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.
She peered at herself in the mirror, wincing at the sight that met her eyes. She hardly recognised the heavily made-up blonde who stared back at her—which was all to the good. Because that person wasn’t her. She was just a means to an end. An end that couldn’t come fast enough for Kate.
Raising her hand, she grasped a fistful of hair and lifted up the blonde wig, tossing it to one side. She shook her head, running her fingers through her short dark hair before regarding herself again. Better. She had worn this style for over a year now, her decision to crop her long chestnut hair having been an attempt to present a more businesslike, serious persona.
The business might still bear her name, but Kate was no longer the happy, rosy-cheeked kid who had promoted the brand throughout her childhood—whose chestnut plaits and gap-toothed smile had helped to sell several million candy bars and made Kate instantly recognisable.