Page 20 of The Billionaire's Demand

He frowned. ‘You must have had a decent wardrobe from Damian?’ he said.

‘I was not allowed to take it when I had to leave the house we lived in,’ she said quietly.

Leandros’s mouth twisted. Jonas Makris had certainly done the works on her all right.

But I don’t want to see her in clothes she wore for the man she rejected me for.

‘Well, you’ll leave Paris with a new wardrobe,’ he said. He crossed to the drinks cabinet. ‘I’ve some time before I need to leave. Would you like a cocktail?’

Into his head came the answer she would once have given instantly. A Kir Royale—champagne infused with cassis. It had always been her favourite.

‘G and T,’ she said now.

He glanced at her, reaching for the bottle of gin out of the plentiful array in the cabinet, together with tonic water and ice cubes.

‘Very English,’ he said dryly. He frowned. ‘You used to like sweet cocktails.’

‘Well, now I prefer something more astringent.’

There was an edge in her voice, and he could hear it. He mixed her drink, and then a martini for himself, coming across to hand her glass to her where she stood in the middle of the room.

He looked at her a moment. ‘You look tired,’ he said abruptly. ‘Worn down.’

She took the glass, met his eyes. ‘I’m a widow, Leandros. And I’ve no money. I’ve had to take a job with long hours and little pay. So, yes, I’m tired.’

He frowned. ‘I know your father died a while back, but surely he left you something?’

She took a sip of her cocktail. ‘He had nothing to leave,’ she said. ‘When I married Damian, Jonas paid my father’s debts, but put a charge on his estate. When my father died the charge was executed. There was no money to repay it, so... Well, Jonas foreclosed.’

Leandros was still frowning. ‘What about your mother’s family? I know you’d said they weren’t keen on her marriage.’

‘No—they wanted her to marry the man she’d been expected to marry until she came out to Greece on holiday and met my father.’

There was a sour taste in Leandros’s mouth suddenly.

Like mother like daughter...

‘So she jilted her English boyfriend to marry your father?’

Eliana did not answer him, only took another mouthful of her drink.

‘Have you no English family to turn to?’ he pursued.

This time she did answer. ‘There are only a couple of cousins now, and an aunt who was always jealous of my mother—she wouldn’t help. And anyway—’

She stopped short. He did not press her to continue. His veiled gaze rested on her. Her youthful dress, her tied-back hair and lack of make-up made her look younger than her age. More like the age she’d been when he’d romanced her, entranced by her natural, radiant beauty.

His expression hardened. She might have looked like an ingenue, wide-eyed and innocent, gazing at him so ardently, adoringly, whispering sweet nothings to him, but nothing was all that he had ever meant to her. She’d walked away from him without the slightest hesitation once his father had made it clear he’d cut his own son out of his inheritance, cut him off without the proverbial euro if they married.

She is venal, and worldly, and material wealth is all she cares about.

He spelt the words out in his head deliberately, harshly. He must remember them—not forget them.

Or I will never be free of her.

The sound of the house phone was welcome against such dark thoughts. He crossed to the sideboard to pick it up. He listened, hung up, and turned back to Eliana.

‘That’s my car. I must go.’ He paused. ‘I have no idea how long this dinner will go on, so don’t wait up. As I said, order whatever you want from room service. This suite comes with its own butler, so discuss it with him.’

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