LITMIR.BIZ

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doorstep, deposited there by his uniformed chauffeur who’d been waiting to meet her when she landed at Eleftherios Venizelos International Airport in Spata. Changing her original travel plans had been easy enough. Her suitcases had stood already packed for her much-anticipated, month-long hiatus in Bermuda, and the clothes she’d packed—casual summertime outfits for the most part—would serve her equally well in Athens.

      “I’m perfectly capable of getting myself from the airport to a hotel,” she’d said, when she’d relayed her arrival date and time to Dimitrios.

      He, however, had vetoed any such idea. “You will be met,” he informed her flatly, “and you will be accommodated in my house where you will be pampered and cared for throughout your stay. It’s the very least I can do. I am, after all, deeply in your debt.”

      His house? The word didn’t come close to describing the residence confronting her now, and she hadn’t even seen the inside yet. Perched on a low rise of cliff above the Aegean, and surrounded by lush gardens, its soaring white stucco exterior blushing in the sunset, the place was intimidatingly grand. Palatial, even—and Brianna wasn’t exactly unused to luxury. But then, what else had she expected? She knew from experience that Dimitrios wasn’t a man to do things by half.

      She’d have laughed at the irony of the thought if she hadn’t been so tense she could hardly breathe. Although she would never admit it, the prospect of seeing him again, let alone living under his roof, terrified her. He’d shredded her heart once and it had taken the better part of four years for it to heal. She wasn’t keen on having him trample all over it a second time. Yet proximity gave opportunity for just such an outcome, especially under the present emotional circumstances.

      “Well, you could have said no,” her longtime agent and friend, Carter Maguire, had pointed out, when Brianna explained the reason she had to cancel all assignments in the immediate future.

      To Dimitrios, yes. But how did any woman turn her back on a critically ill three-year-old?

      His estate lay a few miles south of Rafina. The chauffeur, a taciturn man who’d uttered not one word during the thirty-minute drive from the airport, dumped her luggage beside her, reached forward to yank on the bell pull hanging by a chain beside the front door, then without waiting to see if anyone answered, climbed back behind the wheel of the Mercedes-Benz and drove away.

      Over the fading sound of the departing car, she heard footsteps approach from inside the house and braced herself. The moment of truth had arrived. If she could weather this first meeting with Dimitrios, the worst would be over.

      But the man who opened the door was too short, too genial, too bald and about twenty years too old to pass for her brother-in-law. With a mile-wide smile, he ushered her across the threshold. “Kalispera, Despinis Connelly, kai kherete! Good evening and welcome! We have been expecting you and are all so happy you have arrived.”

      We? She cast a nervous glance around the vast, marble-floored entrance hall, expecting Dimitrios to appear momentarily, but found nothing beyond a profusion of flowering shrubs in jardinieres, and a floating staircase leading to the upper floors.

      The man hauled her suitcases inside. “I am Alexio,” he informed her cheerfully. “I and my wife, Erika, we run the household staff. She is waiting to meet you in the courtyard with a light refreshment, and later will show you to your room. Meanwhile, I will have your luggage taken care of.”

      “Thank you,” Brianna said. “You’re very kind.”

      “Parakalo.” He inclined his head. “You’re welcome. Dinner will be served at nine o’clock, after Dimitrios returns.”

      “He’s not here?”

      Alexio’s smile dimmed. “He’s at the clinic with the little one,” he explained, escorting her to the far end of the hall and through open glass doors to an inner courtyard.

      “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.

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