Claiming His Replacement Queen (Monteverre Marriages 2)

‘Get that pretty little ass of yours around here and refill my glass.’

‘Yes, sir, of course.’ Silently seething, Kate cautiously sidled around the table, keeping her back to Nikos as best she could.

‘Whassup, honey? You scared of me?’ The man stretched out his arm, snaking it around Kate’s waist to pull her closer. ’Cos you know, there ain’t no need for that. I’m nice as pie. You ask anyone.’ More drunken hee-hawing. ‘Why don’t you come sit on my lap and I’ll show you just how nice I can be?’

Taking a step back, Kate gripped the neck of the champagne bottle tightly enough to throttle it. It was a poor substitute for what she would have liked to throttle, but it would have to do.

‘I’m not paid to sit down.’ She feigned a light-hearted remark through gritted teeth.

‘No? Well, I’m sure we could make it worth your while. Whaddya you say, guys?’

The man lurched forward, knocking Kate off balance so that she stumbled, falling towards him. She tried to right herself, to pull away, but he was too strong for her and before she knew it he had tugged her firmly down onto his lap, spreading his legs to accommodate her, his alcohol-soaked breath belching into her face. And when he adjusted his position, pressing her down onto his crotch, she genuinely thought she was going to be sick.

No job was worth this. No amount of money would compensate for being treated like a piece of meat.

For God’s sake Kate, she told herself, dragging in a breath, have a bit of self-respect.

But she mustn’t make a scene. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself—not with Nikos across the other side of the room. Extricating herself as carefully as possible, her stomach roiling as her movement only served to arouse her captor more, she put the champagne bottle down on the table and started to lever herself away from him.

‘Oh, no, you don’t.’ He pulled her back down, his foul breath in her ear. ‘I’m just startin’ to enjoy myself. You can probably tell...’

* * *

From the other side of the glittering dining room, Nikos narrowed his eyes, turning in his chair to get a better look. Something about that young woman was very familiar, making him stare long and hard. Making his pulse beat faster too, if he would but admit it. It couldn’t be...could it?

He’d watched as she moved around her table, filling the glasses of rowdy guests who had already had way too much. With her back to him, and quite some distance away, he didn’t have much to go on—and the mane of blonde curls was telling him he must be mistaken. But as he’d watched she had raised a hand to touch her earlobe, tugging on it gently in an unconscious display of vulnerability the way he had seen her do a hundred times before.

And then Nikos had known without a shadow of doubt.

It was her.

Kate O’Connor.

He’d sat back in his chair, waiting for his heart-rate to steady. Of all the gin joints... It almost felt as if he’d conjured her up from his mind. Because Kate O’Connor had been very much on his mind lately. Hadn’t he had just flown five thousand miles to see her? The prospect of ambushing her in her office the following morning had brought him a twisted sort of pleasure that had made the journey almost enjoyable.

And now here she was, right in front of him, a vision in tart’s clothing. Never would he have expected to find Kate in a place like this, looking like that. He wouldn’t be here himself if he hadn’t been talked into it by a business associate who had insisted they would talk shop over dinner. One look at the place and he’d almost turned around there and then. But something had made him stay. It must have been a sixth sense.

Unable to tear his gaze way, Nikos had watched on as one guy had slid an arm around Kate’s waist, pulling her closer. He’d felt his hands ball into fists. Steady, now. This was none of his business. Maybe it was all part of the service.

He had waited for some sense of satisfaction to kick in, for a feeling of gratification at seeing what Kate had been reduced to to warm his dry bones. But, strangely, there was none to be had. Nikos could find no consolation in her downfall.

He wanted to. Badly. He wanted to enjoy every minute of this degrading spectacle—to revel in it and to feel it thawing the very core of him. A core that had hardened like stone in the years since their bitter break-up.

But now, as he watched her sliding onto some creep’s lap, the emotion rising in his gullet had nothing to do with comfort or consolation. It was pure rage—so bitter and acrid that it burnt his throat with its vicious bile.

Because Kate O’Connor was his. Or at least she soon would be.

Downing the last of his whisky in one burning gulp, Nikos forced himself to calm down. His every instinct was screaming at him to cross the room, haul Kate off the lap of that revolting sleazeball, fling her over his shoulder and carry her out of this place.

His body positively twitched with the effort of stopping himself. But stop himself he would. Because Nikos was cleverer than that. He was here to claim his ex-fiancée and finally she would do his bidding. She just didn’t know it yet. But right now, it was time to leave.

* * *

Back in her tiny apartment, Kate sprawled down on the bed, burying her face in the covers. That had been one of the most humiliating nights of her life—and lately she’d had a few.

Pulling herself upright, she shifted along the bed and swung her legs over the end, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the top of the dresser. This place was so small that during her first week there she’d had to battle against claustrophobic panic attacks in the middle of the night.

But that had long since passed and she had become used to it. Her spacious penthouse condominium at the top of KK Towers—her family home before it had all gone so badly wrong—was now not much more than a distant memory.