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The bone-deep addiction to her. And not just to her body. Her beautiful mind, her generous spirit.
And that unmoored sensation he’d suspected wouldn’t go away even when he regained his memories.
He despised every last one of those revelations. Because it meant in this most important battle of his life, he would not win. Unless...unless...
‘Spyros!’
His PA rushed in, his features tense.Ne, he was setting everyone around on edge. And he wasn’t entirely sure he was sorry. A problem shared and all that.
But he wanted to share his problem with only one person.
‘Where is my wife?’ he demanded without looking up.
When she’d thrown that livid ‘like hell I will’ at him two weeks ago after he’d ordered her back to Athens, he’d laughed, certain she wouldn’t be so foolish as to call his bluff.
Well, she’d called it. She’d left. Then turned the dark light of his life a new shade of obsidian with a simple text a few days later.
I’m not pregnant.
He hadn’t believed he could locate a lower level of desolation until that text had arrived.
His eyes felt scratchy, and he was sure they were bloodshot. The headache Imogen was so adept at soothing was pounding at his temples, a relentless reminder of what he’d thrown away.
Theós, he needed her, dammit!
You know what you have to do.
He released a low growl when Spyros continued to remain silent. ‘Did you not hear me? I asked where my—’
‘She asked that her whereabouts not be disclosed to you, sir.’
He sucked in a deep breath. ‘What?’ he bellowed.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’
‘I don’t want an apology. I want to know where my wife is,’ he breathed, fury boiling in his stomach. How dared she disappear when...when...?
He froze. Dear God, was she paying him back for leaving her for almost a year?
No. The woman he’d spent the last several weeks with wouldn’t do that.
She wasn’t...
He surged to his feet, unable to contain the growing realisation that he might have got a lot of things wrong. ‘Spyros,’ he tried again, striving to keep his voice steady. He failed. Cringed when he heard it crack right down the middle. ‘Tell me where my wife is.’
He suspected he’d hit rock bottom when his assistant stared at him with something eerily close to pity. ‘I don’t know, sir. But...might I suggest you explore the possibility of device-tracking with your head of security?’ Spyros said.
Zeph was lunging for his phone when the other man calmly exited and shut the door.
Scotland.
His wife was in Scotland. Upon hearing it, he’d panicked and instructed his security to look into who his wife was staying with. Why, of all the places she could’ve fled to, she’d chosen the rugged but unwelcoming Highlands. Of course, he’d felt like a heel for believing her capable of that too.
But had that stopped him from jumping on his jet and chasing her down?
Absolutely not.
That was not to say he wasn’t in a foul mood by the time he located the love of his life, striding down the side of a mountain with fire brimming in her eyes as she glared at his departing helicopter. The majority of the foulness was directed at himself though. It would be for a very long time, he suspected.
