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What?He spun round, staring after her. Stunned. Speechless. Cut off at the knees. What was she talking about? His jaw clenched. And where was she going?
He caught up with her by the quay. And that was a first. Never in his life had he chased after a woman. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘I’m going back to the villa.’
‘I’m not ready to go back yet.’
Her eyes flashed fire again, and despite his fury there was something glorious in her anger. ‘It suits me fine to go alone.’
It was just like in London. Behind him, he could sense his bodyguards, studiously staring anywhere but at their boss. He swore under his breath. Only this time—incredibly—she really was leaving. With or without him.
The trip back to the villa was conducted in total silence. Back at the island, she stepped off the boat as it nudged up against the jetty, and once again he found himself in the extraordinary position of having to chase after her.
He stalked through the villa, blood pounding through his veins. ‘What is wrong with you?’ he demanded.
They were standing in her bedroom. She had kicked off her shoes and with her bare feet and flushed cheeks she looked young and defiant, like some student revolutionary.
‘Me? Oh, I’m naive and stupid. But you already know that.’
‘No, what you are is ungrateful,’ he snarled. ‘I take you out to lunch. I buy you a dress. I give you a ring. Do you know how many women would change places with you?’
‘Yes.’ Her eyes flared. ‘None. That’s why I’m here. And you didn’t buy me a dress or a ring. You bought those for your imaginary wife-to-be.’
‘Not imaginary. We have a deal.’ He bit out the words.
‘And there was nothing in that deal that said I have to stand by and watch you treat people like dirt.’
He stared at her in shock, more shocked than if she had hurled her shoes at his head. And for a short, tense pause it almost felt like she had.
‘That’s what this is about?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘He’s a waiter.’
The look of disgust on her face was not one he’d ever experienced or was likely to forget. ‘He’s a person. With a name. He’s not just “the kitchen” or “Housekeeping”. And I’m a person too, Achileas.’
He stared at her, jolted. It was the first time she had called him by his name. ‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’ Her mouth trembled. ‘If that’s true then I don’t know why you made me get all dressed up.’
‘You had nothing to wear. Nothing appropriate, that is.’ He made no attempt to soften his tone.
She shook her head, her eyes huge and bright—too bright. ‘You’re wrong. I do have something to wear. I wear it every day at work. I have a dress and an apron.’
The tightness was back in his chest.
‘You’re not making any sense, Effie.’
‘Then let me explain. You talked to me in that restaurant like I was a maid. So why didn’t you just let me dress like one?’
‘That’s not what happened—’
‘It’s exactly what happened. When I’m in my uniform I can deal with people like you, being rude and dismissive and treating me like I’m nothing. But you—you took that away from me.’
Something in her voice pressed against the ache in his chest. ‘Effie—’
He reached out but she took a step backwards, holding up her hand as if that could stop him.
Except it did.
‘I know I’m not beautiful or clever or rich. I know I don’t matter very much in the scheme of things. But nobody’s ever made me feel that worthless.’
