The Secrets She Carried Read online

  ‘Listen to me,’ the brunette urged impatiently. ‘You’re a beautiful woman and beautiful women rarely inspire purely platonic feelings in men. Sam’s a lonely man and you’re a good listener and a hard worker. He likes you and admires the way you’ve contrived to rebuild your life. Who’s to say that that hasn’t developed into a more personal interest?’

  ‘Where on earth did you get the idea that Sam was interested in me in that way?’ Erin demanded baldly.

  ‘It’s the way he looks at you sometimes, the way he takes advantage of any excuse to go and speak to you. The last time you were on leave he didn’t know what to do with himself.’

  Erin usually respected the worldly-wise Janice’s opinions but on this particular issue she was convinced that the older woman had got it badly wrong. Erin was confident that she knew her boss inside out and would have noticed anything amiss. She was also mortified on Sam’s behalf, for he was a very proper man with old-fashioned values, who would loathe the existence of such rumours on the staff grapevine. He had never flirted with Erin. Indeed he had never betrayed the smallest sign that he looked on Erin as anything other than a trusted and valued employee.

  ‘I think you’re wrong but I do hope that nobody else has the same suspicions about us.’

  ‘That car will cause talk,’ Janice warned her wryly. ‘There’s plenty people around here who will be happy to say that there’s no fool like an old fool!’

  Erin’s face flamed. She was suddenly eager to bring the excruciating discussion to an end. She had grown extremely fond of Sam Morton and respected him as a self-made man with principles. Even talking about Sam as a man with the usual male appetites embarrassed her. Not only had the older man given her a chance to work for him when most people wouldn’t have bothered, but he had also promoted and encouraged her ever since then. It was purely thanks to Sam that she had a decent career, a salary she could live on and good prospects. Only how good would those prospects be if Sam sold up and she got a new employer? A new owner would likely want to bring in his own staff and, even if he had to wait for the opportunity, she would not have the freedom to operate as she currently did. It was a sobering thought. Erin had heavy responsibilities on the home front and the mere thought of unemployment made her skin turn clammy and her tummy turn over sickeningly with dread.

  ‘I’d better get on. Owen’s interviewing therapists this afternoon,’ Erin said ruefully. ‘I don’t want to keep him waiting.’

  As Erin drove the sleek BMW several miles to reach the Black’s Inn, the smallest property in Sam’s portfolio—an elegant Georgian hotel, which incorporated a brand-new custom-built spa—she was thinking anxiously about how much money she had contrived to put by in savings in recent months. Not as much as she had hoped, certainly not nearly enough to cover her expenses in the event of job loss, she reflected worriedly. Unfortunately she could never forget the huge struggle she had had trying to get by on welfare benefits when her twins, Lorcan and Nuala, were newly born. Back then her mother, once so proud of her daughter’s achievements, had been aghast at the mess Erin had made of her seemingly promising future. Erin had felt like a total failure and had worked out the exact moment that it had all gone belly up for her. It would have been great to have a terrific career and the guy of her dreams but possibly hoping for that winning combination had been downright greedy. In actuality she had fallen madly in love with the wrong guy and had taken her life apart to make it dovetail with his. All the lessons she had learned growing up had been forgotten, her ambitions put on hold, while she chased her dream lover.

  And ever since then, Erin had been beating herself up for her mistakes. When she couldn’t afford to buy something for the twins, when she had to listen in tolerant silence to her mother’s regrets for the youthful freedom she had thrown away by becoming a single parent, she was painfully aware that she could only blame herself. She had precious little excuse for her foolishness and lack of foresight. After all, Erin had grown up in a poor home listening to her father talk endlessly and impressively about how he was going to make his fortune. Over and over and over again she had listened and the fortune had never come. Worse still, on many occasions money that could not be spared had been frittered away on crazy schemes and had dragged her family down into debt. By the time she was ten years old and watching her poorly educated mother work in a succession of dead-end jobs to keep her family solvent, she had realised that her father was just a dreamer, full of money-making ideas but lacking the work ethic required to bring any of those ideas to fruition. His vain belief that he was set on earth to shine as brightly as a star had precluded him from seeking an ordinary job. In any case working to increase someone else’s profit had been what her idle father called ‘a mug’s game’. He had died in a train crash when she was twelve and from that point on life in her home had become less of a roller-coaster ride.

  In short, Erin had learned at a young age that she needed to learn how best to keep herself and that it would be very risky to look to any man to take care of her. As a result, she had studied hard at school, ignored those who called her a nerd and gone on to university, also ignoring her mother’s protestations that she should have moved straight into a job to earn a wage. Boyfriends had come and gone, mostly unremarked, for Erin had been wary of getting too involved, of compromising her ambitions to match someone else’s. Having set her sights on a career with prospects, she had emerged from university with a top-flight business management degree. To help to finance her years as a student she had also worked every spare hour as a personal trainer, a vocation that had gained her a raft of more practical skills, not least on how best to please in a service industry.

  Later that afternoon, when she returned from her visit to Black’s Inn, the Stanwick receptionist informed Erin that Sam wanted to see her immediately. Realising in dismay that she had forgotten to switch her mobile phone back on after the interviews were finished, Erin knocked lightly on the door of her boss’s office and walked straight in with the lack of ceremony that Sam preferred.

  ‘Ah, Erin, at last. Where have you been all afternoon? There’s someone here I want you to meet,’ Sam informed her with just a hint of impatience.

  ‘Sorry, I forgot to remind you that I’d be over at Black’s doing interviews with Owen,’ Erin explained, smiling apologetically until a movement by the window removed her attention from the older man. She turned her head and began to move forward, visually tracking the emergence of a tall powerful male from the shadows. Then she froze as though a glass wall had suddenly sprung into being around her, imprisoning her and shutting her off from her companions.

  ‘Miss Turner?’ a sleek cultured drawl with the suggestion of an accent purred. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Your boss speaks very highly of you.’

  Erin flinched as though a thunderclap had sounded within the room without warning, that dark-timbred voice unleashing an instant ‘fight or flight instinct she had to struggle to keep under control. She would have known that distinctive intonation laced with command had she heard it even at a crowded party. It was as unforgettable as the male himself.

  ‘This is—’ Sam began.

  ‘Cristophe Donakis …’ Cristo extended a lean brown hand to greet her as if they had never met before.

  And Erin just stared in consternation at that wicked fallen-angel face as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. And she couldn’t. Cropped black hair spiky with the short curls that not even the closest cut could eradicate entirely, ebony brows level above stunning dark deep-set eyes that could turn as golden as the sunset, high cheekbones and, as though all the rest was not enough to over-endow him with beauty, a mouth that was the all-male sensual equivalent of pure temptation. The passage of time since their final encounter had left no physical mark on those lean dark features. In a split second it was as if she had turned her head and stepped back in time. He remained defiantly drop-dead gorgeous. Something low down in her body that she hadn’t felt in years clenched tightly and uncom
fortably, making her press her slender thighs together in dismay.

  ‘Mr Donakis,’ Erin pronounced woodenly, lifting her chin and very briefly touching his hand, determined to betray no reaction that Sam might question. Sam’s ‘big appointment’ was with Cristo? She was horrified, fighting to conceal her reactions, could feel a soul-deep trembling begin somewhere in the region of her wobbly knees. That fast she was being bombarded by unwelcome images from their mutual past. Cristo grinning with triumph and punching the air when he finally beat her in a swimming race; Cristo serving her breakfast in bed when she was unwell and making a production of feeding her grapes one by one, long brown fingers caressing her lips at every opportunity, teaching her that no part of her was impervious to his touch. Cristo, sex personified night or day with an unashamedly one-track mind. He had taught her so much, hurt her so much she could hardly bear to look at him.

  ‘Make it Cristo. I’m not a big fan of formality,’ Cristo murmured levelly and even the air around him seemed cool as frost.

  Just as suddenly Erin was angry, craving the power to knock him into the middle of next week for not being surprised by her appearance. Evidently he had known in advance that she worked for Sam and he was not prepared to own up to their previous relationship, which suited Erin perfectly. Indeed she was grateful that he had pretended she was a stranger, for she cringed at the idea of Sam and her colleagues learning what an idiot she had once been. One of Cristo Donakis’ ex-girlfriends, what? That guy who changed women as he changed socks? Really? Inside her head she could already imagine the jeers and scornful amusement that that revelation would unleash, for Erin already knew that she had the reputation of being standoffish with the staff for keeping her private life private while others happily told all. Was Cristo the prospective buyer of Sam’s hotels? For what other reason would he be visiting the Stanwick hotel? Cristo owned an international hotel and leisure empire.

  ‘Erin … I’d like you to give Cristo a tour of our facilities here and at the other spas. His particular interest lies with them,’ Sam told her equably. ‘You can give him the most recent breakdown of figures. Believe me when I tell you that this girl has a mind like a computer for the important details.’

  Erin went pink in receipt of that compliment.

  ‘Looks and brains—I’m impressed,’ Cristo pronounced with a slow smile that somehow contrived to freeze her to the marrow.

  ‘You own the Donakis group,’ Erin remarked tightly, trying to combat the shocked blankness of her mind with a shrewd take on what Cristo’s source of interest could be in a trio of comparatively small hotels, which while luxurious could not seriously compare to the opulence of the elite Donakis hotel standards. ‘I thought you specialised in city hotels.’

  ‘My client base also enjoy country breaks. In any business there’s always room for expansion in a new direction. I want to provide my clients with a choice of custom-made outlets so that they no longer have to patronise my competitors,’ Cristo drawled smoothly.

  ‘The beauty market is up-and-coming. What was once a treat for special occasions is now seen as a necessity by many women and by men as well,’ Erin commented, earning an appreciative glance from her boss.

  ‘You surprise me. I’ve never used a spa in my life,’ Cristo proclaimed without hesitation.

  ‘But your nails are filed and your brows are phenomenally well groomed,’ Erin commented softly, earning a startled appraisal from Sam, who clearly feared that she was getting much too personal about his guest’s grooming habits.

  ‘You’re very observant,’ Cristo remarked silkily.

  ‘Well, I have to be. One third of our customer base is male,’ Erin fielded smoothly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ERIN escorted Cristo to the fitness suite that connected with the spa.

  ‘You can’t buy Sam’s hotels,’ she said tightly in an undertone, the words framed by gritted teeth. ‘I don’t want to work for you again.’

  ‘Believe me, I don’t want you on my payroll either,’ Cristo declared with succinct bite.

  Well, she knew how she could take that. If he took over, she would be out in the cold as soon as the law allowed such a move and, appalling as the prospect of unemployment was, it was a welcome warning at a moment when she was feeling far too hot and bothered to think straight. What was it about Cristophe Donakis? That insidious power of his that got to her every time? Sheathed in a charcoal grey pinstripe suit, fitted to his lean powerful body with the flare that only perfect tailoring could offer, Cristo looked spectacular and, although she very much wanted to be, she was not indifferent to his high-voltage sexual charge. Cristo was a very beautiful man with the sleek dark good looks of a Greek god. As she turned to look at him, eyes as blank as she could make them, there was a lowdown buzz already feeding through her every limb like poison. She knew what that buzz was and feared it deeply. It was the burn of excitement, gut-deep, breathtaking excitement.

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to find a gym here,’ Cristo remarked, eying the banks of machines and their sweating occupants, swivelling his handsome head to glance through the glass partition to where a couple of men were training with heavy weights. He returned his attention to her just as Erin slicked her tongue across her white teeth as if she was seeking to eradicate a stray smudge of lipstick. She wasn’t wearing very much, just a hint of pale pearlised gloss that added unnecessary voluptuousness to the full swell of that sultry mouth, which he was working very hard not to imagine moving against his … Don’t go there, his cool intelligence cautioned him, acting to suppress the kind of promptings that would interfere with his concentration.

  ‘An exercise suite dovetails perfectly with the spa. The customers come here to train and attend classes, treat themselves to a massage or a beauty treatment and go home feeling spoiled and refreshed.’ As Erin talked she led the way into the spa and gave him a brief look at those facilities that were free for his appraisal. ‘People have less free time these days. It makes sense to offer a complete package at the right price. The profits speak for themselves.’

  ‘So, how much are you creaming off in reward for your great moneymaking ideas?’ Cristo enquired smoothly.

  Her brow furrowed, amethyst eyes flickering in confusion across his strong bronzed face. ‘I don’t get commission for bringing in more business,’ she responded uncertainly.

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it. I’ve seen enough of the premises here. We’ll move on to Blacks now and fit in the last place before dinner,’ he told her arrogantly.

  Cristo strode out to the front of the hotel and the silver Bugatti Veyron sports car that was his pride and joy. Erin followed more slowly, her agile brain struggling to work out what he had meant. ‘I’ll take my own car,’ she called in his wake, crossing to the BMW. ‘Then I can go home without needing a lift.’

  Cristo wheeled back in his tracks, brilliant dark eyes gleaming between lush curling lashes. He was quick to note the premium model that she drove and he wondered with derision just how she afforded such a vehicle. ‘No, I’ll take you. We have business to discuss.’

  Erin could think of nothing she wanted to discuss with him and she wanted him nowhere near the home she shared with her mother but, as Sam’s right-hand woman, keeping Cristo happy was paramount. She wanted Cristo to vanish in a puff of black smoke like the fallen angel he resembled but she did not want Sam to lose out because she hadn’t done her job right: she owed the older man too much for his faith in her and could not have looked him in the eye again if she scared off Cristo to suit her own personal preferences. Yet was she capable of scaring him off? There was an air of purpose about Cristo that said otherwise. To be fair, Sam’s busy hotels would make a good investment. She pulled out her phone to ring Owen, the manager at Black’s, to give him notice of their intended visit.

  With pronounced reluctance she climbed into Cristo’s boy-toy car, trying not to recall the time she had attended the Motor Show with him where the beautiful models draped over the latest l
uxury cars had salivated every time Cristo came within touching distance. Women always always noticed Cristo, ensnared by his six-foot-four-inch height and breadth and the intensity of dark eyes that could glitter like black diamonds.

  Out of the corner of his gaze, Cristo watched her clasp her hands on her lap and instantly he knew she was on edge, composing herself into the little concentrated pool of calm and silence she invariably embraced when she was upset. She was so damn small, a perfect little package at five feet two inches calculated to appeal to the average testosterone-driven male as a vulnerable female in need of masculine protection. His shapely mouth took on a sardonic slant as he accelerated down the drive. She could look after herself. He had once enjoyed her independent streak, the fact she didn’t always come when he called. Like most men he preferred a challenge to a clinging vine but he knew how tricky she could be and had no intention of forgetting it.

  Erin wanted to keep her tongue pinned to the roof of her mouth but she couldn’t. ‘What you said back there—that phrase you used, “creaming off,” —I didn’t like the connotations—’

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ Cristo fielded softly, his dark accented drawl vibrating low in his throat.

  Gooseflesh covered the backs of her hands and suddenly she felt chilled. ‘Were you getting at something?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Don’t play games with me,’ she urged, breathing in deep and slow, nostrils flaring in dismay at the familiar spicy scent of his designer aftershave.

  The smell of him, so familiar, so achingly familiar, unleashed a tide of memories. When he was away from her she used to sleep in one of his shirts but she would never have done anything so naff and revealing when he was around. Sometimes when she was at his city apartment she used to wash his shirts as well, she recalled numbly, eager to take on any little homely task that could made her feel more like one half of a committed couple. But Cristo had not made a commitment to her, had not done anything to make her feel secure and had never once mentioned love or the future. Recalling those hard facts, she wondered why she had once looked back on that phase as being the happiest of her life. Admittedly that year with Cristo had been the most exciting, varied and challenging of her twenty-five years of existence but the moments of happiness had often been fleeting and she had passed a great deal more time worrying about where their affair was going and never daring to ask. She had worked so hard at playing it cool with him, on not attaching strings or expectations that might irritate him. Her soft full mouth turned down at the recollection—much good all that anxious stressing and striving had done her! At the end of the day, in spite of all her precautions, he had still walked away untouched while she had been crushed in the process. She had had to accept that all along she had only been a Miss All-Right-For-Now on his terms, not a woman he was likely to stay with. No, she was just one more in a long line of women who had contrived to catch his eye and entertain him for a while until the time came for him to choose a suitable wife. The knowledge that she had meant so little to him that he had ditched her to marry another woman still burned like acid inside her.