"He stays most evenings until she falls asleep. Most likely he will be home within the hour."
More flowering plants, a wall fountain and comfortable wicker furniture graced the tiled courtyard, making it a haven of shady tranquility, but the woman waiting to greet her wasn't quite as affable as Alexio. Although polite enough, Brianna saw reserve in her eyes, felt it in the cool touch of her hand as Alexio performed the introductions.
"You will wish to sit for a few minutes and relax after your long journey," his wife said, indicating a frosted pitcher of iced tea and bowl of fruit on the table.
Although pleasant enough on the surface, her words emerged less as an invitation than a command. Brianna, though, had been granted a short reprieve, and she wasn't about to waste it. She couldn't avoid Dimitrios indefinitely, but she could seize the chance to freshen up and look her best before she had to face him again. "That's very thoughtful of you, but I've been sitting for most of the last twenty-four hours and actually would like nothing more than to relax in a hot bath."
The woman switched her gaze to Alexio and muttered something in Greek. He responded by fanning his hands, palms down, and said quietly, "Do not fuss yourself, Erika." Then, addressing Brianna, attempted to ease the unmistakable tension in the air. "My wife is worried that she has yet to unpack your suitcases and prepare the clothes you wish to wear to dinner."
"Please don't be," Brianna told her. "I'm used to traveling and can manage perfectly well on my own."
Erika didn't quite sniff in disdain, but she came close. "Dimitrios will not like it. He has instructed us to treat you as if you are royalty."
"I'll make sure he knows that you have. Now, if you'll please show me to my room … ?"
"This way, then."
As Brianna might have expected, the suite she'd been assigned outshone anything the best hotel in Athens could provide. Large and airy, it had a sitting alcove at one end beyond which a deck overlooked the sea and sprawling rear gardens whose centerpiece was a huge saltwater infinity pool. The finest linens draped the bed. A mirrored dressing room connected to a bathroom completely outfitted in travertine marble. Here was a place to which she could retreat, should things become too heated and unpleasant with Dimitrios.
"If I've overlooked anything you might need, be so kind as to let me know," Erika said woodenly, preparing to leave with Alexio, who'd followed them upstairs with the suitcases.
Brianna cast an eye over the flower arrangements set at various points about the room, the carafe of iced water and upturned crystal glass on a tray, and remembered the array of toiletries in the bathroom. "I can't imagine there is. Nothing, that is, except-"
"Yes?"
"You mention changing for dinner. Exactly how should I dress?"
"Decently," the woman replied. "In keeping with the standards of this home."
Shocked speechless by such rudeness, Brianna simply stared at her. Apparently just as taken aback, Alexio practically shoved his wife out of the room and closed the door on her before turning to Brianna again. "Erika, her English is not always the best," he offered apologetically. "What she means to say is that dinner is more … civilized than breakfast or lunch. A pretty dress will do very well, but when Kyria Giannakis was alive … " He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Her ideas of what was seemly and proper did not always coincide with her husband's."
"I understand perfectly," Brianna said, and she did. Cecily had never been one to abide by anyone's rules but her own. If her behavior the last time she and Brianna had spent time together was any indication, she'd probably taken delight in flouting her husband's wishes at every turn.
Small wonder then that Erika was so hostile. She probably expected Brianna to be no better than her late twin, and who could blame her? After all, they had been identical, at least in looks, to the point that some people had never learned to tell them apart.
Especially not Dimitrios.
He was waiting in what she supposed was the living room, although "grand salon" better suited the proportions and furnishings of the long, elegant space to which Alexio directed her, just over an hour later. His hair still damp from a recent shower, Dimitrios stood in profile just outside a pair of French doors standing open to the night, a glass of amber liquid cradled in his hand, and Brianna's first thought on seeing him was that she'd overdressed for the occasion.
He wore a long-sleeved white shirt but no tie, and his trousers, though beautifully tailored, were light gray, his shoes Italian leather loafers. She, on the other hand, had put on the only dinner dress she'd brought with her. Of black silk jersey, which traveled well and took up almost no room in a suitcase, it draped softly over one shoulder, left the other one bare, and fell almost to her ankles. Platinum hoops studded with tiny diamonds swung from her ears and she'd pinned up her hair in a sophisticated swirl on top of her head. That, in combination with the three-inch heels of her strappy black sandals, left her standing close to six feet tall. Even so, when he crossed the room to greet her, he loomed over her by a good three inches, and she had to tilt her head to meet his dark gaze.
She thought she was prepared. That nothing he said or did could touch her. That she could withstand anything he threw at her-his scorn, his hostility-and that they would bounce off the hard shell of her indifference and return to him a hundredfold. But seeing him again flung her head-first back into that painful abyss of longing she'd fought so desperately to overcome.
He was still so lean and hard and sexy that her mouth ran dry at the sight of him. She'd forgotten how big he was, how his thick black hair curled a little, no matter how severely he tried to tame it. She'd forgotten how beautiful he was, and how his mouth curved in a half smile when he was amused and trying not to show it. She'd forgotten how it felt to be the woman who was the object of his attention.
"Well, Brianna, I never thought so much time would pass before we met again, nor that it would be under such trying circumstances," he said, shaking her hand.
The last time she'd seen him-apart from a fleeting encounter at Cecily's funeral-he'd held her in his arms and begged her to stay the night with him in his stateroom. He'd been naked, his aroused flesh, hot and urgent, pressed against her, even though they'd made love as recently as fifteen minutes earlier. It had taken every last ounce of willpower for her to leave him.
It took even more to feel his fingers close so impersonally around hers now, and not tremble from the contact, brief though it had been. "I hope I got here in time."
"For dinner? Yes. We won't sit down to eat for a few minutes yet."
"That's not what I meant, Dimitrios. I was referring to your little girl. How is she?"
"Poppy's condition remains unchanged." He turned to where various decanters stood on a side table alongside a silver ice bucket containing an open bottle of champagne. "May I offer you something to drink?"
"I don't know," she said. "Am I allowed alcohol?"
She hoped she was. Normally not much of a drinker-an occasional glass of wine was her limit-just then she was rattled enough to latch on to anything that might fortify her.
"Let's ask the expert," he said, and flung an inquiring glance over his shoulder. "What do you think, Doctor? May she have a little champagne?"
Footsteps, light as a dancer's, fell into the silence following his question, and a moment later the figure of a woman somewhere in her late twenties or early thirties appeared from the shadows of the moon-washed terrace beyond the French doors. "I don't see why not. A glass or two of wine isn't going to make any difference one way or the other."
"Glahss," she'd said, her well-modulated voice overlaid with a distinctly English accent.
Approaching Dimitrios, she held out her own empty crystal flute. "In fact, I wouldn't mind a refill myself, if you're offering. Might as well take advantage of a night off. It doesn't happen often enough to go uncelebrated."
Blond, petite and elegant in a pencil-slim black skirt and pale-pink blouse, she barely reached Dimitrios's shoulder. Beside her, Brianna felt like an Amazon.