her Nikos called, “She can sleep with me.”
“Mr. Nikos!” Thomas was clearly scandalized.
“She loves it when I talk dirty.” Nikos’s voice followed them.
Thomas sputtered.
“Children act up when they think we’re watching, Thomas,” she said firmly. “I advise you to ignore him. Come along. I’ll find my own room.”
Down the short hallway beyond the small living room and kitchen, Mari found three bedrooms. The biggest, with a view overlooking the garden, was clearly the one Nikos was inhabiting. The king-size bed was unmade. There was a laptop computer and a lot of boating magazines scattered on the desk. The better to choose his next yacht from, Mari thought.
The room itself was actually very Spartan-looking, done in whites and tans and browns with just a hint of black. Somber. Harsh.
Rather like its occupant, Mari thought.
“Like my bed?” Nikos called. “It’s plenty big enough to share.”
She ignored him. She tried to ignore the bed, too. But the thought of sharing it with Nikos was astonishingly vivid. She could imagine him naked against those white sheets, could envision herself, equally naked, tangling with him—
Oh, girl, stop this! She’d never had such blatant fantasies in her life!
She wondered if it had something to do with the squid her Aunt Em had fixed for lunch. Was squid an aphrodisiac?
She turned and hurried out of the room.
The bedroom across from Nikos’s was equipped as an office, but with a daybed instead of a sofa or pair of chairs. It didn’t look as if anyone was using it at the moment. No big surprise there. If Stavros imagined that Nikos needed “shaping up,” it wouldn’t be because he was a workaholic!
She could have stayed in this room, but somehow Mari didn’t want to be that close to Nikos Costanides—whether because she thought he might get the wrong idea, or whether she didn’t trust herself, she wasn’t sure.
Fortunately there was a third bedroom along the back of the house. It was a long narrow room that seemed to have been converted from a sleeping porch and was more casually decorated than the rest of the house. Airy and sunlit, with balloon curtains done in white eyelet, it was soft and romantic. Soothing, not passionate.
Just as well, Mari thought. She was curious. Not suicidal.
“Put my things here, will you, Thomas?” She went over to the window and looked out. Beyond the main house she could see the beginning of the dunes that dipped toward the Atlantic. Now, in the silence, she could hear the sounds of the waves.
“Miss?”
She turned to see that Thomas had set down her cases and now stood looking at her. He had a slight smile on his face. “I just wanted you to know, miss...he isn’t as bad as he says.”
“He couldn’t be,” Mari agreed drily.
Thomas’s bare hint of a smile turned into a real one. He almost chuckled. “He’ll try, though.”
“It...should be interesting,” Mari agreed. “Tell me, Thomas. Did you know about this? That Mr. Costanides was setting us up, I mean?”
Thomas hesitated a moment, then said, “No, but, I’m not surprised. It’s no secret Mr. Costanides is worried—about Mr. Nikos, about the future of his company. He’s getting older. He’s had one heart attack. He wants time with Mrs. Costanides and the children. So he wants Mr. Nikos to take over. But,” he added, “only if he does it the way Mr. Costanides wants.”
Which was the situation in a nutshell. “And why am I sure that Nikos has his own mind?” she asked wryly.
Thomas smiled again. “Because he’s his father’s son.” Thomas shook his head. “Mr. Costanides doesn’t always handle Mr. Nikos very well.”
“And he thought hiring a nanny would help?”
“I’m not sure he thinks anything will help at this point,” Thomas said bluntly. “But this, at least, he hasn’t tried.”
That would make two of them.
“He won’t hurt you, miss,” Thomas said quickly. “He teases, that’s all. If he gives you trouble, you call me. I’ll come whip him into shape for you.” He grinned. “Mr. Nikos listens to me.”
“But not to his father.” It wasn’t a question.
Thomas shook his head adamantly. “Never. Mr. Costanides never talks to Mr. Nikos, come to that. Just yells. And demands.” He gave a shake of his head, then brightened and looked at her. “You can fix that.”
“Sounds like it’s been broken for a very long time.”
Thomas hesitated, then gave a small nod. “They’re good men, though. Both of them.”
“Then what’s the problem? Why don’t they listen to each other? Why don’t they talk to each other?” She needed a place to start. Some clue as to what dynamic existed between them.
Thomas lifted broad shoulders. “You got to ask Mr. Nikos or Mr. Costanides about that.” His warm brown eyes met hers. He reached out a hand and squeezed hers briefly. “I wish you luck, miss.”
Mari thought she was going to need it.
The knock on the door was quick and staccato. Seven taps, the last two separated from the first ones in brisk, cheerful fashion.
Obviously the old man—pleased with himself and coming to gloat.
“Door’s open,” Nikos growled.
A second later it was, and a seductively stacked blonde in a revealing leopard-spotted dress sashayed in. “Nikos?” she purred, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
Oh, hell. He’d forgotten about her!
But a second later he grinned with unholy glee at the thought of what his father must be thinking now—and how gloriously shockable the Mary Poppins clone was going to be!
He pushed himself forward in the chair and held out a hand. “Come here, sweetheart,” he drawled.
Debbie’s Dolly shut the door behind her, then moved toward him, unbuttoning the top two buttons of her very low-cut blouse as she came. “Aw, did you hurt yourself, darlin‘?” she murmured, taking in the yellowing bruises on his face. “Let me kiss it and make it better.” She bent over him, giving him a good glimpse of a pair of her more outstanding assets as she did so.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” said a firm female voice from the hallway.
The blonde jerked back.
Mari Lewis stood in the doorway to the living room, a stern look in her eyes. The blonde, eyes like saucers, looked quickly from Mari to him.
Nikos didn’t move, just watched, fascinated, as Mari gave the blonde what looked like an affable smile, and said almost pleasantly, “Or what happened to him could happen to you.”
The blonde looked beyond Nikos’s bruises to his taped ribs and casted leg and gulped. Then her eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
“His nanny.”
“What?”
“I’m Nikos’s nanny.” Mari Lewis repeated the words as if they made perfect sense, and she said them with such forcefulness that Nikos found himself admiring her. For a second.
Right before annoyance set in.
He could sense the blonde beginning to retreat. “Don’t mind her,” he said, reaching out a hand and snagging hers, drawing her close. “Ms. Lewis is just a frustrated spinster my father’s wished on me. She won’t bother us.”
“Won’t