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In the intervening four years before her grandfather had died, her father had worked very hard to get back into favour with him. So hard in fact that Cat had rarely seen him. He had thrown himself into the family real estate business, making deals and money that he’d thought would impress his father. Some of those deals had slithered close to the edge of what was acceptable. They hadn’t been illegal but they hadn’t been moral either. At least that was what her grandfather had told her.
Her grandfather had been less than impressed. He had blamed his son’s ruthless dealings on Julia. But in fact Julia had been too busy spending money to be interested in how it was made. She hadn’t been a particularly bad woman; Cat would certainly never have classified her as the clichéd cruel stepmother. She was just not the maternal type; she wasn’t particularly interested in Michael, let alone Cat.
So Cat had grown up in a household where money was plentiful and love non-existent. She had tried to befriend Michael but he had been a sullen and withdrawn child. They had been lonely years. Cat had thought that things couldn’t get any worse until, when she’d been fourteen, her grandfather had died.
She remembered the day the will had been read quite clearly. Remembered the extraordinary fury it had unleashed.
Her grandfather had been a very wealthy man. He had left his property in Crete and in London to his son. Then he’d stipulated that the businesses were to be sold and that the money, along with the bulk of the McKenzie fortune was to be placed into trust for Cat. The rest of the money, which had been a small proportion, had been put into accounts for her education. There had been nothing for her half-brother.
At the time it had seemed harsh. Cat remembered naïvely looking over at her brother and saying softly, ‘Don’t worry, Michael, I’ll give you a share of the money when I get it.’
She would never forget the look he had given her; it had been one of pure hatred.
Her father had sold the house in Crete and used the money to try and get the will overturned in a court of law, but he had not been successful. Gerald McKenzie had been deemed sound of mind and she would inherit the McKenzie fortune on her twenty-first birthday but only if she was married. If she were still single on reaching that birthday, the money would stay in trust for her until she was thirty.
Cat’s lips twisted as she thought about it. She didn’t know why her grandfather had placed such a stipulation in the will. Perhaps he had wanted to further frustrate his son and grandson by protecting Cat and his fortune from their greedy mitts for a bit longer. Whatever the thinking behind it, Cat didn’t want the money. In her eyes it was cursed and had already done enough damage. Soon after the last court hearing, her stepmother had walked out on her father. It had been the final lesson on how money could tear people apart; as far as Cat was concerned, it could rot in the bank.
Her father and Michael, however, had other ideas. They had continually harped on about how wrong it was that she should be left everything. And she saw their point—her grandfather should never have left his will like that. It was that guilt which had driven her to open up the accounts supposedly for her education to give the money to Michael. She didn’t want it anyway. She had taken a student loan and, with the help of two jobs, had supported herself through university.
Michael, meanwhile, was into property development and had tried his hand at a number of get rich quick schemes. She hadn’t realized what kind of schemes they were until last year when she’d had to go to Crete to bail him out. She had been sickened to find out just how he had been using her money.
When she had told him how disgusted she was, a terrible argument had risen up, fueled by Michael’s bitterness. He had let it slip that he knew Ryan and that even Ryan thought she was impossible. After that it hadn’t taken her long to discover that her romance had been a set-up. The discovery h
ad hurt her deeply and she had immediately ended the relationship.
She hadn’t spoken to her brother for months afterwards. But then at Christmas Michael had turned up on the doorstep of her flat, filled with remorse for the things he had said and done.
For her father’s sake she had accepted his apology. She’d been glad that the last of the money for her education had been used; at least he couldn’t ask for any more.
But now it was three months until her birthday and Michael was starting to call around at her flat again; the air of friendly politeness was slipping and he was starting to mention the money again, getting increasingly desperate, increasingly angry.
Her father had rung her a few weeks ago. ‘You did promise Michael half of that inheritance,’ he had reminded her tersely. ‘Things haven’t been easy for your brother.’
She had wanted to say, Things haven’t been easy for me either, but I’ve got myself an honest job and I haven’t been deceiving people. But she had held her tongue. Criticizing Michael upset her father and led to arguments. It was best to gloss over things and keep them both at a distance. But she had told him categorically that she would not be getting married in the near future so the problem of the inheritance money would be in abeyance for another nine years.
There had been an ominous silence.
She hadn’t heard from either of them since. But she had a horrible suspicion that they were up to something. The truth was that Michael had always been able to twist their father around his little finger. And her father probably wanted his share of the inheritance as well.
She tossed and turned in the bed. Her father was as cold and calculating as her half-brother. It was something she kept pushed to the back of her mind, too painful to dwell on and acknowledge.
After her birthday things would calm down again, she told herself soothingly. All she had to do was hold her nerve for another few months and steer clear of any romantic involvements.
But, as she closed her eyes again, a different problem plagued her—the problem of her powerful attraction to Nicholas Zentenas.
She needed to keep her distance from that man, she told herself fiercely. She needed to leave here first thing in the morning and not look back.
As soon as Cat stepped out of her bedroom the following morning she could hear Nicholas Zentenas’s deep tones. He was speaking in rapid Greek and for a moment Cat was transported back to Crete, to the sizzling heat and the days of childhood. She followed the sound through to the lounge and then round a corner, where she found him outside on the terrace.
He was sitting at a table laid for breakfast. A crisp white linen cloth and silverware sparkled in the early morning sun. However, there was no food on the table; instead he had paperwork spread out in front of him and he was talking on his mobile phone. Cat couldn’t help thinking that he looked the epitome of a successful businessman in his dark suit, a blue shirt open at the neck.
Behind him, the rooftop view out over the city was even more spectacular by day. She could see the green swathe of St James’s Park and the blue curve of the River Thames.
Nicholas glanced up and their eyes locked. Although she tried not to acknowledge it, she could feel the instant attraction and desire firing her body with a wave of heat. She noticed that his eyes drifted almost lazily to linger on her lips, making her feel even hotter inside.
He smiled and indicated that she should take a seat in the chair opposite his. Cat, however, did not move from the doorway. She intended to wait until he had finished his call, thank him politely for his hospitality and then make a swift exit. She needed to get out of here. The warning bells that had been ringing through her consciousness all night were clamouring insistently now.
As he talked his eyes moved from her face and hair, down over her body as if he were undressing her. She felt a lick of heat deep inside.
