Proof Of Their Forbidden Night. Chantelle Shaw

      ‘Good evening, Papa,’ Andreas greeted his father drily. ‘Miss Stanford.’ He kept his expression bland as he glanced at Isla and back to Stelios. ‘I apologise if I am late. I said I would arrive some time in the afternoon but I did not specify an exact time and I was unaware that you were giving a dinner party.’

      Stelios sniffed. ‘Well, you are here now. I hope you will offer your congratulations when I tell you that Isla has agreed to be my fiancée.’

      Even though Andreas had been pre-warned by his sister of his father’s engagement, the sight of a diamond the size of a rock on Isla’s finger filled him with fury. It had to be a joke, surely? This grey-haired, wrinkled old man and an exquisite English rose who must be some forty years younger than her future husband.

      He jerked his gaze to Isla’s face and noted the faint quiver of her lower lip, the flash of sexual awareness in her wide grey eyes that she quickly concealed beneath the sweep of her lashes. She was his, goddammit. Yet it was his ageing father’s arm around her slender waist and Stelios’s obscenely gaudy ring glittering on her finger.

      ‘Well, Andreas?’ his father prompted. ‘I can see you are surprised by my news, but I’m sure you will agree that I am a lucky man to have such a beautiful fiancée.’

      At a rough guess, the diamond solitaire was worth a six-figure sum. Andreas gave a sardonic smile. ‘Congratulations,’ he drawled, directing his mocking gaze at Isla. ‘You appear to have hit the jackpot.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE INSOLENCE OF the man! Isla’s temper had simmered throughout the interminable five-course dinner as Andreas’s loaded comment echoed in her ears. Thankfully, he had sat at the far end of the table from where she and Stelios were seated, but she’d felt his brilliant blue eyes watching her, and his speculative gaze added to her tension in a situation that was already uncomfortable.

      From halfway down the table, she’d been aware of the poisonous looks that Stelios’s daughter directed at her. At the end of the dinner, Stelios had stood up and asked the guests to raise their glasses in a toast to his new fiancée. It was taking the pretence too far and Isla’s doubts about what she was doing on Louloudi had intensified.

      Giving a soft sigh, she pushed open the French windows and stepped outside onto the terrace. It was dark now, and the stunning view across the gardens to the sea beyond was hidden. Although summer was coming to an end, the night was sultry and the air was thick with the scents of rosemary and lavender which grew in big terracotta pots.

      Isla’s hand strayed to the ruby and diamond necklace around her throat and once again she checked that the clasp was securely fastened.

      ‘I’m terrified I might lose it,’ she’d whispered to Stelios earlier in the day while they had posed for photographers in the boardroom of Karelis Corp in Athens. ‘The necklace must be worth a fortune. I’d feel happier wearing something less ostentatious.’

      Stelios had dismissed her concerns and taken hold of her hand, lifting it up to brush his lips across the enormous diamond ring that he’d slipped onto her finger just before they had faced the cameras. ‘Try to relax and smile,’ he murmured. ‘The eyes of the world will be on you when the news of our betrothal is announced in the media tomorrow. I am a billionaire and people will expect my fiancée to wear fabulous jewellery and dress in haute couture.’

      After the press conference recording they had boarded a helicopter for the short flight to Stelios’s island. When they were seated in the helicopter’s luxurious cabin he gave her a wry smile. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of the importance of making our engagement appear convincing in front of the press. It is vital at this time of financial turbulence that Karelis Corp’s competitors believe I am a strong leader of the company. Just as importantly, I want to hide my illness from my family until after my daughter’s twenty-first birthday.’

      ‘I know you are trying to protect Nefeli. But I urge you to tell her and Andreas the truth. Your children won’t be pleased about our engagement. They already dislike me.’

      Stelios’s daughter had barely hidden her hostility towards Isla whenever she had visited her father at his home in Kensington. And Andreas had nothing but disdain for her. Isla was quite certain of that, even though she had only met him a handful of times. Oh, on the surface he was polite enough. Quite charming, in fact. But she wasn’t fooled by his laid-back air and the careless smile that curved his lips but did not match the coldly cynical expression in his eyes.

      She didn’t know why Andreas had disapproved of her when she’d been employed as his father’s housekeeper, or why he’d kissed her the last time he had come to London. The kiss had been unexpected, which was why she had responded to him, she assured herself.

      ‘You are mistaken. I am sure my children find you delightful.’ Stelios had sought to reassure her. ‘I need you to be the focus of attention. Everyone will be fascinated by my beautiful fiancée and they won’t notice that I have lost weight. I will explain about my illness when the time is right to do so. But I want Nefeli to enjoy her twenty-first birthday party, spared from the knowledge that I will not be around to celebrate future birthdays with her.’

      Isla couldn’t argue with Stelios’s reasoning or his desire to protect his daughter when she understood the devastation of losing a parent. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with her mum’s death in a horrific accident. Tragically, Stelios had arrived in England in search of Marion six months too late.

      The muted sounds of the party drifted across the terrace and Isla was glad to be outside, away from the spotlight for a few minutes. The ruby necklace felt heavy around her neck and she wished she hadn’t allowed Stelios to persuade her to wear it. But he had insisted that the necklace and matching drop earrings were perfect accessories for the red dress he’d suggested she should wear to the press conference and dinner party. The tight-fitting dress clung to her body and the scooped neckline revealed more of her cleavage than Isla was comfortable with. She did not normally wear attention-grabbing clothes. But the point of her overtly sexy outfit and the reason for the announcement of their engagement was to draw attention away from Stelios’s ill-health.

      The sound of footsteps on the terrace behind her caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end, a sixth sense warning her of imminent danger. She froze when a mocking voice drawled, ‘Ah, the blushing bride-to-be! You have been a clever girl, Isla.’

      Her heart gave an annoying flip, as it always did when Stelios’s son was in the vicinity, and it took every ounce of her willpower to turn towards him when her instincts urged her to flee. Somehow she managed to say calmly, ‘Whatever do you mean, Andreas?’

      The simple act of uttering his name evoked a wild heat inside her, and she prayed he would think her cheeks were flushed because the temperature in Greece was much warmer than the chilly, grey England she had left two days ago. Isla hated that Andreas Karelis made her feel like a gauche teenager but she suspected he had the same effect on most women.

      Handsome did not come near to describing his sculpted features, with those razor-edge cheekbones, square jaw and outrageously sensual mouth that looked as if it had been shaped entirely for the purpose of kissing. His hair was the same shade of dark brown as the rich Greek coffee she had served him when he had visited his father at the house in Kensington.

      It was not just his height—she estimated that he was three or four inches over six foot—or his attractive features, dominated by his startling blue eyes, that set him apart from other men. Andreas possessed a smouldering sensuality that Isla could not ignore, however much she wished she could.

      Although he had retired from motorbike racing he was still regarded as a sporting legend by an army of adoring groupies. His reputation as a playboy was reinforced by stories of his love-life played out in the pages of tabloid newspapers and celebrity gossip magazines. Not that Isla took the slightest interest in the scandalous headlines about