Husband By Request

A year ago she’d demanded Andreas give her a divorce. His only answer had been to put more money in her bank account—money she’d never touched.

Two subsequent demands from her New York attorney had been met with the same silence. She’d quickly learned Andreas had no intention of letting her go, at least on paper. With his wealth and power he was able to write his own rules.

She’d finally given up, realizing his pride hadn’t been able to handle her walking out on him. He would give her a divorce when his anger had cooled, not before. But Paul’s arrival coming from out of the blue this morning meant she’d waited too long to approach her husband and talk things out.

“Shall I tell him he has to make an appointment? Or are you free to see him now?” Walter prodded, but her mind was miles away.

Andreas must have met a woman.

He was ready to move on with his life. So was Dominique, but she wanted to move forward with her husband by her side.

Placing flattened palms on top of her desk, she said, “Tell him to come in, Walter. Hold any calls for me.”

When Paul entered her office, Dominique got up from the chair and walked around her desk to greet him.

He was taller than Andreas, who stood six-three. Both men had powerful builds, but where Paul’s hair was reddish brown Andreas’s was black.

Loyal, unflappable Paul—the man Andreas trusted like a brother, the man who served as her husband’s bodyguard on occasion. To her satisfaction he did a double take before shaking the hand she extended. Since he’d last seen her she’d undergone a big change in her appearance.

Not only that, a year ago the atmosphere between them had bordered on frigid. But that had been Dominique’s fault. Hysterical with pain, she’d left the courthouse before the case against Andreas had gotten under way.

Paul had ridden with her to the airport in an attempt to stop her from leaving Athens before Andreas could talk to her. But in he

r frantic state she’d been wild with grief, and had informed Paul she was divorcing her husband of four months. That seemed a lifetime ago.

Instead of going back to the seat behind her desk, Dominique rested her hip against the edge and folded her arms. “It’s good to see you again, Paul. Sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

He remained standing. “Nothing for me, Mrs. Stamatakis.”

Mrs. Stamatakis. So formal. So correct.

“No one’s called me that since I left Athens a year ago.” In her shattered condition, the state of her marital status had been no one else’s business. Once back with her parents, she’d removed her wedding ring and had insisted on being called by her maiden name.

“You’ve changed,” he murmured unexpectedly.

In other words she wasn’t the insecure young woman who’d run from Andreas twelve months ago. Since her agonizing decision to leave her husband, a dramatic transformation had taken place inside and out. The fact that Paul had made such a personal observation to her face meant she’d really knocked him sideways.

It brought a smile to her lips as she contemplated a similar reaction from Andreas, even if he’d finally chosen to divorce her.

But Dominique wasn’t about to let that happen. Not yet anyway.

“You haven’t changed at all, Paul.” He still wore the same austere expression, and those dark-rimmed glasses. Only a year older than Andreas’s thirty-three years, Paul seemed older—especially when he was all business, like now.

He didn’t reciprocate her smile, but for once in his life she knew her appearance and demeanor had thrown him. That daunting sangfroid of his was missing. She detected the slightest hesitation before he opened his briefcase and pulled out a file.

“Everything’s in here.” He handed it to her. “You’ll find it’s an extremely generous offer. After you’ve read it, all you have to do is write your name on the dotted line and you’ll be Ms. Dominique Ainsley again.”

Without bothering to open it, she put it back in his briefcase. When she raised up she said, “Before I sign anything I want to see Andreas in person. Where is he?”

Paul studied her speculatively. “On the yacht.”

Of course.

It was September, the perfect time to take out the Cygnus—the weather was idyllic. “For how long?”

After a pause, “That depends on Olympia.”

Her heart plunged to her feet.