The Greek's Blackmailed Wife

‘I was never yours.’

‘No?’ His voice was barely audible and she gazed at him, hypnotised by the look in his eyes. ‘When we ran hand in hand across the sandy beach to find somewhere secluded just so that we could laugh and talk about everything in private, were you mine then?’

It was as if he’d pressed her face against a mirror, reflecting her own thoughts and memories in glorious Technicolor.

She swallowed. ‘Zander—’

‘Or when we shared a romantic dinner of lobster and wine on my terrace, both so hot for each other that we could barely eat. Were you mine then?’

She opened her mouth but no sound came out.

‘Or that first night we came together as a man and a woman,’ he said hoarsely, leaning towards her as he spoke, ‘you wound your arms round my neck and told me that you trusted me. And when I finally thrust inside you, you sobbed my name, Anni. My name. Were you mine then?’

She’d thought she was.

Dear God, she’d wanted to be…

Lauranne bit her lip, still not trusting herself to speak.

It had been so unbelievably good—

‘Which brings me back to my original question,’ he said, relentless in his pursuit of an answer, ‘which was why you turned to Tom instead of me.’

Finally she found her voice. ‘Because you were the problem.’ Her blue eyes flashed with reproach and accusation. How dared he be so self-righteous when he’d been the one in the wrong? ‘Because you are just so Greek. You talk about fidelity but you know nothing about fidelity yourself and you certainly don’t understand women. Why do you think I married you?’

‘Unlimited access to my credit card?’

She stared at him, stunned into silence by his cynical assessment of their doomed marriage. ‘You think I married you for your money?’

He shrugged. ‘Why else?’

Because she’d loved him. She’d loved him so much that the emotion had completely overwhelmed her.

But he’d never loved her. And she’d always known that, but at the time she’d thought that she loved him enough to compensate.

She’d been wrong.

Matching his careless attitude, she stuck her chin in the air. ‘Just for the record I’m going to tell you one more time that I did not sleep with Tom!’

‘And just for the record I’m going to tell you one more time that I don’t believe you.’

‘And I don’t even care any more,’ she shot back. ‘It’s history. And you and I are history. The gap between us is so wide that even a ferry couldn’t cross it. And now let me out of this car. After tonight I never want to see you again.’

She thumped on the window that separated them from the driver and he pulled over instantly. Knowing that even the slightest hesitation would be disastrous, Lauranne was out of the door while the car was still moving. She heard Zander swear softly in Greek, registered that he tried to stop her, but hit the pavement running and vanished into the crowd.

CHAPTER SIX

ZANDER paced the floor of his hotel suite, simmering with barely contained frustration as he tried to unravel the mysteries of female conversation.

What the hell had Lauranne meant by telling him that he didn’t understand women?

He understood women perfectly.

Or, rather, he understood most women, he admitted, grinding his teeth together as he turned and paced back again. The problem was that Lauranne was definitely not most women.

What exactly had she meant about that comment that he was ‘so Greek’? Of course he was Greek!

And why had she made that wildly passionate remark about wanting to hurt him and him not understanding fidelity when it had been her infidelity that had ultimately pushed them apart?