by Jane Porter
Elizabeth was shaking. This was bad—very bad—and getting worse. “Mr. Koumantaros—” she pleaded.
But he didn’t stop. “You say you personally hire and train every nurse? You say you do background reports and conduct all the interviews?”
“In the beginning, yes, I did it all. And I still interview all of the UK applicants.”
“But you don’t personally screen every candidate? You don’t do the background checks yourself anymore, either. Do you?”
The tension whipped through her, tightening every muscle and nerve. “No.”
He paused, as though considering her. “Your agency’s literature says you do.”
Sickened, Elizabeth bit her lip, feeling trapped, cornered. She’d never worked harder than she had in the past year. She’d never accomplished so much, or fought so many battles, either. “We’ve grown a great deal in the past year. Doubled in size. I’ve been stretched—”
“Now listen to who has all the excuses.”
Blood surged to her cheeks, making her face unbearably warm. She supposed she deserved that. “I’ve offices in seven cities, including Athens, and I employ hundreds of women throughout Europe. I’d vouch for nearly every one of them.”
“Nearly?” he mocked. “So much for First Class Rehab’s guarantee of first-class care and service.”
Elizabeth didn’t know which way to turn. “I’d be happy to rewrite our company mission statement.”
“I’m sure you will be.” His mouth curved slowly. “Once you’ve finished providing me with the quality care I so desperately need.” His smile stretched. “As well as deserve.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, shaken and more than a little afraid. “Does that mean you’ll be working with me this afternoon on your physical therapy?” she asked, finding it so hard to ask the question that her voice was but a whisper.
“No, it means you will be working with me.” He began rolling forward, slowly pushing himself back to the tower rooms. “I imagine it’s one now, which means lunch will be served in an hour. I’ll meet you for lunch, and we can discuss my thoughts on my therapy then.”
* * *
Elizabeth spent the next hour in a state of nervous shock. She couldn’t absorb anything from the conversation she’d had with Kristian on the patio. Couldn’t believe everything she’d thought, everything she knew, was just possibly wrong.
She’d flown Calista into London for her final interview. It had been an all-expenses paid trip, too, and Calista had impressed Elizabeth immediately as a warm, energetic, dedicated nurse. A true professional. There was no way she could be, or ever have been, an exotic dancer. Nor a topless model. Impossible.
Furthermore, Calista wouldn’t dream of seducing a man like Kristian Koumantaros. She was a good Greek girl, a young woman raised in Piraeus, the port of Athens, with her grandmother and a spinster great-aunt. Calista had solid family values.
And not much money.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, shook her head once, not wanting to believe the worst.
Then don’t, she told herself, opening her eyes and heading for her room, to splash cold water on her face. Don’t believe the worst. Look for the best in people. Always.
And yet as she walked through the cool arched passages of the tower to her own room a little voice whispered, Isn’t that why you married a man like Nico? Because you only wanted to believe the best in him?
Forty-five minutes later, Elizabeth returned downstairs, walking outside to the terrace where she’d had a late lunch yesterday. She discovered Kristian was already there, enjoying his coffee.
Elizabeth, remembering her own morning coffee, grimaced inwardly. She’d always thought that Greek coffee—or what was really Turkish coffee—tasted like sludge. Nico had loved the stuff, and had made fun of her preference for café au lait and cappuccino, but she’d grown up with a coffee house on every corner in New York, and a latte or a mocha was infinitely preferable to thick black mud.
At her footsteps Kristian lifted his head and looked up in her direction. Her breath caught in her throat.
Kristian had shaved. His thick black hair had been trimmed and combed, and as he turned his attention on her the blue of his eyes was shocking. Intense. Maybe even more intense without sight, as he was forced to focus, to really listen.
His blue eyes were such a sharp contrast to his black hair and hard, masculine features that she felt an odd shiver race through her—a shiver of awareness, appreciation—and it bewildered her, just as nearly everything about this man threw her off balance. For a moment she felt what Calista must have felt, confronted by a man like this.
“Hello.” Elizabeth sat down, suddenly shy. “You look nice,” she added, her voice coming out strangely husky.
“A good shave goes a long way.”
It wasn’t just the shave, she thought, lifting her napkin from the table and spreading it across her lap. It was the alert expression on Kristian’s face, the sense that he was there, mentally, physically, clearly paying attention.
“I am very sorry about the communication problems,” she said, desperately wanting to start over, get things off on a better foot. “I understand you are very frustrated, and I want you to know I am eager to make everything better—”
“I know,” he interrupted quietly.
“You do?”
“You’re afraid I’ll destroy your company.” One black eyebrow quirked. “And it would be easy to do, too. Within a month you’d be gone.”
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and yet the day suddenly grew darker, as though the sun itself had dimmed. “Mr. Koumantaros—”
“Seeing as we’re going to be working so closely together, isn’t it time we were on a first-name basis?” he suggested.
She eyed him warily. He was reminding her of a wild animal at the moment—dangerous and unpredictable. “That might be difficult.”
“And why is that?”
She wondered if she should be honest, wondered if now was the time to flatter him, win him over with insincere compliments, and then decided against it. She’d always been truthful, and she’d remain so now. “The name Kristian doesn’t suit you at all. It implies Christ-like, and you’re far from that.”
She had expected him to respond with anger. Instead he smiled faintly, the top of his finger tapping against the rim of his cup. “My mother once said she’d given us the wrong names. My older brother Andreas should have had my name, and she felt I would have been better with his. Andreas—or Andrew—in Greek means—”
“Strong,” she finished for him. “Manly. Courageous.”
Kristian’s head lifted as though he could see her. She knew he could not, and she felt a prick of pain for him. Vision was so important. She relied on her eyes for everything.
“I’ve noticed you’re fluent in Greek,” he said thoughtfully. “That’s unusual, considering your background.”
He didn’t know her background. He didn’t know anything about her. But now wasn’t the time to be correcting him. In an effort to make peace, she was willing to be conciliatory. “So, you are the strong one and your brother was the saint?”
Kristian shrugged. “He’s dead, and I’m alive.”
And, even though she wanted peace, she couldn’t help thinking that Kristian really was no saint. He’d been a thorn in her side from the beginning, and she was anxious to be rid of him. “You said earlier that you were willing to start your therapy, but you want to be in charge of your rehabilitation program?”
He nodded. “That’s right. You are here to help me accomplish my goals.”
“Great. I’m anxious to help you meet your goals.” She crossed her legs and settled her hands in her lap. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Whatever it is I need done.”
Elizabeth’s mouth opened, then closed. “That’s rather vague,” she said, when she finally found her voice.
“Oh, don’t worry. It won’t be vague. I’ll be completely in control. I’ll tell you what time we st
art our day, what time we finish, and what we do in between.”
“What about the actual exercises? The stretching, the strengthening—”
“I’ll take care of that.”
He would devise his own course of treatment? He would manage his rehabilitation program?
Her head spun. She couldn’t think her way clear. This was all too ridiculous. But then finally, fortunately, logic returned. “Mr. Koumantaros, you might be an excellent executive, and able to make millions of dollars, but that doesn’t mean you know the basics of physical therapy—”
“Nurse Hatchet, I haven’t walked because I haven’t wanted to walk. It’s as simple as that.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
My God, he was arrogant—and overly confident. “And you want to walk now?”
“Yes.”
Weakly she leaned back in her chair and stared at him. Kristian was changing before her eyes. Metamorphosing.
Pano and the housekeeper appeared with their lunch, but Kristian paid them no heed. “You were the one who told me I need to move forward, Cratchett, and you’re absolutely right. It’s time I moved forward and got back on my feet.”
She watched the myriad of small plates set before them. Mezedhes—lots of delicious dips, ranging from eggplant purée to cucumber, yoghurt and garlic, cheese. There were also plates of steaming keftedhes, dolmadhes, tsiros. And it all smelled amazing. Elizabeth might not love Greek coffee, but she loved Greek food. Only right now it would be impossible to eat a bite of anything.
“And when do you intend to start your…program?” she asked.
“Today. Immediately after lunch.” He sat still while Pano moved the plates around for him, and quietly explained where the plates were and what each dish was.
When Pano and the housekeeper had left, Kristian continued. “I want to be walking soon. I need to be walking this time next week if I hope to travel to Athens in a month’s time.”
“Walking next week?” she choked, unable to take it all in. She couldn’t believe the change in him. Couldn’t believe the swift turn of events, either. From waking him, to the pills being dumped into the fountain, to the revelation about Calista—everything was different.
Everything, she repeated silently, but especially him. And just looking at him from across the table she saw he seemed so much bigger. Taller. More imposing.
“A week,” he insisted.
“Kristian, it’s good to have goals. But please be realistic. It’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to walk unaided in the next couple of weeks, but with hard work you might manage short distances with your walker—”
“If I go to Athens there can be no walker.”
“But—”
“It’s a matter of culture and respect, Ms. Hatchet. You’re not Greek; you don’t understand—”
“I do understand. That’s why I’m here. But give yourself time to meet your goals. Two or three months is far more realistic.”
With a rough push of his wheelchair, he rolled back a short distance from the table. “Enough!”
Slowly he placed one foot on the ground, and then the other, and then, leaning forward, put his hands on the table. For a moment it seemed as though nothing was happening, and then, little by little, he began to push up, utilizing his triceps, biceps and shoulders to give himself leverage.
His face paled and perspiration beaded his brow. Thick jet-black hair fell forward as, jaw set, he continued to press up until he was fully upright.
As soon as he was straight he threw his head back in an almost primal act of conquest. “There.” The word rumbled from him.
He’d proved her wrong.
It had cost him to stand unassisted, too. She could see from his pallor and the lines etched at his mouth that he was hurting, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint.
She couldn’t help looking at him with fresh respect. What he had done had not been easy. It had taken him long, grueling minutes to concentrate, to work muscles that hadn’t been utilized in far too long. But he had succeeded. He’d stood by himself.
And he’d done it as an act of protest and defiance.
He’d done it as something to prove.
“That’s a start,” she said crisply, hiding her awe. He wasn’t just any man. He was a force to be reckoned with. “It’s impressive. But you know it’s just going to get harder from here.”
Kristian shifted his weight, steadied himself, and removed one hand from the table so that he already stood taller.
Silent emotion flickered across his beautiful scarred face. “Good,” he said. “I’m ready.”
Reaching back for his wheelchair, he nearly stumbled, and Elizabeth jumped to her feet even as Pano rushed forward from the shadows.
Kristian angrily waved both off. “Ohi!” he snapped, strain evident in the deep lines shaping his mouth. “No.”
“Kyrios,” Pano pleaded, pained to see Kristian struggle so.
But Kristian rattled off a rebuke in furious Greek. “I can do it,” he insisted, after taking a breath. “I must do it.”
Pano reluctantly dropped back, and Elizabeth slowly sat down again, torn between admiration and exasperation. While she admired the fact that Kristian would not allow anyone to help him be reseated, she also knew that if he went at his entire therapy like this he’d soon be exhausted, frustrated, and possibly injured worse.
He needed to build his strength gradually, with a systematic and scientific approach.
But Kristian had a different plan—which he outlined after lunch.
Standing—walking—was merely an issue of mind over matter, he said, and her job wasn’t to provide obstacles, tell him no, or even offer advice. Her job was to be there when he wanted something, and that was it.
“I’m a handmaid?” she asked, trying to hide her indignation. After four years earning a nursing degree, and
then another two years earning a Masters in Business Administration? “You could hire anyone to come and play handmaid. I’m a little over-qualified and rather expensive—”
“I know,” he said grimly. “Your agency charged an exorbitant amount for my care—little good did it do me.”
“You chose not to improve.”
“Your agency’s methods were useless.”
“I protest.”
“You may protest all you like, but it doesn’t change the facts. Under your agency’s care, not only did I fail to recover, but I was harassed as well as blackmailed. The bottom line, Kyria Hatchet, is that not only did you milk the system—and me—for hundreds and thousands of euros, but you also dared to show up here, uninvited, unwanted, and force yourself on me.”
Sick at heart, she rose. “I’ll leave, then. Let’s just forget this—pretend it never happened—”
“What about the doctors, Nurse? What about those specialists who insisted you come here or I go to their facility in Athens? Was that true, or another of your lies?”
“Lies?”
“I know why you’re here—”
“To get you better!”
“You have exactly ten seconds to give me the full name and contact number of the person now responsible for paying my medical bills or I shall begin dismantling your company within the hour. All it will take is one phone call to my office in Athens and your life as you know it will be forever changed.”
“Kristian—”
“Nine seconds.”
“Kris—”
“Eight.”
“I promised—”
“Seven.”
“A deal is—”
“Six.”
Livid tears scalded her eyes. “It’s because she cares. It’s because she loves you—”
“Four.”
“She wants you back. Home. Close to her.”
“Two.”
Elizabeth balled her hands into fists. “Please.”
“One.”
“Cosima.” She pressed one fist to her chest, to slow the panicked beating of her heart.
“Cosima hired me. She’s desperate. She just wants you home.”
CHAPTER FIVE
COSIMA?
Kristian’s jaw hardened and his voice turned flinty. How could Cosima possibly pay for his care? She might be Andreas’s former fiancée and Athens’s most popular socialite, but she had more financial problems than anyone he knew.
“Cosima hired you?” he repeated, thinking maybe he’d heard wrong. “She was the one that contacted you in London?”
“Yes. But I promised her—promised—I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“She said you’d be very upset if you knew, she said you were so proud—” Elizabeth broke off, the threat of tears evident in her voice. “She said she had to do something to show you how much she believed in you.”
Cosima believed in him?
Kristian silently, mockingly, repeated Elizabeth’s words. Or maybe it was that Cosima felt indebted to him. Maybe she felt as guilt-ridden as he did. Because, after all, she lived and Andreas had died, and it was Kristian who’d made the decision. It was Kristian who’d played God that day.
No wonder he had nightmares. No wonder he had nightmares during the day.
He couldn’t accept the decision he’d made. Nor could he accept that it was a decision that couldn’t be changed.
Kristian, wealthy and powerful beyond measure, couldn’t buy or secure the one thing he wanted most: his brother’s life.
But Elizabeth knew nothing of Kristian’s loathing, and anger, and pressed on. “Now that you know,” she continued, “the contract isn’t valid. I can’t remain—”
“Of course you can,” he interrupted shortly. “She doesn’t have to know that I know. There’s no point in wrecking her little plan.”
His words were greeted by silence, and for a moment he thought maybe Elizabeth had left, going God knew where, but then he heard the faintest shuffle, and an even softer sigh.
“She just wants what is best for you,” Elizabeth said wearily. “Please don’t be angry with her. She seems like such a kind person.”
It was in that moment that Kristian learned something very important about Elizabeth Hatchet.
Elizabeth Hatchet might have honest intentions, but she was a lousy judge of character.