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The engine noise changed and he glanced out of the cabin window. ‘Look, we’re coming in to land,’ he said.
Lexi followed the direction of his gaze and saw the island of Rhodes dazzling like a bright jewel in the dark blue waters of the Aegean. She thought how long it had been since she’d been abroad and done anything as decadent as just lie in the sun. ‘When were you last here?’
‘I came over a couple of months ago for a few days. Work has been...demanding.’
‘So what else is new?’ she demanded wryly. ‘You haven’t stopped since we boarded the plane.’
His blue eyes gleamed. ‘There’s a reason for that. I’ve been trying to clear my diary so that I won’t need to work while we’re here.’
Lexi felt her lips part in surprise. ‘Good heavens,’ she said faintly. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me that you’re planning to switch off your phone at night.’
‘If that’s a veiled offer to share my bed, then consider it done.’
‘It wasn’t.’
He smiled. ‘Didn’t think so.’
He picked up the documents and put them in his briefcase, vowing not to go near them for the duration of their stay. But it was hard to break the habit of a lifetime—a way of living and working which had become second nature to him.
He’d been barely eighteen when his father had dropped dead and Xenon’s discovery that the business was in a parlous state hadn’t helped the family come to terms with their shock and grief. Suddenly, the world as he had known it was one he no longer recognised.
But he had turned everything around. He had thrown himself in at the deep end and worked every hour to learn about the business, from the bottom up. He had sweated blood to earn the respect of the disillusioned Kanellis workforce. And while most people would have been content simply to get the giant organisation back on its feet, Xenon was not most people. He didn’t want to be known as a man who had saved something, he wanted to be known as a man who had made something. That was why he had bought the newspaper.
The film had been something different. The film had touched something deep inside him. It had connected with his essential Greekness. He had backed it because he had loved it; the money and awards he had earned as a result had not been what had driven him. And Lexi had understood. She had loved that film, too.
‘I’m trying to learn how to delegate,’ he said and saw her turn her head to look at him, that lip-parted look of surprise still on her face. ‘Loukas and Dimitri are keen to share some of the responsibility but it’s hard to let go when I’ve lived this way for so long.’
‘What are you so scared of.’
The smile which greeted this remark was sardonic. ‘You think that I am scared? That Xenon Kanellis is scared of anything?’
‘Well, if you’re not—then why not just go ahead and do it? Free up more time for yourself. Enjoy some of the fruits of your labours.’ Her voice softened. ‘Didn’t you once tell me that you weren’t going to work yourself into an early grave, like your father?’
He stared into her eyes, which looked as silvery-cool as mercury. What would she say if he told her that these days the hours he worked filled an emptiness which nothing else seemed to touch? That sometimes he held onto work with the determination of a man clutching at a lifeline?
But introspection had never been his thing. He had always preferred the practical to the theoretical. He caught hold of her hand and turned it over. ‘Where’s your wedding ring?’
‘At home, somewhere.’
‘Or maybe you threw it away in a bid to forget me—isn’t that what bitter ex-wives do?’
‘Actually, it’s in a box on top of my dressing table, along with all the other jewellery I no longer wear. And I’m not bitter, Xenon.’
‘You should have brought it with you.’ He traced an imaginary ring with the tip of his finger. ‘What if my grandmother notices you aren’t wearing it?’
‘She’ll have to draw her own conclusions.’
‘I disagree. We’ll have to see about finding you another one.’
His words were distracting and so was his touch and Lexi was glad to pull her hand away and scrabble around in her bag for her passport and wallet.
Fast-tracked through customs, Xenon was treated like a homecoming king and greeted fondly by airport workers he’d known since he was a boy. Lexi had forgotten how he could lay on the charm and get people eating out of his hand—especially here in his homeland. He possessed an ability to blend in no matter what the company and could happily drink with socialites and lorry-drivers alike. Hadn’t he once managed to avert a dockers’ strike by the simple expedient of walking into the shipyard and talking to the union chief over a cup of coffee?
