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‘He doesn’t have my resources. I’ll engage Raul’s company. If anyone can find him, Raul can.’
Her eyelids fluttered shut. She clasped her hands as if giving a silent prayer. ‘Thank you.’
He stood. Thea’s trembling had turned into a shiver which racked her body. Her face and chest were flushed red. Christo reached out to cup her cheek. She burned.
‘You’re not well,’ he said.
She tried to wave him away, but it seemed as if she was having trouble raising her arm. He pulled his phone from his pocket and called his doctor. Demanded he come to the house within the hour.
‘I only need rest,’ she said.
The slightest nudge and she’d collapse to the bed. He was sure of it. ‘Then lie down...sleep a while,’ he murmured.
Thea eased onto the pillows with no argument, curling on her side. Christo covered her with a blanket, tucking it tight around her as her teeth chattered.
His concern escalated. ‘The doctor will be here soon.’ Whilst he was no expert, her tattoo looked too pink. He only hoped she’d been looking after it as she should.
She stared at him, eyes glazed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘If there was any way this could have been different...’
He stroked her hair and Thea’s fever-bright eyes drifted shut. Her breathing slowed in the rhythm of sleep. He pulled over a chair and sat next to the bed.
And as he watched her fitful rest he made a promise to do everything in his power to ensure Alexis’s safety and to punish Tito and Demetri for what they’d done to her.
CHAPTER NINE
THEA WALKED INTO her bedroom and flopped into a chair, escaping the chaos downstairs. A flurry of party planners had transformed the huge lounge and entertainment area into a sumptuous ballroom for the evening. The home’s modern lines had been draped and swathed until they mimicked the art deco opulence of the Queen Mary—the perfect setting for Atlas Shipping’s anniversary celebrations.
She checked her watch. In a few short hours the party would begin—Christo’s crowning achievement, where she’d be expected to glitter and shine. Even now a shaky kind of heat trembled through her. But this wasn’t a hangover from the illness. It was something else altogether.
She’d taken a week to recover fully from what the doctor had assured Christo was a virus, and not an infected tattoo. After three days of being confined to her sickbed she’d risen to find that on the surface everything had returned to normal. Anna fussed about her assiduously. Sergei returned to work, taciturn as ever. The sun still rose, the night still fell, she ate, she slept...but everything was different.
It had changed as the fever racked her body. Christo’s voice had grounded her, soothing as the cool run of a mountain stream. Each time she’d woken in those days, he’d been there, eyes stormy green and intent, dark stubble shading his jaw.
She suspected he hadn’t left her bedside throughout her brief incapacitation. His gentle touches to check her temperature, to reassure, had melted her bones and left her wanting. Now all she craved was the soft lilt of his voice and his masculine touch. Because somehow what she’d shared with him had changed everything.
She walked into her dressing room, pulled out the gown she planned to wear that night and laid it on the bed. The slither of fear snaked through her veins. Christo had warned her that Tito and Demetri were coming. Here, to this home, where she’d finally found some measure of comfort and safety.
This place...they’d taint it. She shivered. Why had Christo invited them when he knew what they’d done to her? He’d promised her there was good reason, just as he’d promised to protect her. If only she could find the means within herself to trust him...
‘Mrs Callas?’
Thea looked up as Anna walked into the room, clutching an armful of boxes. ‘I thought I told you to call me Thea.’
Anna smiled, bouncing on her toes. She seemed so happy—glowing. No more the shy woman Thea had first met. Obviously her relationship with Sergei was going well.
Was that what love could do to a person? Since it wasn’t something she expected for herself, best not to muse on that.
‘These are from Mr Callas,’ Anna said in a breathless kind of way as she placed the packages on the bed.
Thea plucked a card from under the outrageous silver bow on the largest box, opened the envelope and read Christo’s bold script.
Wear these tonight.
She glanced at her choice of dress for the evening, lying on the bed. A floor-length sheath. Black. Restrained and classical. Other women might compete to outdo each other. Not her.
Though curiosity made her fingers itch. What had Christo bought? It wouldn’t hurt to look at what he’d chosen, would it?
