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Nikos glowered at her. ‘I told her it was the ideal solution. Ideal for her, and for Ari, and for m—’ He broke off yet again.
His mother folded her hands into her lap. ‘Nikos, my darling.’ Her voice was different now. ‘It’s not something to undertake lightly. You must understand that. If Ann makes her home with us, here, not only does she have to give up her own life, but she has to think very carefully about what her life will be like here. We are not talking about a brief holiday—we are talking about years. Because the longer she is here, the more Ari would feel her loss if she were to leave again.’
‘She doesn’t have to leave again! She can just live here,’ Nikos said stubbornly.
His mother looked at him. ‘As what, Nikos? My permanent house guest?’
‘No. As my—’ He broke off.
For one long moment mother and son looked at each other. Then, his mouth pressed tightly, he spoke. ‘I know what I want of her,’ he said.
She looked at him measuringly. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes. And it is not the assumption you are making!’
The ghost of a smile played at Sophia Theakis’s lips. ‘But perhaps, my darling, I am not the only one making such assumptions?’
His brow furrowed. ‘I don’t understand what you mean,’ he replied shortly.
His mother gave a gentle sigh. ‘Think about it, my darling boy, on your way to Athens. Now, off you go—I’m sure you are keeping your pilot waiting.’
He took his leave, brow still furrowed. What did his mother mean? That he was making assumptions? Assumptions that Ann would want to be with him as much as he wanted to be with her? Angry resentment bit again. That was exactly the assumption he’d made. Of course he had! He’d had every reason to assume she shared his feelings!
Because why wouldn’t she? He’d come to terms—belatedly, but finally—with the bitter circumstances surrounding Ari’s birth. And if he could not exonerate Carla Turner’s exploitation of Andreas, at least he could now pity her for what she had endured for her sister’s sake. As for Ann, he’d come to terms, too, with why she’d taken his money—and why he’d hated her for the power she’d had to deny him his brother’s child, then gone on hating her because he’d realised, when she’d come to Sospiris, that he desired the woman he had told himself he could only despise.
But that was all in the past! He no longer needed to despise Ann—now he could desire her to his heart’s content. His face darkened again. Except she did not want his desire any more. She’d had enough. Taken what she’d wanted of him, enjoyed him, and gone.
Why? That was the question, stark and unanswerable, that went round and round in his head, as remorseless as the pounding blades of the helicopter taking him back to Athens. Why?
But it wasn’t until that evening—sitting at his desk in his apartment, catching up with his personal finances for something to occupy a mind that wanted only to brood on Ann Turner’s defection—that he got the answer to his question. And when he did, his fury with her knew no bounds.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS RAINING. Ann stared out of the window at the heavy skies and the soaking rain coming down in rods. She should go and finish her packing, ready to leave London. She felt her heart clench. What would she give to be heading back to Sospiris? No, she mustn’t let her mind go there. Not in memory or in imagination or in anything at all. Nothing—nothing to do with anything about Sospiris, anything about Ari, and nothing at all, not an iota or a speck or a single mote, about Nikos Theakis.
But it was hopeless—hopeless to tell herself that. She had no power to ban him from her mind any more than she’d had the power to resist him when he’d wanted her for his bed. The only strength she’d found was in leaving him, and that had taken all she had. But it had been in vain.
The hammering at the door—demanding and peremptory—made her start. She got to her feet, making her way out of the room and along the narrow corridor to the front door—opening it.
Nikos Theakis was there.
Just as he had four long years ago he strode in, not waiting for an invitation. Ann could only stare, her heart pounding wildly, the blood leaping in her veins, her senses overcome with
shock—with far more than shock. She hurried after him into the living room. Why, why was he here? What did it mean?
Hope—wild, insane—pierced her…
And crashed and burned. He turned, eyes blazing. But not with desire. Not with the emotion she had for a brief, fragile moment so desperately hoped for. Instead, with an emotion she had once been only too familiar with.
Loathing. Rage. Contempt.
Words seared from his mouth, twisted in fury, and his eyes darkened with blackest anger.
‘You despicable little bitch!’
Her breath caught audibly. Then her face contorted. ‘What?’ she demanded. Shock was slamming through her.
‘What?’ he echoed. ‘You dare—dare—to stand there and plead ignorance? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?’
