Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер
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tightening in his loins as he framed her face with his hands, cupping her head, lowering his mouth to hers, lowering her body to the waiting sand beneath …
Not Marisa with her arms around him, her beauteous naked body pressed to his, crying out in ecstasy …
He wrenched his mind away, his hand around his suitcase handle clenching like steel.
He went on walking, with the biting winter all around him.
Inside him.
Marisa was packing. One suitcase was packed already. She’d packed it on another continent, in another lifetime. The suitcase she was packing now was a new acquisition—one she’d bought that morning, from the nearest shop that sold luggage. Methodically, unthinkingly, she opened drawers, took out clothes, folded them into the suitcase. It didn’t matter what order they went in—any order would do. It mattered only that she went on folding and packing. Folding and packing. Once the drawers were empty she moved on to the closet, performing the same office with its contents.
There were some other things as well as clothes, but those could follow later. She would box them up and have them sent on. Things like the pretty ornaments she’d acquired during her time in London, souvenirs, books, CDs. Bits and pieces.
Everything else stayed with the flat—all the kitchen goods, all the furniture, all the bedding. All she was taking were her clothes and her personal effects.
And memories.
She couldn’t get rid of those. They were glued inside her head. With a glue that ate like acid into her brain.
But they were false memories. Every one of them. False because they had never happened. Because the man in the memories was not the man she had thought he was.
Her throat convulsed. Whatever her wariness over him, over what he wanted of her, she had thought she was at the least a romantic interlude for him—someone to while away a Caribbean idyll with, share a passionate affair with, enjoying their time together however transient. But she hadn’t even been that. Not even that.
A lie—the whole thing had been a lie. A lie from the moment he’d asked her to keep the lift doors open for him. A set-up. Staged, managed, manipulated. Fake from the very first moment. With no purpose other than to bring her to the point she was now—cast out of Ian’s life.
Because there was no going back—she knew that. She could never be any part of Ian’s life now. Not even the fragile, insecure part that she had once so briefly been.
His wife is Athan’s sister … Ian is his brother-in-law …
She hadn’t known—hadn’t guessed—hadn’t suspected in a million years. And obviously Ian had not thought it necessary for her to know that his wife’s brother was Athan Teodarkis, because it would mean nothing to her—why should it?
But it didn’t matter, she thought tiredly. It didn’t matter who had known or not known who was what to whom. All that mattered now was that Athan Teodarkis—Ian’s wife’s brother—knew about her—knew what she was to Ian.
Anguish writhed inside her.
Why didn’t Athan just confront me straight off? It was all he had to do. If he knew about Ian and me he could just have threatened to expose me. Why did he do what he had gone and done?
The answer was bleak and brutal. The method Athan Teodarkis had chosen was far more effective. Far more certain.
He’d been right about that. She was out of Ian’s life now—and she would stay out. Nothing else was possible now. Nothing at all …
Unthinkingly, methodically, she went on with her packing.
The intercom on Athan’s desk flashed repeatedly, and his secretary’s voice, when she spoke, sounded flustered and apologetic.
‘Kyrios Teodarkis—I am so sorry! It is Kyria Eva’s husband! He insists on seeing you. I told him you had a board meeting in ten minutes, but—’
‘It’s all right,’ Athan interrupted her. ‘I’ll see him.’ His voice was grim. So was his expression. He had half expected this. Ian Randall would not lightly give up his intended mistress.
Who would give up Marisa Milburne? So beautiful, so passionate a woman.
The familiar guillotine sliced down over his thoughts. It had been much in use these past days. Slicing down ruthlessly on so many thoughts—so many memories. But he would allow himself none of them—not a single one. Their indulgence was forever barred to him. His eyes hardened. He would not allow his feckless, faithless brother-in-law to indulge himself any longer with his forbidden fruit.
I had to give her up—so must he!
His expression was still reflecting the savagery of his thoughts as Ian swept in. He looked agitated and launched straight in.
‘Athan—what the hell is this about? Neil Mackay says it comes from you, but I don’t understand why. Why do you want me at your HQ?’
Athan sat back. He appeared unperturbed by the outburst. ‘It’s time you moved on. And up. It’s promotion, Ian—aren’t you pleased?’
His tone was equable. He would keep this civil—or his sister would get wind of a fracas between him and her husband and get upset.
‘Oh, come on,’ Ian said disbelievingly. ‘You’ve no call to promote me!’ He paused, eyes narrowing. ‘This is about Eva, isn’t it? You think it will please her to be back in Athens.’
Athan’s gaze levelled on him. ‘Eva’s happiness is paramount to me.’ He paused. ‘Never forget that.’ He paused again, and when he spoke, it carried the message he intended it to. ‘After all—’ his voice was limpid ‘—it was because it made her happy that I let her marry you.’
Colour mounted in his brother in law’s face. ‘And you’ve never forgiven me for marrying her, have you?’
Athan’s gaze never dropped. ‘Providing you don’t hurt her, or upset her, I … tolerate you.’
He watched glacially as the colour flared out across his brother-in-law’s handsome face. The face of a man who helped himself to whatever he wanted in life—smiling, charming, selfish, self-indulgent. He’d charmed Eva, wooed her, and ended up persuading her to marry him.
And proved himself faithless within two years of their wedding.
Silently Athan cursed his unwanted brother-in-law. Cursed the life-long intimacy between their families—Sheila Randall’s all-but-adoption of his then teenaged sister. He cursed Sheila’s son for getting anywhere near the impressionable, vulnerable Eva so disastrously eager to fall in love with his golden looks and easy charm.
Cursed him for having used those same golden looks and easy charm to work their damage on yet another woman—on Marisa …
‘You … tolerate me?’ Ian’s voice cut through his litany of inner curses.
‘That’s very good of you, Athan. Very … generous. But maybe—’ now there was something different in his voice that made Athan’s eyes narrow ‘—maybe I’m tired of your tolerance. Tired of your generosity. Tired of it being known that as Athan Teodarkis’s brother-in-law no wonder I’m a board director, no wonder I get sent off on plush secondments to the West Coast, with instructions to take holidays in Hawaii to keep my wife happy—my boss’s sister.’ He took a step forward. ‘Maybe it’s time to tell you I can live without your tolerance, your generosity!’
Athan’s gaze skewered him. ‘And maybe—’ his voice cracked like a whip, all civility gone now ‘—you’ll do exactly what I say you will. Or would you rather—’ he bit out each word ‘—I tell Eva about Marisa Milburne.’
Ian Randall froze. Before Athan’s eyes the other man’s face paled. ‘How