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Oh, but it was.
He strode past the American with an air of authority, but inside, his stomach was in knots.
Her voice came to him from a few doors down the corridor. He paused, trying to catch what she was saying.
“And look at this one.” God, she sounded lovely. Her accent was so soft. Her voice filled with affection. “There are those eyes I love.”
Intrigued, he inched forward, looking curiously into the room. She was sitting beside Andrew, one arm hooked around his small, pajamed shoulders. On her lap there was a book. Not a book, he corrected. An album. While he watched, Mikey pointed at one photo, then lifted her finger and tapped Andrew lightly just beneath his eyes.
“See, honey? They’re just like yours. Dark brown, and almond shaped, with curling lashes.” She smiled, though Andrew didn’t. But he was looking. He was engrossed.
Mikey turned the page and made a small gasp of exaggerated surprise. Loucas could tell that this was something they did often. Both knew their roles. Mikey was speaking in a way that led him to believe it was a scene they repeated often. “Here’s your mummy getting ready to go somewhere very fancy.” Loucas straightened. His expression was no longer benevolent or indulgent. A strong emotion swirled through him. Still, he watched, deathly still, and furiously silent. “See the way her hair is pinned up in a bun, and her dress is very special, isn’t it?” She squeezed Andrew’s shoulders tighter. “And here’s your daddy. He must be going with your mommy, because he looks very fancy too. That suit he’s wearing is a tuxedo, and his bow tie is red, like your mama’s dress.” She ran a hand through his hair. “Your hair is like your daddy’s. And Nanny Paxton says your voice is like his, too.”
A flicker of acknowledgement passed the boy’s face. Pride, even. Certainly comprehension.
“Nanny Paxton says that on this night, when your mummy and daddy went to the Met ball, you stayed home and watched them on TV. That you saw them arrive and squealed at the television. And that your mummy knew you’d be watching so she made sure to wave and blow you a kiss.”
Loucas’s stomach clenched. Helena. Helena’s
life. His twin’s life had continued, and he’d known nothing of it.
“Here you are having a picnic. It looks like your daddy is holding the camera out, because you can see the way his arm extends towards the shot. Your mummy has you on her lap, and you’re smiling.” Mikey looked at Andrew’s little face. “I like your smile,” she said, without judgment or expectation. “It suits you.” Then, she pulled him into the crook of her arm. “You’ll smile again, little one. You’ll remember what happiness is.”
His body heaved with a sigh and she wished there was some way she could take that pain away from him. Some way she could make everything better. To undo the idiot drunk driver who’d veered onto the wrong side of the road and caused Chad Washington to mis-steer and send their car over the cliff’s edge. Yes, she wished and wished but there was no changing the past. All she could do was help Andrew discover a bright future.
Carefully, she closed the album and placed it in the drawer of Andrew’s bedside table. “Sweet dreams, Andy,” she said, snuggling him down lower into his bed and flicking the lights off. The lamp she left on, and it cast the room in a soft, golden glow. Andrew was terrified of the dark, understandably.
His large dark eyes lifted to her face, and Mikey’s heart stilled as, for the briefest moment, she felt certain he was going to say something. He opened his mouth, and his eyes were so expressive. But then, he blinked and let his lashes drift down. She placed a kiss against his forehead and then crept quietly from the room.
As soon as she stepped out of the room, she saw him. Loucas, his face as dark as night, his body emanating a strange, silent fury. And her own body reacted with a sharp stab of desire. Heat pulsed between them, and all she wanted, in that moment, was to succumb to the fever in her veins; the heat in her blood.
CHAPTER SIX
Loucas’s chest heaved, as he expelled a deep breath. He too seemed to be fighting an internal war; a battle of wants, needs and common sense. The latter seemed to prevail.
“A word, Mikey,” he said, putting a hand in the small of her back and propelling her along the corridor. She’d never been this far into the villa before, and if she hadn’t been so overcome by the sensations Loucas was sending skyrocketing through her body, she might have enjoyed looking at the collection of paintings the powerful tycoon had amassed. Instead, they passed by her in a blur, as he steered her down the hallway. He opened a door and then pulled her into the room with him.
When he flicked on the light, she saw that his chest was heaving. His eyes were like flint in his face, black and shining.
“What is it?” She asked, navigating the current of her own rapidly-rising temper. “Why the heck have you man-handled me into this room?” She looked around, and felt other emotions begin to swirl in her chest. This was, clearly, a bedroom. And going from the furnishings and masculine décor, it was Loucas’s bedroom.
Her pale blue eyes fell on the expanse of king-size bed, and she immediately looked away again.
“Why are you showing him those photographs?” His accent was thicker when he was angry, she noted distractedly. His cheekbones were slashed with color beneath his deep tan.
A small crinkle developed between her brows as she furrowed her eyes in confusion. “Just now?”
“Ne,” he barked in his native Greek. “Yes, just now.” He spoke to her slowly, his honeyed voice dripping with angry sarcasm.
“Because it helps him remember. And it makes him happy.” She ignored the way her nerve endings were tingling. She had to focus. “Why? You don’t approve?”
“Damned right I do not approve,” he roared, dragging a hand through his hair and then thrusting his hands onto his hips. His stance was firm. Dominant. Demanding.
It took every ounce of self-control she possessed, but somehow, Mikey managed to pull on her professional training. “I can see that you’re upset,” she murmured, keeping her voice even, her face blanked of expression. “How about you tell me why?”
He let out a guttural sound of frustration and moved across the room. His pent-up emotions were obvious. He stared out of the bay window, overlooking the ink black sky. A storm had blown up out of nowhere, and a flash of lightning illuminated the scenery for the briefest second. The roar of thunder that followed made Mikey jump, for her nerves were already stretched to breaking point.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, finally. “It is certainly not any of your business.”
