He couldn’t believe it. Where was his honour? His respect for her grief?
His sense of self-preservation?
‘Who are you?’ she whispered again and he saw a spark of fear in her expression.
‘My name is Costas Vassilis Palamidis,’ he said quickly, spreading his hands in an open gesture. ‘I live in Crete. I am a respectable businessman.’ In other circumstances he’d have found the novelty amusing, being forced to present his credentials. But there was nothing humorous here.
‘I need to speak with you. Is there somewhere else we can talk?’ He looked around the room, realising that the untidy remains must be from a large post-funeral gathering.
Damn. It was brutal, forcing this on her now, so soon after her loss. But what choice did he have? There was no time for compassion if it meant delay.
‘Outside perhaps?’ He gestured towards the back yard. Anywhere away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of mourning that pervaded the house.
She looked at him with wary eyes, clearly unconvinced.
‘It’s been a long journey and some fresh air would be welcome,’ he urged. ‘It will take a little time to explain.’
Eventually she nodded slowly. ‘There’s a park just around the corner. We’ll go there.’
She looked so fragile he doubted she’d make it to the front door, let alone down the street. ‘Surely that’s too far. We could—’
‘You were the one who wanted to talk, Mr Palamidis. This is your chance. Take it or leave it.’
Her chin notched up belligerently and faint colour washed her cheeks. Animation, or temper, suited this passionate woman. It was a pity that, given the circumstances, he would not be exploring a more personal acquaintance with her.
Finally he nodded. If she collapsed and he had to carry her back, then so be it.
‘Of course, Ms Paterson. That will suit admirably.’
Five minutes later Sophie
settled back on the weathered park bench and stifled a groan. He’d been right. She should have stayed at home rather than pretend to an energy she didn’t have.
But at least here they were in a public place. And the crisp autumn air felt good in her lungs.
The thought of staying in the house, where this man’s presence dominated the very atmosphere, had been unthinkable. It wasn’t just his size. It was the way he unsettled her. The indefinable sense of authority that emanated from him. And made her want to put as much distance between them as possible.
Surreptitiously she shot a glance at her companion as he stood a few metres away, answering a call on his phone. From the top of his black-as-night hair to the tips of his glossy, handmade shoes, he was the epitome of discreet wealth, she now realised.
He turned his head abruptly and met her eyes. Instantly heat licked across her cheeks. Yet she read nothing in his expression, not a shred of emotion. His face might have been carved from living rock, a study in masculine power and strength with that commanding blade of a nose and those arrogant eyebrows.
So why had her pulse begun to race?
‘My apologies, Ms Paterson,’ he said as he snapped the phone shut and sat down. ‘It was a call I had to take.’
Sophie nodded, wondering why she should feel so uncomfortable with him sitting almost a metre away.
‘My name’s Sophie,’ she said quickly to cover her nervousness. ‘I prefer that to Ms Paterson.’
He inclined his head. ‘And, as you know, I am Costas.’
‘You haven’t really answered me. Who are you?’ His height wasn’t typical of the Greek men she’d known. And his aura of brooding mastery, of carefully leashed force, set him apart. His features were severe, harsh, but more than handsome. He was unique, would stand out in any crowd.
Why was he here? Her life, and her mother’s since settling in Australia, had been ordinary with a capital O.
‘Did you know your mother had a sister?’ he countered.
‘Yes. She and my mum were twins.’