Page 7 of The Billionaire's Demand

Nor against the torment of seeing him again. The man she had once loved, and whose love she had so faithlessly betrayed.

Leandros was at his laptop and he was searching the Internet. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t stop himself. A demon was driving him as he typed her name into the search box.

Eliana’s name.

Photos leapt on to the screen. Photos from the glossy magazines and tabloids that loved to highlight those living the high life. And Eliana had done just that.

Leandros’s gaze bored into the screen. Image after image...

Eliana in a ball gown at some charity gala in Thessaloniki...at a private party on a yacht...at a fancy restaurant...at the opening of one of her father-in-law’s prestigious properties... The images went on and on. Eliana with the man she had preferred to himself, Damian Makris. Nothing much to look at—but then his appeal had not been his looks, but his family money.

Leandros frowned involuntarily. He’d barely known the man, but to be dead at twenty-nine was a cruel fate for anyone. His gaze rested now on a sombre image: Eliana without her husband at her side, in a black dress, her father-in-law beside her, leaving her husband’s funeral.

Thoughts flickered in his mind as he recalled what those two brokerage directors had said about how Jonas Makris had all but cast his daughter-in-law out of the family. And again that taunt he himself had thrown at her at that party in Athens. That she must be on the lookout now for a replacement for Damian Makris. A wealthy one, of course.

But not necessarily to marry.

Just someone to provide her with the luxury lifestyle that apparently she was now deprived of.

Someone...anyone...

Anyone who might find her beauty appealing...beguiling... Tempting...

Thoughts were circling now, coming closer like birds of prey—thoughts he must not have, must not allow. To do so would be madness—what else could it be? For six long years he’d blanked Eliana’s existence, refused to think about her, relieved that she was away up in Thessaloniki so he wouldn’t run into her. Wouldn’t see her with the man she had preferred to himself.

But that man was gone now.

So she’s available again—and missing her luxury lifestyle...

The birds of prey that were those thoughts he must not have circled closer, talons outstretched, taking hold of him...

His eyes went to her photo on the screen. He was unable to tear his fixed gaze away.

And everything that he had blanked for six long years came rushing back like a tidal wave. Drowning his sanity.

He felt his fingers move again on the keyboard, calling up another tab. Slowly, deliberately, he clicked through the screens, reaching the one he wanted.

Booking his flight to Thessaloniki.

Eliana had just got off shift and was dog-tired. She’d worked a twelve-hour day—seven in the morning till seven at night—not even stopping for lunch. She gave a sigh as she let herself in to her shabby, depressing studio apartment. Was this really going to be her life from now on? This miserable hand-to-mouth existence?

But what could she do to improve it? She had no marketable skills other than basic ones. She’d skipped on higher education in order to be with her father, and then, for those few, blissful months now lost for ever, tainted by the memory of how they’d ended, she’d thought that her future would be the everlasting bliss of being married to Leandros, making a family with him.

After that she’d been an ornamental, dressed-up doll of a wife for Damien, shown off to his father, to his father’s friends and business associates, dressed up to the nines, bejewelled, smiling, making polite small talk as Jonas Makris’s docile daughter-in-law. A daughter-in-law who had become an increasing disappointment to him in her failure to present him with the grandson and heir he demanded.

As for Damian...

Her mind slid sideways. Back into the grief she still felt at his death, at the waste of it all. The sheer sadness.

He’d left such a mess behind...

And she was caught up in it.

She gave a tired sigh. Her life now was what it was, and nothing would change it. Nothing could change it.

She went into the cramped kitchenette, with its cheap fittings and broken cupboard, stained sink and chipped tiling. She needed coffee—only instant, which was all she could afford these days. She’d brought back a sandwich from the supermarket, marked down at the end of the day, and that would have to do for supper with a tin of soup. Meagre fare, but cheap—and that was all that mattered.

She had just taken a first sip of her weak coffee when something unusual happened. Her doorbell rang. She replaced her mug on the worn laminate work surface, frowning. The rent wasn’t due, and no one else ever called except the landlord’s agent. The bell rang again—not at the door itself, but at the front door to the apartment block. Still frowning, she crossed to the door to press the buzzer to let it open.

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