For a moment she saw a hint of puzzlement in his eyes. Then the impression was gone, ousted by the sheer arrogance of his flared nostrils and raised brows as he looked down his impressive, aristocratic nose at her.
‘A fine performance, madam. Truly masterful. But you and I both know it was just that: a performance. We’re bound to each other, until such time as I decide how best to sever the connection.’
He swung round towards the door so quickly that the room blurred around her.
‘We will discuss this somewhere more congenial. I, for one, have no desire to continue this discussion here.’
He looked away and she was left gazing up at the under-side of his sharply angled jaw, the plane of his cheek and his well-shaped ear.
It was like looking at the man she remembered, but through a distorting glaze of anger. Briefly she wondered if Stavros Denakis had an evil twin. Or whether the man she’d met four years ago had been an impostor.
But it was the same man. There could be no mistaking the way her heart accelerated just being close to him, or the hint of longing that tinged her anger.
It was appalling but true: Tessa had never reacted to anyone else this way. Now she discovered that the only man to make her feel so aware was an egotistical, bad-tempered brute!
It was typical of her luck.
‘You find this situation humorous?’ His deep voice rumbled up from his chest, a vibration she felt as well as heard. ‘Believe me, you won’t find it funny by the time I’ve finished with you.’
‘No!’ Tessa gritted her teeth while she searched for a calm tone. ‘I don’t find it at all amusing to be manhandled.’
He stopped in mid-stride and stared down at her. An overhead light haloed his hair, turning him into a dark vengeful angel. His eyes were impenetrable.
‘Is that a threat?’ he asked softly. ‘A hint of harassment litigation to come?’
The suppressed violence in his tone made her shiver. She clenched her hands against the impulse to do something stupid such as try to claw her way out of his unforgiving grip. She knew instinctively that he’d have no compunction about using his superior strength to stop her.
‘I have no interest in a lawsuit. But that doesn’t mean you can ride roughshod over me.’ She snatched a quick breath before her courage faded. ‘Now, I’d be grateful if you’d put me down. I prefer to walk.’
For a long moment he scrutinised her with all the hauteur of a prince surveying some upstart lackey. Tessa felt the blood warm her cheeks, so intense was that survey. And so disapproving.
Then his mouth tilted up at one side in a self-satisfied smirk that disappeared almost before she registered it.
‘You’ll find it easier to do things the way I wish them to be done.’
And then he was stalking down the long corridor again, holding her effortlessly, ignoring everything she’d said.
They passed a series of closed doors and then he swung round a corner, exiting the building under a covered walkway. The soft, balmy night air caressed her skin and she breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing pulse. From somewhere nearby came the sound of people, lots of people, enjoying themselves. Through the jumble of voices she heard a thread of music.
A party. She’d arrived when he was entertaining, and by the sound of it this was no intimate family gathering. That might explain the tension in him when he’d stormed in to confront her.
But nothing could excuse his behaviour since.
Tessa blinked back hot, futile tears at the realisation that the man she’d put on a pedestal for all these years was the sort of arrogant bully she most detested.
How had she got it so wrong?
And why did it matter? After tonight they’d never see each other again.
The walkway ended at another, larger building. He barely slowed his pace to negotiate the door and another corridor. There was no similarity between this architect-designed palace and the utilitarian security block they’d just left. The rooms here were discreetly opulent. Fresh flowers scented the air and there were fine furnishings, artfully placed, designed for both comfort and display. Spacious. Luxurious. The home of a mega-wealthy man.
The magazine had been right after all: Stavros Denakis had more money than she’d ever dreamed of. The divide between them was impossible to breach.
The realisation chilled her and she slumped in his hold.
She’d known from the first that he wasn’t like other men. His absolute self-assurance, his willingness to take charge, his split-second decision-making, even in traumatic circumstances, the power and confidence he radiated…She’d been so grateful for those qualities the day he’d rescued her. But now at last she understood—they were simply the qualities of a man used to command, a man with the riches to buy whatever he wanted.