by Lynne Graham
Much as she cared for Elliot, it was as a sister. Aristo was still the only man she’d ever loved. He had been her first love—not her first lover, but he had taught her everything about pleasure.
Her green eyes lifted to his. And not just pleasure. Because of him she’d become an authority on heartache and regret too.
So what exactly gave him the right to stand there with a sneer on that irritatingly handsome face?
Suddenly she was glad she hadn’t turned tail. Fingers curling into fists, she glared at him. ‘I think your memory must be playing tricks on you, Aristo. Work was always your thing—not mine. And, not that it’s any of your concern, but Edward Claiborne is a very generous man. He was more than happy to pay the bill.’
She knew how she was making it sound, but it wasn’t quite a lie. He had offered to pay. And besides, if it made Aristo feel even a fraction of her pain, then why not rub it in? He might not have thought her worthy of his attention and commitment, but Edward had been happy to give her his time and his company.
‘And that’s what matters to you, isn’t it, Theodora? Getting your bills paid. Even if it means taking what isn’t yours.’
He didn’t really care about the money—even before his ruthless onwards-and-upwards rise to global domination, the amount she’d taken had been a negligible amount. Now it would barely make a dent in the Leonidas billions. At the time, though, it had stung—particularly as it had been down to his own stupidity.
For some unknown reason he hadn’t closed their shared accounts immediately after the divorce was finalised, and Teddie had wasted no time taking advantage. Not that he should have been surprised. No matter how pampered they were, women were never satisfied with what they had. He’d learned that aged six, when his mother had found a titled, wealthier replacement for his father.
But knowing Teddie had worked her ‘magic’ on Edward hurt—and, childish though it was, he wanted to hurt her back.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘It was mine,’ she said hotly. ‘It was ours. That’s what marriage is about, Aristo—it’s called sharing.’
He stared at her disparagingly. The briefness of their marriage and the ruthless determination of his legal team had ensured that her financial settlement had been minimal, but it was more than she deserved.
‘Is that what you tell yourself?’
She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as he shook his head slowly.
‘Just because it was still a joint account that didn’t mean you had the right to empty it.’
‘If it bothered you that much you could have talked to me,’ she snarled. ‘But I was only your wife—why would you want to talk to me?’
‘Don’t give me that,’ he said sharply. ‘I talked to you.’
‘You talked at me about work. Never about us.’
Never about the fact that they were basically living separate lives—two strangers sharing a bed but never a meal or a joke.
Hearing the emotion in her voice, she stopped abruptly. What was the point of having this conversation? It was four years too late, and their marriage couldn’t have mattered that much to him if all he wanted to discuss now was their bank account.
And was it really that surprising? His whole life had been dedicated to making money.
She breathed in unsteadily. ‘And, as for the money, I took what I needed to live.’
To look after our son, she thought with a sudden flare of anger. A son who even before his birth had been relegated to second place.
‘I’m not going to apologise for that, and if it was a problem then you should have said something at the time, but you made it quite clear that you didn’t want to talk to me.’
Aristo stared at her, anger pulsing beneath his skin. At the time he had seen her behaviour as just more evidence of his poor judgement. More proof that the women in his life would inevitably turn their backs on him.
But he was not about to reveal his reasons for staying silent—why should he? He wasn’t the one who’d walked out on their marriage. He didn’t need to explain himself.
His heart began to thump rhythmically inside his chest, and an old, familiar feeling of bitter, impotent fury formed a knot in his stomach. She was right. He should have dealt with this years ago—because even though he had succeeded in erasing her from his heart and his home, he had never quite managed to wipe her betrayal from his memory.
How could he, though? Their relationship had been over so quickly and had ended with such finality that there had been no time to confront her properly.
Until now.
Teddie stared at him in appalled silence as, leaning back, he stretched out his legs. Moments earlier she had wanted to throw George’s existence in his face. Now, though, she could feel spidery panic scuttling over her skin at the thought of how close she’d come to revealing the truth.
‘So let’s talk now,’ he said, turning to nod curtly at a passing waiter, who hurried over with almost comical haste.
She nearly laughed, only it was more sad than funny. He didn’t want to talk now any more than he had four years ago, but he knew that she wanted to leave so he wanted to make her stay. Nothing had changed. He hadn’t changed. He just wanted to get his own way.
‘An espresso, please, and an Americano.’ He gave the order without so much as looking at her, and the fact that he could still remember her favourite drink, as much as his arrogant assumption that she would be joining him, made her want to scream.
‘I’m not staying,’ she said coldly. She knew from past experience that his powers of persuasion were incomparable, but in the past she had loved him to distraction. Here, in the present, she wasn’t going to let him push her into a corner. ‘And I don’t want to speak to you,’ she said, glancing pointedly past him.
He shrugged, a mocking smile curving his mouth. ‘Then I’ll talk and you can listen.’
Cheeks darkening with angry colour, she sat mutinously as the waiter reappeared and, with a swift, nervous glance at Aristo, deposited the drinks in front of them.
‘Is there anything else, Mr Leonidas?’
Aristo shook his head. ‘No, thank you.’
Teddie stared at him, a beat of irritation jumping in her chest. It was always the same, this effect that Aristo had on people. When they’d first met she’d teased him about it: as a magician, she was supposed to be the centre of attention. But even when his wealth had been visible but not daunting, he’d had something that set him apart from all the other beautiful rich people—a potent mix of power and beauty and vitality that created an irresistible gravitational pull around him.
She could hardly blame the poor waiter for being like a cat on hot bricks when she had been just as susceptible. It was still maddening, though.
Some of her feelings must be showing on her face, for as he reached to pick up his cup, he paused. ‘Is there a problem?’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘Other than you, you mean?’
He sighed. ‘I meant with your drink. I can send it back.’
‘Could you just stop throwing your weight around?’ She shook her head in exasperation. ‘I know it must be difficult for you to switch off from work, but this isn’t one of your hotels.’
Leaning back, he raised the cup to his mouth, his eyes never leaving her face. ‘Actually it is,’ he said mildly. ‘It’s the first in a new line we’re trying out—traditional elegance and luxury with impeccable sustainability.’ He smiled at the look of frozen horror on her face. ‘And a constantly rotating collection of contemporary art.’
She felt her breathing jerk as out of the corner of her eye she noticed the tiny lion’s head logo on the coaster. Cheeks burning, she glanced furtively over at the Warhols.
Damn it, but of course they were real. Aristo Leonidas would never have anything in his life that wasn’t one hundred per cent perfect—it was why he’d found it so devastat
ingly easy to abandon her.
Her heartbeat stumbled in her chest. No doubt he’d only wanted her to stay here so he could point out this latest addition to his empire.
Cursing herself, and Aristo, and Elliot for being so useless at managing their schedule, she half rose.
‘Sit down,’ he said softly.
Their eyes clashed. ‘I don’t want to.’
‘Why? Are you scared of what will happen if you do?
Was she scared?
She felt her insides flip over, and she suddenly felt hot and dizzy.
Once she had been in thrall to him. He’d been everything she’d wanted in a lover and in a man. Caught in the dark shimmering intensity of his gaze, she had felt warm and wanted.
And now, as the heat spread outwards, she was forced to accept again that, even hating him as she did, her body was still reacting in the same way, unconstrained by logic or even the most basic sense of self-preservation.
Horrified by this revelation of her continuing vulnerability—or maybe stupidity—she lifted her chin, her eyes narrowing, muscles tensing as though for combat.
‘I’m not, no. But you should be. Or maybe you like your suits with coffee stains?’
His dark eyes flickered with amusement. ‘If you want me to get undressed, you could just ask.’
He was unbelievable and unfair, making such a blatant reference to their sexual past. But, despite her outrage, she felt the kick of desire. Just as she had that night four years ago, when her body had betrayed her.
Her heart thudded. How could she have let it happen? Just hours earlier they’d been thrashing out their divorce. She’d known he didn’t love her, and yet she’d still slept with him.
But she could never fully regret her stupidity for that was the night she’d conceived George.
She glowered at him. ‘I don’t want you at all,’ she lied. ‘And I don’t want to have some stupid conversation about coffee or art.’
He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘Okay, okay. Look, this is hard for both us, but we share a history. Surely if fate has chosen to throw us together we can put our differences behind us for old times’ sake,’ he said smoothly. ‘Surely you can spare a couple of minutes to catch up.’
Teddie felt her heart start to pound. If only if was just the past they shared. But it wasn’t, and hiding that fact from Aristo was proving harder than she’d ever imagined.
But how could she tell him the truth? That he had a three-year-old son called George he’d never met. She caught her breath, trying to imagine how that conversation would start, much less end.
More importantly, though, why would she tell him? Their marriage might have been short-lived, but it had been long enough for her to know that there was no room in her ex-husband’s life for anything but his career. And, having been on the receiving end of her father’s intermittent attention, she knew exactly what it felt like to be a side dish to the main meal, and she was not about to let her son suffer the same fate.
‘I just told you. I don’t want to stay.’ But, glancing up into his dark eyes, she felt a flare of panic, for they were cold and flat like slate, and they matched the uncompromising expression on his face.
‘I wasn’t actually giving you an option.’
She felt the colour leave her face. Had he really just said what she thought he had?
‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Instantly her panic was forgotten, obliterated in a white-out of fury. ‘Just because this is your hotel, Aristo, it doesn’t mean you can act like some despot,’ she snapped.’ If I want to leave, I will, thank you very much, and there’s nothing you can do about it.’
Aristo stared at her in silence. Was this why he had sought out her company instead of simply retreating? To force a confrontation so that, unlike in their marriage, he would be the one to dictate when she left? Would that heal the still festering wound of her betrayal? Quiet the suspicion, the knowledge, that he had been used like a plaything to pass the time until something, or more likely someone, better came along?
He shrugged dismissively. ‘That would depend, I suppose, on how you leave and whether you value your reputation. Being removed by Security in front of a room full of people could be quite damaging.’ Leaning back in his seat, he raised an eyebrow. ‘I can’t imagine what your new boss would think if he heard about it.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ she said softly.
His eyes didn’t leave her face. ‘Try me!’
He could see the conflict in her eyes—frustration and resentment battling with logic and resignation—but he knew the battle was already won. If she was going to leave she would already be on her feet.
With immense satisfaction he watched her sit back stiffly in her seat. This wasn’t about revenge, but even so he couldn’t help letting a small, triumphant smile curve his mouth.
‘So...’ He gestured towards the pack of cards. ‘You’re still a magician, then.’
Teddie stared at the cards. To anyone else his remark would have sounded innocuous, nothing more than a polite show of interest in an ex’s current means of employment. But she wasn’t anyone. She had been his wife, and she could hear the resentment in his voice for she had heard it before.
It was another reminder of why their marriage had failed. And why she should have confronted the past head-on instead of pretending her marriage had never happened. She might have been strong for her son, but she’d been a coward when it came to facing Aristo.
Only, she’d had good reason not to want to face him. Lots of good reasons, actually.
In the aftermath of their marriage he’d been cold and unapproachable, and later she’d been so sick with her pregnancy, and then, by the time she’d felt well again, George had been born—and that was a whole other conversation.
She was suddenly conscious of Aristo’s steady, dark gaze and her heart gave a thump. She had to stop thinking about George or something was going to slip out.
‘Yes,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m still a magician, Aristo. And you’re still in hotels.’
Her heart was thumping hard against her chest. Did he really want to sit here with her while they politely pretended to be on speaking terms? Her hands felt suddenly damp and she pressed them against the cooling leather. Clearly he did. But then, he didn’t have a secret to keep.
He nodded. ‘Mostly, but I’ve diversified my interests.’
She gritted her teeth. So even less time for anything other than work. For some reason that thought made her feel sad rather than angry and, caught off-guard, she picked up her coffee and took a sip.
Aristo looked at her, his gaze impassive. ‘You must have done well. Edward Claiborne doesn’t often go out of his comfort zone. So how did you two meet?’
His eyes tangled with hers and he felt a stab of anger, remembering Edward Claiborne’s proprietorial manner as he’d turned and gestured across the room towards Teddie.
She shrugged. ‘Elliot and I did some magic showcases at a couple of charity balls last year and he was there.’
Aristo stared at her coldly. ‘You work with Elliot?’
For some reason her defiant nod made a primitive jealousy rip through him like a box-cutter. In his head—if he’d allowed himself to picture her at all—she had been alone, suffering as he was. Only, now it appeared that not only had she survived, she was prospering with Elliot.
‘We set up a business together. He does the admin, front of house and accountancy. I do the magic.’
He felt another spasm of irritation—pain, almost. He knew Teddie had never been romantically or sexually involved with Elliot, but he had supported her, and once that had been his job. It was bad enough that his half-brother, Oliver, had displaced him in his mother’s affections—now it appeared that Elliot had usurped him in Teddie’s.
‘From memory, he wasn’t much of a businessman,’ he said coolly.<
br />
For the first time since she’d sat down Teddie smiled and, watching her eyes soften, he had to fight an overwhelming urge to reach out and stroke her cheek, for once her eyes had used to soften for him in that way.
‘He’s not, but he’s my best friend and I trust him,’ she said simply. ‘And that’s what matters.’
It was tempting to lie, to tell him that she’d found love and unimaginable passion in Elliot’s arms, but it would only end up making her look sad and desperate.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely what matters is profit?’
She’d always known he felt like that, but somehow his remark hurt more than it should, for it was the reason her son would grow up without a father.
Her fingers curled. ‘Some things are more important than money, Aristo.’
‘Not in business,’ he said dismissively.
She glared at him, hating him and his stupid, blinkered view of life, but hating herself more for still caring what he thought.
‘But there’s more to life than business. There’s feelings and people—friends, family—’
She broke off, the emotion in her voice echoing inside her head. Glancing up, she found him watching her, his gaze darkly impassive, and it was hard not to turn away, for the heartbreakingly familiar masculine beauty of his face seemed so at odds with the distance in his eyes.
‘You don’t have a family,’ he said.
It was one of the few facts she’d shared with him about her life—that she was an orphan. Dazed, Teddie blinked. She was about to retort that she was a mother to his son, when abruptly her brain came back online and she bit back her words. Given how he’d behaved, and was still behaving, she certainly didn’t owe him the truth.
But George was his child. Didn’t he deserve to know that?
Her heartbeat stalled, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. Her stomach seemed to be turning in on itself. Wishing that she could make herself disappear as effortlessly as she could make watches and wallets vanish, she forced herself to meet his gaze.