His Penniless Beauty

He gave another dismissive shrug and she felt anger bite in her. He couldn’t have made it clearer that he couldn’t care less about losing five thousand pounds! It was chickenfeed to him. To her it was—salvation.

Then he was speaking again. ‘If you want to do me a favour, you could make me something to eat—I skipped lunch getting here.’

She stiffened. She didn’t want him hanging around here—she wanted him gone. Whatever reason he’d come here for, she just wanted him out!

‘It’s not exactly your standard of cuisine,’ she retorted.

A dark, saturnine eyebrow lifted in response. ‘Nor yours, either, is it, Sophie? You’re used to more luxury than this.’

There was a jibe in his voice. She could hear it distinctly. She swallowed down a retort. What was the point of spitting back? But her silence must have irritated him. The glint in his eye told her that.

‘This isn’t what you were expecting, is it?’ he posed. ‘Did you think I was going to put you up in the lap of luxury for a fortnight’s easy living?’

‘It doesn’t matter what I thought, does it?’ she made herself reply evenly. She would not rise to him, however much he needled her. ‘And anyway, this place is very peaceful.’

Nikos’s expression changed. Peaceful? What kind of answer was that? And yet he realised it was true. Though humble, these surroundings were peaceful. Was that what Sophie Granton liked these days? His eyes went to her again—registering with another start of bemusement how totally different she looked.

At home here.

Well, if she had made herself at home, she could make him a meal! He was definitely growling with hunger. ‘So—do I get a late lunch? A sandwich will do.’ His tone changed. So did the expression in his eyes. ‘You’ve fixed me a sandwich before now—remember?’

Remember?

Oh, yes, she remembered, all right…

Instantly Sophie’s vision cut her back in time.

CHAPTER SIX

M IDNIGHT —they’d been to the theatre, eaten beforehand, then afterwards wandered along the South Bank, holding hands, counting the dolphins carved curlingly around the Victorian lampposts, talking of nothing and everything, until her feet in her high heels had ached. Nikos had conjured a car from nowhere and taken her home, and they’d realised how hungry they were. So she’d taken him down to the kitchen and made him a towering club sandwich with half the contents of the fridge. It had toppled over on the table and they had burst out laughing, and he’d caught her, and kissed her, and kissed her again…and she’d been dazed and dizzy with bliss…

Pain, like a knife, sliced through her memory, cutting it away. Deliberately she purged it.

‘It will only be cheese and ham,’ she warned, her voice terse. She didn’t want to make him a sandwich. Didn’t want him standing there, so damnably close. Didn’t want him anywhere near her. Disturbing her. Making her feel his overwhelming presence in the close, confining space.

Why does he have this impact on me? How? I’m not twenty any more, and I’m way, way past caring about men—but this one…

This one still overwhelmed her. This one still had the same power he’d always had! Four years had done nothing to change that.

Quiveringly aware of him, she yanked open the fridge door. At least making him a sandwich would distract her, give her something to focus on other than him. Extracting butter, ham and a hunk of cheese, she plonked them on the table, then pulled off the lid of the bread crock and roughly hacked two slices to make the sandwich he’d demanded. Deliberately blank-faced, she handed it to him on a plate. He took it with an abstracted thank-you, and nodded at the colander full of strawberries that was on the draining board.

‘Any chance of dessert?’ he enquired.

Wordlessly, she scooped some into a bowl.

‘Share them with me,’ he invited. ‘And let’s eat outside. I’ll take out one of these kitchen chairs for you.’

He hefted one up effortlessly and headed out for the garden, leaving a tight-lipped Sophie to follow him with the bowl of strawberries. She didn’t want to share dessert with him. She didn’t want to share anything with him—least of all her company. She wanted him to go. To stop disturbing her.

To leave her alone.

For ever.

Again.

She felt the knife slide into her side, a physical pain. Losing Nikos had been an agony.

He was never yours in the first place! Never! You were a fool—a selfish, stupid little fool! Weaving your infantile fantasies! Dreaming your puerile, egoistical happy ending to what was never real!