Page 22 of Reclaimed By His Billion-Dollar Ring

‘Do you enjoy play-acting that you’re just an ordinary member of the public? The way you pretended when you were a student on that dig?’

He saw her face tighten.

‘There was no pretence, Nikos. And, although it’s absolutely none of your business, my English mother—as you may recall me telling you that summer—raised me on her own, and always insisted I should be able to live without relying on my father. She earned her own living—she was a hairdresser and beautician—and apart from visits to Greece during school holidays I lived a perfectly ordinary life. Not poor, but not rich either. My father paid for my university course, but that was all.’

His expression was sceptical. ‘She wasn’t a wealthy divorcee?’ he challenged.

‘She wasn’t a divorcee at all!’ came the riposte. ‘She never married my father—she didn’t want to. Her choice, not his. She didn’t want to be tied down in marriage. But my father insisted on acknowledging me as his daughter on my birth certificate, so I have dual nationality and two passports. I’m Calanthe Reynolds, as you knew me, and Calanthe Petranakos as well.’

He saw her expression change. Harden with suspicion.

‘How did you know I was taking the ferry?’ she asked.

He smiled, eyes glinting. ‘Your housekeeper told me when I phoned this morning to offer to escort you to the party,’ he said.

Calanthe’s eyes flashed angrily. ‘I neither need nor want your escort!’ Her face worked. ‘Leave me alone, Nik. I don’t want anything to do with you ever again! I made that clear enough at Sounion. Our “summer romance”, as you call it, was over eight years ago. You saw to that.’ The bitterness in her voice was audible, and something hardened in her eyes. ‘You’re not getting another one.’

He met her flashing eyes full-on. This time neither of them was wearing shades, and he could see the angry depths of her grey-blue eyes...eyes that had once gazed at him meltingly, filled with warmth and desire and passion and something more than that...

‘Maybe,’ he said slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, ‘a summer romance is no longer what I want. Maybe I’ve moved on, Calanthe. Maybe I want something more.’

It was strange to say it. Strange to put it into words. But as he did so, he knew he meant it. Although just what ‘more’ was it that he wanted?

That he did not know. Not yet...

But his words had drawn a reaction from her—an instant withdrawal. He heard her sharp intake of breath. Then he saw her shoulders hunch as she flicked open the journal she was clutching.

She didn’t look up as she threw her reply at him. ‘Too bad, Nik. Because you will never do to me again what you did before. Never.’

There was anger in her voice. And more than anger. A bleakness that was like a knife twisting in his guts. He frowned inwardly, suddenly on edge. He masked his expression, relieved she wasn’t looking at him. Felt the twist in his guts come again. Urgently he tried to untwist it. To reassure himself.

She can’t know—I made it clear that she must never know. Never.

She must never know what he had done that summer long ago...

Calanthe heard the bleakness in her own voice and knew why it was there. The words on the page of her journal blurred, then resolved into focus again. A focus she must keep now, doggedly, despite the turmoil in her brain.

Her nerves were totally overset. She had accepted Marina’s invitation as an opportunity to get her away from Athens, away from Nikos—and now here he was, sitting right opposite her, heading to the very destination she was. She could not bear it.

Determinedly, she buried herself in her journal, totally ignoring the man sitting opposite her. Yet she was aware that he had got his phone out, was perusing the screen, occupying himself as she was.

After a while, he got to his feet. ‘I think I’ll stretch my legs,’ he remarked.

Calanthe made no reply, conscious that she could now minutely relax. To her relief he didn’t come back—not even when the ferry finally docked.

She hung back deliberately, hoping he’d take a taxi up to the Volous villa, but when she did disembark—for the ferry was about to set off to the next island on its itinerary—to her dismay there he was, down on the dock, leaning casually against the door of a svelte saloon car that had drawn up on the cobbles.

He waved as she walked off the ferry, carrying her overnight bag with her. ‘Our hosts have sent a car to collect us,’ he said, opening the rear passenger door and relieving her of her bag, though she had not asked him to.

Stiffly, she got in, murmuring something to the driver, and was grateful that Nikos got into the front passenger seat. The car set off, nosing down the narrow streets to gain the open road and then head along the coast road towards the Volous villa.

Calanthe had been there once before, the previous year, when her friend Marina had first married, and she knew it to be large and luxurious, set above its own private beach, with a multitude of guest rooms. She would ensure hers was far away from Nikos.

Her face set stonily. Nikos was chatting to the driver in an easy-going fashion and memory assailed her. Nik had always chatted easily to anyone—he’d fitted in with the student crowd that summer, been accepted by them as one of their own, and now he was chatting easily to a man who earned his living working as a driver for a very wealthy couple.

But then, that is Nik’s own background, isn’t it? Nothing grand or privileged...

Unease flickered through her. On the ferry she’d thrown at him the way she’d been raised by her mother. Yet he had thought her to be faking it—faking the person she’d presented herself as during that summer.

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