Kyriakis's Innocent Mistress. Diana Hamilton
think you could help me,’ she opened, as he knelt in front of her and began to clean the cut on her ankle with cotton wool soaked in something really soothing.
Dimitri frowned. That smile of hers would light up a room. But what gave him pause was the complete lack of artifice. In his experience gold-diggers—and that included beautiful young women who would marry an old man for his money—had artifice oozing from every pore. ‘That is what I’m doing,’ he stated, dabbing the cut dry and applying a plaster.
‘No—I mean—yes. What I mean is—’ Bonnie tried quite desperately to ignore the fluttery feeling that had taken over her insides as soon as those long, cool fingers of his had touched her skin. Tried to stop wanting to run her fingers through the thick, silky black hair that fell in such intriguing disarray over his downbent head. She wanted to touch it so much it was almost a physical pain. ‘I mean—well, I’m trying to locate someone.’
‘Yes?’ Dimitri bound her ankle tightly, and deftly secured the bandage with a tiny pin. It seemed as if he was about to discover what his father’s woman was doing on the island. ‘That should support it adequately, though you’ll have to rest it for a couple of days. You were saying?’ he prompted coolly.
Bonnie blinked. Having this hunk kneeling at her feet took her breath away. No man, not even Troy—and she’d been on the brink of marrying him, for goodness’ sake!—had ever had this effect on her.
Wondering where her sensible hat had got to, she pushed on. ‘He’s got a villa somewhere around here. He doesn’t come often, but he’s here now. And, oh—how silly!—you don’t know who I’m talking about! His name’s Dimitri Kyriakis—have you heard of him? Do you know where his place is?’
Dimitri got to his feet, straightening his lean, powerful figure to its full six feet three inches. His narrowed eyes were darkly probing, and the shock of hearing his name on his father’s bimbo’s lips hardened his voice. ‘Why do you want to know?’
Very few people knew of his bolthole. No more than three. All of them were completely trusted, loyal employees who would die rather than disobey his orders. One of them being his manservant Stavros.
So it had to be down to his enemy. Andreas must have had his spies out, tracking him minutely even as he had tracked the older man through the years. It made sense. Dimitri’s brain clicked into overdrive. He didn’t like mysteries, and this one was solved in ten seconds flat.
He could think of at least two reasons why the old man had sent this woman to find him.
To push him over a cliff to get rid of him.
Or, and far more likely, to use every feminine wile and trick in the book to get close to him and learn of his future intentions via pillow talk.
Did the old man think he would be that indiscreet? That much of a sucker?
But it would be interesting to find out how far she was prepared to go…
Bonnie’s heart was busily sinking. For a moment there Stavros had looked really intimidating. And now draining disappointment had taken her over. Was he going to be the same as the other islanders? Button-lipped when it came to giving information about the revered wealthy part-time residents on whom a large part of the island economy depended? It certainly looked like it.
And there was no way she could answer his question. The reason Andreas wanted her to contact Dimitri Kyriakis was between him and his son—private, and not to be given out to the first stranger who asked. She felt utterly hopeless, and, as that was an emotion she had never encountered before, faintly queasy.
Then everything changed.
‘I will make enquiries for you.’
In receipt of the shatteringly charismatic smile that came her way, accompanied by that welcome and unexpected offer of help, Bonnie breathed, ‘Thank you! I’d be so grateful!’ and wondered why she sounded like a giddy schoolgirl instead of the sensible woman she knew herself to be.
Just how grateful? Dimitri wondered, marvelling at the tightening of his groin at the prospect of finding out—an instant physical reaction he hadn’t experienced since he was a teenager.
He leaned forward and took her hands. And as his fingers tightened around hers and he met her huge smoky eyes he knew that finding out would be no problem for either of them.
She oozed warm, womanly willingness from the hazy eyes, the parted pink lips and the hardening swell of her bounteous breasts, confined by the thin top she was wearing. She was hot for him. He would swear to it.
He discreetly screened his dark eyes beneath thickly fringing black lashes. Play it cool—see how far she would go. If she’d taken her orders from his father to seduce him into revealing his future plans, then she would have to work for the privilege of sharing his bed. Providing he could keep his amazingly rampant libido in check, it would amuse him to watch her at work.
And when he submitted, as he knew he eventually would—because why would he deny himself the undoubted pleasure?—she would learn nothing from him, have only failure to report.
He knew himself to be a past master at getting what he wanted with the least effort to himself. ‘Where are you staying?’ he asked.
He was still holding her hands. It felt more than good. He was a total stranger, and she knew nothing about him. But he made her feel safe. Because he’d come to her rescue when she’d been floundering around on those rocks? Had promised to help her locate the whereabouts of Andreas’s son? Or was there more to it than that?
‘By the harbour, with Athena—the widow Stephanides,’ she answered, her voice strangely thick, her mouth trembling just a little as he slid his hands until they rested beneath her elbows.
‘I know her.’ He helped her to stand on her uninjured foot, a supportive arm sliding around her small waist. ‘It is well known that she caters for the occasional backpacker who turns up on the island. But you are no backpacker.’
A thread of humour laced his voice as the pressure of his arm brought her lush body into closer contact with his. With his free hand he brushed the silvery fall of her hair away from her face with gentle fingers. ‘You are on a man-hunt, ne?’
Wild colour flooded Bonnie’s cheeks. Her lips parted but no sound emerged. Put like that, it sounded awful—full of wicked sexual connotations. And she felt wicked, she thought chaotically. Her body was straining against this half-naked man, his bare torso hot and hard against her tingling breasts, his naked thighs tangling with hers.
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