At the Greek Tycoon's Bidding

Having always been a firm believer in the truism that every cloud had a silver lining, Heather now clung to this salutary theory with the tenacity of a drowning man clinging to a lifebelt.

It didn’t help that his mother was such a nice person. Over a light supper, she briefly explained to them both what her doctor in Greece had advised, but it was clear that she was much more interested in learning about the new addition to her son’s life.

‘I have worried about him,’ she told Heather in a conspiratorial whisper that was meant to be overheard. ‘Too much success with the girls from an early age is not always a good thing for a young boy! It can turn him into a playboy, if that is the correct word!’

Faced with the glorious opportunity to somehow get back at him, Heather smiled and glanced at Theo. He looked uncomfortable and hunted.

‘Theo? Oh, no, Theo would never see women as playthings—would you?’

The look he shot her from under his lashes was worth every second of the dig, accompanied as it was by a wide-eyed stare of complete innocence. With an inarticulate grunt, he began clearing away the dishes.

‘It is very important for a man to settle down,’ Litsa was saying, watching approvingly as her son gave off the totally inaccurate impression of someone who habitually helped around the kitchen. ‘A good wife is necessary to train a man into being civilised!’ She laughed and gave him an affectionate look, while Heather chewed over the ridiculous notion of any woman being able to train Theo Miquel.

‘You seem to be flagging, Mama,’ he said, shooting Heather a warning glance which she ignored. ‘Perhaps it is time for you to retire now. Big day tomorrow. I shall come with you to see the consultant, so you needn’t worry yourself unnecessarily.’

He had successfully managed to divert the conversation, but his respite was transitory. Litsa Miquel spent the next forty-five minutes in pleasurable contemplation of her son’s settled love life, obviously relieved that she could now share her past concerns about him with someone who understood, and Heather picked up the reins of the conversation with gusto.

It was a unique experience for him to be on the receiving end of female banter that made him squirm, and squirm he did, as childhood escapades were dredged up, until eventually he vaulted to his feet and insisted that he take his mother to her room.

As they disappeared in the direction of the bedroom Heather could feel her ebullient mood evaporating under the weight of reality. Reality was his dismissal of her, made all the more cruel because he wasn’t aware of it. It was the bitter emptiness of realising just how far she had sunk in her own estimation—sunk to the level of someone who had been prepared to scramble for the crumbs he had carelessly tossed at her. Reality was the bedroom waiting for her. That thought galvanised her into immediate action. She didn’t know how long it would take him to settle his mother, but it wouldn’t give her much time to get into her pyjamas and fling herself under the covers, lights off.

For someone who had never seen the allure of strenuous exercise, Heather now discovered that she could move at the speed of light.

She let herself into his bedroom with wings on the soles of her feet and completed her ablutions in five seconds flat. Then, with the door of the bathroom firmly locked, she speedily changed into her pyjamas, which consisted of a pair of small shorts and a vest top. Since she had not heard the sound of a door opening and closing, she assumed he was still with his mother, leaving the coast clear for her to sprint to the bed, leap in, and then switch off the light by the bed.

She dearly wished that she had had the foresight to stack some spare linen on the sofa, but there was no way she was going to risk a trip to the laundry cupboard—and anyway he could get it himself. He did precious little around the house as it was, never mind his persuasive acting earlier on when he had strode around the kitchen, tidying up, teacloth draped over one shoulder, for all the world as though he did it on a regular basis.

After one hour of coiled tension, body on red-hot alert for the sound of the door opening, sleep began to take its toll, and by the time Theo did enter the bedroom Heather was sound asleep.

He had been working. His conversation with his mother had been to his mind over-long, despite his fruitless attempts to convince her that she was exhausted and needed to get to sleep immediately. He had never realised just how much she worried about him—about the pressure he was under from work, about his single state. With a fictitious relationship now on the scene, a dam of maternal concerns had been unleashed, and he had left the bedroom feeling slightly battered.

Then had come an awkward conversation with Venetia, as he cancelled plans.

After that, work had seemed to be the only thing, and so he had remained in his office for well over an hour, replying to e-mails that could have easily waited until a more civilised hour.

The sight of Heather in his bed rendered him momentarily disconcerted. She was lying just as she had been months ago, on that sofa, with one arm flung wide. He very much doubted that she had originally lain down in that position of utter abandonment.

Making as little noise as possible, Theo advanced into the bedroom, his eyes getting accustomed to the darkness as he walked tentatively towards the bed, unbuttoning his shirt en route before stripping it off and discarding it.

When he had mentioned the sofa, his implication had been that she would sleep on it. A faint smile curved the corners of his mouth as he stood over her, watching her as she slept. Fair’s fair, he thought wryly. He had twisted her arm to help him out. As far as she was concerned he could take the sofa—or, judging from her deep reluctance to participate in his plan, the floor, and never mind any bedlinen.

He showered quickly, finding himself preoccupied more with the woman lying on his bed and what he would do about her than anything else.

She stirred as he walked back into the room, stark naked. Now he could see the shapely bend of her leg, protruding from under the quilt, and, from the looks of it, whatever she was wearing there wasn’t a great deal of it. Was she one of those women who covered themselves up like a nun during the day but then wore sexy little bits of nothing at night? The thought kick-started something in him, some reaction that felt as though it had been waiting there all along for the right time to leap out. He sucked in his breath sharply and turned away, aware of his body’s reaction proclaiming a sexual response that was as powerful as it was unexpected.

The sofa, of course, would kill any uninvited thoughts, but he glanced at it, dismissing it as quickly as he saw it.

She was sound asleep, and his bed was infinitely more comfortable than any sofa, especially one that required making up and thus a hunt for bedlinen which would take for ever, considering he had no idea where it was stored.

He soundlessly slipped under the covers and lay down completely still, willing his arousal to subside.

When she restlessly turned over, so that she was now facing in his direction, Theo almost groaned. The small vest left little to the imagination, revealing as it did a generous cleavage which he had never before glimpsed under her daily uniform of baggy tops. His breathing was ragged as he raked her flushed face, her slightly parted lips and the tousle of soft blonde hair framing her face.

He didn’t trust himself to look any lower, just in case he lost control.

Lord only knew how long he would have remained there, relishing the pleasurable novelty of wanting a woman with no possibility of having her, if she hadn’t stretched—a very small movement that brought her hand into immediate contact with his chest.

He froze as her eyes flew open, and then she shrieked, drawing back from him in horror.

‘Keep it down!’ he snapped.

‘What are you doing here!’

‘This is my bedroom, remember? The one you agreed to share?’

‘I didn’t agree to share the bed!’ Heather’s nervous system was in a state of wild disarray as her eyes locked with his. At the back of her mind, the information was sinking in that he wasn’t wearing anything above his waist. What her hand had come into contact with had not been the comforting touch of sensible flannelette pyjamas. Was he wearing anything below? Her whole body began to burn as her imagination dived off its springboard and took flight.

‘The sofa isn’t made up,’ Theo informed her. Far from staunching his erection, the shadows and angles of her flustered face were proving an even bigger turn-on.

‘Then go and make it up! You can’t stay in this bed with me! You promised…’

‘I never promised anything,’ Theo breathed unevenly. ‘And stop getting so worked up. It’s a big bed.’ Which didn’t explain why they were lying a matter of ten inches away from one another. He had made no attempt to widen the distance between them. She had certainly tried, but to go any further back would result in her falling off the edge. He could feel her body quivering with tension and ordered himself to get a grip.

‘Are you wearing anything?’ Heather heard herself stutter, and his silence was telling. ‘You’re not, are you?’

‘I don’t possess any pyjamas. I’ve never seen the point of them.’

‘How could you be so…so…disrespectful?’ Heather whispered, tears gathering at the back of her eyes.

‘Disrespectful?’ Theo was flabbergasted. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’