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What if he believed her—that her relationship with Konstantinos had been innocent? How convenient that would be, meaning he was free to pursue her, to sleep with her as he desperately wanted, as he’d been obsessing over, he now accepted, since the first moment they’d met.
But it wasn’t true.
There was no way his father would have left such a sum to a woman he merely met in a restaurant. He’d loved her. And the thought filled Anastasios with a strange rush of anger towards the father he’d always admired and adored. Anger that his father had cheated on Maggie, certainly, but also, anger that he’d met Phoebe first.
The thought had him turning and stalking away, putting Phoebe, if not out of his mind, at least out of his sight, for now.
Chapter5
“WHAT IS IT?”
She startled, her eyes jerking to Anastasios’.
He sipped his wine, then replaced the glass on the table. “That’s the third sigh in as many minutes. Are you not happy?”
“Because my life has been hijacked by some overbearing dictator?” She asked, leaning back in her chair and regarding him carefully. “Should I be happy?”
“I mean with the meal,” he responded coolly.
She looked down at the dinner, then at Anastasios. “Actually, if you must know,” she said after a pause. “I was just thinking how perfect this would be with just about anyone else.” She batted her lashes at him with mock innocence, then speared a scallop. They were truly one of the yummiest things she’d ever tasted.
“Like my father?”
She sighed heavily—fourth in as many minutes, surely a record. “Well, yes, naturally.”
He stiffened visibly.
“We were friends, what do you want me to say?”
“It’s best if we don’t talk about him.”
“Sure, but he’s the whole reason I’m here.”
“For the sake of my blood pressure, let’s pretend it’s not.”
“Then why else would I be here?” She asked, breath catching in her throat. In the wardrobe of her bedroom, she’d found many clothes, all beautiful, designer items that had made her heart thump to run her fingers over. She’d settled on a simple pair of white cotton shorts and a lemon yellow halter neck that made her tan look a deeper shade of caramel.
He leaned back, his eyes a dark brown as he ran them over her face.
“Are you flirting with me?”
She straightened. “No.”
“Perhaps you do it without realizing.”
“No.”
His lips twisted in a mocking smile. “Okay.” His cynicism was obvious.
“You’re so—,”
“Impossible? You’ve said that already.”
“Well, it’s true.”
“Fine. But we’re stuck with each other, so shall we try to keep conversation somewhere near the boundary of civil?”
“To what end?” She lifted her shoulders, turning away from him. “We’re not friends. We’re never going to be friends.”
