need to discuss some kind of way forward,’ he said smoothly. ‘Obviously, if I am the child’s father, then there are a great many possibilities available to us all in the future.’

Laura felt a conflicting mixture of fear and hope. She didn’t like to ask what he meant in case she came over as greedy, or grasping—but her senses had been put on alert. His sudden mood-switch from anger and accusation to honeyed reasonableness was unsettling—she felt like a starving dog, about to leap on a tasty-looking piece of meat, only to discover that it was a mangy old stick. What did he want?

‘Such as?’ she questioned cautiously.

‘I don’t really think it’s the kind of discussion we should be conducting on the phone do you, mikros minera?’ His voice deepened. ‘So why don’t we meet somewhere and talk it over like two sensible adults?’

It didn’t seem to matter how many times she swallowed—Laura just couldn’t lose the parchment-dryness which seemed to be constricting her throat. Why did she feel as if she was being lured into some trap—as if Constantine Karantinos was taking her down some path to an unknown and not particul

arly welcome destination? She snatched a glance at her watch. She was already ten minutes over her lunch break, and Sarah would go mad if she was much longer.

‘Okay,’ she said cautiously. ‘I’ll meet you. Where and when?’

‘As soon as possible,’ he clipped out. ‘Let’s say tomorrow night. I can come there—’

‘No!’ The word came out in a burst before she steadied her voice. ‘Not here. Not yet. People will talk.’

‘Why will they talk?’ he bit back, more used to his presence at a woman’s side being flaunted.

Laura stared out of the window to where she could see the distant glimmer of the sea. Did he have no idea about a small town like this and the ongoing mystery of Alex’s paternity? Her night with the handsome Greek had been clandestine enough, and no one had known about it. Previously innocent and still relatively naïve, her pregnancy had come as a complete shock. If Laura’s mother had still been alive, it might all have been different—she would have been there to support her and help her face the rest of the world.

As it was, Laura had felt completely on her own—not wanting to burden her young sister with any of her fears about the future. She had been proud and defiant from the moment she’d started to show right up to the moment she’d brought her baby home from the hospital.

Alex had been so very cute, and Laura so tight-lipped about his parentage, that people had given up asking who his father was—even if they still sometimes wondered.

But imagine if a man as commanding and as striking as Constantine should suddenly show up in Milmouth! His black hair and golden-olive skin were exactly the same physical characteristics which marked her son out at school. Why, she might as well take out a front-page advertisement in the Milmouth Gazette! People would talk and word might reach Alex—and whatever Alex was going to be told it needed to be carefully thought out beforehand. Oh, what was she going to tell her beloved son?

‘Because people always talk,’ she said flatly. ‘And I don’t want my son hearing speculative gossip.’

Constantine frowned. ‘Where, then? London?’

‘London’s not easy for me to get to.’