Bought ForThe Greek's Bed

I have to do this. And I can—I can do this.

Because I must…

And when she had—when she had done it—she would finally be done with Theo Theakis. For ever.

I’ll have finished what he started—what I never, ever wanted him to start.

And then Theo Theakis could go to the hell he deserved.

Grim, dogged determination filled her, and a loathing of the man who was doing this to her crammed every cell of her body.

She felt the plane tilt, circle down, come into land, touch down, the jet engines screaming into reverse thrust to brake the plane, decelerate to a standstill.

Limply, she let her hand lie in her lap, then jerkily she unfastened her seat belt and looked around. Theo was already on his feet, and so was his aide. Theo did not look at her, simply headed for the exit, pausing to murmur brief thanks to the steward and stewardess, and acknowledge the pilot and copilot. Demetrious followed him, carrying his briefcase. He half hesitated, Vicky saw, as if to turn and speak to her, then simply hurried off after his employer.

It was the stewardess who came down to her to escort her from the jet. Theo was long gone, and Vicky knew why and was glad of it—even though she knew perfectly well that Theo had only been concerned about himself, not her. But at least it meant that she was spared what she had been dreading—being spotted by the paparazzi that hung around waiting for VIP passengers to come through.

If they knew I was back in Greece with Theo they would have a field-day!

She shivered involuntarily. Hadn’t it been bad enough being an object of virulent curiosity to every woman who had had, or wanted to have, an affair with Theo? But on top of that she had also, thanks to her marriage, been an object of voyeuristic fascination to the Greek paparazzi, and to her consternation she had become used to the flash of photographs being taken whenever she went anywhere public with Theo, and often when she was on her own, as well.

A grim light glowered in her eyes. It had been the paparazzi, trailing her to that hotel, who had precipitated the vicious ending of her marriage…

She pulled her mind away. She would not let herself recall that hideous scene again, in which Theo had poured down on her all the savage fury he was capable of. Just as she would not, would not, let herself think about what she was doing now, returning to Greece.

A car was waiting for her, large, sleek and expensive, with tinted windows and a chauffeur. The moment she realised that that was to be her form of transport Vicky felt relief flush through her. The car indicated that she was staying on the mainland. God alone knew just how many beds Theo owned across his myriad properties, but there was one above all others that she dreaded.

No—no thinking of that. No memories allowed. Total shutdown of brain function—that was all that was allowed when it came to that subject.

Don’t think—don’t think about the island…

The island where she had endured her greatest ordeal.

Far more unbearable than the vicious savaging with which he had disposed of her as his wife.

Far more unbearable than that…

Cold snaked down her spine at the thought of Theo maximising his revenge by taking her back to that place…

But if she had been spared the island, where was he then intending to keep her? Pincers nipped at her insides. Was he planning on having her stay in the Theakis mansion? Please, no! It would be far too easy for her uncle to discover her presence there—

As ever, when she thought of Aristides, anger flushed through Vicky. Theo had not spared her uncle either in his vicious savagery. He had destroyed her relationship with Aristides, her only living paternal relative, and she would not forgive him for that any more than she would forgive him anything else.

As the car started to leave the airport complex she saw it was not heading towards Athens, and the pincers in her stomach stilled. Nor were they heading for Piraeus, the port of Athens, so it was not to be his yacht, either.

So where, then?

It was as the car headed for the coast, and she made herself look at the road signs, that she finally realized. And when she did she felt a spurt of uncontrollable, furious anger.

She knew exactly where she was being taken!

Bastard! The absolute bastard!

Fury bit in her.

He was doing it on purpose—that was obvious. Making his point. Rubbing it in. Showing her, very visibly, what he intended to make of her! She felt her temper seethe. Then, out of her bile, another emotion emerged. The same one she had summoned last night, as she’d steeled herself to do what she had to do. This was a game two people could play. He thought he was calling the shots—well, he could think again!

He could damn well think again!