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'Oh, but you don't need to,' Jan gushed, and turned a pleading look on Jemma. 'Do Luke and I another favour and take Mr Devetzi home, please, Jemma? You know you don't really like parties and he'll be fine with you. Plus, Luke hasn't had the chance to properly speak to David yet.'
Jemma almost laughed. Jan's barefaced cheek never failed to amaze her. She'd opened her mouth to make some non-committal answer when Theo intervened. 'No, thank you, Miss Sutherland. I wouldn't feel happy imposing on your sister in such a way. It's time I left.' And, taking Luke's arm, he apologised for dragging his grandson away. 'I am feeling rather weak.'
Luke wasn't feeling so great himself. For a man who was always in control, it was galling to have to admit he had been completely blindsided by the evening's events. He wanted to talk to Jemma. Who was he kidding? He wanted to do a lot more than talk to her. But now wasn't the time or the place. She would keep, he decided, and the quicker he got away from this disastrous party the better.
'Sony, ladies, but we have to leave,' Luke said. 'Give my apologies to your father and I'll call you later, Jan. No doubt I'll see you again, Jemma.'
Not if I see you first, Jemma thought. Then, while Jan monopolised Luke's attention once more, she leant forward and kissed the old man's cheek. 'You take care, Theo.'
'I will. You've been very kind to me, Jemma. And, disappointed as I am about the villa, I would like to repay your kindness by taking you out to lunch tomorrow, before I return to Greece.'
'I can't tomorrow,' Jemma refused, glad she had a genuine excuse. She had already lied to Theo about not having met Luke before, and she'd rather not have to lie to him again. But as it happened she was lunching with Alan's parents in Eastbourne—something she did every month. 'I'm lunching with my parents-in-law tomorrow; although it's over two years since I lost my husband, we still keep in touch. So some other time, perhaps,' she said quietly.
Much as she liked the old man, she wanted nothing whatsoever to do with his grandson, and the quicker the Devetzi males left, the better she would like it. Jemma heaved a shaky sigh of relief as she watched Theo follow Jan and Luke out into the hall.
'Thanks a bunch,' Jan said sarcastically five minutes later, having returned from escorting the men out. 'You could have insisted on taking the old bloke home, and then Luke could have stayed longer.'
'Maybe—you know Luke Devetzi better than I do,' Jemma said, shrugging. 'But he strikes me as a man who does what he wants, and gets what he wants—women included—and I doubt he would be the faithful type.' It was as near as Jemma felt she could go in warning Jan just what an inveterate womaniser Luke Devetzi was. 'I hope you know what you're getting into.' Jan was selfish, but harmless, and she would hate to see her get hurt.
'That's the problem,' Jan said with her usual bluntness. 'I haven't succeeded in getting into him yet, and I'm dying of frustration. According to the magazines he's been dating Davina Lovejoy, that top New York designer. But he's in London now, and I'm here and she isn't, and surely Luke must be feeling the same. He's notorious for the number of women he's bedded, and for his prowess as a lover.'
It was a lot more than Jemma needed to know, and she burst out laughing. If there was a touch of hysteria in the sound, Jan never noticed.
Two hours later Jemma was back home in the small terraced house in Bayswater she had shared with Alan, curled up in bed.
In his penthouse across town, Luke Devetzi studied Theo with some frustration. His grandfather had never said a word on the drive home. On arriving back at the apartment, Theo had poured them both a nightcap and simply said the villa was not for sale and he was no longer bothered. Now he was sitting on the sofa, his leg once more propped up on a footstool. His dark eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and the expression on his face was one of resigned acceptance.
'Let me get this straight: after all the fuss you have made trying to buy the villa on Zante, now you're telling me you don't care any more?'
'I do care. It's just that I have finally realised it's impossible,' Theo said quietly. 'Jemma explained to me tonight that she can't sell it because her aunt left it in trust for her and her children, and her children's children.'
'Trusts can be broken,' Luke suggested. 'You don't have to give up yet.'
'Maybe.' Theo sighed. 'But it can take years to wade through legal red tape, and even if I live long enough—well, you've met Jemma—can you honestly see a beautiful, compassionate woman like her being a widow for much longer? I can't. She is young, and her husband has been dead for over two years.'
Luke sat down suddenly and almost choked on his whisky. So Jemma had not been married when he'd slept with her! 'Two years, you say? Are you sure?' he queried. He had made enough mistakes with Jemma, and he was determined to make no more. He could almost laugh at how wrong he'd been about her—except that it wasn't funny. His grandfather had lost his dream, and he had bedded and then insulted the sexiest woman he had ever met.
'Yes, she told me tonight as we were leaving. She may not realise it yet, but she has done her mourning. Unless all English men are blind, some guy will snap her up and she will almost certainly be married and with child long before the trust can be broken. It's hopeless, and I am going to bed.' Picking up his stick, he rose to his feet and hobbled up the steps. Stopping at the top, he turned and said, 'Milo and I are going back to Greece in the morning. Goodnight.' And he left.
Luke saw the defeated droop to Theo's shoulders as he left the room. He hated that his grandfather had been disappointed, but he had to admit the old man's assessment was right—getting the villa did look pretty hopeless now.
He saw again in his mind's eye the beautiful Jemma, so calm and considerate with Theo, but so cool with him. His body hardened as he recalled her naked body in every minute detail—the silken softness of her skin, the sweet taste of her rose-tipped breasts, the almost dreamlike quality of their lovemaking which had grown into a white-hot, all-consuming passion.
Restlessly he stood up again, about to pour another whisky. But he stopped. He didn't need a drink; he needed to think. Maybe if he approached Jemma personally and offered her an enormous amount of money to break the trust she would agree. With the exception of his grandmother, he had never met a woman yet who did not love money. And if plan A failed—though he doubted it would—he needed a plan B. He was thirty-seven, past the age most men married. Perhaps it was time to take the plunge and marry. And if by marrying Jemma and producing a child t
hat would also be Theo's great-grandchild to inherit the villa, then his grandfather would secure his heart's desire—to keep the villa in the family—and that was all the better. Plus, Luke wanted Jemma back in his bed—and he was a man who always got what he wanted.
There was only one huge flaw in plan B. Jemma wouldn't give him the time of day because, apart from him virtually throwing her off his yacht a year ago, she knew he was dating her stepsister. Settling back down on the sofa, his broad brow creased in a frown, he replayed the events of the evening and the information he had gleaned in the last few days. His frown vanished and a predatory smile curved his sensuous mouth. His grey eyes were gleaming with the light of challenge as he rose to his feet and headed for bed. His mind was made up, his course of action determined.
CHAPTER THREE
Jemma parked her small estate car in a resident's parking space outside her own front door and, picking up her purse and a carrier bag full of garden vegetables from the passenger seat, got out of the car. Straightening up, she stretched her shoulders, her eyes sweeping over the small strip of front garden, which was a mass of colour in the June sun, and sighed contentedly. It had been a long drive to Eastbourne and back, but worth the travel.
She had had a great day; she had helped Sid, her father-in-law, in the garden, and enjoyed a wonderful lunch prepared by his wife Mavis. Then all three of them had taken a walk on the beach, and finally visited Alan's grave. Afterwards they had returned to the house and had tea.
Jemma, her stomach full and her spirit restored by the kindness of Alan's parents, had rationalised on the journey back to London the guilty memories that had kept her awake for hours the night before. Then she'd firmly pushed them back into the darkest corner of her mind, where they belonged.
Luke Devetzi had been a horrendous mistake, brought about by depression and too much wine, and for someone like herself, who had no head for alcohol and rarely drank more than the occasional glass of wine, it wasn't surprising she had acted so out of character—to the point of practically hallucinating.
