The World's Most Notorious Greek (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 2

You know this is wrong. Walk away.

  But the air between them was thickening with the strangest kind of tension. Hot and electric, like the atmosphere just before a summer storm.

  She needed to leave, get away from him and his disturbing presence. Get away from the rush of what should not be excitement that crowded in her throat and from the fluttering in her stomach that felt like the wings of a thousand butterflies all beating at once. Get away from this physical response that she knew was wrong and bad for her, yet could not ignore, no matter how hard she tried.

  But she didn’t move. She stayed exactly where she was.

  He started towards her like a great panther stalking its prey, moving with purpose, approaching her without any hesitation, coming so close that she could see drops of water glistening on his skin where he hadn’t finished drying himself. She could smell, too, the fresh scent of the lake on him, undercut with something warmer, spicier and deeply masculine.

  Her breath caught. Did men always smell this good or was it just him?

  He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to look at him, which she couldn’t recall ever having to do with anyone before.

  ‘Look at you.’ His deep voice was soft and warm with a familiarity that held her rooted to the spot. ‘You have leaves in your hair.’ He reached up and she was powerless to stop him as he casually extracted something from the tangle down her back. ‘You also look like Diana, the huntress—did you know that?’ He extracted another leaf. ‘What were you hunting, Diana? Was it me, hmm? Well, you can stop your hunt now. You’ve caught me.’ Then without any hesitation he slid the fingers of one hand into her hair and closed them into a fist, holding her firmly but very gently, the slight pressure making her tilt her head back ever further.

  Willow was absolutely transfixed, her heartbeat so loud she couldn’t hear anything else. Couldn’t see anything else but the midnight blue of his eyes.

  She’d never been touched like that before. Never had a man stand so close she could feel his heat, smell his warm, spicy scent. Never had strong fingers in her hair, carefully securing her.

  Hunger rose inside her, forbidden and hot and desperate, though for what she had absolutely no idea.

  But he seemed to know. Because he murmured, ‘Time to take your trophy, my huntress.’ Then leaned down and covered her mouth with his.

  Achilles Templeton, Seventh Duke of Audley and known throughout the gossip columns of the world simply as Temple, was used to kissing women he didn’t know.

  He’d done it many times before, and it was always a pleasure. Women in general were always a pleasure and he made very sure they also thought the same of him. But he generally kept his attentions to socialites and party girls, experienced women who knew exactly who he was and what they were getting themselves into with him.

  Not complete strangers wandering his estate grounds with leaves in their hair after being caught spying on him swimming.

  In fact, he wasn’t sure what had made him kiss this particular stranger.

  If she’d caught him while running, he might have blamed it on the adrenaline high. But he hadn’t been on an adrenaline high as he’d come out of the water. No, if anything he’d been cold as ice. It was his usual state, his cool control firmly in place, as it had been since he’d arrived at Thornhaven early that morning to tidy up his father’s affairs.

  But there were a lot of old ghosts in the old manor house and so he’d decided on exercise to get rid of them, going out for a run almost as soon as he’d arrived. But even twenty miles and a swim in Thornhaven’s icy lake hadn’t done a single thing to shift the dread inside him, the dread that had gripped him the minute he’d crossed the threshold. A dread that even cool distance couldn’t shift.

  It had only been the woman who’d provided the distraction he’d craved.

  He’d caught a glimpse of her bright hair as he’d come out of the water and had been amused at how she’d tried to stay hidden. Because there was no hiding that brilliant shade of gold, not in amongst all that green.

  Then all his amusement had vanished as she’d stepped out from behind the trees.

  Tall, statuesque, her hair hanging down her back in a tangle all the shades of blonde and tawny, burnt toffee and gold, gilt and even a few streaks of silver. Her face was vivid, her features a mesmerising combination of sensual and girl-next-door, and her eyes were the intense golden brown of fine topaz. What she was wearing, he afterwards couldn’t recall.

  What he did know was that she was a golden goddess of a woman and the way she was looking at him was as if she’d never seen anything like him in all her life, as if she was dying of heat and thirst, and he was icy cold water...

  Women looked at him all the time with varying degrees of desire and avarice, but he couldn’t remember being looked at with wonder and that had hit him like a punch to the gut.

  It had melted the dread clean away.

  He’d only meant to take the leaves out of her hair. At least, that was what he’d told himself as he’d stridden towards her, the chemistry between them crackling and snapping like fresh green logs on a roaring fire.

  He hadn’t meant to slide his fingers into that glorious tangle of hair. He hadn’t meant to bend his head and cover that beautiful mouth with his.

  By rights, she should have slapped his face and called the police. But she hadn’t.

  She hadn’t even moved. She’d just looked up at him, a hunger burning in her eyes and a question she probably didn’t even know she was asking.

  So he’d given her the answer. Without a single thought.

  Her mouth was warm under his, but he could feel her tension. Could sense her shock. So he remained still, his lips gently resting on hers, his fingers curled around the silky mass of her hair. Waiting for her to either push him away or take it deeper.

  A shudder went through her, as if she’d been fighting some internal battle and a part of her had surrendered. And her mouth softened under his, opening to let him in.

  His fingers tightened in her hair as he tasted the tartness of blackberries and then something sweeter, like honey. Desire reached up inside him, gripping him by the throat, and he’d deepened the kiss before he was even conscious of doing so, exploring her mouth, chasing that delicious sweet yet tart taste.

  She made a soft sound and he felt her fingers brush lightly, hesitantly over his chest. It felt as if a star had fallen and come to rest on his skin.

  Theos, it burned. The touch centred him, grounded him, got rid of the creeping sense of unreality that coming back to Thornhaven always seemed to inspire in him. The feeling of fading into nothing, becoming a ghost...

  Suddenly the warm touch of her hand changed and it was no longer resting on his chest but pushing hard. Pushing him away.

  He didn’t want to let her go, because he knew if he did that feeling of fading away would return, but he’d never forced himself on anyone who didn’t want him, so he made himself open his hands and let himself be pushed.

  The glint in her eyes had gone molten, like liquid gold in the sunlight, and her cheeks were flushed. Her mouth was full and red, and he could see the fast beat of her pulse at the base of her throat.

  ‘I...’ she began in that rich, smoky voice, a thread of heat running through it. ‘I...don’t know... I can’t...’ She fell silent, breathing fast, staring at him.

  Then before he could say anything she abruptly picked up the basket she’d dropped, turned and fled down the path that led around the lake.

  Achilles stood very still, fighting the urge to go after her, catch her. Take her down on the forest floor and distract himself, ground himself in her lithe, strong body.

  But his urges were always controlled and he didn’t like how uncontrolled this one felt. Anyway, he never chased women, not when they came so easily to him, and so he wasn’t about to start, no matter how much the idea appealed to hi
m.

  The neighbour, she’d said she was. Well, it wouldn’t do to start off his tenure at Thornhaven by distressing the neighbour, now, would it?

  He waited, breathing deeply, the hunger receding. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking to kiss her like that. Clearly he’d let being back here at his family’s estate get to him.

  It wouldn’t happen again, that was for sure.

  He might be famous for his appetites, but his appetites were always controlled. He never let them rule him. He was the one who brought a woman to her knees, never vice versa.

  Feeling more like his usual self, Achilles continued with his run back to the manor house.

  Maybe he’d call up one of his favourite lovers and invite her to spend a weekend in the wild Yorkshire countryside. She probably wouldn’t want to—Jess was a city girl through and through—but she did like having sex with him and that was a considerable inducement.

  He was, after all, very, very good at it.

  He’d nearly reached the house when his mobile went off. He didn’t like to answer it when he was out running, but the sixth sense for trouble that had proved itself useful in his business life kicked in, so he stopped and pulled out his phone, glancing down at the screen.

  It was Jane, his very efficient PA. Which meant it was probably something he needed to deal with.

  He hit the answer button. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There’s a problem with the will,’ she said crisply, getting straight to the point, which was what he liked about her.

  Of course there was a problem with the will. When had his father ever given him anything but problems?

  He stared out at the woods and moors that surrounded the manor house. ‘Explain.’

  ‘The lawyers have just got back to me. Apparently your ownership of the house is an issue. There are certain...codicils in the will that were overlooked.’

  This was not a surprise. Even in death Andrew Templeton was still making sure to torture him.

  ‘What are they?’ he asked, part of him knowing already if not what those exact codicils would be, then certainly the intent of them.

  ‘You must be married,’ Jane said and then, uncharacteristically, hesitated.

  Everything inside Achilles tensed. ‘And?’ he bit out.

  Jane’s voice when she spoke was quiet. ‘And you must also have a son.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  A WEEK LATER, Willow was upstairs in her father’s office giving it a good dusting. It was a small but cosy space at the back of the house, overlooking the little rose garden that she tried to maintain herself since her father hadn’t been able to care for it following his stroke. It didn’t look like much of a garden now, as she knew next to nothing about caring for roses. But she couldn’t afford to employ a gardener, so it was that or nothing.

  The straggly nature of the garden offended her sense of order, so she stopped looking out of the window, paying attention to the already dustless shelves of the office instead. Her father couldn’t deal with stairs, meaning he was barely ever in here, which made dusting pointless, but she didn’t like to see his office look unused so she kept it clean just in case.

  Besides, she liked looking at his collection of books. Not so much his medical textbooks as the ones he had on botany that he kept for interest’s sake. The woods outside had always held a fascination for her and so she liked reading about plants, or anything to do with the natural world. She had dreams every so often, of going to university and doing a science degree, studying Biology and Natural Sciences, but of course that was impossible.

  Not when she barely earned enough to cover her and her father’s existing expenses and maintenance for the old cottage, let alone for university fees. And then there was the ongoing issue of care for him. She could leave him alone for the day while she worked, but not longer than that.

  She definitely wasn’t able to leave him while she undertook a degree, though study by distance might be an option. But still there was the issue of fees.

  It was a situation that both her and her father were unhappy with, but both of them were trapped in it and there wasn’t much to be done.

  She couldn’t leave him alone. He was her father, and she owed it to him. Not only because he’d had to give up his career as a surgeon after his stroke, but also because he’d brought her up after her mother died, and that hadn’t been easy. She’d been a difficult child, hard to manage even for the nannies he’d employed. Eventually he’d been forced to bring her up himself, which had greatly impacted on the career he’d wanted for himself—as he’d never ceased to point out to her.

  It wasn’t his fault that they had no money and the cottage was falling down around their ears. It wasn’t his fault that he was limited in what he could do because she wasn’t able to help him physically the way he needed her to.

  It wasn’t his fault that she’d basically ruined his life.

  Willow knew all that. Just as she knew it was her job to fix it.

  She frowned ferociously at her duster, her brain sorting through various money-making scenarios.

  The extra shifts she’d picked up at the cafe would help, but they weren’t a good long-term solution. No, she was going to have to think of something else.

  Her phone in her jeans pocket buzzed.

  She took it out and glanced at the screen, and saw a text from her father:

  Come down to the sitting room.

  Since his stroke had left him unable to walk with any ease, he’d taken to texting her when he needed her to do something for him. It was a system that worked very well, except when she was in the middle of doing something and he was impatient. But luckily those instances were few and far between.

  Clarence Hall was where he usually was, sitting in his old armchair near the brick fireplace when she got downstairs, his handsome face drooping slightly on one side due to the effects of the stroke. He’d always been a stern, serious man who’d never had much time for humour, and today he seemed even more serious than usual.

  ‘Sit down, Willow,’ he said in sententious tones.

  Willow checked—surreptitiously, because he hated it when she fussed—that he had what he needed on the table beside his chair, then sat in the armchair opposite. ‘What is it, Dad?’

  ‘I have some news.’ He pulled at the edge of the checked woollen rug that covered his knees, seemingly agitated, which was very unlike him. ‘Something that I haven’t told you and should have.’

  A curl of foreboding tightened inside her, but she ignored it. If her father hated her fussing, he hated her worrying more. In fact, he hated all excess emotion, and so Willow had spent many years curbing her wayward feelings and getting them under control.

  She knew all too well the dangers when she let them run riot.

  ‘That sounds portentous.’ With the ease of long practice she schooled her brain into focus, because it tended to go off on tangents when she was supposed to be listening and her father got very annoyed when he thought she wasn’t paying attention.

  ‘That’s because it is.’ Her father gave her his usual repressive stare, as if he expected her to start screaming or weeping or performing any other such unwanted emotional display.

  But Willow’s last show of anger had been when she was sixteen and she had kept her feelings under perfect control since then, so she simply gave her father the same cool stare back.

  He gave an approving nod. ‘Well, you recall Audley, don’t you? Who died a couple of months ago?’

  Audley referred to the Duke of Audley, who owned Thornhaven and with whom her father had once been friends years earlier. He’d been a virtual recluse for nearly as long as Willow had been alive and that, coupled with her father’s physical limitations, had meant it was a friendship very much in the past tense even before he’d died.

  Reminded suddenly of Thornhaven, Willow caught her breath as
yet again the memory of what had happened just over a week ago rushed to fill her head. Of the beautiful man coming out of the lake and of that kiss he’d given her.

  Heat crept into her cheeks and she had to pretend she was examining a loose thread on the edge of the sofa cushion to hide it.

  The memory of that wretched encounter kept creeping up on her whenever she least expected it, no matter that she’d put the entire incident from her mind the instant she’d fled. And there should be no reason to think of it now. None at all.

  Briefly she’d debated contacting the groundskeeper to tell him she’d seen someone trespassing, but then the thought of being questioned about said trespasser made her feel uncomfortable and so she’d dismissed the idea. If that...person ever trespassed again, the groundskeeper would soon catch him, that was for sure.

  ‘Yes, I remember Audley,’ she said, forcing the memory away and trying to bring her attention back to her father. ‘I don’t think I met him though, did I?’

  ‘No, you were too young. But the Duke and I talked often, or rather we used to. He became a recluse about ten years ago and I didn’t see him at all after that.’

  ‘That’s probably why I didn’t meet him then. Why do you want to know?’

  Her father’s dark eyes were still sharp and they gave her a very direct look. ‘We made a certain...gentleman’s agreement one night. It was a long time ago and I forgot about it. Especially when he broke off all contact. However...’ Uncharacteristically, her father paused, seeming hesitant. ‘I got a letter yesterday from the Duke’s office, reminding me of the agreement and asking me to honour it.’

  Willow frowned, unsure of where her father was going with this. ‘What agreement? Please don’t say it concerns money, because you know—’

  ‘It’s not about money,’ Clarence interrupted, his voice flat.

  The foreboding that she’d forced away earlier crept back, though she fought it down. ‘Then what is it about?’

  Her father’s fingers picked at the edge of his blanket, yet more signs of an agitation that wasn’t like him at all.