The Greek's Forbidden Bride. Cathy Williams

      Things didn’t seem so bad in the morning.

      She woke early, missing the comforts of her own place and missing her son. Michael was still sleeping and she smiled fondly at the figure curled under the blanket. He could have shared her bed, he knew that, but he had chosen the sofa and she had been quietly relieved. The only body she was accustomed to sharing her space with was that of a five year old, and it would have been uncomfortable having Michael in bed with her, even though he would have kept to his side. He was not a restless sleeper.

      Abby clambered out of bed. Dozing had become a thing of the past. Ever since she had had Jamie her body clock seemed to have been reset to waking up early and collapsing in bed by ten.

      She tiptoed across to Michael and gently shook him until he had surfaced into a state of groggy wakefulness.

      ‘I need to phone Rebecca and speak to Jamie,’ she whispered, stroking back his hair, which was sticking up in odd directions. ‘Where’s the phone in this place? I don’t want to burst into anyone’s bedroom but I might as well call now while everyone’s still asleep.’

      ‘Out of the bedroom…hmm…’ He half sat up and frowned. ‘God, it’s been so long since I’ve been here…Why don’t you use my mobile instead? You can go down to the pool and call. Out through the front door and then turn right and keep going. Want me to come with you?’

      ‘And deprive you of your beauty sleep?’ Abby grinned. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’ She spent a scant fifteen minutes washing her face and brushing her hair, then she changed into a pair of cropped jeans and a T-shirt and headed out with Michael’s phone.

      This was the first time she had been away from her son and she was missing him as much as she had known she would, even though she knew that he would be fine back in England. He was at school during the day and he adored Rebecca, who had moved in for the duration of the week to look after him.

      She was already dialling the number as she made her way outside to the pool area, which was a way away from the front of the house and surrounded by protective foliage. She glanced up once and almost faltered at the beauty of the spot.

      Although the gardens were lush, the natural glory of the caldera was in its rocky magnificence, sloping downwards to the still, flat water of the volcano.

      She could admire later, she thought, turning her back on both the pool and the view and finding a little spot of privacy on a chair by the side. Right now she needed to get through to her son before he headed off to school.

      His voice, when she finally heard it down the end of the line, after a few minutes of chatting to Rebecca, brought an instant smile to her lips. She drew her legs up and leaned back, eyes closed so that she could picture his little face, her long hair tumbling over the back of the chair.

      He had a secret. He wasn’t supposed to tell. It took all of ten seconds for him to gleefully inform her that Rebecca had tucked a chocolate bar into his lunch-box. But there was some fruit too, he hastened to assure her. He babbled on, with Abby interjecting here and there, content just to listen to his childish ramblings. In her mind, she could picture him with his toffee-coloured hair rumpled, dwarfed in his uniform, which she had sensibly bought one size up so that it could last a bit longer. His thin legs would be dangling from the kitchen stool and his grey socks would be pushed down because all the other boys wore theirs like that.

      ‘I’ll call again later,’ she promised, hearing the catch in her voice and taking a deep breath to steady herself. ‘Don’t forget to draw me a picture for when I get back. We can put it up on the notice-board next to the one of the dinosaur.’

      From the veranda Theo watched silently as the telephone call was ended and she remained where she was, her face soft, lost in her own private thoughts.

      His mouth tightened as he considered her. There was only one thing that could make a woman look like that and it was a man. And there was only one reason why she would have slunk out of the house at the ridiculously early hour of six-thirty to make a call, and it was because she couldn’t afford to make the call in front of Michael.

      With the fluid, soundless movements of a panther, he fetched his towel from the bathroom and took the roundabout route to the pool.

      Abby, still pleasantly absorbed in thinking about Jamie, was unaware of anyone approaching until he spoke and then she jumped, spinning around in shock.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she stammered, half rising as he emerged to stand in front of her. ‘I didn’t hear you coming.’

      She felt her skin start to prickle with a mixture of fear and awareness as she took him in.

      The full force of his male beauty hit her like a sledgehammer. He was more bronzed than his brother and vibrated with a powerful masculine attraction that Michael somehow lacked. The light of day did nothing to diminish the impression. If anything, he seemed more imposing with the harsh early sun accentuating his strong, hard features and those cold, fathomless eyes that were now boring into her with as little warmth as they had done the night before.

      ‘I have never developed the habit of sleeping in,’ Theo drawled, ‘even when I am taking time off work. And neither, I gather, have you. I could not help but notice that you were making a phone call.’

      ‘You mean you were spying on me?’ Abby asked, wondering wildly how long he had been standing behind her before making his presence known. Had he overheard her conversation? She and Michael had agreed that they wouldn’t mention Jamie just yet. One step at a time, he had said, and step one would be to introduce her to his family.

      For different reasons, Abby knew that it would be a huge mistake to breathe a word about her son to the man carefully and insolently looking down at her.

      ‘Now I find that a very odd remark,’ Theo said speculatively. She had looked young and vulnerable last night, in her baby-pink dress, and she still looked young and vulnerable now, even though she was in figure-hugging faded cropped jeans and a T-shirt that barely skimmed her top half, leaving a slither of flat stomach visible. Her hair, he could now see, was a streaky blonde colour, the sort that most women would pay to attain, though he doubted she had been one of them. Young, vulnerable and one hundred per cent natural. Vital ingredients when it came to trapping a man, because what man could resist the charm of the untouched?

      ‘Why do you imagine that I would be spying on you?’ he asked. ‘Surely that would imply that I might think you have something to hide. And you haven’t, have you…?’

      Abby felt telltale colour spread slowly across her cheeks. She was sitting bolt upright; their eyes locked together and she opened her mouth to laugh off his remark but nothing emerged for what seemed like the longest time.

      Something to hide. Where to begin? she could have asked. The thought that