Savas's Wildcat

On the spot, Cat knew she couldn’t back down. It mattered too much. “I want love. I want marriage. I want a family,” she said—and watched the color drain from his face.

She didn’t need any more answer than that.

“I don’t want to marry anyone. I don’t want to get married.” He shook his head. “Not on your life.” The slow shake of his head and the clear honest look in his eyes told her as much as his words did.

She didn’t need it spelled out any more clearly.

She felt a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach, but she managed very politely to say, “Thank you.” Then she turned and walked away.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Yiannis called after her.

She didn’t turn. “Of course not.” Mortified. Humiliated. Devastated. She kept walking.

“Good. Want to get a drink later?”

No, she did not.

Even now she could still remember the hot and cold of impotent fury and humiliation that had swept over her in successive waves even after she’d left her grandmother’s and driven back to her own place. She’d named their children and he’d thought she was someone just to have a drink with!

So much for enchanted evenings. So much for true love and all the rest of her song lyric pipedreams.

So much for Yiannis Savas.

Award-winning author ANNE MCALLISTER was once given a blueprint for happiness that included a nice, literate husband, a ramshackle Victorian house, a horde of mischievous children, a bunch of big, friendly dogs, and a life spent writing stories about tall, dark and handsome heroes. ‘Where do I sign up?’ she asked, and promptly did. Lots of years later, she’s happy to report the blueprint was a success. She’s always happy to share the latest news with readers at her website, www.annemcallister.com, and welcomes their letters there, or at PO Box 3904, Bozeman, Montana 59772, USA (SASE appreciated).

Recent titles by the same author:

THE NIGHT THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING

HIRED BY HER HUSBAND THE VIRGIN’S PROPOSITION

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

www.millsandboon.co.uk

“YIANNIS?”

The voice came from far away—somewhere near his mouth, Yiannis decided, which was when he realized he had the receiver upside down against his ear. He rolled onto his back and fumbled to turn it right side up.

“Yiannis? Are you there?”

Ah, yes. Better. Louder, at least. He still didn’t have his eyes open. They were gritty and he was stiff all over.

“Yeah. ‘M here.” His voice was like sandpaper, too, rough and sleep-fogged. No surprise since it felt like he’d barely fallen into bed.

“Oh, dear. I’ve wakened you. I was afraid of that.”

He recognized the rueful voice now. It was Maggie, his ex-landlady and current tenant who lived in the apartment over the garage of the old beach house he’d bought from her almost three years ago. He knew she hated to ask him for anything. Maggie was as independent as they came. For her to call at this hour—whatever the hell hour it was—he knew it must be important. Maybe the roof had blown off?

“What’s wrong? What happened?” He usually didn’t have this much trouble with jetlag. But he’d spent more than thirty hours getting back from Malaysia and his head was pounding. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, then forced them open again.

It was light. Not bright, though, thank God. Through the half-open blinds he could see early morning fog. The California coast was thick with it until the heat of the day burned it off. Yiannis squinted at the clock. It wasn’t yet seven.

“Nothing’s happened. Well, not to the apartment,” she answered. He heard hesitation in her voice. “I have a favor to ask.” But she still sounded a little reluctant.

Yiannis shoved himself up against the headboard of his bed and said firmly, “Whatever you want.”

When he’d made an offer on her Balboa Island house the realtor had said nervously, “The owner wants to remain as your tenant. In the apartment over the garage,” she’d qualified quickly. “It’s a condition of the sale.” One she obviously hadn’t looked happy about.

But, when he’d considered it, Yiannis decided it could be a good thing. After all, an eighty-five-year-old tenant was likely to be far less noisy and troublesome than most of those who would be drawn by Balboa’s Southern California kick-back lifestyle.

“Give her a six month lease,” the realtor had advised.

But Yiannis had actually offered to let her stay in the house while he moved into the adjoining apartment. He liked the property. Where he lived on it wasn’t a pressing concern. Maggie had said no.

She was “downsizing,” she had insisted. Climbing stairs would be “good exercise.”

So as she’d wanted, he’d moved into the house and Maggie had taken the apartment over the garage. It had worked out well for both of them. Yiannis traveled for his business of importing and exporting fine woods for custom furniture makers. Maggie never went anywhere. She kept an eye on things while he was gone. He added to her postcard and tea towel collection from all over the world. She made him cookies and the occasional home-cooked meal when he was home.