Page 2 of Virgin's Night with the Greek

On the other hand, completion of the painting meant payment. It meant framing and packaging and shipping the piece to an exhibition that she could never have dreamed of being able to contribute to.

Having her work on such prominent and illustrious display would bridge the gap between struggling artist and success. It would bring in more, perhaps even better commissions, which would establish an exciting career she adored and provide the versatility she needed to be able to manage the endometriosis that had such a massive impact on how she lived her life.

So while her time at the villa in Kifissia was coming to an end, it was a cause for celebration rather than regret. She’d always be grateful to Selene for expressing an interest in her over the canapés at the London event at which she’d been waitressing to supplement her income, and taking a chance on her. Thanks to her current client’s openness and connections, Willow’s future stretched out before her, brighter and more hopeful than ever before. Barring some catastrophe, it was secure. After years of upheaval, of learning how to manage the monthly agony while trying to break into the tightly knit art world and make a living, everything was finally coming together.

As the significance of this sank in properly for the first time, relief surged through her, so immense that it quickened her pulse and tightened her lungs. Her head spun and her limbs went weak. Dizzy, losing her buoyancy, Willow mistimed her breath and inhaled a lungful of pool water. She spluttered. Coughed. Flailed. She dipped beneath the surface for a moment but was just about pop up again and regain control of the situation when she was suddenly buffeted by a wave, grabbed from behind and hauled against something hard.

Shock and panic slammed into her. Adrenalin flooded her system. Instinctively, she squirmed and lashed out, splashing and struggling, kicking and fighting for breath. But the band of steel clamped around her middle was impossible to shift.

‘Let me go,’ she gasped, her heart thundering as whoever it was trapping her in a vice began towing her towards the side.

‘Keep still,’ murmured a deep masculine voice in her ear in faintly accented English. ‘I’ve got you.’

But she hadn’t needed getting. She’d beenfine. ‘Release me this instant,’ she panted, shivering and breathless and scrabbling frantically to get free.

‘Stop struggling. You’re making things worse.’

‘I’mmaking things worse?’

‘I’m trying to save you from drowning.’

‘I wasn’t drowning.’

‘You’re lucky I arrived when I did.’

Lucky? Hah! ‘Let. Me. Go.’

With a grind of her teeth, Willow pummelled at his forearm, but to her outrage and continued alarm the mule-headed dolt ignored her. He didn’t relax his grip on her even an inch, no matter how hard she tried to jab an elbow into his side or kick a heel into his groin. In fact, his arm seemed totighten, ironically stealing the breath from her lungs in a way that inhaling water hadn’t.

But perhaps he had a point about the thrashing around. It was achieving nothing other than a sapping of energy that she’d be better off saving for dry land. If she temporarily yielded to his superior physical strength and let him get on with this wholly unnecessary rescue mission of his it would be over infinitely more quickly and that could only be good.

Ceding to logic and giving up the fight for the sake of her strength and her sanity, Willow let herself go limp against him and almost instantly received a growly ‘That’s better’ in response.

But as he carried her along with what felt like broad, confident strokes she wasn’t sure that it was. Breathing might be becoming easier, but it was beginning to occur to her that she’d never been this up close and personal to a man before. At least, not moulded to one back to front as she was now.

Obviously she’d been kissed—she was twenty-four, after all—but that was as far she’d ever gone. With her condition, sex could be excruciating she’d read, and quite frankly, she had enough pain in her life without choosing to suffer further. Not only did the thought of it terrify her, she also feared things becoming awkward and having to explain. She dreaded being ridiculed, pitied, called uptight and frigid. And despite the kissing—some of which had been very nice—she’d never met anyone for whom she wanted to make that sacrifice and take that risk.

But were all chests this hard? All forearms this unforgiving? Because he’d altered his hold on her, her bottom was no longer bumping up against him, thank goodness, but now, with her head resting on his shoulder and his breath fanning her face, she was sort of lying on him—a man she didn’t know and hadn’t even seen—and it was unsettling to say the least.

To her relief, they reached the edge of the pool within moments. The minute the band of steel around her waist loosened, Willow bobbed away and grabbed onto the side. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she swiped the water from her eyes then turned to face her supposed rescuer, fully prepared to demand to know who he was and what he thought he was doing.

But at the sight of him the words dried up on her tongue. Her pulse skipped a beat and her lungs constricted all over again. He had eyes the colour of raw umber, olive skin that was testament to his Greek heritage and a bone structure that would have made Michelangelo weep. His dark hair was plastered to his head, but she knew from the photos she’d been shown it was lamp-black and ochre streaked. He was very handsome and very stern. Exactly as his mother had described.

And as she recalled Selene’s myriad complaints about her eldest son, the tales of control and power he apparently liked to wield over her whenever the opportunity arose and the frequent comments about how much he’d disapprove of the portrait if he knew of its existence, all Willow could think as her heart beat a fraction faster than normal and wariness wound through her, was: What fun was he planning to spoil here?

While an obviously simmering Willow turned to paddle towards the steps, Leo shook the water from his hair then hauled himself out of the pool in one powerful move, still recovering from the events of the past five minutes.

He’d arrived at the villa in one of Athens’s most exclusive and expensive suburbs a quarter of an hour ago, burning up with the frustration that came with his failure to date to fulfil his promise to his sister. The moment Daphne had left his office yesterday afternoon he’d swung into action. But the director of the Tate Modern had not responded as he’d expected to his demand the exhibition be cancelled and, unsurprisingly, neither Lazlo nor his mother were taking his calls. Appealing directly to the artist herself had been his only remaining option, which was why he’d commandeered the family jet and flown over from London this morning.

Having located Selene in the drawing room and furnished her with the reason for his visit, he’d ascertained Willow’s whereabouts, then stalked the length of the space and out onto the terrace. A flash of movement had had him heading for the pool. En route, he’d clocked a book and a long drink on the table beside the lounger over which a towel lay draped, and had cynically thought that in the month she’d been here allegedly working, his mother’s portraitist had made herself extremely comfortable at the luxurious, fully staffed villa.

Briefly, he’d wondered whether the offer he’d put together to get rid of her and the picture would be enough or whether she’d spot an opportunity and force him to double it. But then he’d seen her suddenly stop midlength, thrash about and sink beneath the surface of the water, and the innate instinct to save someone in trouble had overridden any suspicion about what she was and what she might be up to.

Leo didn’t regret his actions in the slightest, however much Willow had protested she hadn’t needed his help. He might be ruthless in business and intent on neutralising the threat she posed to Daphne’s happiness, but he drew the line at letting her drown in order to achieve that goal. And thanks to a swimming gala years ago, during which his youngest sister, Olympia, had fainted in the pool and no one but him had noticed her sink to the bottom, he knew that it was better to be safe than sorry.

What hedidregret however, was that he was now dripping wet and bereft of the shoes he’d toed off and the jacket he’d stripped from his torso in his haste to dive in to the rescue. With his shirt plastered to his chest and his trousers clinging to his thighs, the image he currently presented was about as far from the cool control and unassailable authority he preferred to exude as it was possible to get.

But at least he had height and breadth in his favour, he thought grimly, as he pulled off his socks and bent to pick up his jacket. Clamped to his chest as he’d carried her to safety, Willow had felt considerably smaller than him. Somehow delicate, despite the kicking. And, once she’d finally relaxed against him, very supple and very soft.

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