Passionate Retribution

He picked up the bundle of clothes she'd laid across the one chair in the small room and put them on the floor. He proceeded to pick up the chair and straddle it, his hands on the wooden slatted back. He regarded her silent figure quizzically.

"Thank you,' she managed. His manner was amazingly commonplace considering the exchanges which had taken place in the early hours.

'It was considerate of me, wasn't it?' he agreed with a complacent grin.

Her frown deepened. 'I can do without an audience.' It was considerate if you didn't take into account the fact that he'd tricked her into being here, miles away from civilisation. The less her mind dwelt on his behaviour since they had arrived, the better for her composure; and as for the revelations about her own father's part in his mother's death… She sighed and sipped the tea. Any overtures of friendship had to be treated for what they would always be—a covert means to perpetuate the vendetta.

'Are you always so ratty in the morning?' he enquired with a humorous quirk to his lips. 'Or does it all depend on the night before…? I can recommend a run for frustration. It does wonders.'

The casual reference, the implication that he was frustrated, made her relinquish the slender hold she had over her composure. She noticed the damp stain in the centre of his T-shirt where the material displayed the sculpted outline of his musculature, and she swallowed a stricture in her throat.

'If it weren't for you I'd be in a comfortable hotel bed, not on this thing,' she said disparagingly. Attack seemed the easiest option at this point. 'I hold you directly responsible for my lack of sleep.'

An expression flickered at the back of his eyes. 'And I hold you directly responsible for mine,' he said simply. He flexed his shoulders and rubbed his neck. 'My bed is far more commodious… Keep it in mind.'

He was totally outrageous, she decided, extricating her eyes from the subtly altered expression in his blue orbs. She tried to speak but all that emerged was a hoarse squeak.

'Aren't you going to eat? After all the trouble I went to.'

'I seem to recall something about Greeks bearing gifts.' The complacent grin at her inarticulate display made her bristle defensively. 'Where did the food come from, anyway?'

'A friend very kindly stocks up for me when I let her know I'm coming.'

'Very neighbourly,' she observed sourly. The gender of the neighbour came as no shock to her. 'The note on the table…'

'Was from Beth. A very good-natured girl, Beth,' he mused, his eyes on her face.

Did Beth rate breakfast in bed? she wondered cynically, relatively certain that she didn't like this treasure.

'You could have met if she hadn't had to go to London. As you're so interested.'

'Devastating news,' she muttered drily.

'I expect you're delighted at having me to yourself.'

She dropped the spoon of blackcurrant preserve and glared at him. 'I don't want you. In fact, I don't even want to share you,' she corrected him. 'All I want is to get out of here,' she informed him, giving a growl of fury as the only response to her insistence was one of amusement. 'You don't seem to take any of this seriously.'

'On the contrary, Emmy, I take this very seriously. You, on the other hand, don't appear to appreciate the unique honour of being here. I never bring women here,' he told her blandly.

'Of which there are many, no doubt,' she said bitterly.

'Do I detect a certain green tinge, infant?' he drawled.

She felt the cursed colour stain her cheeks and took a deep, steadying breath. 'Sympathy is all you're likely to detect. The last four years, which, in case you've forgotten, have been Luke-free for me, have been blissful.' She conveniently forgot the time during that first year when she'd scoured the news items that evenly remotely concerned him. Not to mention being glued to the TV screen when he presented the award-winning report on the Kurdish refugees.

'Yes, I noticed how ecstatically happy you were when the mascara was running in rivulets down your cheeks. Shame I had to breeze in and spoil all that undiluted hilarity.'

She averted her face, sharply inhaling and controlling an urge to lash out blindly. 'That was just in case I'd forgotten what a mess my life was in.'

'Emily, tell me, have you thought of Gavin once today?'

Shock rippled deep inside her and gradually slid into her wide eyes. 'Of course I have.' He knew she was lying and so did she, but the pretence seemed important. She had to perpetuate it, delay the moment when she'd have to face up to things she was avoiding. 'Anyway, I doubt if the sort of women you go around with would care for a place with no possibility of a photo opportunity,' she said sarcastically, taking a sharp U-turn. 'Being seen with you is probably just a smart career move for them. I had no idea you were such a compulsive property buyer anyway. What do you need with—what is it?—four homes anyway?'