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‘There’s coffee,’ he said abruptly, gesturing to the steaming mug on the table.
She didn’t meet his eyes as she sank into a chair and slowly lifted the mug in both hands.
‘Thank you,’ she said. Her voice was like water: cool, devoid of colour, slipping away to nothing. He felt a moment’s burgeoning curiosity then crushed it.
‘I need to see Christina Liakos immediately,’ he said yet again, curbing his impatience with iron control. ‘How do I contact her?’
‘You don’t.’ This time there was something in her tone. Emotion so strong her voice cracked. ‘And her name’s not Liakos any more,’ she added abruptly. ‘It’s Paterson.’
Her eyes met his and he endured once again that unwanted, unstoppable sizzle of sexual need.
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘My name is Costas Palamidis.’ He paused, waiting for her reaction but her face remained blank. ‘I have an urgent matter to discuss with Ms Paterson.’
‘Palamidis,’ she muttered. ‘I know that name.’ Her brows drew together. But clearly last night’s excesses hampered the effort of recollection.
Costas shifted his weight, tired of this nonsense. He was getting nowhere.
‘I’ve just stepped off a plane from Athens. It’s imperative that I talk to Ms Paterson immediately.’ He refrained from adding that it was a matter of life and death. This was too personal, too private to disclose to strangers.
‘Athens?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You were the one on the phone.’ He watched her perplexity morph into anger. Her coffee mug thumped onto the table. ‘You left messages on the answering machine.’
He nodded. ‘Messages that were never returned—’
‘You bastard,’ she hissed, scrambling to her feet so fast her chair crashed to the floor. ‘Now I know who you are! You can leave right now. I want you out of here!’
Costas didn’t budge. The girl was clearly unhinged. Her eyes were wild and her fingers curved like talons against the edge of the table.
But she was his one lead in locating Christina Liakos. And he’d deal with the devil himself to reach that woman. Deliberately he leaned back against the kitchen bench, crossing one foot over the other.
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ve come to talk to Christina Liakos or Paterson as she is now. And I’m not leaving until I do.’
Fascinated, he watched the emotions race across her face. Her snarling frown blanked out into staring shock. Then her features seemed to crumple into a mask of pain. She laughed, an ugly, hysterical sound that filled him with a sense of foreboding.
‘Well, unless you’re clairvoyant you’ll have a long wait, Mr Palamidis. I buried my mother yesterday.’
CHAPTER TWO
THROUGH THE SEARING glaze of unshed tears, Sophie glared up at him.
Hell! If she’d known who he was when she opened the front door she’d have slammed it in his good-looking face.
How dared he show up here the day after her mother’s funeral and make himself at home? She stared at the mug he held and wanted to smash it right out of his hand. There’d be satisfaction in a violent outburst. She imagined vividly the splash of hot coffee on his snowy white shirt, the look of outrage on his face.
Pity it took all her strength just to stay upright.
Furiously she blinked. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. Her grief was too raw, too overwhelming to share, let alone with a man as coldly unfeeling as he was.
She wanted to shout. To rage. Damn it, she wanted to pummel him with her fists till he felt just a fraction of the pain that was ripping her apart.
But what good would that do? Her mother was gone. Nothing would bring her back.
Sophie drew a shuddering breath and lifted her eyes to meet those of her unwanted visitor. His black gaze wasn’t quite so unreadable now. Maybe it was the way his eyes had widened, brows raised in surprise.
No, not surprise. Shock. He looked as if he’d just got the shock of his life. In fact, he looked ill—his face suddenly drawn and his complexion paler. A muscle in his hard-set jaw worked, pumping frenetically. It was the only sign of animation in him. He didn’t even blink.
Over the sound of her pulse thundering in her ears, Sophie caught the hiss of his indrawn breath. His chest expanded mightily as if his lungs had emptied and he’d only just remembered to breathe.
