‘Touché,’ he conceded. ‘You’re right. I hear you’re doing good work here.’
Her head tilted to one side. ‘I’m happy.’
He looked at her. Really looked at her this time. Beyond her overall look of well-being there were traces of shadow under her eyes, a hint of greyness marring the blue.
‘Are you?’ he said. ‘Are you really happy?’
She drew in a ragged breath, her hands slapping against her trousers nervously.
‘The police told me it would be months before Grace’s prosecution went ahead. So what do you want?’ she asked, her voice uneven. ‘Why are you here?’
‘We need to talk,’ he said. ‘Can I take you to dinner?’
She glanced down at her watch, running her top teeth over her bottom lip in a way that had him suddenly focusing on her lips, unsullied by make-up but for the slightest remnant of gloss.
It was a long time since he’d tasted their sweetness. It was a long time since he’d experienced their moist heat against his. He dragged in a breath. He was more than ready to experience those simple pleasures again.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I really have to get home. Maxwell is waiting for me. He’ll get upset if I’m home too late.’
Something flickered in his jaw, and one eyebrow arched as his countenance turned darker.
He knew it!
He’d waited too long!
She’d found someone else to console herself with. Someone else to replace him. Someone else who would feel her legs wrapped tight around him, accepting him, bucking under him.
A bitter taste assailed him—the bitter taste of defeat snatched from the jaws of victory.
‘You’re living with someone?’
His bold accusation took her by surprise. Was that jealousy she saw in his face? Or simply inconvenience? The latter was much more likely. But how appealing a prospect anyway.
‘You should have let me know you were coming. Did you think I could drop everything at such short notice?’
She could almost see him grinding his teeth together.
‘Then Maxwell can come too,’ he said. ‘I’m sure we can find a table for three somewhere in Sydney.’
She smiled then, almost sorry for the aggravation she was causing him. Almost.
‘There’s no need. Maxwell will be perfectly happy so long as I get home and dish up his favourite food.’ Her smile grew wider as Loukas’s scowl deepened. ‘Maxwell is a cat, Loukas. What on earth were you thinking?’
‘How is your sister now?’
They were sitting out on her small terrace, Maxwell curled up warily on one chair, surveying Loukas with a contemptuous eye.
The two of them had grabbed a bowl of pasta at the local trattoria and come back for coffee, both of them seemingly uncomfortable with discussing whatever it was that they needed to discuss in the company of others.
‘She’s well,’ he said. ‘Although Kurt didn’t hang around for long once she made it clear she was staying at the house.’
‘Oh,’ she said, not entirely surprised. ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
He shrugged. ‘It was hardly unexpected. The good news is that she’s had time to talk to Con—Dad. He’s finally realised that she’s an adult, with her own life to lead. All this time she’s been bucking against his control and going about it the wrong way, but now that he’s acknowledged that she doesn’t belong to him their relationship is really changing. I think they have a chance to work things out between them now.’
‘And what about your father’s run for the White House?’
‘Didn’t you know? He pulled out of the race.’
‘He what?’
‘I know. Nobody expected it. But he made the decision suddenly, a few weeks after Olympia came home. He’s going to take a cruise next year with Stella—my stepmother. A long one.’
‘You never told me what happened to your mother.’
‘Didn’t I?’ He looked out over the view—at everything, at nothing. ‘She died when I was four. A brain aneurism. I don’t remember much of her.’
She shivered. ‘I know how that feels.’
‘I know,’ he said, his eyes on hers, steady, compassionate. ‘Anyhow, as a teenager I didn’t take too well to having Stella around when my father remarried. And I know I always resented having a kid sister.’