her ethereal blonde beauty tempt his brother into straying, despite the lovely young woman waiting for him in Melbourne?
Suddenly his thoughts took on a completely different direction as a solution came out of nowhere. A solution of such satisfying simplicity that it almost took his breath away. Because weren’t men territorial above all else—especially Kavakos men? He and Pavlos hadn’t been brought up to share—not their toys, nor their thoughts, and certainly not their women. The age difference between them had guaranteed that just as much as the bleak and unsettled circumstances of their childhood. So what if he seduced her before his brother got a chance? Pavlos certainly wouldn’t be interested in one of his cast-offs—so wouldn’t that effectively remove her from his brother’s life for good?
Ariston swallowed. And sex might succeed in eradicating her from his mind, once and for all. Because hadn’t she been like a low-grade fever all these years—a fever which still flared up from time to time? She was the only woman he’d ever kissed and not had sex with and perhaps it was his need for perfection and completion which demanded he remedy that aching omission.
He looked around her shabby home. At the thin curtains at the window which looked out over a rainy street and the threadbare rug on the floor. And suddenly he realised it could be easy. It always was with women, when you brought up the subject of cash. His mouth hardened with bitter recall as he remembered the monetary transaction which had defined and condemned him when he had been nothing more than a boy. ‘Do you need money?’ he questioned softly. ‘I rather think you do, koukla mou.’
‘You’re offering me money to stay away from your brother? Seriously?’ She stared at him. ‘Isn’t that what’s known as blackmail?’
‘Actually, I’m offering you money to come and work for me. More money than you could have ever dreamed of.’
‘You mean you have your own supermarket?’ she questioned sarcastically. ‘And need your very own shelf-stacker?’
He very nearly smiled but forced himself to clamp his lips together before returning her gaze. ‘I haven’t been tempted into retail as of yet,’ he said drily. ‘But I have my own island, on which I occasionally entertain. In fact, I’m flying back there tomorrow to prepare for a house party.’
‘How nice for you. But I don’t see what that has to do with me. Am I supposed to congratulate you on having so many friends—even though it’s difficult to believe you actually have any?’
A pulse began to beat insistently at his temple because Ariston wasn’t used to such a feisty and insolent reaction—and never from a woman. Yet it made him want to pull her into his arms and crush his lips down hard against hers. It made him want to push her up against the wall and have her moaning with pleasure as he slid his fingers inside her panties. He swallowed. ‘I’m telling you because during busy times on the island, there is always work available for the right person.’
‘And you think I’m the right person?’
‘Well, let’s not push credibility too far.’ His lips twisted as he looked around. ‘But you’re clearly short of money.’
‘I’m sure most people are compared to you.’
‘We’re talking about your circumstances, Keeley, not mine. And this apartment of yours is surprisingly humble.’
Keeley didn’t deny it. How could she? ‘And?’
‘And I’m curious. How did that happen? How did you get from being flown around Europe on private jets to...this? Your mother must have made a stack of money from her various liaisons with wealthy men and her habit of giving tell-all interviews to the press. Doesn’t she help fund her daughter’s lifestyle?’
Keeley stared him out, thinking how very wrong he’d got it but she wasn’t going to tell him. Why should she? Some things were just too painful to recount, especially to a cold and uncaring man like him. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she snapped.
A calculating look entered his eyes. ‘Well, whatever it is you’re doing—it clearly isn’t working. So how about earning yourself a bonus?’ he continued softly. ‘A big, fat bonus which could catapult you out of the poverty trap?’
She looked at him suspiciously, trying to dampen down the automatic spring of hope in her heart. ‘Doing what?’
He shrugged. ‘Your home is surprisingly clean and tidy, so I assume you’re capable of doing housework. Just as I assume you’re able to follow simple instructions and help around the kitchen.’
‘And you trust me enough to employ me?’
‘I don’t know. Can I?’ His gaze seared into her. ‘I imagine the reason for your relative poverty is probably because you’re unreliable and easily bored by the mundane—and that maybe things didn’t fall into your lap as effortlessly as you thought they might. Am I right, Keeley? Did you discover that you weren’t as successful a freeloader as your mother?’
‘Go to hell,’ she snapped.
‘But I suspect that if the price was right you would be prepared to knuckle down,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘So how about if I offered you a month as a temporary domestic on my Greek estate—and the opportunity to earn yourself the kind of money which could transform your life?’
Her heart was beating very hard. ‘And why would you do that?’ she croaked.
‘You know why.’ His voice grew harsh. ‘I don’t want you in London when Pavlos returns. He’s due to fly to Melbourne in two weeks’ time, hopefully with a diamond ring tucked inside his pocket—and after that, I don’t care what you do. Let’s just call it an insurance policy, shall we? I’m prepared to pay a big premium to keep you out of my brother’s life.’
His disapproval washed over her like dirty water and Keeley wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with his offer, yet she couldn’t ignore the nagging voice in her head which was urging her to be realistic. Could she really afford to turn down the kind of opportunity which would probably never come her way again, just because she loathed the man who was making it?
‘Tempted?’ he questioned softly.
Oh, she was tempted, all right. Tempted to tell him that she’d never met anyone so charmless and insulting. Keeley felt her skin grow hot as she realised he was offering her a job as some kind of skivvy. Someone to get her hands dirty by tidying up after him and his fancy guests. To chop vegetables and change his bed while he cavorted on the silvery beach with whoever his current squeeze was—probably the stunning redhead he’d taken to the gallery opening with him. He was looking down his proud and patrician nose at her and she opened her mouth to say she’d rather starve than accept his offer until she reminded herself of the significant fact she’d been in danger of forgetting. Because it wasn’t just herself she had to consider, was it?
She stared down at one of the holes in the carpet as she thought of her mother and the little treats which added to her life, even though she was completely oblivious to them. The weekly manicure and occasional hairdo to primp those thinning curls into some sort of shape, so that in some ways she resembled the woman she had once been. Vivienne Turner didn’t know that these things were being done for her, but Keeley did. Sometimes she shuddered to imagine what her mother’s reaction would have been if she’d been able to look into a crystal ball and see the life she’d been condemned to live. But nobody had a crystal ball, thank goodness. Nobody could see what lay ahead. And when occasionally other patients’ relatives or members of staff recognised the shell of the woman who had once been Vivienne Turner, Keeley was proud that her mother looked as good as she possibly could. Because that would have mattered. To her.
So test him, she thought. See what the mighty Ariston Kavakos is putting on the table. See if it’s big enough to enable you to endure his company for longer than a minute. ‘How much,’ she said baldly, ‘are you offering me?’
Ariston swallowed down his distaste as he heard the shrewd note which had entered her voice and he realised that Keeley’s greed