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‘What?’
‘You can’t pretend you don’t know. You can’t pretend you haven’t heard the stories—the botched surgeries, the hushed-up case histories.’
‘None of what you’re saying is true—none of it.’
‘Forget it, Jade. You don’t have to defend her now. I’m giving you the chance to come clean and tell the real story. Get it off your conscience.’
‘Okay. I do know the real story. I work with the woman. I live with her! And what I know is that you shouldn’t believe every piece of dirt you hear about a person. So you’ve heard rumours—they’re nothing more. How do you think Grace could keep operating if any of those stories were true?’
‘No!’ He let go his grip on her arm and slammed his open palm down on the dressing table. ‘You don’t get out of this with that rumour crap. I know those stories are real. I know what she’s like—what she’s done.’
‘And how do you know? What the hell is she supposed to have done that could be so damning? And don’t give me any more rumours or hearsay—I want to hear what you think you know. Just what has Grace done that is so damned bad?’
He loomed over her, looking larger and more dominating right now than she’d ever seen him. She saw the spark of fire in his eyes, saw his lips peel back from his teeth. He reminded her of a wild animal going in for the strike—and for the first time tonight she felt truly afraid.
‘You want to hear what she did? You really want to know? Then listen to this—because it’s no rumour. Your whiter-than-snow doctor murdered my fiancée.’
The room spun and whirled—or was it just her mind, overcome with Loukas’s crazy claims? She had to get away—he was too close, too imposing. The way his eyes flashed with something that looked like triumph—it had to be a form of madness, whatever was eating him up, and she was much too close to his madness here. She veered away, seeking distance from his wild eyes, putting the bed between them.
‘Do you realise what you’re saying? You’ve just accused Grace of murder. You can’t be serious.’
‘I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. She did it. She murdered Zoë. And I’m going to make damned sure she doesn’t get the same opportunity with Olympia.’
His chest heaved under his dark and dangerous visage, his broad naked chest expanding rapidly with each sharp intake of air, emphasising the width of his shoulders and the power of his muscular torso all over, all the way down, down to where the skin disappeared beneath the denim. She swallowed.
Even now, even while he was accusing someone she looked up to more than anyone else in the world, even despite all that, she could hardly tear her eyes away. He looked like some supremely powerful predator, ready to spring, ready for the kill.
She battled to drag her eyes higher, refusing to think about what lay under that worn denim, what they’d been doing before the craziness had begun. Because if he was the hunter, then she was the prey—and he’d already feasted tonight. She’d as good as served herself up to him.
And yet, from what his words revealed, it had never been about her. Everything had been about Grace from the start! He’d been at the Gala not to meet Jade, as he’d said, but to feed some sick vendetta.
And she’d been caught up in his madness, had fallen victim to his rich magnetism, letting him keep her in his bed, letting him make love to her all those times.
Sickness pressed urgently in her throat—a vile taste that rebuked her for her own naïveté. How could she ever have believed she was falling in love with him? She’d been so gullible, so pathetically flattered by this man’s interest. Just like before. Just like the last time. And this time she’d even managed to convince herself that he cared for her too.
Maybe she was the one with the problem.
Maybe she was the one who was mad.
His eyes trapped hers and flared, as if he knew what she’d been thinking, what she’d been trying to forget, and knew that she didn’t have a chance.
She willed her mouth to speak, to form the words that would indicate her silence had been more productive than merely used for a close inspection of his body.
