Modern Romance May 2019: Books 5-8

by Cathy Williams

  The walls pressed in on her. Or maybe it was the net this man had cast around her drawing tight.

  Had Christo really invested in her uncle’s company to ensure she complied? Or was it an empty threat?

  Emma stared into eyes the colour of a stormy sky and felt something inside shrink. He was implacable, as merciless as a winter storm that wrought destruction on everything in its path.

  Whether Christo had put money into the business for purely financial reasons or as shrewd emotional blackmail didn’t matter. Emma couldn’t let him destroy her family.

  ‘My grandfather was right about you. You really are utterly ruthless.’ She grimaced, remembering Papou’s enthusiasm for this man. ‘To think he actually respected that. I’m glad he never had to find out what sort of man you truly are. You’re a bully, Christo Karides.’

  He didn’t even blink, just stared back, eyebrows slightly raised, as if waiting for her to capitulate.

  Emma swallowed hard, tasting a coppery tang. She realised she’d bitten down on her lip so hard she’d drawn blood and hadn’t even felt the pain.

  Frantically she ransacked her brain for an out. Something that would free her from this nightmare. But her luck had run out the day she’d fallen for this wolf in a tailored suit.

  Why, oh, why had she broken the habit of a lifetime and acted rashly, marrying so quickly?

  Because you fell for him. Hook, line and sinker.

  The knowledge was acid, eating at her insides.

  ‘I want to live here, in Corfu. Not in Athens.’ Emma refused to let herself stop and think about the implications of what she was agreeing to.

  ‘That works. My Athens apartment isn’t designed for a child. This is much more suitable.’

  If she needed anything to remind her of Christo’s priorities, this was it. His first thought, his only thought, was for the child he expected her to mother. Everything else, even the sex he said he wanted, was secondary. But then he’d never really been attracted to Emma. The demand to share a bed was just male pique, because she’d escaped becoming another conquest.

  She crossed her arms, clamping her fingers hard into bare flesh.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re willing to leave Athens?’ Was there, perhaps, hope that the threats had been a ploy? That he had no intention actually of living with her?

  ‘It’s only an hour by plane. I’ll spend week nights on the mainland and the weekends here. That way Anthea will have a chance to get used to me.’

  For the first time he’d called his niece by her name.

  And for the first time that Emma could recall, Christo looked uneasy. His voice lacked its usual confident tone.

  At the thought of spending time with Anthea? It didn’t seem possible. Christo was the most assured man she knew.

  Emma didn’t understand this cold-hearted stranger. He showed no compunction or remorse about threatening her in the most outrageous way, yet one little girl unsettled him?

  But Emma had enough to deal with. Firmly she pushed aside curiosity about the girl and her relationship with Christo.

  ‘I need time to consider.’

  He shot his cuff and sliced a glance at his designer watch. ‘You have ten minutes.’

  ‘Ten—’

  ‘I have business to attend to. I need this wrapped up.’

  As if she were an item on a meeting agenda, to be crossed off before he moved onto the next matter.

  Once, Emma would have murmured something placatory and avoided further direct confrontation. But that had been with her darling Papou, whose quick flares of impatience had masked genuine worry for her future and fear that his failing heart would give out before he saw her settled.

  Settled! With this arrogant...

  ‘Of course making money is far more important than dealing with real people.’

  Her words brought that laser-sharp gaze back to hers. Emma swallowed hard at the impact of that silent scrutiny. Did he see past her bravado to the woman grappling with hurt and shock?

  ‘Talk to your uncle, Emma. He and your aunt are real people, aren’t they? Ask him how strong his business is.’

  In the past Christo’s deep voice had sent a thread of molten heat trailing through her insides. This time it created crackling frost along her bones.

  Of course she’d talk to her uncle, but she knew he’d confirm what Christo said—that his company was vulnerable. One thing she’d learned, when Christo Karides wanted something, he didn’t leave anything to chance.

  ‘If I agreed to stay with you for a year...’ Emma forced down bile ‘...how do I know I can trust you to keep your word?’

  His eyebrows shot high, as if no one had ever questioned his integrity. She found that hard to believe.

  ‘I’ll have a contract drawn up.’

  A contract setting out such a...personal deal? Her mind boggled. Yet she couldn’t trust his word. Look at how he’d fooled her with his suave, persuasive ways.

  ‘I won’t sleep with you.’

  He merely smiled. The man was so full of himself.

  ‘It’s not sleep I have in mind.’ This time, despite every shred of indignation, despite his insufferable arrogance, Emma felt a tell-tale flutter in her belly. As if the woman who’d loved and longed for this man was still here, eroding the foundations of her anger.

  ‘The contract will arrive tomorrow.’ He looked as if he was going to say more then shook his head. ‘Anthea and I will be here on the weekend.’ Then, before Emma could find any words, he strode from the room.

  * * *

  Sure enough the next afternoon a courier arrived.

  Emma was dishevelled after hours trying to quell her fury and fear by exploring the estate from top to bottom. She’d checked out every inch of the villa, its outbuildings and the neglected villa next door which Papou had bought and hadn’t got around to renovating. If Emma was to turn this into an exclusive small function centre, that second villa would be a wonderful asset.

  If she was still here in Corfu.

  If she didn’t cut her losses and go home.

  Except she’d called her uncle and knew she had no choice. He’d confirmed that Christo had invested heavily in the family construction company. He’d even added that things would be tight without Christo’s support.

  Support!

  Emma shivered and looked down at the sealed envelope in her hands. It felt like a ticking time bomb. Her hands were clammy and, despite the cool breeze through the open front door, she was overheated.

  The sound of the courier’s car accelerating onto the main road broke her stasis. She tore open the envelope.

  There it was, in excruciating detail. Christo had signed over control of the Corfu property, and a sizeable share of the expected profits of the Athens redevelopment. In return she’d live as his wife for a year. She’d take no lovers. She’d appear with him as necessary in public and behave with expected decorum. She’d accommodate his niece. She’d grant no media interviews about their relationship, ever.

  And she’d have marital relations with Christo Karides at least once.

  He’d actually had the gall to include that in the contract! His signature slashed the page just below it.

  All Emma had to do was sign and she’d have the property that should already be hers.

  For long moments she stared at the document. Then something snapped. Emma shoved the contract back into the envelope, breathing hard.

  Dared she?

  But what alternative did she have?

  She’d keep this safe as proof of her husband’s intentions and manipulations in case she needed it in a future court case. She’d delay filing for divorce till the twelve months was up. She’d give his niece a home, poor little kid. She’d even put up with Christo staying every weekend.

  But as for the rest... She might be cornered but she had her self-respect. Emma refused to sign. She and Christo Karides would be married in name only.

  If that wasn’t good enough, she’d swallow her pride and go t
o the press. It was a distasteful last resort. Emma valued her privacy and shuddered at the thought of laying herself bare for the world to read about. But selling her story might provide enough money to tide her family and her over till she won back what was hers.

  For the first time since Christo had sauntered back into her life, all arrogance and outrageous demands, hope stirred.

  She could do this. She would do it.

  She’d throw herself into creating her business and at the end of the year she’d get her property back. Christo was bluffing about them having sex. He had to be. It was just bruised masculine pride talking.

  He’d only drawn up the contract to satisfy her concerns that he’d renege on the deal. Now she had his signature proving he intended to hand over the property, she was safe. She had to believe that.

  All she had to do was endure fifty-two weekends without trying to kill her infuriating, selfish, diabolically annoying husband.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY morning Emma and Dora stood in the villa’s entry, watching a driver open the back door of a long, black limousine.

  Emma’s breath snagged in the back of her throat and her pulse pounded, waiting for Christo to emerge. But it wasn’t he who appeared. Or a little girl.

  It was a woman, and what a woman.

  Emma had told herself nothing Christo did now could surprise or hurt her.

  She’d been wrong.

  Watching long, toned legs appear, narrow feet in high-heeled sandals and a tall, sinuous figure in a tightly fitted dress, everything inside Emma stilled. Then the woman turned to look about her and the sun danced on glossy sable waves that cascaded around slim shoulders and framed a face so beautiful it belonged on a magazine cover.

  Emma felt as though she’d been slapped in the face.

  He’d brought his lover with him. To her home.

  Her home!

  Abruptly the nerves making her anxious melted away, replaced by incandescent fury.

  Emma’s gaze locked on the woman, so she didn’t even notice Christo emerge from the car, or the little girl who stood awkwardly between the two adults, until Dora started forward with words of welcome.

  Emma blinked and looked again, taking in the tableau before her in freeze frames.

  The beauty was looking tentatively at Christo, who frowned mightily. But he ignored the woman, his attention fixed on the child who must be Anthea. A little girl with tight brown plaits and pale, skinny hands clasped before her. She didn’t look at either of the adults beside her, but stared warily at Dora, who smiled and welcomed them.

  Finally Christo turned, his eyes locking on Emma’s. Even braced for it, she was stunned by that sudden sizzle of connection. No, not connection, she told herself. Fury.

  She stalked forward, intending to confront him, only to falter when Anthea shrank back, not towards Christo or his girlfriend, but towards the solidly built driver.

  Emma’s anger ebbed as other emotions rose. Guilt for scaring the kid with her sudden surge of movement. Sympathy and remembered heartbreak. Memories of grief and insecurity. Of feeling alone in a world that didn’t make sense after her parents had died.

  Emma dropped to a crouch before the little girl, discovering soft brown eyes, a smattering of freckles and a mouth that hooked up at one side as she bit her cheek.

  ‘Hello,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m Emma. You must be Anthea. Is that right?’

  Silently the girl nodded, her eyes wary and huge. Emma’s chest tightened as if her ribcage shrank around her heart. She watched Anthea’s hands tighten convulsively on each other and repressed a frown. At the very least the poor kid should have a teddy or something to cuddle given none of the adults with her could be bothered offering comfort.

  ‘Do you like rabbits?’ Emma asked impulsively, thinking of the toy rabbit she’d rediscovered in the room she’d used as a girl. Washable and soft, it had survived years of snuggling almost intact.

  Anthea didn’t answer, just lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug and bit her lip harder. Emma waited for one of her companions to step in and reassure her. But a quick glance showed Christo standing back as if the girl had come with a health warning. The woman was no better, busy surveying Christo through her lashes.

  ‘Would you like to come inside and see one?’ Emma smiled. ‘He can’t hop or eat grass but he likes spending time with little girls and he loves being cuddled.’ She paused. ‘Do you like giving cuddles?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  The whisper stilled the last buzz of Emma’s dying temper. She forgot about her unwanted adult guests and focused totally on the too-serious face of the girl before her. The girl she hadn’t wanted to build a close relationship with, because she knew it could only lead to pain when they went their separate ways after twelve months. Emma had told herself it was up to Christo to forge a bond with his niece, not her.

  Now that notion died an abrupt death. Emma couldn’t ignore this little girl whose reserve and tension told its own sorry tale. She wanted to wrap her close and tell her everything was going to be okay. Instead she kept her tone light.

  ‘Then let’s find out, shall we? I’ll take you to him if you like.’ She rose and reached out her hand.

  Anthea stared at it as if she’d never held an adult’s hand in her life. She shot a swift, upward glance at the others, almost as if expecting reproach, then reached out and touched Emma’s fingers.

  Anthea’s tiny hand was cool in hers but Emma was careful not to betray surprise at that or the tremor she felt pass through the little girl. Instead she smiled and turned towards the door, catching Dora’s eye. The housekeeper would see to the adults. Right now the priority was this little waif and making her feel comfortable.

  The enormity of the situation hit Emma again, making her falter for a second. She was about to take on responsibility for a child, a child who, obviously, needed love and lots of it.

  But Emma couldn’t turn her back on the girl. This had nothing to do with Christo’s threats. It was about recognising the blank shock on Anthea’s face, the feeling of loss and fear, the dreadful uncertainty.

  Emma had been there. She couldn’t treat the girl as a pawn in some power play.

  She stepped into the house, Anthea tentatively returning her grasp. ‘He’s a very special rabbit, you know. He’s lived here for a long time. I hope you like him.’

  * * *

  Christo surveyed the spacious bedroom suite he’d been given and tried to turn his mind to practicalities, like Wi-Fi access. Instead he found himself staring at the perfect curve of blue-green sea in the cove, his thoughts in turmoil.

  Not only his thoughts. His gut roiled with unfamiliar emotion.

  It wasn’t the Ionian Sea he saw. It was Emma crouching before his niece, cajoling her into a response after hours of the kid being silent and withdrawn.

  He’d known all along that Emma would make a great carer. She was warm-hearted and generous. Her body language around the girl had been fiercely protective, yet her expression had been soft, something that he was sure would turn into love one day.

  His gut clenched.

  Christo couldn’t remember ever being so close to such naked maternal tenderness. Any sort of tenderness, come to that. Except the fleeting sense of intimacy he got from sex. The short afterglow that made the mirage of emotional intimacy seem almost as tangible as physical closeness. Until logic kicked in, reminding him it was a fantasy.

  Impatient, Christo marshalled his thoughts, ignoring the unfamiliar pang as he recalled Emma’s expression and his unwarranted reaction.

  He opened the French doors and stepped onto the wide terrace.

  Emma’s reaction might have been all he could wish for but Anthea’s nanny was another matter.

  He gritted his teeth at the thought of the woman who’d been recruited so carefully to provide the best care for his step-niece. He’d left the recruitment to experts. After all, what did he know about selecting a child minder?

 
Now he saw he should have taken a hand, vetting the applicants himself. The woman with such excellent experience and references—the woman who had been soberly dressed and devoted to her charge, the time they’d met previously—had transformed utterly. He’d been confronted at the airport by a siren more interested in batting her eyelashes at him than caring for Anthea.

  He sighed and shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it over the back of a chair. He’d sometimes had the same problem with temporary office staff. Women who were all business till the day they found themselves alone with the boss. A boss who regularly featured on those ‘hottest, richest bachelor’ lists.

  The question was, did he fire her effective immediately or give her notice? It would take time to replace her. And even he, used to others doing his bidding, didn’t expect his wife to take sole charge of Anthea.

  Anthea. Who looked so like her mother.

  Christo shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped out onto the grass. He’d deal with the nanny later. With everything later. For now he needed fresh air.

  Ever since he’d boarded the plane and seen Anthea with her big brown eyes, Christo had felt claustrophobic to the point of nausea.

  It was pathetic. It was all in his head. Yet he felt the tension notch higher with each breath.

  Being with the child brought back memories he hadn’t revisited in years.

  Turning his back on the house, he lengthened his stride.

  * * *

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Christo stopped in the shade of a wide, twisted olive tree, locating the source of the question.

  Emma. His wife.

  Heat ignited low in his abdomen. Satisfaction. And more besides.

  Instead of being pinned up, her hair was around her shoulders in a drift the colour of wild honey. Was it the sunshine that made it glow? In wintry Melbourne the colour had been more subdued. Like the woman.

  Maybe the difference was her bright, summery clothes. In a sleeveless wrap-around dress the colour of apricots, she looked good enough to eat. Especially as the light fabric skimmed breasts and hips and that narrow waist which had so fascinated him when he’d held her close.