Billionaires: They're powerful, hot, charming and richer than sin...

by Clare Connelly

  She groaned and stood up. No matter how she chose to resolve this mess, there was no sense in indulging a display of emotional drama. She was better than that. “Pull yourself together,” she urged, scanning the clothes with misted eyes. She reached for the closest bag and lifted out a pair of white linen pants and a soft blue shirt. It was perfect with her eyes; comfortable, flattering and a great fit.

  Of course.

  He was a man with an eye for detail apparently, and undoubtedly she wasn’t the first woman he’d bought clothes for.

  “Agape mou, are you ready?”

  She checked her reflection in the mirror with a frown. She looked so much more like herself. For the past few days she’d been sort of wild and free-spirited. Now? She was looking a lot more like Mrs Saphire Arana, wife of up-and-coming lawyer Jordan Arana, future politician Jordan Arana. All she needed was a pearl necklace and a sophisticated chignon and she’d be transformed back to normal.

  It made her want to scream and rail against everything she’d become.

  She didn’t though. She ground her teeth together and moved to the door. She pulled it in and had to take a deep breath. God, he was gorgeous. He’d changed too, pulling on a dark grey polo shirt and a pair of pale chinos.

  “The timing isn’t great but one of my oldest friends just called. He’s choppered to the island to check up on me.” He laughed. “Actually, I suspect he wants to meet you.”

  “Me?” Fear made her stumble a little. “What do you mean? What did you tell him about me?”

  “Only that I had the most beautiful house guest in the world and that he should stay away.”

  “And yet he’s here anyway,” she responded breathily.

  He nodded. “He was concerned that I might become morose after Aristotle’s death.”

  “You? Morose?” She couldn’t help but tease. But butterflies were filling her whole chest cavity.

  The small speedboat was already waiting at the bottom of the ladder. The dream of the sea-life was over. Life would go on.

  “Who is he? Your friend?”

  “Rocco Barone,” he said, watching as she climbed deftly down the ladder. “You will like him.”

  She smiled awkwardly. His name wasn’t familiar. What were the chances that he knew her husband? She settled herself in the boat, trying to calm her nerves.

  They walked more quickly on the return to the beach. It was not far to the mansion. As they crossed onto the tufted grass lawn that bordered the sand, they were met by a man who was, Saphire presumed, Thad’s friend.

  Rocco.

  He was just like Thad, in many ways. Tall, swarthy, with eyes that saw too much and a face chiseled from stone. His body was broad, his sculpture defined.

  Thad squeezed Saphire’s hand reassuringly, and he continued to hold it as they got nearer to Rocco. The Italian’s eyes were unapologetic as they purposefully appraised Saphire before turning back to Thaddeus.

  “I’m not invading,” Rocco said in response to his friend’s look of admonishment. “I had business in Athens, and it seemed a waste not to come to you, seeing as I was almost here anyway.”

  “Yes, a waste,” Thad said with amusement. “You are always welcome. Even after being specifically told not to come.” He performed the perfunctory introductions and Rocco held a hand out to Saphire. Instead of taking the fingers she extended, he reached for her left hand and brought it to his lips. His kiss was brief, and interestingly, stirred nothing inside of her.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Arana.”

  Something in the way he said it ignited a fire of warning in Saphire, but she told herself she was simply being paranoid. It was her own guilty conscience, and the fact she was used to hearing Arana in concert with the title ‘Mrs’.

  “Come. Join us for breakfast,” Thad said, gesturing towards the house.

  “I’d like that.” Rocco slid a glance towards Saphire that made her pulse spin, and not in a good way. His look was thickened with an emotion that didn’t fit. Something dark she couldn’t explain.

  “Excuse me,” Thad murmured as they reached the patio. “I’ll let the housekeeper know to bring food.” He disappeared through the doors, leaving Rocco and Saphire alone on the sun-lit balcony.

  “You just met him?” Rocco queried, his manner appearing civil.

  She nodded jerkily and licked her lower lip. She was nervous. So nervous!

  “How?”

  “On the flight over.” She settled herself into a chair, knowing that she had to at least appear calm, even though she was far from it. The intrusion was premature. She wasn’t ready to answer questions about her and Thad. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be. But after the night they’d spent on the boat, she knew she needed to speak to him. To tell him the truth. And to beg him to help her.

  “Interesting. What brings you to Greece?”

  She swallowed. “A few different things, actually. And you? How do you know Mr Konstanides?”

  “Mr Konstanides?” He repeated in obvious disbelief and Saphire laughed despite the tension she felt. The sound was pleasant. Rocco had arrived certain he would despise her, yet her appeal easily challenged that expectation.

  “I’m sorry. It’s an inside joke, I guess. I just sort of like the way it sounds.” She shook her head. “How do you know Thaddeus?” It was the first time she’d said his name. She liked the taste of it in her mouth.

  “Our grandfathers were friends.”

  “Ah. A dynastic relationship, then,” she said with a smile that only added to her sweetness.

  “Absolutely. That’s us. Out to rule the world one transportation company at a time.”

  Her eyes sparkled with mirth and intelligence. “How noble.”

  “What is noble, agape mou?” Thad asked, walking with his natural athleticism through the doors and taking the seat next to Saphire. He reached over and caught her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

  “Nothing, Mr Konstanides,” Rocco jibed his friend.

  “Ah, I see your name for me is spreading. How … wonderful,” he drawled. Then, to Rocco, “Don’t you start.”

  “You have come from the boat?”

  “We slept there,” Saphire nodded, though her cheeks had a betraying smudge of pink when she thought of how little sleeping they’d actually done.

  “A nice night for it,” Rocco murmured conversationally. “Clear and warm.”

  “It could have been pouring with rain and it still would have been perfect,” Saphire said instantly, but the sentence knocked them all off-kilter, and her the most. She had to be more careful. She was the one who’d imposed rules to keep their relationship simple and now she was breaking them in every way.

  Thad squeezed her hand and then leaned forward. “What’s happening in Athens?”

  Rocco shook his head. “That idiot accountant of mine has misplaced half a million euro.”

  Thad’s laugh was unexpected. “You were supposed to fire him.”

  “He’s the friend of a friend.” The admission was said with an accompanying roll of the eyes.

  “He’s Marissa’s friend,” Thad corrected. “And that’s the only reason you haven’t fired him. You do not suffer fools, and he is undoubtedly just that.”

  Rocco waved a hand in the air dismissively “It will turn up. He has no doubt just forgotten which account he deposited it into.”

  Platters of food began to arrive, and while they ate, Rocco and Thaddeus chatted and Saphire reclined a little, inviting the sun to warm her skin and the food fill her stomach. Thad’s voice was like liquid lava on her veins. She let it run over her, relaxing her, soothing her, until she couldn’t help but believe that somehow, everything would work out.

  Rocco, while appearing intent on a light-hearted discussion with his friend, kept a large part of his focus on the beautiful English woman. There was no doubting her appeal – Thad hadn’t exaggerated her physical charms – but she was also duplicitous. The way she pawed Thad’s hand the whole time they sat lef
t him in little doubt she had her own agenda, and fooling his friend was at the heart of it.

  When Saphire stifled a yawn and then straightened Thad turned to her immediately. His eyes were so full of concern that something snapped inside of Rocco. The image of his friend, vulnerable and grieving the loss of Aristotle, being taken in by a woman such as this was too much to bear. He’d come to the island to protect Thad’s interests, and the time had come to follow through on that.

  He transferred his gaze to her pointedly, wondering if she knew the hammer was about to drop.

  “Arana is an interesting name, Saphire. Is it Italian?”

  Her eyes flew to his. She was instantly wary. “Spanish.”

  Rocco’s gaze clung to her. He enjoyed the way mottled pink marred her perfect ivory skin. “You don’t look Spanish.”

  “I’m not.” Her smile was tight. Her eyes were starting to sting; blood was gushing through her body.

  “What are you getting at, Rocco?” Thad asked with silky warning, for he knew his friend well enough to know when he was hedging around a point.

  “Would you like to tell him? Or shall I?” Rocco’s eyes didn’t leave Saphire’s face. She was as white as a sheet suddenly, and Thad felt a bolt of antipathy towards a man he had always loved as a brother.

  “Tell me what?” Thad demanded in a tone his enemies knew to fear.

  Saphire felt like the whole world had lost its gravity. She was weak and hot and cold and exhausted. “Please don’t.”

  “Someone tell me what the hell is going on,” Thaddeus exclaimed.

  Rocco knew that the words would bring his friend some pain. But temporary pain was better than letting the likes of Saphire Arana run all over a man who usually exhibited far better judgment.

  “Your lover is married. Saphire Arana is, in fact, Mrs Jordan Arana of Notting Hill, London.”

  7

  “I can explain,” she said, but the words were hollow even to her own ears.

  Thad turned to Rocco, trying not to focus on Saphire at all. He wasn’t sure he could trust himself to speak to her until his temper returned to earth. “What are you talking about?”

  “I had her checked out,” Rocco said, as though it were of little importance.

  “You had me investigated?” Her look was one of abject horror. “What the hell?” She pushed up from the table, shaking now from rage. It was a welcome relief from embarrassment and guilt. “Who the hell are you to think you have any right to meddle in my life like that?”

  Rocco’s tone was impatient. “I have no care for your life. But as for my friend …”

  “You don’t think he’s a big enough boy to take care of himself?”

  “Apparently not,” Rocco responded harshly. “Or he would know better than to get mixed up with a woman like you.”

  Thaddeus held a hand up to silence Rocco. Slowly, he turned to face Saphire. “Is it true?”

  Guilt was back, bouncing through her like a fast-paced ball. “I’m not going to talk about it in front of him.”

  Thad’s eyes dropped to her hand. There was no ring. Saphire had taken great satisfaction in ripping it off in the hallway of her home and throwing it dramatically against the carpeted floor seconds after discovering her husband’s infidelity.

  “Is it true?” He repeated, his voice colder than she’d ever believed him capable of.

  She gripped the side of the table for support. “It isn’t like it sounds.”

  “You are either married, or you are not.”

  “I …”

  “Tell him,” Rocco urged, satisfied at least that she truly felt a weight of betrayal now that her dishonesty was revealed.

  “Yes.” She nodded, every part of her numb. “I’m … married.” The sentence tasted like bile.

  Thad pressed back in his chair and stared out at the ocean. The words kept chasing around his brain, and he could make no sense of them. Yes. I’m married. I’m married. I’m married.

  “Thad?” She put a hand on his shoulder, but he angled his head to show his displeasure in the contact.

  “You should go. I have no interest in getting in the middle of a marriage.”

  “Thad,” she sobbed his name and squeezed his shoulder but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “If I had known, I would never,” he turned cold, bitter eyes to face her, “have touched you. Not a hair on your head.”

  She shook her head. “Please, let me explain.”

  “You’re married.”

  She nodded. “But …”

  “No.” He shouted the word, timing it with a slap of his palm onto the table. She startled at the aggressive response. “Am I not being clear? Get out. Go.”

  A sob bubbled from her and she pressed her hands to her mouth to stop any more. “How?” She whispered, for she was a virtual prisoner on this island.

  “My helicopter can take her,” Rocco said softly. Now that his point had been made, he almost felt sorry for her.

  “Fine,” Thad nodded without so much as a look in her direction.

  She stared at him, her eyes overflowing with tears, her face blotchy. Silently she willed him to look at her. To see her for who she was, to see the love that flowed through her.

  “Go.” He said again, his face autocratic.

  “Is that really what you want?” She forced herself to ask the words.

  “I want … what I want is to … erase everything we’ve shared from my memory.”

  It was decisive and cutting, as he’d intended it to be. He watched her leave, and immediately felt a need to beg her to stay.

  “I’m sorry,” Rocco said gently.

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “To apologize?”

  Thad’s expression was grim. “No. To … I don’t know. Why did you get your guy to look into her?”

  Rocco toyed with his watch. “You sounded different.” He lifted his shoulders. “You were …”

  Happy.

  “I guess I should thank you.” Strange, given that Rocco had destroyed everything Thaddeus had been reveling in.

  “It’s not necessary. I know you would have done the same for me.”

  “God, Rocco.” Thaddeus turned to stare at the ocean. “Married?”

  “Yeah. Only a few months.”

  Thaddeus swore. “I cannot believe it.”

  “I saw the certificate.”

  “Perhaps there is a mistake. Or they have now separated.”

  Rocco’s expression was apologetic. “The husband’s some sort of aspiring politician. I saw a photo of them at an event only a fortnight ago.”

  Another curse escaped from Thaddeus’s lips. “What’s he like?” He shook his head. “Don’t answer that. Knowing would kill me.”

  Rocco’s laugh was without humor. “Come on. Forget her. She’s gone. And if there’s one thing you never have any trouble with, it’s meeting women.”

  But he’d never met a woman like Saphire.

  Not one.

  And she owed him an explanation.

  After several wrong turns and a couple of panic-attack moments, Saphire burst out of the house and into a courtyard. The helicopter was way across the grass, and there was a pilot-looking-person propped against the side. She ran towards it, her eyes blurred by the constant stream of tears.

  She knew that she would never get over this.

  That leaving him was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

  But that she had to do it.

  He’d given her no choice.

  Her feet stumbled on uneven ground and she fell all the way to the grass. Her hands smashed against it and she cried out. The temptation to fall flat and sob and wail was great, but she pushed up instead, standing fluidly and resuming her journey to the aircraft.

  She was almost there, about to step off the island and away from the dream that had quickly become the worst kind of nightmare. Her eyes and thoughts were focused solely on the escape route. She didn’t hear him running behind her. Nor did she see
the way his face was etched with emotion when finally, he caught up to her.

  The first indication she had that he was with her was his hand, hard and demanding, as it wrapped around her arm. “You are really just going to leave like this?” He shouted the question, his whole manner tautened by fury.

  “You told me to get out,” she fired back, pulling her arm free with a force that she knew would quickly give way to weakness and grief.

  A muscle moved in his cheek. “I need to know why.” Another shouted statement.

  In contrast, her words were barely louder than a whisper. She couldn’t meet his eyes. The anger she saw in them was chilling. “Why do you think?”

  “I have no idea. I would never have thought you capable of this.”

  “Me either.” She sucked in a deep breath and forced herself to stare up at his beautiful face. Intense wistfulness besieged her.

  “Why? Just tell me why, before you go.”

  His words were like little hammer blows of desperation against her stricken heart. “You really want me to go?”

  “Of course,” he snapped. “You’ve made a fool of me. You’ve used me. You are dishonest. But I still need to know.”

  She had carried the secret for days and she was so sick of its burden. “Please just let me speak.” Tears stained the words. “Don’t … don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?”

  Her eyes shimmered. “Like you hate me.”

  “Just … tell me,” he commanded flatly, trying to suppress the betrayal from his features.

  Her hair lifted in the breeze. The words came out with deceptive neutrality. “Remember I told you last night about my friend Anita?”

  He expelled a harsh breath. It was worse than he’d thought. “So? You wanted to compete with her? Do something just as sick to prove your friendship?”

  Saphire blanched. “No. God, no.” Her blue eyes were filled with pain that he could, even briefly, believe her capable of such childish gamesmanship. “I was the other woman. The husband she’s sleeping with? That’s my husband.”

  Comprehension slammed into him. Anger, love, sorrow, it all threaded through him. “Jesus. You are telling me your best friend slept with your husband?”