The Greek Millionaire's Mistress. Catherine Spencer

and indignation, “was completely unnecessary!”

      He averted his gaze, dangerously aroused by the shapely length of leg exposed as she tried to put her skirt to rights again. “Not from my point of view, Gina,” he said obliquely.

      She didn’t remember curling up against him. Had no recollection at all of his slipping his arm around her and drawing her head down to rest against his shoulder. Only when the blare of traffic horns penetrated her drowsy haze did she become aware of the smooth starched cotton of his shirt against her cheek, the muscled contours of his chest beneath her hand—and everywhere, everywhere that his body touched hers, the velvet heat of his skin.

      Opening her eyes, she ventured a glance up at him. He was staring out the window, his expression preoccupied. “I’m not very good company, am I?” she croaked, her voice rusty with sleep.

      He swung his gaze to meet hers and a smile lightened his face. “Do you hear me complaining?”

      “No.”

      But she wished he would. Wished he’d say something along the lines of, We wasted precious time while you slept. Instead, as the car turned into the forecourt of her hotel, his only comment was, “I kept you out too late. You look weary.”

      That was reassuring! Straightening, she fiddled self-consciously with her hair; wondered if her mascara had run, or her lipstick smudged. Had she drooled in her sleep? Worse yet, had she snored?

      The possibility sent a wash of embarrassment through her. As far as she knew, she didn’t snore, but who was there to tell her differently, when no one shared her bed?

      Angling a surreptitious glance at Mikos, she saw that even without socks, with the laces of his shoes untied, his trouser legs all creased, and his shirt not quite as pristine as it had been a few hours before, he still managed to look elegant. Even with the shadow of new beard growth darkening his jaw, and his black hair decidedly mussed, he was still the picture of unparalleled masculine beauty. It wasn’t fair.

      The driver snicked open the car door. Mikos swung his long legs out and unfolded to his full six feet plus. Extended his hand. “Gina?”

      She nested her palm in his. Felt his fingers close warmly around hers. In one smooth move he had her standing barefoot beside him on the forecourt’s cool paving stones, with her skirt falling in disarray around her ankles. Aware that the window of opportunity was rapidly closing, she searched his clear green eyes for a hint, a shred of hope, that he’d ask to see her again.

      “Thank you for a wonderful time,” she said.

      He smiled. Stepped closer. Bent his head. Dropped a swift, sweet kiss on her mouth. “Parakalo. Sleep well,” he murmured.

      So let down it was all she could do not to burst into tears, she nodded, turned away and was almost at the hotel’s front doors when he suddenly called out, “Gina, wait!”

      She spun back to face him, hope percolating through her blood. Her rhinestone sandals dangled from his hand. “Don’t forget these,” he said.

      Like a cake taken too soon out of the oven, her moment of optimism sank into a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. Accepting the benighted shoes, she muttered a listless “Thanks,” and quickly entered the hotel before she made a complete fool of herself.

      Before the wide glass doors had swung closed behind her, Prince Charming and his limousine had been swallowed up by the noxious fumes of the traffic roaring down the narrow street. So much for fairy tales!

      Feeling pathetically sorry for herself, she rode the elevator to her fourth-floor room, only to discover when she got there that she’d lost her key. She had no idea where or when or how it had happened, but she did know it was the last straw and, giving vent to her frustration, she let fly with a solid kick at the door.

      The only thing that suffered was her big toe. She hopped on one foot as agonizing pain knifed through the other, and yelped loudly enough to bring a maid scurrying out of the room next door. Taking in the situation with a single glance, she muttered sympathetically in broken English, and used her master key to open Gina’s door. Then, after helping her to the small armchair next to the window, the woman hurried away, and returned a short time later with a large plastic bowl half full of ice cubes.

      “You grow big, Kyria,” she announced, eyeing the rapidly swelling toe mournfully. “Better you do this!” And to make sure her message had come across loud and clear, she plunked Gina’s foot in the bowl.

      Whether she burst into tears because of the shocking crunch of ice against her injured toe, or because someone was looking after her for a change, or simply from the culmination of a fatigue that had been building for months, was anyone’s guess. All Gina knew was that, one minute she was smiling gamely, and the next she was sobbing against the matronly breast of the chambermaid who stroked her hair and murmured Greek words of comfort that somehow transcended the language barrier.

      “I’m so sorry,” Gina hiccuped when she finally gained control again. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me since I arrived here, that I’m so emotional all the time.”

      “Neh, neh,” the maid crooned. “Neh, katalaveno. I understand.”

      Gina smiled wistfully. No, you don’t, she thought, but your saying so makes me feel better anyway.

      The maid smiled, too, and poked herself in the chest. “Me lene Apostolia. You?”

      Understanding, she replied, “Gina.”

      The maid nodded. “You okay now, Gina?”

      “Yes. Much better, thanks.” She made a shooing motion toward the door. “You should go. I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me. But thank you again, Apostolia. You’ve been very kind. Efkharisto!”

      “Parakalo.” Apostolia gave a final nod and left, closing the door softly behind her.

      Gina sat for a few minutes, staring out the window at the looming hulk of the Acropolis. In the blazing light of morning, with her toe throbbing and her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, she saw everything to do with the previous ten hours for what they really were: a glamorous, romantic interlude as ephemeral as stardust. She’d met a man who’d made her feel like a woman again. He’d flirted with her, and shown her a time she’d never forget. But he was no more part of her real world than she’d ever be part of his.

      Not only that, she’d sensed an ambivalence about him at times, caused, not as he claimed because he didn’t trust himself, but as if he wasn’t sure he could trust her. It showed in the way he suddenly drew back when everything else about him indicated he wanted more, far more, than he felt able to take.

      Why? What was it about her that had made him withhold himself? Had she been too eager? Too transparently hungry? Because heaven knew, nothing frightened a man off faster than a woman so desperate that she might as well have gone after him wielding a net.

      I should have been the one applying the brakes, she thought dismally. Pity I didn’t ram my head against the door. It could use having some sense knocked into it.

      A glance at the bedside radio clock showed it was eight on Saturday morning, Athens time, which made it nine on Friday evening on Canada’s West Coast. A good time to call home. Her mother would be in bed, leaving Lynn O’Keefe, the temporary care giver, free to talk. Hobbling to the desk, Gina picked up the phone.

      Lynn answered on the first ring. “I expected it would be you,” she said. “How’s Athens?”

      “Hot, noisy, exotic and exhausting,” Gina replied. “How’s my mom?”

      “She had a good day. We walked on the beach this morning and collected shells, then went into town after lunch and ate ice cream in the park.”

      “Does she realize I’m gone, do you think? Does she miss me?”

      “I don’t think so,” Lynn said kindly. “She’s off in her own world most of the time. You know how it is for her, Gina.”