Elle fluttered her eyes in silent rejection of the idea. “No,” she mouthed at him but his smile showed he had no intention of listening to her.
“I’d love to.”
Elle glared at him with undisguised anger. “I thought we agreed to stay out of each other’s way.”
He took a step towards her, pressing her against the kitchen bench. Her heart was pounding at his proximity. “I agreed we were likely to end up back in bed together,” he corrected. “And I think we should place a wager on how long it takes.”
He dropped his lips to the side of her mouth and teased her by barely touching her. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming at her to angle her head so that they could kiss properly. To push up onto the bench and wrap her legs around him, to pull him close to her.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she kept her expression neutral, tinged with bored impatience. “Hell would freeze over first,” she said finally, amazed at how steady the words sounded.
He lifted away to stare down at her, and he too was surprised by how little she was affected by his proximity. His whole body was fire and flame, as it always was when she was near.
“Don’t touch me.” She lifted her face to his and now he saw not just impatience but fear too.
She was afraid of him.
It was a dagger to his heart.
“Elle.” He swallowed. What the hell could he say?
“You can’t take it back.” As if she knew he was trying to form a sentence, to ask a question, she shook her head frantically. “The things you said … the way you felt. I’ll never forget that.”
And the words sledged against him as though they were there in the room, a living force of cruelty and hatred.
I wish I’d never met you, but at least I have the satisfaction of knowing you meant nothing to me.
“I’m making pasta,” she said coldly. “If Filip wants you to stay, that’s fine. But at least be useful and set the table.”
He stifled a grunt of frustration and reached for the cutlery. Only she moved that way at the same time and they bumped into each other. She stepped backwards instantly.
Christos’s mind was spinning. He thought about the accusations Filip had levelled at his father and tried to think of a way to ask Elle about it. But how could he do that without betraying his brother’s confidence?
“Did my dad know about Filip’s accident?”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “I went to Greece to tell him. Shortly after mom … after it happened.”
Good. She’d given him enough information so that he could question her without revealing what Filip knew. “I thought my father came to you here.”
“He did. After kicking me out of his home. Much like you did actually.”
“Not exactly like I did,” he said with a frown. “And I can’t understand why he would have turned you away.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Why?”
She reached for a packet of pasta angrily. “Because he didn’t want your mother to find out. Same as you. He said … he was …” she swallowed the horrible words Filip Senior had issued. “He said he didn’t want to be involved. I left. That was the end of it.”
Christos shook his head. Either she’d lied to Hannah then, or she was lying to him now. And if it was the latter, why? Surely the only answer was out of concern for Christos and a desire to save him from thinking badly of his father? That didn’t tally with the image he had of her as a woman who would sell scandalous stories to newspapers. “You must have been very upset.”
“Upset?” She laughed scornfully. “I didn’t have the luxury of being upset. I was worried about how I’d get food on the table. How I’d pay his school fees. How I’d buy his …” she swallowed. “How I’d care for him in every way.” She closed her eyes and lowered her voice to a soft whisper. “You wonder why I didn’t just fly to Greece and ask you for your help? I tried that once before and it blew up in my face. I couldn’t risk you reacting the same way he did.”
“So what? You decided to seduce me and then blackmail me?”
Her cheeks flushed. “Lower your voice,” she warned, flicking her eyes towards the living room. She needn’t have worried; Filip was engrossed in the game show that had come on. Her whisper was angry. “My mother, brother and I have all been screwed again and again by your father. I’m not someone who would ever think of blackmail as a first option. It’s crazy and amoral and wrong in every way! But how could I risk that you would refuse to help me? Having met your father, I had no faith your conscience would guide you any differently than his did him.”
He pushed the insult aside. “And so you abandoned your own conscience?”
She nodded. “At least so far as you were concerned. My only thought was for Filip.”
“And when you sold our sordid family secrets to the press? Were you thinking of Filip then, agape mou?” He clung to the wrongdoing with all his might. His anger was otherwise eroding which left him in a very precarious position.
“Yes,” she nodded, spinning away from him and tipping the pasta in the saucepan.
“And my mother?”
Elle’s hand stilled. “Was she very upset?”
“Yes.”
She blinked her eyes shut. “I’m sorry for her.”
“I wish you hadn’t felt compelled to break the news as you did. It was selfish and careless and patently unforgivable.” Danger lurked on the edges of her mind. “But the first crime was my father’s.”
She put a lid on the pasta and carefully avoided moving in his direction. “Dinner won’t take long,” she said without looking at him.
“Let me help.”
“I’m fine.”
He moved closer towards her. “All those nights eating takeaway and I had no idea you could cook.”
Her smile was wry. “I’m not cooking. I’m boiling.”
He leaned nonchalantly against the counter. “Have you lived in this flat long?”
She arched a brow thoughtfully, reaching for some onions. She diced them effortlessly, keeping her concentration focussed on the task at hand. “Since my mom died.”
“Are you happy here?”
“Ecstatic.” She flashed him a look of impatience. “Is that how it’s to be between us? You’re going to act as though we’re polite acquaintances?”
“I don’t know,” he sighed wearily. “I’m making it up as I go along.”
“When do you plan to take him to Athens?”
“To take both of you,” he murmured, wishing he could reach out and brush her hair away from her face to see her properly.
She nodded. “I’ll have to schedule my visit around work.” Her eyes were guarded when they lifted to his face. “I already missed too much.”
He pushed down on his impatience. “The sooner the better. I’m having some modifications made in preparation but they should be finished any day.”
“What modifications?” She asked, genuinely curious.
“An elevator, for one.”
“An … elevator?” She knew the anger was a futile emotion but it was strong in her blood as she contemplated what such an exercise would cost. And for a temporary visit! She had scrimped and saved to be able to afford the bare necessities. It was a cruel joke.
“You might remember there are quite a number of stairs in my home.”
She nodded. She remembered everything about his home. Vividly.
“Something really bothers me about your apartment,” he said after a moment’s heavy silence.
“Then it’s just as well I live here, and not you.”
He forced a tight smile in acknowledgement. “Where’s the piano?”
“What piano?” She frowned, turning to face him in a genuine response to the cryptic remark.
“You must have one.”
“Must I?” She laughed. “Oh, you’re right. It’s upstairs, in the saloon.”
He shook his head, moving closer to her. “Sarcasm doesn’t suit you.” He
was fascinated by the colour that stole into her cheeks. “No piano? For someone like you?”
“I don’t need one. I don’t have space.”
“No.” He peered through the doorway, grimacing as he reminded himself of the physically constrained environment.
She added garlic to the pan and then some white wine and cream, stirring all the time. “That smells delicious.”
“It’s Filip’s favourite,” she murmured, tearing some parsley leaves into the mix.
“He has good taste.”
Dinner was a far more pleasurable experience than Elle had anticipated. At least, it wasn’t as awful as she’d feared it might be. Filip and Christos discovered that they had some genuine common ground, including a sense of humour and a love of horror films.
“Why don’t we watch something now?” Filip said, his smile beaming as he wheeled away from the table.
“Sure.” Christos nodded at the same time that Elle said:
“I’m sure Christos has work or something to do.”
Filip laughed. “You’re the one who urged me to get to know him, Elle. And I did. And I like him. And I love you. So just relax! We’re family now.”
Family. Stricken, Elle spun around and moved back into the kitchen, balancing plates on her hip.
Family. Is that what they were?
“Allow me,” Christos’s voice was right behind her. She startled and might have dropped the dishes if he hadn’t reached out and steadied them.
“Allow you to what?” Her heart was beating like a jackhammer.
“I’ll do the washing up. You cooked.”
“That’s fine,” she demurred. “I don’t mind.”
“Don’t be silly. Filip is showering. Let me help.”
She pursed her lips in consternation and stalked to the kitchen door. Sure enough, the bathroom was occupied and the sound of running water assured her that Filip was performing his night time ritual.
“He can do that on his own?”
“Yeah. He’s fiercely independent. He’s taken everything in his stride.”
“He’s a brave child.”
“Don’t let him hear you call him a child,” she warned, only half-joking. “In his mind, he’s on the cusp of adulthood.”
“I wish I knew him better,” Christos said honestly. “I feel we are so alike, and yet so different. He’s like me, but a stranger.”
“You’ll get to know him,” she said simply. “You can’t force it.”
8
It was entirely surreal being back in Greece.
A week after they’d shared pasta for dinner in her apartment, Elle had arrived. She’d tried everything she could to get out of it, but Christos and Filip had formed an undeniable force. In the end, the concert she’d spied a poster for on her original trip to Athens sealed the deal. With Andre performing, and Filip begging her to join them, she found she had no recourse but to turn up.
She could fly in, assure herself Filip was happy, satisfy Christos that she wasn’t afraid of him, and catch up with a dear friend. Then she could go home and get on with her life. Without Christos Rakanti, and possibly without Filip Bradley too.
She pushed her suitcase out of the airport and breathed in the sultry air with a sense of recognition. It was achingly, bone-chillingly familiar. The last time she’d seen this landscape, she’d been fleeing in despair.
Was this any different?
Now she was returning, but it was still under duress. She was still suffering.
She saw the sign with her name on it and her heart sunk.
She hadn’t wanted this.
Elle had chosen to fly commercial, at her own expense, rather than joining Filip on Christos’s private jet. She had promised herself she wouldn’t take anything from the man and she intended to keep that promise. Even though that resulted in her hard-fought savings being drained faster than she’d wanted.
But the memory of how much a cab would cost to his villa still stung, so she begrudgingly dragged her suitcase to the uniformed chauffeur. “Hi. That’s me.”
“Elle Bradley?” He asked, dubiously examining the woman in the denim shorts and black shirt.
“Yeah. Do you need to see my ID?”
He appeared apologetic. “No, ma’am. This way, please.” He took her bag effortlessly and beetled through the airport as though five dragons were hot on their heels.
“What’s the rush?” She asked as they emerged into the sunlight and warmth.
“I always walk fast,” he said with a grin. “’Ere we are.” He nodded towards a black Range Rover and lifted her suitcase in.
She took her seat and tried not to examine the pervasive sense of disappointment when she confirmed the car was empty.
No Filip.
And no Christos Rakanti.
The man drove as he’d walked – quickly.
Elle tried to focus on the passing scenery but his off-track formula-one racing combined with the butterflies in her tummy left her feeling highly anxious. The villa was not far from the centre of the city and the driver seemed to know all the back streets to get her there in record time. It occurred to Elle that her taxi driver the last time had taken a purposefully circuitous route.
“Thank you,” she said softly as he pulled her case from the boot and smiled at her.
“Mr Rakanti is expecting you.”
She nodded. Of course he was. “My brother’s in there.”
“Nai,” the man nodded.
“I carry this in.” He lifted the bag for her.
It was on the tip of her tongue to demur when Elle closed her mouth. A sixth sense was warning her that there would be plenty of fights ahead and that she ought to choose which she entered into wisely. She smiled at him brightly and then pushed into the villa as though she owned the place.
It was all bravado, of course.
The same play-acting she’d employed the night she’d met Christos and she’d wanted to pretend that she was a woman of his world, who did casual hook-ups every night. But as she crossed the threshold, the mask was almost impossible to keep in place.
She felt as though history was punching her in the gut.
The home was achingly familiar.
How, in a little over a week, had it begun to feel like a real home to her? How had she come to see the white leather sofa and marble kitchen benchtop as cornerstones of who she was?
Uncertainty plagued her. Should she call out? Knock? Or walk straight in as though she didn’t feel like she was about to pass out.
A splashing sound reached her and she frowned, gliding instinctively towards the pool. She didn’t look at the piano. She couldn’t. But as she passed it, she noted that the beautiful area they’d had dinner in each night – the lovely outdoor terrace – had been closed in to form a tower on the back of the home. A lift! She shook her head in wonderment at the efficiency with which Christos had done that.
Then again, he was a powerful, wealthy man. He could probably do anything he wanted with the click of his fingers.
“Filip?” Her heart began to race as she saw that Christos and her brother were in the pool together. They were talking, though about what she couldn’t tell. She could only tell that Filip looked happy. And in the water, he looked healthy – there was no sign of any physical defect or weakness.
“What are you doing?” She ran quickly across the small lawn and pushed into the pool area. Thoughts of the morning he’d carried her in came flooding back as she went to jump in. Only Christos’s stern expression stilled her.
“He’s fine,” Christos said assuringly.
“Yeah, look.” Filip moved his powerful arms, all the more powerful for the workout they got on the chair, and dragged himself easily through the water. “This is amazing, sis. In here, I feel like myself.” His smile twisted her heart. In four years she hadn’t seen him this happy and it had taken Christos Rakanti and his multi-million dollar home a matter of days.
“Is it safe?” She asked Filip, crouching down and putti
ng her hand on his.
“Yeah. We swim all the time.”
We swim all the time. Such inclusiveness! Such togetherness. She stood up and stumbled back from the pool a bit. Christos watched her steadily and tried not to focus on her beautifully tanned legs and the perfect rear that was emphasised by the denim shorts.
“I’m here,” Christos said, his voice deep, and for a moment she didn’t understand what he meant. Was he asking her to acknowledge him? To smile at him and thank him for having her? Her eyes were ice-cold when they met his. “I’m watching him.”
She nodded, spinning away as comprehension dawned. “Fine.” She sat down on one of the loungers and flicked her glasses down too. “But so am I.”
Christos’s lip lifted in a laconic smile as he turned to face Filip. “You were saying?” He prompted, as Filip cruised back through the water easily.
“Yeah, right. So I think economics is what I’ll put down for. It makes sense. I love maths. Commerce. I’ve always had a thing for business.”
Elle closed her eyes and pretended she wasn’t listening.
“You should come with me to the office tomorrow,” Christos offered. “Get a feel for real-world business.”
“Are you serious?” Filip stared at Christos. “That wouldn’t be weird?”
Christos’s laugh sent tingles down Elle’s spine. “Not at all.”
She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and pretended fascination with her social media. But nothing distracted her from the sight of Christos and his naked torso, arms that were bulked with muscle, skin that was tanned, and a covering of hair that ran down his chest in an inverted triangle. It was too easy to remember how it had felt to lay beneath him. Or to curl backwards against him and fall asleep listening to the beating of his heart.
She shifted on the lounger, her blood boiling.
“How was your flight?” Christos had tracked closer; his arms were resting on the pool-coping now.
“Fine thanks,” she smiled tartly without looking up from her phone.
He wanted to grab it and throw it in the water. He wanted her to look at him. He wanted her to smile at him. He wanted her.
His gut clenched.
Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin... Page 41