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All roads led to Phoebe. Five weeks after she left the yacht, it didn’t matter if he was working, sleeping, swimming, or running, she was there, in his mind, memories of their conversations, her smile, her laugh, her sheer, unadulterated delight at the sights of Europe, his desire for her, it all swirled through him, all the time.
He had no reason to think this unique, unfamiliar form of torture would ever end, and he knew he couldn’t live like this forever.
Five weeks after she left the yacht, Anastasios boarded his jet, bound for London, and finally, for Phoebe.
She was dead on her feet. At the end of a double shift, what she wanted, more than anything, was a long soak in a bubble bath. There was no such luxury at her bedsit, but a girl could dream.
When she’d finished, it was almost midnight, and she stifled a yawn as she stepped onto the street, pressing her hand to her mouth, not noticing the black four-wheel drive that was double parked on the pavement.
She stepped around it, just as the door opened, and someone emerged. She lifted her head to apologise automatically, but the words were strangled in her throat.
“You!”
She froze, her body reverberating with the sheer shock of seeing him again.
“Phoebe.” The word rang through the air, or perhaps it just felt that way to Phoebe. Was he really here? She took a step backwards, because otherwise she was afraid she might reach out and touch him.
“I need to speak to you.”
Her face grew ashen. “It’s all sorted. I’ve dealt with the problem. You don’t have to worry that my ‘affair’ with your dad will leak,” she muttered, stepping further back.
“I know. I heard from the paper.”
She pressed her lips together and looked away.
“Then I can’t see why you’re here. We have nothing else to talk about.”
“You know that’s not true.”
She turned back to face him, eyes wild, every bit as angry and as hurt as she had been the night they’d slept together. “Then what? What do you want? What do you have to say to me? More insults? Accusations? Is there someone in the car you’d like to introduce me to as your father’s whore?”
He flinched at her crude anger. But she was so mad! All the feelings that had been pummeling her for so long were finally given a target and she was venting them with great relief.
“It’s a more personal conversation than I’d like to have on the street. Would you come with me?”
Her jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Do you honestly think I’d ever go anywhere with you again? I told you, I don’t want to see you. I can’t see you.” Her voice wobbled, damn it, right when she needed to be strong.
“It won’t take long.”
“Then say it here.”
He dug his hands into his pockets. “Do you want to at least sit in the car? It’s cool and you’re only wearing a singlet top.”
She blinked. Was it cool? She supposed it was.
“I’ll survive.”
“I came to give you this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. She hesitated, but then reached for it out of curiosity, opening it and almost vomiting when she saw another cheque.
“No way.” She handed it back. “I told you then and I’m telling you now, I don’t want it.”
“It’s not from me. It’s from him.”
“I told him I didn’t want anything from him. Our whole friendship, he wanted to give me money, to pay off my debts, and I always told him no, because I didn’t want that. What I wanted, he gave in abundance—kindness, compassion, friendship.” She sniffed. “Don’t you get it? He was like a father to me. I loved him, not for his money, but for how he treated me.” She looked away, emotions threatening to overwhelm her. When she could trust herself to speak once more, she flicked a glance back in his direction. “Tear up the cheque, Anastasios. I can’t believe you think I’d accept it.”
“I don’t. I knew you wouldn’t.”
“Then why the hell show up here?”
