She was too disturbing to his peace of mind—and not just because of the threat she presented to his family. Ann Turner’s presence on Sospiris disturbed him for quite another reason. One he was determined to crush just as ruthlessly as he would crush any attempt on her part to extract yet more money from the Theakis coffers.
While in Athens he had deliberately kept his evenings busy with social events. It was inconvenient, however, that he was currently between affairs. It would have suited him to have someone to take his mind off Ann Turner. She had occupied far too much of it already. Exasperatingly, any hopes that he’d had that when he returned to Sospiris he’d find her considerably less eye-drawing had evaporated on his return. The damn woman had just the same effect on him as before.
It rattled him.
It shouldn’t be happening. He knew exactly what she was, and that should be sufficient—more than sufficient!—to put him off her big-time. And yet—
And yet he had found himself once again, covertly watching her—telling himself it was because he was keeping her under surveillance, to show her that every word she uttered was suspect, that he had the measure of her even if she were fooling his mother, and taking in the sculpted line of her jaw, the graceful fall of her hair, the wide-set grey eyes, the sensuous swell of her breasts.
And now it was even worse. His mother had manoeuvred him into taking Ari and the boy’s pernicious aunt on this benighted jaunt. And for Ari’s sake he could not refuse, nor spoil it for him by allowing his hostility to show.
His eyes rested on her bowed head. She was digging away as if possessed, refusing to pay him any attention. And that was another thing—the fact that she wasn’t paying him any attention. Deliberately. Conspicuously. She was doing it on purpose, obviously, in an act of defiance—doubtless hoping that it would maybe convince him of a moral purity that was impossible for a woman who had sold her nephew for cash. Her hypocrisy infuriated him.
His mouth set. So Ann Turner, hypocrite and baby-seller, thought she could blank him, did she? Thought she could look through him, cut him, ignore him—defy him? Thought she’d run circles round him by ending up ensconced here, in the lap of luxury, ingratiating herself with his mother, his nephew—the nephew she’d sold?
Anger filled him as he watched them—the little boy that was all that was left of the brother he had lost, of the son his mother had lost, and the girl who had valued a million pounds more than an orphaned child, her blood kin. How dared she play the hypocrite? Not just with him, Nikos Theakis, who could see through her hypocrisy, but with the innocent Ari…
Harsh eyes looked at her.
You play with the child you sold to put designer clothes on your back, to jet you around the world…
A memory came back to him—one that filled him with deepest disgust, blackest rage.
Not of Ann Turner.
Of her sister.
A woman who had offered her body for cash—cash from any man who could afford it. Any man rich enough to keep her in the luxury she thought she was worth. Any man…
Bleak, empty eyes looked now on Carla’s sister. So, just what was the beautiful, alluring Ann Turner prepared to do to get more money?
His mouth twisted into a travesty of a smile as the thought resolved slowly, temptingly, in his mind. What would she do if he made her an offer he’d make it very, very hard for her to refuse?
Very hard—
For a long moment he just went on looking down at the silvery-gold head. He could feel the blood stirring in his veins as he made his decision. Yes, that was exactly what he would do—make her an offer he would ensure it was impossible for her to refuse, and in so doing take the greatest satisfaction possible himself—in more ways than one! Indulge himself with her exactly as he wanted to. And all in the best possible cause—getting her claws out of his family. Permanently.
Ann sat back and looked at her hole. At least digging it seemed to have shut Nikos Theakis up in his attempts to talk to her.
>
She looked across at Ari. ‘How’s it coming?’ she enquired.
He paused, and looked across at her. ‘Is yours bigger?’ he asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ she temporised.
‘Uncle Nikki can judge,’ said Ari.
Nikos had, to Ann’s relief, returned to the camp, and was idly flicking through a business magazine. Now he looked up, and got to his feet. He strolled across the sand, and Ann did not like to see the way his legs seemed so long in his chinos, or the way his T-shirt moulded to his powerful torso.
Solemnly he inspected both sand holes. ‘Ann’s is wider, but Ari’s is deeper,’ he pronounced.
‘I win!’ shouted Ari excitedly. He turned to his aunt. ‘You have to dig them the deepest,’ he explained. He dropped his spade to the sand. ‘Can we swim now, Uncle Nikki—can we?’
He’d spoken in Greek, and Ann could not understand him. Nikos glanced at Ann. ‘Well, does your English sang froid run to a dip in the Aegean at this time of year?’ he enquired laconically.
She gave a shrug. ‘I’m happy to go in with Ari,’ she said.