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This persistent awareness, his physical response to her, was damned unsettling. Especially to a man like him, who relied on no one but himself. Who had learned to doubt rather than to trust. To be cautious rather than impulsive.
He waited for Sophie to settle herself into the car, then sat in the far corner of the wide back seat.
Avoiding her gaze, he began explaining their surroundings, giving her a tourist’s guide to Heraklion. Detailed, informative and totally impersonal.
It reinforced his role as host and helped him erect the barriers that weakened whenever he looked at her. Barriers that were essential if he was to get through the next few days.
Sophie leaned back in her corner of the seat and listened to Costas describe the bustle of Heraklion harbour and some of the city’s history and traditions. He really did love the place.
But despite his enthusiasm for his home town, she sensed a change in him. The man beside her didn’t meet her eyes. He spoke with the clipped, precise tones of a professional guide.
Had she done something to offend him?
Not that she could think of. Despite her long sleep on the plane she was probably jet-lagged, imagining things. And after all, wasn’t this distant Costas Palamidis easier to cope with than the man she’d faced in Sydney? With his raw passion that both scared and fascinated her? She’d felt almost powerless against the force of his personality and his dark emotions.
She told herself she was glad of the change in him.
They drew up before a sprawling, modern house twenty minutes later. A house unlike any Sophie had ever seen, let alone entered. One glance confirmed what she’d already discovered: this man had more money than she’d ever dreamed of.
As the car pulled to a halt in the turning circle, the large front doors opened and a woman stepped out. A tall, grey- haired woman, holding a small child in her arms.
Costas flung open his door and was out of the car as it stopped. Sophie watched through the tinted glass as Costas strode across the gravel, arms open to take the tiny child in his arms. She must only be about three or four, Sophie decided, her heart wrenching as she took in the little girl’s pallor and her bald head, evidence of her medical treatment.
A lump the size of Sydney Harbour settled in her throat and she blinked back tears. Oh, lord, let it be all right. Let me be able to help her.
Her own door opened and she looked up into the smiling face of Yiorgos, the chauffeur.
Now or never.
Sophie took a deep breath and swung her legs out of the car, registering but ignoring the sudden onset of exhaustion as she stood up. It had been a long trip. And now she felt every kilometre of it: the weariness of travel and the burden of expectation. She walked slowly towards the house, unwilling to interrupt the family reunion.
There was a trill of laughter from the little girl in response to Costas’ deep murmur. Then he turned and Sophie stopped dead, anchored to the spot by the change in him.
The shadows had fled from his face. There was love in his eyes as he hugged his daughter, a softness about his mouth. He looked younger, sexier, more vibrantly alive. A grin a mile wide transformed him from the brooding man she’d known into someone new. Someone who had the power to knock her off balance even at a distance of ten metres.
Then, as Eleni moved in his arms, Sophie’s gaze turned to her, taking in her tiny, fragile form and her huge dark eyes, so much like her father’s.
The little girl stared at her for a long moment. Then she wriggled in Costas’ embrace and held out her arms towards Sophie.
Clearly, unmistakably, she called, ‘Mamá.’
CHAPTER FIVE
GRATEFULLY SOPHIE SIPPED the scalding coffee. It was too sweet for her taste, but it was just what she needed. The coffee traced a welcome trail of heat that counteracted the deep chill of shock still gripping her.
She listened to the retreating sound of high
heels tapping across the polished floor in the foyer. To the soft stream of rapid-fire Greek as Costas’ mother spoke to her son on her way out.
For the first time in years Sophie wished her language skills were better. She’d rebelled early, refusing to attend Greek classes as soon as she was old enough to understand the rift between her mother and her family in Greece. But now she’d have given a lot to understand what Mrs Palamidis said to her son. And more to know what his murmured responses were. Even from here, the sound of his deep voice made her stomach muscles clench in awareness.
Mrs Palamidis had been so welcoming. So understanding and sympathetic, apologising for the shock of Eleni’s words, ushering Sophie in here to the elegant sitting room to recuperate while Costas went to settle his daughter for an overdue nap.
But now she’d left and Sophie would be alone with Costas. And later, with little Eleni.
That moment when Eleni had looked at her with such excitement and called her Mamá …
Sophie shuddered. She’d been horrified. She felt as if she’d stepped straight into her dead cousin’s shoes. Her stunned gaze had turned from the little girl to Costas and she saw in his face a flash of emotion so strong and tortured that she knew without doubt he was remembering his wife. And the knowledge had been like a knife twisting in her breast.
