Constantinou's Mistress Page 8

  ‘And it is only for one week. You can spend the rest of the morning briefing your stand-in. I have already had a word with Bob and filled him in on what I will be doing. Once you’ve done that, you are free to go and see to your packing.’

  ‘But…I can’t just take off…’

  ‘Why not? I am sure Robert will understand. You have told me a number of times what an understanding man he is.’

  ‘What about clothes?’ Lucy asked faintly. She had never done anything so impulsive in her life before, even though it was not of her doing, strictly speaking. ‘What sort of weather…?’

  ‘Hot. Very hot. Take a couple of hours to go shopping and that is an order. You will need casual clothes only. No suits. It will be baking hot, so…shorts, T-shirts, halter-necks, that type of thing…’ he flirted with images of her scantily clad ‘…and bikinis, of course. Apart from the three pools at the hotel, the beach is a short walk away from the hotel front.’

  ‘But won’t we be working all day?’ Lucy asked helplessly.

  ‘We will be working, naturally, but not every hour of every day. And there will be no formal meetings, so even when we are working you will be free to dress down. Now, why don’t you finish up here and you can go and do your shopping? The tickets should be with us at the check-in desk tomorrow.’ He told her what time she needed to be at the airport, what time they would be leaving. The rest he left to her imagination, and then he settled down to enjoy the remainder of his day in pleasurable anticipation of the week ahead.

  While Lucy pelted her way through Kensington, half thrilled to be going on a little adventure to a beautiful island, even though she knew that it was work, and half terrified at the prospect of being in Nick’s presence for a week without the helpful intrusions of telephones, computers and meetings.

  By the time she got to her flat she had bought a shameful number of things, which she guiltily justified as due to her considering the short notice she had been given. Shorts, small, stretchy tops, some sandals and a couple of lightweight dresses that she could wear to any meetings.

  Her suitcase, when packed, was admirably compact. Just sufficient to last the week. No falling into the trap of packing a change of outfit for every ten seconds of the day to find that only two were needed for the entire duration of the stay.

  Nick, the following morning, was suitably impressed by her economical one suitcase.

  ‘Very sensible,’ he said, grinning. ‘Most women would use that suitcase as a holdall for their make-up.’ He enjoyed watching her bristle for a few seconds, leaning against the pillar with his suit carrier propped up next to him.

  Even dressed down as he was, in khaki-coloured trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, he still exuded a frightening aura of powerful, expensive sexuality.

  Alongside him, Lucy felt ill-dressed and naïvely unsophisticated in her simple, straight, light grey skirt and pale blue cotton top. Any one of his admiring females would have dressed for the part and would have been looking as ultra-casually elegant as he was.

  He was still smiling indulgently at her as he led her to the first class check-in desk, where there was no queue and where they were treated with a subservience that bordered on fawning.

  Then on to a special lounge, where Nick was impressively at ease while she tried hard not to appear too wide-eyed and gawking.

  ‘Are we allowed to talk in here?’ she half joked in a subdued voice. ‘It’s more deathly quiet than our local library.’

  ‘Oh, we can talk,’ Nick replied gravely, ‘just so long as we keep it down. We wouldn’t want to raise the dead, would we?’ He looked over to where two middle-aged businessmen were happily sleeping, and Lucy, following his eyes, shared his joke and grinned.

  Nick felt as if he was seeing a thousand intriguing facets of her for the very first time. The way she tilted her chin up in a manner that tried and failed to appear haughty, the way her mouth had a habit of parting to reveal a glimpse of her pearly front teeth, the way the little sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose seemed to darken when she blushed.

  ‘So was Robert all right with your leaving him behind at such short notice?’ he asked the minute they were sitting on the plush, huge chairs.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Lucy asked a little testily. Did he think that she was one of those women who prepared a week’s supply of food for their boyfriends and invited them to bring their ironing and dirty washing round whenever they wanted?

  ‘No reason.’ Nick left enough of a silence to hang between them to be ensured of her attentiveness when he next spoke. ‘It’s just that some men think that an engagement ring allows them to start calling the shots.’ He made a show of glancing at her finger. ‘Oh, you’re not wearing an engagement ring!’

  ‘No, I’m not.’

  ‘Have you not bought it as yet?’

  ‘No. I…’

  Nick inclined his head to one side with a show of lively interest.

  ‘I’m still thinking about it,’ Lucy eventually admitted.

  ‘Very wise,’ Nick said solemnly, ‘very sensible.’ Then he laughed. ‘I would not like to see my eminently efficient secretary quit so that she can retire from life and start having babies…’

  ‘Oh, no. Robert…’ Lucy paused, finding herself in a trap. Quitting work to start a family was precisely what Robert had in mind for her. ‘We haven’t discussed any of that as yet. Like I said, nothing has been finalised.’

  ‘And have you told him about…?’

  ‘About…?’ Their eyes met and Lucy had a heady sensation of being pulled under by the sheer magnetic force of his dark stare. He raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise that she didn’t seem to know what he was talking about.

  ‘About us, naturally,’ he inserted silkily.

  ‘There is no us.’

  ‘Well, perhaps I phrased it badly. I meant…have you told him that you and I slept together…?’

  ‘Once!’ A steady pulse seemed to beat inside her head.

  ‘So…I take it nothing has been said…’

  ‘There’s no reason to…’

  ‘Is he the jealous type?’ Nick raised one eyebrow questioningly.

  ‘No!’

  ‘No, I suppose not, or else he might have kicked up a bit of a fuss at your spending one week on a tropical island with your boss…’

  ‘I’m not spending one week on a tropical island with you!’ Lucy denied hotly. ‘You make it sound as if…as if…’

  ‘As if…what?’ He frowned in apparent bemusement as she became more entangled in the knots she had already created for herself.

  ‘Well…it’s not a holiday, is it? We’re going there to work.’ At last she managed to drag her eyes away from him but she was still intensely aware of his dark, hooded stare as he continued to watch her.

  ‘Of course we are. The only reason I asked was because I am a great believer in trust.’

  Lucy stole a sidelong look at the harsh lines of his face. His mood had changed. From his light-hearted teasing of a minute ago, she could see that he had closed the shutters and was broodingly contemplating dark thoughts that she couldn’t begin to guess at.

  But, she thought with dismay, he was probably thinking about his wife. He had opened the subject of her getting married and it must have brought a rush of memories flooding back, memories of his own marriage and the trust and love he had lost in one terrible freak accident.

  While she floundered in her own miserable thoughts their flight was called and she was spared the agony of trying to find something suitably innocuous to say.

  When he did finally take the conversational lead, they were on the plane, and he began to chat easily and casually with her about the various places he had visited over a period of years. She knew that he was well travelled but she hadn’t known quite how well travelled. He seemed to have been everywhere and to have seen far more than the average fun-seeking tourist.

  And she was a good listener. Normally on flights Nick slept. But her obvious
interest in what he had to say kept him awake, and it was with a little start of surprise that he heard the announcement that they could fasten their seat belts in preparation for the landing.

  ‘It’s conversation,’ he told her. ‘Seems to cut the travel time in half.’

  Lucy laughed. ‘I wouldn’t know. The last time I went abroad was years ago, and even then it was to the Med. Not exactly the longest flight in the world. I’ve never been further afield.’ She paused and then confided, ‘Dad was never a great believer in throwing money away on long-haul holidays.’

  ‘Is that why you’re always such a sensible little thing?’ Nick asked, knowing that his indulgent reference to her stature would make her hackles rise. It would also, he thought, reassure her that his motives were entirely innocent, despite his leading conversation earlier on. He could have kicked himself for falling into the trap of talking about her boyfriend.

  Dammit, he had brought her over here to forget about him! But something inside him compelled him to elicit everything he could about the nice, unadventurous, stunningly dull Robert, as he liked to think of him.

  ‘I’m not sensible all of the time!’ Lucy snapped obligingly, only realising that he had been pulling her leg when he shot her an amused, crooked smile, to which she responded with a sheepish smile of her own.

  ‘Why are you so provocative?’ she asked sternly and he laughed.

  ‘I like to see you blush,’ he admitted honestly. ‘Even the freckles on your nose look outraged.’ He lightly traced the bridge of her nose with one finger and her breath caught in her throat.

  ‘That’s wicked.’ Her voice sounded shaky, at least to her own ears, and she hoped that he didn’t notice.

  ‘I’m a wicked man,’ Nick murmured, which sent her pulses into further overdrive.

  ‘In which case, I wonder why you didn’t bring your date here with you to keep you company.’

  ‘Date? What date?’ The frown he gave her was one of genuine puzzlement.

  ‘The leggy brunette who was waiting for you at your table when you bumped into Robert and me the other evening.’

  ‘Ah. That date. Hardly seemed fair considering this is work and Marcia has an allergic reaction to work. Besides, my cousin and I took her out for a meal. Hardly what I would call a date. In fact, I should not think that I will be seeing that particular leggy brunette again.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Lucy felt a treacherous rush of relief as they stood up to begin disembarking the luxurious plane. ‘Don’t tell me she had the audacity to make a nuisance of herself!’ This was more like it, she thought. He went out with glamorous models and she watched in seemingly amused cynicism from the outside.

  She bent to retrieve her handbag from where it had slipped in the foot well and straightened to find herself staring at the broad, muscular expanse of his chest.

  ‘Actually,’ he said softly, not moving an inch so that she was compelled to look up at him, ‘I came to the conclusion that Marcia is not my type after all.’

  ‘You surprise me,’ Lucy said with a forced laugh and he continued to look at her with utter seriousness.

  ‘I hope so.’ Three small words that crashed through her consciousness like boulders of lead. He could read the wariness on her face and continued, smiling, ‘I am a great believer in never being predictable.’

  Which, Lucy thought, barely noticing the details of the airport, allowing herself to be whisked along, is why you make the most unsuitable man in the world. Because, dull though it seems, predictability is the essence of a peaceful life.

  And peaceful lives are for people who have no sense of adventure, a little voice whispered into her ear, a voice which Lucy resolutely ignored.

  If the first leg of the trip had been quick and smooth, the second leg proved to be anything but. The airport was pleasant enough, and it was exciting to be surrounded by people of a different nationality, speaking with a different accent, but their connecting plane was delayed, and when it arrived it was so incredibly small that Lucy couldn’t help but experience a slight twinge of apprehension.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Nick instructed, placing a reassuring hand on the small of her back. ‘We won’t end up in the ocean surrounded by our luggage and a hundred hungry barracuda.’

  ‘How do you know? It doesn’t look as though it could walk the distance, never mind fly.’

  He laughed, and in the gathering dusk glanced down at her fair head, fighting the urge to steady her nerves by wrapping his arms around her.

  ‘Trust me,’ he told her.

  And, quite ludicrously, she did, even though, when pressed, he admitted that he knew not the first thing about flying and would be at a complete loss should the rickety plane begin to spiral downwards.

  There was just something about his bulk that made a mockery of her fears.

  He seemed to know precisely what to do, where to go, and his massive self-assurance meant that he was treated like royalty for the entire duration of their trip, right down to when they boarded the boat that would take them to the exclusive island which was the home of the Tradewinds Hotel.

  It was dark by the time they eventually arrived. Too dark to appreciate the lush scenery, although there were enough strange noises to stir her imagination—the steady, rhythmic chirping of the crickets in the undergrowth, the occasional guttural sounds of the frogs and unidentifiable rustles as they covered the short walk from the car to the hotel that could have been any number of things.

  And it was balmy, with the merest hint of a breeze blowing up from the sea, which was a black strip behind them as they approached the hotel. The coconut trees thickly lined the narrow road, and Lucy could not get enough of the view. Through the open window of the car she could hear the rustle of the leaves and see their dark silhouettes swaying gently.

  ‘The sand is as white and as fine as powder,’ Nick said from next to her, looking with amusement as she drank in the little she could see, ‘the skies are bright blue and the sea is coral reefed so it is as calm and as blue as a swimming pool.’

  Lucy reluctantly turned to look at him. ‘And you prefer to live in London?’

  ‘One can have a diet of paradise for only so long,’ he told her wryly, ‘then it loses its charm. At least for me. There’s the hotel.’

  It wasn’t quite what she was expecting. In her head she’d had images of a standard hotel, large and imposing and shrieking grandeur.

  What she saw, bright under the floodlights at the front, was a low, sprawling Colonial-style ranch house, its impressive frontage overrun with flowers, the colours of which promised to be even more extravagant in full sunshine than they appeared under the false lighting.

  ‘It coils in an S shape,’ he was explaining next to her, ‘with gardens and pools within the inner areas. The restaurants are housed in separate thatched buildings towards the back. The intention behind this hotel was to create a feeling of a home away from home.’

  ‘Some home,’ Lucy commented, raising her eyebrows ironically. ‘If my home ever resembles this I won’t need to go anywhere on holiday.’

  Nick smiled in reply.

  ‘Are we expected?’ she asked, as the car drew to a leisurely stop outside the entrance to the hotel.

  ‘No. Working on the assumption that Rawlings may well have something to hide, I thought it best for us to surprise him with our little visit. That way there is no chance that anything could be accidentally misplaced.’

  ‘So…’

  ‘So…you and I are registered as Mr and Mrs Lewis and will be sharing one of the suites overlooking the beach.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Little joke.’ Still, he found the undiluted horror in her voice at his teasing piece of fiction a little irritating. Wanting her was beginning to have tentacles he had not predicted. Not only did he want to sleep with her for purely selfish reasons, but he also wanted her to want him. Not merely to be attracted to him but to crave him with a need that was greater than all logic and reason.

  ‘Oh,
right,’ Lucy said weakly, ‘very funny. Ha, ha.’

  ‘You and I are business partners checking in for a week’s relaxation in order to work on some confidential data. Hence the individual rooms. I’ve booked both under your surname. Of course, tomorrow the fiction will no longer be necessary.’

  ‘Won’t you be recognised?’ Lucy whispered as their luggage was removed from the car and the porter who had appeared from out of the shadows asked them to follow him.

  ‘I doubt it very much. I have only been here twice in the space of nearly two years, both times with Gina. The truth is that so many celebrities use this particular retreat, the staff are virtually trained to pay no attention to faces.’

  It was true. They were checked in with a stunning absence of curiosity. Nick barely seemed to notice his surroundings, but Lucy was very much aware of everything around her and it was an effort not to gawp. This sort of grand-scale luxury was the sort of thing taken for granted by the rich and the famous, but really so utterly out of her reach that she was acutely conscious of her lowly status in comparison.

  The floors were all wooden, but the wood was rich with age, and huge, soft chairs in pale wooden frames dotted the open area. Behind the man checking them in was an imposing piece of whitish driftwood shaped like a twisted statue and rising up from a squat ceramic pot topped with pebbles. Fans whirred overhead, ensuring a constant supply of cool air so that the doors and windows could all remain open throughout the day.

  ‘We’ll make our own way to our rooms,’ Nick said, the minute the check-in was complete, and this statement was greeted with the faintest of nods.

  ‘You want Rudolph here to at least point out the restaurants?’ the man asked, and when Nick shook his head he grinned broadly, revealing even white teeth. ‘Well, just follow the smell of the food. Mabel is the best cook on all these islands.’

  ‘It’s very quiet,’ Lucy remarked, tripping along to keep pace with Nick, who strode ahead with their two bags, barely appearing to notice their weight.

  He slowed and glanced at her. ‘There really aren’t thousands of rooms,’ he explained, ‘and the rooms are spacious enough and designed in such a way that privacy is guaranteed. Several actually lead out to their own private handmade rock pools if guests prefer to remain utterly on their own.’