He smiled, dumped his cup in the sink, tugged at his tie, started for the stairs…and saw Sam, coming down them, clutching the banister with one hand and the cane in the other.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
It was a foolish question. He knew the answer. She wasn’t just disdaining his assistance, she was hell-bent on going to work. So much for telling her he’d decided they should stay home, and for her greeting the news with a smile.
Anger raged through him.
“You are impossible,” he snapped. “Didn’t I tell you to call me? You can’t be trusted to use your head!”
“You mean, I can’t be trusted to let you take over my life,” she retorted.
He stared at her. She stared at him. Then he cursed, ran up the stairs, took her in his arms and they shared a kiss that almost turned him inside out.
“We don’t have to go to the office today,” he whispered.
“I thought that was what you wanted to do.”
“You’re the one who reminded me to set the alarm.”
“Only so you could tell me that you didn’t want to set it.”
He smiled. She smiled, too.
“We’re all dressed,” he said softly. “I suppose we could go to the office for a while.”
“We could take a long lunch.”
“We could work only half a day.”
“Agreed. But until then, we’ll be models of decorum.”
He smiled. “Of course.”
It surprised her when he kept his word. Though he carried her to the helicopter and then to his car, turning aside his driver’s offer of help, he stood by politely when they pulled up at Karas Lines, only offering his hand to her for support. But she saw his jaw tighten when they reached the steps that led to the conference room.
“Sam,” he said in a low, warning voice.
Her grim look was all the caution he needed. Step by step, she made her way to the top. She was panting a little when she got there but she flashed him a quick, triumphant grin.
“You see, Mr. Karas?” she said. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
She was, and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. He loved her spirit but he loved taking care of her. His feelings for her were complex. She was complex. He watched as she hobbled into the conference room and thought that he could spend the rest of his life being fascinated by her and then he thought, the rest of my life?
What kind of idea was that?
The damned Frenchman and the impossible Italian shot to their feet as Sam made her way through the door, both of them demanding to know what had happened and what they could do to help.
“I had a little accident,” Sam said pleasantly. “Thank you both, but I’m fine.”
“Nonsense,” the Frenchman said. “You will require assistance.”
“If she does,” Demetrios said abruptly, “I will provide it.” Everyone looked at him and he saw Sam’s eyes narrow. “I am her employer,” he said, as if that explained everything.
The meeting began. She was back to addressing him formally. He’d expected it, knew it was actually a good idea not to let the others know they’d become involved. Still, it grated on him whenever she called him Mr. Karas, although not as badly as it did whenever the Frenchman or the Italian stopped the discussion to ask if she wanted water or coffee or anything at all.
But he kept his temper. In fact, he was congratulating himself on it when suddenly the Italian translator said she was sorry, but if they could just take a five minute break while she checked something?
“Of course,” Demetrios said. He took a quick look at his watch. It was almost noon. Almost time to tell everyone that they were done for the day. Then he could get out of this place with Sam. Maybe she’d like to fly to Kythira. He knew a wonderful little inn with a great restaurant and a private white sand beach, so private she wouldn’t need that bikini.
The little group pushed back their chairs. He watched Sam clutch the armrest as she worked out the easiest way to get to her feet. He knew the easiest way would be to let him lift her into his arms but he also knew she would go crazy if he did…and then the Frenchman rushed to her side.
“Let me assist you, mademoiselle,” he said, and slid an arm around her shoulders.
Demetrios moved before he thought. “I am all the assistance she needs,” he growled, jostling the other man aside and doing what he’d promised himself he would not do, putting his arm around Sam in a gesture so protective and obvious that he knew he’d given the game away to everyone in that room…
And knew, as well, that he’d fallen in love with her.
* * *
They flew to Kythira, lay on the beach, ate shrimp and drank white wine and made love in the sun.
Demetrios tried not to think about that sudden revelation he’d had in the office, but he couldn’t get it out of his head. Maybe that was why it took him a while to realize something was wrong.
Sam was quiet. Too quiet.
She was quiet that night, too, when they dined on the patio. The cook had outdone herself. Tall white tapers burned in silver holders; flowers spilled from a silver basket in the center of the table and a bottle of white wine stood chilling near at hand.
But something was wrong. Demetrios knew it. It had nothing to do with what had happened at the office. Yes, people had shuffled their feet, stammered flimsy excuses and left after his little outburst, but he and Sam had dealt with it. Alone in the conference room, she’d told him precisely what she thought of the way he’d made their relationship public. He’d apologized and she’d sighed, gone into his arms and kissed him even though anyone could have walked in.
He’d taken that as a good sign but now she was so silent…
Yes, something was wrong. What was it? And what was he doing, sitting and watching her for signs? He was afraid to ask her what was going on. He, Demetrios Karas, afraid to ask a woman why she was so quiet, why she’d stopped smiling and had taken, instead, to shooting him little looks he could not read.
The maid wheeled a serving cart out the door and left it beside the table. Sam ignored it, so he fixed a plate for her, then for himself. The food looked appetizing, but he had no desire to eat. He pushed things from one side of the plate to the other. Sam didn’t even make the attempt. Just those little looks…
“Dammit,” he roared, tossing his napkin on the table, “what’s the matter?”
He hadn’t intended to say that. He’d planned on keeping still, or perhaps asking, gently, if something was troubling her. But he couldn’t handle this. He was still trying to come to grips with the shock of falling in love with Sam and she was treating him like a leper.
“I’m sorry,” he said, far more calmly. “But you must tell me what’s going on, Sam. I’m not
good at reading tea leaves.”
Sam looked up from her glass of wine. It was a delicious wine but she’d had hardly any of it. She was filled with despair.
This long, lovely, wonderful day had made her see just how much trouble she was in.
The simple truth was that she’d never actually been in a relationship before. She hadn’t know that, until now, but dating a man, liking him, sleeping with him didn’t really constitute a relationship, even if it lasted for weeks or months.
This—this quagmire she’d stumbled into with Demetrios was a relationship with a capital R, the sort of thing that made her want to weep and laugh at the same time. He walked into a room, and she grew dizzy with pleasure. He all but announced to the world that she belonged to him, and she had to pretend she was angry because in her heart—in her heart, she wanted to shout it from the rooftops, that she was his and he was hers…
And she loved him.
And what a time to realize it, standing in a conference room, addressing Demetrios as Mr. Karas, watching him glower…but then, she had never done anything in the conventional way. Why would she fall in love like anybody else, with violins and moonlight—and a man who would love her in return?
Demetrios never would.
She’d known all that in a heartbeat this morning, puzzled over what to do about it for the remainder of the day, and she still had no answer. It didn’t help that he was glaring at her, his eyes snapping with anger despite his stilted apology. As if he had anything to be angry about, the unfeeling idiot.
“Did you hear me?” he said. “I’m sorry I yelled.”
“I heard you.”
“Sam, dammit…” He took a breath. “Are you angry? That thing this morning…”
“I’m not angry,” she said softly. “But—but I have to say some things that—that aren’t easy.”
“What things?” he said, while a chasm opened at his feet.
She swallowed dryly, moistened her lips, looked anywhere but at him. “I’ve been wondering if—if maybe we went into this too quickly.”
“Into what?”