by Sara Craven
But first a hot shower, to remove the kinks of the day, she thought, peeling off her clothes and reaching for her gingham robe. And also to give her time to think how to phrase her acceptance of his outrageous terms in a way that would leave her a modicum of dignity.
Not easy, she told herself wryly, as she adjusted the temperature control of the water.
She was just unfastening her robe when her front door buzzer sounded. For a moment she stood still, staring into space, her mouth drying as she realised the probable identity of her visitor.
Michael couldn’t wait for her answer, of course. Oh, no, he had to apply the pressure, she thought bitterly.
She could always pretend to be out, she told herself, then remembered that her living room light was on and clearly visible from the street. On the other hand, she didn’t have to let him in.
She tightened the sash round her waist, then walked to the intercom panel by the door.
‘Yes?’ Her tone was curt.
‘Darling,’ Grant said. ‘I need to see you. Please let me in.’
It was almost, but not quite, a relief to hear him.
She said, ‘It’s not really convenient…’
‘Katie,’ he interrupted firmly. ‘This is important. We have to talk.’
Sighing, Kate released the front entrance button, and walked to her own door.
‘I’ve been worried about you,’ he said, as he came in. ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls.’
She sighed again, under her breath. ‘Grant, when I came back from Greece you were very kind, and I’ll always appreciate it, but we can’t live in each other’s pockets. But as I’ve tried to tell you, we both need to move on.’
‘Darling, you need time. I understand that. But as for moving on…’ He handed her the newspaper he was carrying. ‘Have you seen this?’
It was a picture of Michael, leaving the airport, smiling, and a caption.
Millionaire tycoon Michael Theodakis flew in yesterday to finalise the acquisition of the ailing Royal Empress group for his Regina Hotel chain. He is also planning a romantic reunion with his English bride of eight months, Katharine, who has been spending a few weeks in London.
‘Oh, God.’ Kate’s throat tightened uncontrollably, as she threw the paper to the floor. ‘I don’t believe this.’
‘Talk to your lawyer,’ Grant advised authoritatively. ‘Get an injunction.’
She wrapped her arms round her shaking body. ‘It’s a little late for that. I’ve already seen him.’
Grant stared at her. ‘But when you came back, you said it was over. That you were never going to see him again.’
‘Mick has other ideas.’ Kate drew a steadying breath. ‘In fact, he’s asked me to go back to Kefalonia with him for a family wedding. But it’s no romantic reunion,’ she added wearily, as Grant’s mouth opened in protest. ‘It’s a quid pro quo arrangement. I do him this favour. He gives me a quick divorce.’
‘Kate, for God’s sake.’ Grant’s voice rose. ‘Don’t tell me you’re actually considering this preposterous deal.’
‘Oh, but she is,’ Mick said softly from the doorway. ‘If it is any concern of yours.’
He was leaning against the doorframe, apparently at his ease, but his eyes were like obsidian, and there was a small, cold smile playing about his mouth.
Kate swallowed. ‘How—how did you get in?’
‘Your obliging neighbour again.’ His icy gaze scanned the gingham robe, then turned inimically on Grant. ‘She did not realise you were already—entertaining.’
‘I’m not,’ Kate said angrily aware that her face had warmed. But what the hell did she have to feel guilty about? Mick was the one who’d betrayed her. Who’d destroyed their marriage.
She bent and retrieved the newspaper. ‘Grant just came to bring me a message. He’s—just leaving.’
‘Kate,’ Grant gasped.
She didn’t look at him. ‘Just go—please.’
‘Very well.’ He gave Mick a fulminating look as he stalked past him. ‘But I shall be back.’
‘No,’ Mick said, his eyes flicking him with cool disdain. ‘You will not.’
For a moment they faced each other, then Grant, his face working, turned away, and Kate heard him going down the stairs.
Mick walked forward into the room, and kicked the door shut behind him. He said, ‘Your guard dog lacks teeth, pedhi mou.’
‘Grant is a friend, nothing more.’ Kate faced him defiantly.
‘You once thought you were in love with him,’ he said. ‘And now I find you here with him, half-naked.’
‘I’m perfectly decent,’ she flung at him. ‘I was about to have a shower when he arrived.’
Mick took off his jacket and flung it across a chair. ‘Did you plan to share it with him, as you used to do with me?’ His voice was low and dangerous.
‘And what if I did?’ Her voice shook, not just with anger but pain. ‘You have no right to question me—not with your track record, you—appalling hypocrite.’
‘You think not? Maybe it is time I reminded you, agapi mou, that you are still my wife.’
He reached her in one stride. His hands grasped her arms, pulling her forward, and his mouth descended crushingly on hers. At first she fought him in sheer outrage, but he was too strong, and too determined, his fingers tangling in her hair, as his lips forced hers apart.
She couldn’t breathe—she couldn’t think. She could only—endure, as his hand swept her from breast to thigh in one stark act of possession. Reminding her with terrifying emphasis that her body’s needs had only been suppressed. Not extinguished.
When at last he let her go, she took a shaky step backwards, stumbling over the hem of her robe in her haste, and pressing a hand to her reddened mouth.
‘You bastard,’ she choked. ‘You bloody barbarian.’
‘I am what I always was,’ Mick retorted curtly. ‘And I have warned you before not to make me angry.’
‘You have no right to be angry. Or to accuse me when you—you…’
The words stuck in her throat. She couldn’t speak them. Couldn’t face him with his betrayal. Not then. Not now. It hurt too much, and always had. Besides, she might cry in front of him—the great agonised sobs which had torn her apart night after night when she’d first fled from Kefalonia. And she couldn’t let him see what he had done to her—how close he’d brought her to the edge of despair and heartbreak.
By remaining silent, she could perhaps hang on to some element of her pride.
He shrugged. ‘I’m a man, Katharina, not some plaster saint on an altar. I made no secret of it, yet you still married me.’ His tone was dry.
‘And very soon lived to regret it,’ she flashed.
‘Even with all that money to sweeten my barbaric ways,’ he mocked her. ‘You are hard to please, my Kate.’
She said in a low voice, ‘I am not—your Kate.’
‘The law says otherwise.’
‘Until I get my decree.’
‘For which you need my goodwill,’ he said softly.
‘I think the price may be too high.’ She steadied herself, and looked back at him. ‘I want it understood that my return to Kefalonia does not give you the right to—maul me whenever the whim takes you.’
‘Not a touch, agapi mou?’ His drawl mocked her. ‘Not a kiss?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Otherwise the deal’s off—however long it takes me to be rid of you.’
‘I’ll settle for a pretence of affection, and some common civility, matia mou.’ There was a harsh note in his voice. ‘I’m told when you worked on Zycos, you were a model of diplomacy. Bring some of your professional skills to bear.’
Kate bit her lip. ‘When exactly am I expected to begin this—charade?’
‘At once.’ He pointed to the crumpled newspaper she was still clutching. ‘As you see, your tabloids have discovered that we are both in London, but not together. That must be remedied at once. I do not choose to have my private lif
e examined by the gutter press.’
Kate stiffened. ‘In what way—remedied?’
‘By packing what you need, and coming with me to the hotel tonight. Making the resumption of our marriage public.’
‘But we’re getting a divorce,’ she objected. ‘You can hardly keep that a secret.’
‘Let us deal with one problem at a time. Tonight, I require you to accompany me to the Royal Empress.’
‘The Royal Empress.’ The breath caught in her throat. ‘No—I won’t do it. I agreed to attend Ismene’s wedding, but nothing was said about—cohabiting with you here in London.’
He said coldly, ‘That is not for you to choose. Nor is it what I intended, or wished,’ he added with cutting emphasis. ‘However, it is—necessary, and that must be enough.’ He paused. ‘But I am using the penthouse suite—one that holds no memories for either of us.’
She looked down at the floor, swift colour rising in her face, angry that he should have read her thoughts so accurately. Angry, too, that she’d let him see she was still vulnerable to the past.
‘It is larger too,’ he went on. ‘With luck, matia mou, we may never be obliged to meet. And certainly not—cohabit.’
Kate bit her lip. ‘Very well,’ she agreed, her voice constricted. She hesitated. ‘I—I’ll get my stuff together. Perhaps you’d send the car for me—in an hour.’
Mick sat down in her armchair, stretching long legs in front of him. He said, ‘I can wait.’
‘But I’ve got things to do,’ she protested. ‘I told you—I was going to have a shower.’
‘Then do so.’
‘There’s no need to stay on guard,’ she said. ‘You surely don’t think I’m going to do a runner?’
His mouth curled slightly. ‘It would not be the first time, my dear wife. I am not prepared to take the risk again. Now, go and take your shower.’
Kate gave him a mutinous look, then went into her bedroom, and closed the door. She looked over the small stock of clothing in her wardrobe, most of it cheap casual stuff bearing no resemblance to the collection of expensive designer wear that she’d abandoned on Kefalonia.
But, then, she was no longer the same girl, she reminded herself.
She put underwear, a couple of cotton nightdresses and some simple pants and tops in to her travel bag. After her bath, her housecoat and toiletries would join them.
She collected fresh briefs and bra, and picked a knee-length denim skirt and a plain white shirt from her remaining selection of garments. Practical, she thought, but the opposite end of the spectrum from glamorous.
Carrying them over her arm, she trailed self-consciously from the bedroom to the bathroom.
Mick was reading her discarded newspaper.
‘I hope you’ve forgotten nothing,’ he said courteously, without raising his eyes.
‘I hope so too.’ Damn him, she thought. He never missed a trick.
And she didn’t need him to point out, however obliquely, the contrast between the warm joyous intimacy of their early married life where no doors were ever closed, and the embarrassed bitter awkwardness of their present relationship. She was already well aware—and hurting.
‘Would you like me to wash your back?’ His voice followed her. It held faint amusement, and another intonation that sent a ripple of awareness shivering down her spine.
‘No,’ she said curtly and slammed the door on him, and the memories the question had evoked. She shot the bolt for good measure, although it was too flimsy to debar anyone who really wanted to come in.
She swallowed, firmly closing her mind against that possibility.
The warm water was comforting but she was not disposed to linger. Besides, commonsense told her that it would not be wise to keep Mick waiting too long, she thought wryly, as she dried herself swiftly and put on her clothes.
Armouring herself, she realised, as she brushed back her hair, and confined it at the nape of her neck with a silver clip. And if Mick didn’t like it, he could lump it, because she was going to need every scrap of defence she could conjure up.
Drawing a deep breath, she slid back the bolt and emerged.
She said, ‘I’m ready.’
He was shrugging on his jacket, but he paused, looking her over with narrowed eyes in a lengthening silence.
‘Are you making some kind of statement, Katharina?’ His voice was gentle, but cold.
‘I dress to please myself now.’ Kate straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry if I don’t meet your exacting standards.’
Mick sighed. ‘Tomorrow, pedhi mou, I think you must pay a visit to Bond Street.’
She lifted her chin. ‘No. And you can’t make me.’
He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘Is this what you wear at your work?’
‘Of course not. The company supplies a uniform.’
‘But now you are working for me,’ he said softly. ‘In a different capacity. Which also requires a uniform. So, tomorrow you will go shopping. You understand?’
Looking down at the floor, she gave a reluctant nod.
‘And you will also wear this.’ He walked across to her, reaching into an inside pocket, and produced her wedding ring.
‘Oh, no.’ Instinctively, she put both hands behind her back. His name was engraved inside it, she thought wildly, and the words ‘For ever.’ She couldn’t wear it. It was too cruel. Too potent a reminder of all her pitiful hopes and dreams.
She said, ‘I—I can’t. Please…’
‘But you must.’ He paused, his gaze absorbing her flushed cheeks and strained eyes, then moving down to the sudden hurry of her breasts under the thin shirt, his dark eyes narrowed, and oddly intent.
He lifted his hand and ran his thumb gently along the swell of her lower lip. He said in a low voice, ‘I could always—persuade you, agapi mou. Is that what you want?’
A shiver tingled its way through her body. ‘No.’
‘Then give me your hand.’
Reluctantly, she yielded it. Watched, as he touched the gold circlet to his lips, then placed it on her finger. Just as he had done on their wedding day, she thought, as pain slashed at her. And if he smiled down into her eyes—reached for her to kiss her, she might well be lost.
But he stepped back, and there was the reassurance of space between them.
And, building inside her, anger at his hypocrisy—his betrayal.
She whispered, ‘I hate you.’
There was a sudden stillness, then he gave a short laugh.
‘Hate as much as you want, Katharina mou,’ he said harshly. ‘But you are still my wife, and will remain so until I choose to let you go. Perhaps you should remember that.’
As if, Kate thought, turning blindly away, as if I could ever forget.
CHAPTER SIX
THE journey to the hotel was a silent one. Kate sat huddled in her corner of the limousine, staring rigidly through the window, feigning an interest in the shop-lined streets, the busy bars and restaurants they were passing.
Anything, she thought shakily, that would reduce her awareness of the man beside her. And the unbridgeable gulf between them.
As the driver pulled up in front of the Royal Empress, she heard Mick swear softly under his breath.
He said quietly, ‘Not a word, matia mou—do you hear me?’
Then, suddenly, shockingly, she was being jerked towards him. She felt the silver clip snapped from her hair, found herself crushed against him, breast to breast, held helplessly in his arms while his mouth took hers, hard, experienced and terrifyingly thorough.
Then the car door was open, and she was free, emerging dazedly on to the pavement, standing for a moment as cameras flashed, then walking pinned to Mick’s side, his hand on her hip, to the hotel entrance.
‘Quietly, my red-haired angel.’ She heard the thread of laughter in the voice that whispered against her ear. ‘Scream at me when we’re alone.’
People were greeting her. She saw welcoming, deferential smiles, and heard herself
respond, her voice husky and breathless.
The manager rode up in the lift with them, clearly anxious that his arrangements should be approved by his new employer.
It was a beautiful suite. Even anger and outrage couldn’t blind Kate to that. There was the usual big, luxuriously furnished sitting room, flanked on either side by two bedrooms, each with its own bathroom.
There were flowers everywhere, she saw, plus bowls of fruit, dishes of handmade chocolates, and the inevitable champagne on ice. By the window was a table, covered in an immaculate white cloth, and set with silverware and candles for a dinner à deux.
All the trappings, Kate thought, her heart missing a beat, of a second honeymoon…
Someone was carrying her single bag into one of the bedrooms with as much care as if it was a matching set of Louis Vuitton, and she followed, hands clenched in the pockets of her navy linen jacket.
One of the walls was almost all mirror and she caught a glimpse of herself, her hair loose and tousled on her shoulders, her mouth pink and swollen from kissing, even a couple of buttons open on her shirt.
She looked like a woman, she thought dazedly, whose man couldn’t keep his hands off her.
‘We are alone.’ Mick was standing in the doorway behind her, his dark face challenging. ‘So, you may shout as much as you wish, pedhi mou.
She took a deep, breath. ‘What the hell was all that about?’ Her voice shook.
He shrugged. ‘I saw the cameras waiting for us. They wanted proof that our marriage was solid. It seemed wise to give it to them. I have my reasons,’ he added coolly.
‘Reasons?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘What possible reason could there be?’ She tried to thrust her buttons back into their holes with trembling fingers. ‘You made it look as if we’d been having sex in the back of the car.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘The prelude to sex perhaps.’
‘There’s such a big difference.’ Her voice radiated scorn.
He had the nerve to grin at her. ‘Why, yes, matia mou. If you remember, I prefer comfort—and privacy. I find the presence of a third person—inhibiting.’