The Helen Bianchin Collection (Mills & Boon E-Book Collections) (26 page)

Between acts she gathered with her mother among patrons in the lobby, sipped a cool drink, and indulged in conversation. Siobhan owned a boutique in exclusive Double Bay, and had in the years since her
divorce become an astute and extremely successful businesswoman.

‘I've put something aside for you,' Siobhan relayed.

Her mother's taste in clothes was impeccable, and Katrina proffered a warm smile. ‘Thanks. I'll write you a cheque.'

Siobhan pressed her hand on that of her daughter. ‘A gift, darling.'

A prickle of awareness slithered down Katrina's spine, and she barely caught herself from shivering in reaction.

Only one man had this effect on her, and she turned slowly, forcing herself to skim the fellow patrons with casual interest.

A difficult feat when all her body's self-protective instincts were on full alert.

Nicos Kasoulis stood as part of a group, his head inclined towards a gorgeous blonde whose avid attention was almost sickening. Two men, two women. A cosy foursome.

Yet even as she was about to turn away he lifted his head and captured her glance, held it, those dark eyes steady, mesmeric, almost frightening.

He had the height, Katrina conceded, the breadth of shoulder, the stance, that drew attention.

Sculptured facial bone structure inherited from his Greek ancestors—wide cheekbones, strong jaw, not to mention a mouth that promised a thousand sensual delights and eyes as dark as sin—merely added another dimension to a man who wore an aura of power
as comfortably as a second skin. Thick dark hair worn longer than was currently conventional added an individualistic tone to a man whose strength of will was equally admired as well as feared among his contemporaries.

If he thought to intimidate her, he was mistaken. Katrina lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed with green fire an instant before she deliberately turned her back on him.

At that moment the electronic buzzer sounded, heralding patrons to return to their seats.

Katrina's focus was shot to hell, and the final act passed in a blur of dialogue and action that held little consequence. Her entire train of thought was centred around escaping the auditorium without bumping into the man who'd stirred her to passionate heights, the mere thought of which caused her equilibrium to crash and burn.

An escape Nicos would contrive to allow, or not, as the mood took him.

Not
, she perceived as they made their way through the lobby to the front entrance.

‘Katrina. Siobhan.'

His voice was like black satin, dark and smoothly dangerous beneath the veneer of sophisticated politeness.

‘Why, Nicos,' her mother breathed with delight as he bent to brush his lips to her cheek. ‘How nice to see you.'

Traitor, Katrina accorded silently. Siobhan had
been one of Nicos's conquests from the beginning. Still was.

‘Likewise.' He turned slightly and fixed Katrina with a deceptively mild gaze. ‘Dinner tomorrow night. Seven?'

Bastard.
The curse stopped in her throat as she caught her mother's surprise. Nicos, damn him, merely arched an eyebrow.

‘Katrina hasn't told you?'

She wanted to hit him, and almost did. ‘No.' The single word escaped as a furious negative.

Siobhan looked from her daughter to Nicos, who merely inclined his head in silent deference to Katrina.

Grr!
She wanted to scratch his eyes out, and for a wild nanosecond she actually considered it.

He knew, darn it. She could tell from the faint musing gleam evident, the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth as he waited for her to pick up the ball and play.

There was no way around it, and better the truth than prevarication. ‘Kevin, in his infinite wisdom,' she declared with heavy irony, ‘has made it a condition of his will that I reside in the same house with Nicos for a year. If I don't, Nicos gains a majority control of Macbride.' She threw him a dark look that would have felled a lesser man. ‘Something I absolutely refuse to let happen.'

‘Oh, my,' Siobhan voiced faintly, her eyes clouding as she glimpsed her daughter's simmering temper.

Siobhan knew her ex-husband well. The iron will
beneath the soft, persuasive Irish charm. It had been a time ago, and she'd long forgiven him. For the one good thing to come out of their union had been Katrina.

‘The man's a meddling fool,' she said quietly, and saw her daughter's wry smile. But a smart one. Oh, yes, Kevin Macbride had been nothing if not astute. And he'd developed an instant liking for the attractive Greek his daughter had wed. Maybe, just maybe, the father might achieve in death what he hadn't been able to achieve while he'd been alive.

Siobhan, how could you? Katrina seethed silently. While I'm capable of slaying my own dragons, I expected you to stand beside me, not welcome the enemy with grace and charm.

Nicos discerned each and every fleeting expression on his wife's features. She'd lost weight, her skin was pale, and at the moment she was a seething bundle of barely controlled fury. A bundle he was hard-pressed not to heft over one shoulder and carry kicking and cursing out to his car. And ultimately into his bed.

Katrina glimpsed the intent in those dark eyes, and wanted to
hit
him. ‘Goodnight.'

The word was evinced as a cool dismissal. Icy, with a tinge of disdain meant to convey the edge of her temper.

She saw what he was going to do an instant before his head descended, and he anticipated her move, countered it, and captured her mouth with his own in a kiss that destroyed her carefully erected defences.

Brief, possessive, evocative, it brought a vivid reminder of what had been.

And would be again.

The purpose was there, a silent statement that was neither threat nor challenge. Merely fact.

Then he straightened, and his lips curved into a musing smile as he caught the unmistakable edge of anger in her glittering green gaze.

‘Seven, Katrina,' he reminded her with deceptive quietness, and saw her chin tilt fractionally.

Cool, control. She'd had plenty of practice at displaying both emotions. ‘Name the restaurant, and I'll meet you there.'

One eyebrow arched. A silent, faintly mocking gesture that put a serious dent in her bid for independence.

‘The foyer of the Ritz-Carlton.'

An established, élite hotel situated a few blocks from her Double Bay apartment, negating the need to take her car.

She had no doubt it was a deliberate choice on his part, and she was sorely tempted to stamp her foot in childish repudiation. Instead, she offered him a cool glance and kept her voice neutral. ‘Fine.'

Nicos inclined his head towards Siobhan, then he turned and began weaving his way through numerous patrons converging near the entrance.

‘Don't say a word,' Katrina warned in caution as they gained the external pavement.

‘Darling, I wouldn't dream of it,' her mother evinced with a soft chuckle.

T
HE
evening was warm, the air like silk on a soft breeze whispering in from the sea as Katrina locked her car and set the alarm.

The hotel entrance lay ahead, its elegant façade attesting élite patronage in an established, moneyed inner-city suburb.

She'd dressed to kill, although only she knew how much time had been spent selecting and discarding one set of clothes after another in a quest to do battle and win.

Nicos viewed her entry into the lounge with veiled interest.

Business
, he silently attested, noting the power suit in stylish black. The cut of the jacket, the mid-thigh length of the straight skirt, the sheer black hose showcasing shapely legs, slim ankles emphasised by stiletto-heeled black pumps. Jewellery confined to a diamond pendant on a slender gold chain, and a simple diamond stud worn in each earlobe.

Was she aware how well he could read her? The tiny signals that indicated her mood were evident in the sweep of her hair into a smooth, sophisticated French twist, the perfectly applied make-up, highlighting her eyes, the shape of her mouth. The tilt of her chin.

It was a façade, one he'd been able to dispense with easily. He retained a vivid memory of the way she melted beneath his touch. The spill of hair as he slid his fingers through its thick length and cupped her nape, angling her head so that soft, evocative mouth lifted to meet his own. The wild, untamed passion of her response as she met and matched him, treading a path to mutual satisfaction that was more, much more than he'd shared with any other woman in his lifetime.

He saw the moment she sighted him, and glimpsed the faint straightening of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened over her evening purse. Her step didn't falter as she crossed towards him.

‘Nicos.' Her greeting was polite, almost cool.

Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go through?'

Fire and ice, he mused. A combination that never failed to intrigue him. ‘Eager to be done, Katrina?'

Her gaze met and held his. ‘I'd prefer to keep this short,' she stated civilly, and caught the imperceptible lift of those broad shoulders.

‘Such honesty,' he chided softly.

He made no attempt to touch her, but this close she was all too aware of his body heat, the faint tang of his exclusive cologne. Not to mention the aura of leashed power that was so much a part of him.

He was biding his time, she alluded with a tinge of bitterness. Tonight was a mere indulgence. A social formality in an attempt to create some form of mutual truce whereby they could co-exist for the next year.

Nicos had nothing to lose, while
she
…

Don't think about it, she chided silently as she entered the restaurant at Nicos's side.

Seated, she let him choose the wine while she perused the menu, ordering after scant deliberation a starter and a side salad.

‘Not hungry?' Nicos posed as he watched her sip the excellent Chardonnay.

Katrina met his gaze with equanimity. ‘Not particularly.' Her stomach felt as if it were attempting intricate somersaults, and the movement was not conducive to the easy digestion of food.

It irked that he could still have this effect. Worse, that all it took was one look at him and her pulse raced to a faster beat.

Was he aware of it? She hoped not. She'd spent a lifetime learning to mask her feelings. To smile, and pretend she was immune from the barbs two stepmothers and two stepsiblings had inflicted at every opportunity.

Adopting a façade wasn't difficult. She did it every day of her life. Professionally. Emotionally.

‘Let's get this over with, shall we?'

‘Why not finish your meal first?' Nicos countered silkily.

Katrina picked at her salad, then discarded it. ‘I've lost my appetite.'

‘Some more wine?'

‘No. Thanks,' she added politely. The need for a clear head was essential.

Dammit, why did he have to be so blatantly male?
He savoured his food as he savoured a woman. With care, enjoyment, and satisfaction.

There was something incredibly sensual about the movement of his hands, and she had only to look at his mouth to imagine how it felt on her own. The devastation it could wreak as he pleasured her. He had the touch, the knowledge, to drive a woman wild.

Focus
, she chided silently. This isn't about you. Or Nicos. It's about claiming a right to Macbride.

‘We need to decide whose residence we'll share,' she began firmly.

He forked a succulent piece of fish, and followed it with a portion of salad. ‘Naturally you'd prefer your apartment.'

It couldn't be this easy. ‘Yes.'

He cast her a measured look. ‘The Point Piper house is large. It would be more convenient for you to move in there.'

It surprised her that he hadn't sold the luxurious mansion they'd occupied for the few brief months of their ill-fated marriage. An architectural masterpiece built against sloping rock-face, it encompassed three levels of modern living, with terraced grounds, ornamental gardens, a swimming pool, and a magnificent harbour view.

It also housed too many memories. ‘No, it wouldn't.'

Nicos replaced his cutlery and settled back comfortably in his chair. ‘Afraid, Katrina?'

She looked at him carefully, noting his steady gaze, the seemingly relaxed expression. Deceptive to the
unwary, she acknowledged silently, for Nicos Kasoulis possessed a razor-sharp mind and a killer instinct. Qualities that had gained him immense respect from both friend and foe. In the business arena, and among the socially élite.

It had been this ruthless streak that had appealed so much to Kevin Macbride, who'd seen in Nicos what he'd himself possessed: someone who knew what he wanted and went after it regardless of anything or anyone who stood in his way.

‘Have I reason to be?'

His smile held a certain wryness. ‘You must know I have your welfare at heart.'

‘If that were so, you'd have stood down as executor of Kevin's will.'

‘I gave him my word.'

‘And that is everything.'

‘Cynicism doesn't suit you.'

Katrina picked up her glass, and took a leisurely sip of wine. ‘Forgive me,' she said without any hint of apology. ‘I learned it at any early age.'

‘Why not try a dessert?' Nicos queried blandly, and saw the fire bank beneath those brilliant green eyes.

She took a deep breath and sought to retain a semblance of calm. ‘We need to arrive at some sort of compromise.'

Nicos slid a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracted a bulky envelope, and tossed it down onto the table in front of her.

Katrina viewed it with suspicion. ‘What's this?'

‘A remote for the front gates, and keys to my home.'

He was far too sure of himself. ‘Presumptuous, aren't you?'

‘Practical,' he corrected.

‘Arrogant,' she attested. ‘What if I insist you move into my apartment?' she queried heatedly, hating him at that moment.

‘Do you really want me in the next bedroom to yours?' Nicos queried mildly. ‘Sharing the same living quarters, the same kitchen? In an apartment more suited to one person than two?'

‘You know nothing about my apartment,' she retaliated, and saw the slight lift of his eyebrow.

‘I was responsible for the gutting and rebuilding of the original homestead.'

She cast him a scathing look. ‘Next you'll tell me you own it.'

Nicos inclined his head. ‘Guilty.'

If she'd known, she'd never have bought it. Her eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, it had been her father who'd first drawn her attention to the penthouse apartment in the large, modernised, tri-level home. Less than a month after she'd walked out on Nicos.

Nicos watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features before she successfully masked them.

‘Mythos Investments is one of my companies.'

Of course. The name alone should have alerted her, but at the time she hadn't given much thought to anything other than finding a solitary haven of her own.

Suspicion ignited, and demanded answer. ‘Did you employ a private detective to monitor my every move?' Katrina queried tightly.

An ex-military whose instructions were to observe, protect if necessary, and be unobtrusive at all times. A successful operation, Nicos acknowledged, for which the man had received a handsome remuneration.

His silence was more eloquent than mere words, and Katrina's mouth thinned. ‘I see.'

Nicos's gaze speared hers. ‘What do you see,
pedhi mou
?' His voice was dangerously quiet.

Too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. Something she chose to ignore.

‘Two men bent on manipulating my life,' she retaliated fiercely. ‘My father during his lifetime, and now
you
.' She picked up her water glass and momentarily toyed with the idea of throwing its contents in his face.

‘Don't,' Nicos warned softly.

She was caught on the brink of violence. Aware of the acute satisfaction of such an action, and the folly of carrying it through. ‘You read minds?'

‘Yours.'

She took in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘The activity reports would have been incredibly repetitive,' she began tightly.

Work, social activities. A few male partners, none of whom had stayed overnight.

‘How
dare
you?' The anger bubbled over. ‘It was
an invasion of privacy. Harassment. I should file charges against you!'

His gaze didn't waver. ‘It was protection.'

‘Did Kevin know?' she demanded starkly.

‘We discussed it.'

Traitors, both of them. ‘Dear heaven,' she breathed with pious disregard. ‘I'm twenty-seven, not seventeen!'

‘You're the daughter of a very wealthy man, and—'

‘The estranged wife of someone who is almost my father's equal,' Katrina finished bitterly.

‘Yes.'

‘I hate you.'

His shoulders lifted in an imperturbable shrug. ‘So—hate me. At least it's an active emotion.'

She was steaming, her anger a palpable entity.

He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm, the whiteness of her knuckles as she sought control.

‘If you leave now, you'll only delay the inevitable,' Nicos warned silkily. ‘And invoke a repeat performance.'

It didn't help that he was right.

‘I don't want this,' she vowed with unaccustomed vehemence. ‘Any of it.'

‘But you want Macbride.'

It was a statement she didn't,
couldn't
refute.

Why should sharing a residence for a year with her estranged husband pose any problems? They were both adults. They had extensive work obligations,
separate interests. With luck, they'd hardly see each other much at all.

A tiny bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat. Who was she kidding?

Katrina looked at the bulky envelope, then lifted her head and met his enigmatic gaze. ‘I won't share a bedroom with you.'

Their eyes clashed, brilliant green and dark brown. And held. She wasn't conscious of the way her breath hitched, or its slow release several long seconds later.

‘I don't believe I asked you to.'

His voice was cool, almost ice, and she contained a slight shiver as it threatened to slither the length of her spine.

‘Friday,' Katrina stated. The seventh day, thus fulfilling the first condition listed in Kevin's will. ‘Evening,' she qualified.

‘I won't be home until late.'

One eyebrow arched in disdain. ‘I don't see that as a problem.'

Nicos inclined his head, signalled the waiter, and ordered coffee.

‘Not for me.' She had to get out of here, away from the man who'd once held her heart, her world, in his hands.

Whatever needed to be faced, she'd face on Friday. But for now, she wanted to be as far away from Nicos Kasoulis as possible.

With unhurried movements she rose to her feet, collected her evening purse, barely stifling a startled
gasp as Nicos unfolded his lengthy frame and caught hold of her wrist.

‘What do you think you're doing?' she vented with an angry snap.

‘I'd say it's obvious.'

The waiter appeared out of nowhere, accepted the cash Nicos handed him, beamed appreciatively at the size of the tip, and Katrina had little option but to allow Nicos to accompany her from the restaurant.

The instant they reached the foyer she tried to wrench her hand from his, and failed miserably. Short of an undignified struggle she was compelled to walk at his side through the elegant arcade to the street.

‘If you don't let my hand go, I'll scream,' she threatened,
sotto voce
.

‘Go ahead,' Nicos directed imperturbably. ‘I imagine female histrionics will garner some attention.'

‘You're the most impossible man I've ever met!'

His quiet laughter was the living end.

‘Go to hell!'

‘You don't want me to take you there,' Nicos warned with a dangerous silkiness that sent ice slithering down the length of her spine.

‘I don't want you…
finis
.'

‘Is that a challenge?'

‘A statement.'

‘A year, Katrina. Maybe we could attempt a truce of sorts?'

She spared him an angry glance. ‘I doubt it's possible.'

‘Try,' he suggested succinctly.

She reached into her evening purse, extracted a set of keys, and indicated the sleek white Porsche parked kerbside. ‘My car.'

‘Proving a point, Katrina?'

‘Yes.'

‘Perhaps I should follow your example.' He lowered his head and pulled her close in one easy movement.

She opened her mouth to protest, but no word escaped as he took possession in a manner that reached right down to her soul. And tugged at something long dormant. Evoking a vivid memory of how it used to be between them.