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He stepped towards her, a frown creasing his brow at the total change in her. Automatically she took a step backwards. The movement irritated him—annoyed him. Made him speak more sharply than he’d meant.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’
She flinched. He could see it. But her chin went up. Two flags of colour flared across her cheeks, as though some emotion were running in her.
‘Gardening,’ she answered shortly. Then, even more shortly, ‘I’m sorry if I’m not supposed to—’
He frowned, but not at the tone of her voice. ‘Why are you doing it?’ This was not what he had in a million years thought he would find her doing.
‘It’s something to do,’ she said. Her voice was still abrupt, her mind still desperately trying to get some degree of control back. She felt as if she’d just been knocked for six, looking up to see Nikos striding up to her out of nowhere. ‘And it obviously needs doing,’ she heard herself going on. ‘This place is going to rack and ruin.’
Her words jogged Nikos’s recollection that he was waiting for the damn architect to show up. Impatiently, he yanked out his mobile and phoned his PA.
Taking hasty advantage of his preoccupation, Sophie bolted indoors, cheeks still burning, heart pounding suddenly. Oh, God, why had Nikos turned up? How could she cope with him being here? She plunged into the kitchen and started vigorously washing her soil-smeared hands, as if she could wash Nikos down the plughole at he same time. Her heart was still hammering away, and she could feel panic rising in her. With harsh, deep breaths, she fought for control.
Outside, Nikos registered that she’d raced away even as his PA picked up the phone. A moment later and his annoyance had deepened. The architect had been delayed, and wanted the appointment rearranged for the following day. Angrily agreeing, he hung up and slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket. The gesture suddenly made him aware of how hot he was.
He strode indoors, finding himself in a poky living room, giving way to an equally poky kitchen beyond, where he could hear the sound of a tap running. He ducked his head beneath the low lintel and went in. The coolness of the interior was a relief, the thick walls keeping the heat out. At the kitchen sink Sophie was scrubbing her hands.
‘Is that drinking water?’ he asked, his voice still abrupt, both from his annoyance with the architect and from seeing Sophie again. Why the latter should be disturbing him only annoyed him more.
She snapped her head round, as if she had not expected him to be there.
‘Yes,’ she answered. She didn’t want him coming near her, so she seized an up ended glass from the draining board, filled it up, and placed it on the kitchen table, averting her gaze deliberately.
Murmuring a brief thanks, Nikos drank the contents down in one. The water was chill, and tasted good. Reviving. He glanced about him. Sophie was scrubbing her nails with a nailbrush, vigorously and busily. He watched her go on doing it for some moments. Finally, as if she could occupy herself no longer, she turned off the tap, seized a dishtowel, and dried her hands—just as vigorously and busily. Then she turned and faced Nikos. She couldn’t go on staring at the kitchen wall for ever.
Instead, she found herself staring at something much more disastrous.
Nikos. Nikos a few feet from her. Nikos looking a million dollars in one of his hand-made suits, moulding his tall, lean body, tailored to perfection, just as the body beneath was honed to perfection. Just as his incredible face was. Perfection.
Unlike her. She was cruelly, humiliatingly aware of what she looked like—dirty and sweaty and caught totally unawares. Well, she wouldn’t feel that way—why should she? Why should she care what Nikos thought of her ever again?
And yet there was something she did have to say to him. She was burningly conscious of it. She didn’t want to, but she knew she had to. Even so, it came out gratingly.
‘Thank you for lending me the money. I’ll pay it back as soon as I can, but I can’t do it quickly—I’m sorry.’
Did surprise flicker in those night-dark eyes? She didn’t know. Didn’t want to look. Nor did it matter, after all—just as nothing about his reaction to her mattered.
He gave a shrug of his broad, elegantly clothed shoulders.
‘It’s not important. Getting you away from London, away from the gutter’s edge, was important.’
Sophie felt her jaw tighten. ‘I’ll pay it back,’ she persisted. How she had no idea. Nor when. But pay it back she would—if it took her years! She would not be beholden to Nikos Kazandros!
