Irresistible Bargain With The Greek / His Forbidden Pregnant Princess. Julia James

The fact that she was only exacerbating his bad mood by asking him to slow down or repeat himself was patently visible.

      By the time they finally arrived back at the villa there was a headache around her skull like a steel band in full swing.

      Luke turned to her. ‘There’s a government minister I have to see. Those letters need to be typed up this afternoon. There’s an office set up in the villa somewhere—the staff will show you.’

      Talia nodded dumbly, heading up to her room to shower and change. Was this distant, terse man really the same man as the one she had encountered that fateful evening at the party? How could he be?

      She felt her throat catch and hurried into the bathroom. Beneath the flow of water, she was only too conscious of her nakedness—a nakedness she had so briefly gloried in with the man who now looked right through her…

      Memories rushed back into her head of when his gaze upon her had not been cold, nor indifferent. But these were memories she did not want and could not afford. She sighed grimly. She couldn’t afford much at all.

      Enveloping herself tightly in a bath towel, she emerged, steeling herself. What did it matter if Luke now looked right through her and gave her orders and instructions as if nothing had ever happened between them? It would simply remind her of what she shouldn’t forget, even for a moment. That she was here for one purpose only—to work as he directed, so that her mother could have some reprieve from the loss of the final piece of her stricken life to which she was still so desperately clinging.

      A knock sounded at the door and she went to open it. One of the soft-footed maids came in with a lunch tray, carrying it through to the balcony, on which a little table and chair had been set up under an awning. Talia threw on a sundress, and followed her.

      She felt her spirits lift again in the heat and brightness after the dim cool of the air-conditioned bedroom.

      Thanking the maid, she felt suddenly hungry and fell to eating. She’d hardly had time for breakfast—which had been served up here in her room—before she’d been informed that Mr Xenakis was waiting for her, and jet lag had also confused her hunger cues. Now they were fully restored, and she ate with relish the food that had been provided for her: chicken salad, cane juice, and fresh fruit.

      As she ate, she gazed out at the vista. And such a vista! Now, for the first time, she could really appreciate where she was.

      The villa was set on a slope, high above the sea, which was several miles away across lush countryside, and the beautiful gardens she’d seen from the carriage sweep were wrapped around the back as well.

      Was that…? Ah, yes. Her eyes lit up. There was a large turquoise pool, glinting at the rear of the villa. And as she gazed in delighted appreciation she knew, instinctively, that the colour palette for her design ideas was right in front of her: the deep cobalt sea, the turquoise pool, the emerald vegetation, the vivid crimson of the bougainvillea and fragrant frangipani. All would be called upon.

      Enthusiasm fired her, and she longed to make a start on her colour boards and sketch out the vision that danced inside her head. Her ideas began to fizz and bubble in her imagination.

      But that was not what she’d been instructed to do this afternoon. There were Luke’s letters to type up first.

      The office she was shown into by the stately butler—whose name, he informed her upon enquiry, was Fernando—was chilled with air-conditioning and had no outside light coming in. The windows were high set, with venetian blinds over them. An array of high-tech equipment hummed to one side, and a huge PC sat on the desk.

      She took her place in front of it and got out her notebook. She sighed, hoping she would be able to decipher what she’d scrawled so hectically.

      It proved hard going, and she knew, with a sinking heart, that she was making a poor fist of it. She did her best, all the same, though she was painstakingly slow, not being able to touch-type, and found the keyboard complicated to operate when it came to tabulating the many figures Luke had thrown at her.

      Finally, she was done, though there were gaps and queries in every letter and attachment. She could only hope that Luke would make allowances for the fact that she was not a trained secretary and they had been going over a bumpy road while she was trying to write it all down.

      The headache, which had cleared over lunch in the fresh air, was now back with a vengeance. With a final sigh of abject relief, she closed down the word processing software and got up, her back stiff and sore from hours of hunching over the keyboard.

      Then her face brightened.

      The pool! She would freshen up with a dip—that, surely, would clear her head and loosen her stiff limbs. And she would ask the Fernando if she could have a coffee, and a long juice drink.

      A handful of minutes later she was plunging head-first into blissfully warm water, joyfully dipping her head under the water to feel her hair stream wetly down her back. Her spirits soared. Oh, this was joyous! She splashed around, frolicking like a child, delighting in the diamond sprays of water catching the late-afternoon sunshine, then pushed off the side, plunging in a duck-dive to the tiled bottom of the pool, dappled with sunlight. Then:

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’