After the Greek Affair. Chantelle Shaw

an unknown designer and trust Larissa’s judgement?

      ‘How did my sister come to hear of you?’ he asked abruptly.

      ‘She saw some of my dresses featured in the fashion magazine Style Icon.’

      Loukas’s brows rose in surprise. ‘You must be more well-known than I thought if your work caught the attention of the editor of Style Icon. The magazine is reputed to be the world’s top-selling fashion bible.’

      ‘Well, it was a bit of luck, really,’ Belle explained honestly. ‘My brother was working on a wedding shoot for the magazine. You might have heard of him? Dan Townsend? He’s making quite a name for himself as a fashion photographer. When one of the designers dropped out at the last minute, Dan persuaded the editor of Style Icon to use some dresses from my collection.’

      Against his will Loukas found himself intrigued by Belle. Her personal life was of no interest to him, he reminded himself, yet for some inexplicable reason he wanted to know more about her. ‘Why do you and your brother have different names?’

      Belle hesitated. There was no shame in admitting the truth, she reminded herself. The fact that she was illegitimate was not her fault. It had been her choice to change her surname by deed poll from Townsend to her mother’s maiden name of Andersen when she had discovered the truth of her identity.

      ‘We have different fathers.’

      It was the one thing that had saddened her when she had learned that John was not her biological father. But Dan had insisted it did not matter. ‘You’re still my sister, even if technically we’re only half-siblings,’ he had told her gently. ‘And look on the bright side—at least you’re not related to the most unpleasant man on the planet. I have to live with the knowledge that because Mum chose to remain married to my father you never knew your father.’

      Nor would she ever know now. Her mother had died and taken the identity of the man she had had an affair with to her grave, Belle thought sadly. She had no way of finding out who her real father was, although she had thought about him endlessly during the past three years—since John had made his stunning revelation on the day of her mother’s funeral that she was not his daughter.

      If only Gudrun had told her the truth… She quickly blocked off that pathway of thought. It was pointless to feel angry with her mother, ridiculous to feel betrayed by the woman she had adored. Gudrun had obviously believed she was doing the right thing when she had allowed Belle to grow up believing that John Townsend was her father.

      But her mother had been forced to make a stark choice, Belle acknowledged. She knew now that John had threatened to deny Gudrun any contact with Dan if she broke up their marriage. He had agreed to bring up the child she had conceived with her lover as his own if she stayed with him.

      No woman should ever be faced with the prospect of losing her child, Belle brooded. Gudrun had put her love for her son before her personal happiness, but because of that Belle had endured a miserable childhood, wondering why the man she believed was her father seemed to despise her. What a tangled mess it had been, she thought sadly. All brought about because her mother had married the wrong man. Gudrun’s diary had revealed that she had known within a few months of the wedding that her marriage to John had been a mistake, but by then she had been pregnant with Dan and so had been trapped in a loveless relationship.

      She would never make the same mistake, Belle vowed. She loved designing beautiful, romantic wedding gowns, but the idea of giving up her independence for a man held no appeal whatsoever. Especially a man like Loukas Christakis. The thought slid into her head as she glanced across the table and felt her stomach dip at the sight of his hard-boned features. He was the most breathtakingly handsome man she had ever laid eyes on, and she was sure he could be charming and charismatic when it suited him, but he was too forceful for her liking—too controlling—too much of a reminder of the man she had grown up believing to be her father.

      She was wasting her time here. The rigid set of Loukas’s square jaw told her that. Disappointment settled like a lead weight in the pit of her stomach and she suddenly felt desperate to escape his brooding presence. She drank the rest of her juice, set the glass down on the table and picked up her bag. ‘All right, Mr Christakis. You win. If I take the next ferry back to Athens I may be able to catch a flight to London this evening.’ She paused and then asked huskily, ‘Can we make up an excuse for Larissa to explain why I’m not available to make her dress—a family emergency or something? I don’t want her to think that I simply didn’t turn up—which I’m sure you would allow her to believe,’ she added accusingly.

      Loukas did not reply immediately, and in the silence that stretched between them his slate-grey gaze gave no clue to his thoughts. ‘It matters to you what Larissa thinks?’ he queried at last.

      ‘Of course it does.’ Belle gave him an impatient look. ‘Your sister is a lovely person, and I’d hate her to think I’d let her down like her first designer did. I know you’ll tell me it’s none of my business, but I think you’re wrong to interfere in her life—even if you have the best intentions for doing so,’ she continued firmly when Loukas gave her a dark glare. ‘There’s a fine line between wanting to protect her and being too controlling, and you could find that Larissa will start to resent you for preventing her from making her own decisions.’

      ‘You’re right. My relationship with my sister is absolutely none of your business,’ Loukas growled, irritated that her words had struck a nerve. He did not want to control Larissa; it was a ridiculous suggestion. He simply wanted to do what was best for her and take care of her—as he had promised his parents he would.

      His mind turned to the past—to memories that still tugged on his soul. ‘You have to be a man now, son, and look after your mother and sister,’ his father had choked while the life had slipped from his body as fast as the blood had gushed from the gunshot wound to his stomach—courtesy of a couple of young punks high on crack. Loukas had been sixteen then, terrified of the responsibility that had been thrust upon him and ravaged with grief for his beloved Papa.

      Two years later his mother had clutched his arm with a hand that was so thin he had been able to see every vein beneath her papery skin. Her cancer had been diagnosed too late for her to have a chance, and without health insurance or money to pay for the drugs that might have prolonged her life a little the end had come quickly. ‘Take care of Larissa,’ had been the last words she had whispered. And standing by her bed, watching helplessly as she left the world, Loukas had given her his word.

      How dared Belle Andersen criticise him? he thought furiously. She could have no idea what he had felt like at eighteen, knowing that he was totally responsible for his six-year-old sister. Life had been tough, and there had been many nights when he had been unable to sleep, scared that he wasn’t strong enough to cope.

      Of course he was over-protective of Lissa, he thought savagely. He’d had first-hand experience of how dangerous the world could be when he had witnessed his father’s murder. But Belle’s warning that Larissa might resent what she had termed his interference played on his mind. He recalled his sister’s excitement when she had told him that Belle was coming to Aura to design her wedding dress.

      Gamoto! he cursed silently. Maybe Belle had a point when she had said that Lissa should be free to make her own decisions. Maybe it was time he learned to take a step back and accept that his sister was no longer a child. Besides, what could go wrong? Belle would be on Aura, under his watchful gaze. She had said she was prepared to work night and day to complete Larissa’s dress, and he would make sure she fulfilled her promise.

      Once again his eyes were drawn to Belle’s mouth, and he felt his body tighten with desire as he imagined plundering those soft pink lips. He could not deny his sizzling sexual attraction to her—and, more intriguingly, his instincts told him that she was as aware as he was of the white-hot chemistry between them.

      Belle stood up from the table and held out her hand to Loukas. ‘I’d like my phone back, please,’ she said briskly. ‘I need to ring the airport and see if I can change my return flight.’

      He