Irresistible Greeks Collection. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ divorce was probably impossible in those days, wasn’t it? He would just have to make the best of things, I guess.’

      Athan reached for his wine. ‘Ah, yes, divorce—a very convenient option.’

      Marisa looked at him. ‘But not one that’s always taken,’ she said.

      She looked away again. This wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss. It was too close, too painful, and the arrival of their main course was a welcome interruption.

      As the waiters departed she picked up her knife and fork and said, deliberately seeking a new topic, ‘What brings you to London?’

      Her voice was bright and enquiring. Glancing at her, realising she was deliberately steering him away from a subject that was obviously too close to the bone for her, Athan momentarily wondered how she would react if he told her the truth: I’m here to stop you having an adulterous affair with Ian Randall … my brother-in-law.

      Instead, of course, he responded in a similar vein to her conversational opening.

      ‘Unlike the three sisters, I travel extensively for my work. I’m primarily based in Athens, but the company is international and travel goes with the ticket.’

      A wistful look entered her eyes. ‘That must be wonderful,’ she said.

      He gave a mordant smile. ‘It can get tedious,’ he answered. ‘One airport is very much like another in the end—and offices are very similar wherever in the world they are.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose it palls after a while.’

      He looked at her speculatively. ‘Why don’t you try it some time—travel? If you’ll excuse me saying so, you have the means to do so, don’t you?’

      Living in a Holland Park flat as she did, wearing the expensive closthes she did, it was a reasonable assumption for him to make—assuming, of course, he didn’t know that she was not a free agent and that her accommodation and wardrobe were provided by a lover who was London-based and would want to keep his mistress close by and not gadding about abroad.

      Her response confirmed that assessment of her situation.

      A hesitant expression flitted across her face. ‘Oh, it would be a bit difficult at the moment. But, yes, perhaps one day—it would be wonderful to see other countries.’

      ‘What would be your first choice?’ he asked. An idea was forming in his mind, but he needed more information first.

      She glanced out of the window at the wintry rain that had started to descend through the streetlights.

      ‘Anywhere with a tropical beach!’ she said with a laugh.

      He gave a light, answering laugh. ‘Yes, I can see the appeal.’

      She looked at him. ‘You must be used to hot weather?’

      ‘Contrary to popular opinion, Athens can have very cold weather sometimes,’ he said wryly. ‘At this time of year you’d need to go a lot further south to find any warmth, let alone tropical beaches.’

      Even as he spoke his mind was racing ahead. Would it be feasible, what he’d just thought of? It would take some reorganisation, but it could certainly be done. Best of all, a cold, cynical part of his brain told him, it would be something she could not lie about afterwards. If he had to he could demonstrably prove to Ian that the woman he wanted to make his mistress had preferred another man to him.

      She was speaking again, saying something about dream holiday destinations, and he turned his attention back to her. Her expression was more animated now, as if she were losing the guard that she’d put up against him all evening.

      Was it deliberate, this lightening up, or was she unconscious of it?

       Whichever it is, animation only makes her yet more beautiful.

      As she spoke his gaze rested on her. Sitting across a dining table from her like this, he could see exactly why Ian Randall was so smitten with her. She could have been wearing a sack, for all her appearance was seeking to mute her beauty. Hers was a beauty that shone like a star.

       Can I really go through with this?

      The unwelcome question uncoiled again in his mind, troubling him. It had seemed easy enough when he’d decided this was the best, fastest and most irreversible way of terminating her relationship with Ian. But now that he was only a few feet away from her, dining with her, talking with her … drinking in her blonde, perfect beauty … was it really such a good idea? Were there hidden dangers that he did not see ahead of him?

      He pushed the thought aside ruthlessly. Of course there was no danger—not to him. He would do what he intended, achieve what he’d set out to do, and then walk away, his purpose accomplished. Unscathed. Of course unscathed.

      Why would he even be thinking of anything else?

       Not the way her cheekbones seem to be sculpted out of alabaster, or the blue of her eyes seems to catch the reflection of a tranquil sea, or her mouth seems as tender as a newly ripe peach …

      He tore his mind away from cataloguing her physical attributes and back to what she was talking about. He realised he had no idea what she’d just said.

      ‘I’m sorry—you were saying …?’ he said.

      She seemed to have faltered to a stop, and he wondered at it. Then he realised she was simply looking at him. A faint colour was staining her cheekbones—those cheekbones carved from alabaster, he thought, then pushed it aside. Her eyelashes swept down over her eyes, veiling their expression. But it was too late—he’d seen it, recognised it …

      Knew it for what it was.

      Marisa felt heat flare in her face, dipped her gaze swiftly. But she knew it was too late. Knew that she hadn’t been able to disguise her reaction to the way he’d just been looking at her. The power of his gaze, the message clear and unambiguous in his eyes. She felt hot, then shivery, as if one moment her blood was heating in her veins, and the next it had drained from her, pooling somewhere very deep inside her. She felt a breathlessness, a constriction in her throat, a hectic beating of her heart.

      She fought for composure. It wasn’t supposed to happen! This wasn’t supposed to be anything like this. She was here with him only because he’d invited her to the theatre, then to dinner afterwards—it wasn’t a date, not in the romance sense. Of course it wasn’t!

       He’s a stranger! I don’t know him!

      But she knew enough.

      Enough to tell her that when he looked at her he was looking at her not as someone to accompany him to a play or to talk to him about it afterwards.

      All that stuff she’d told herself about how he was behaving like she was the wife of a friend, or a colleague, or a middle aged woman … it mocked her—made a fool of her self-pretence.

      Jerkily, she got on with eating. That was what she must do—focus on the meal, on getting to the end of it. Making herself chit-chat about anything and nothing—it didn’t really matter what.

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