Page 18 of The Forgotten Wife

But when she started to descend the stairs, Nick appeared at her side, and without pausing a beat, swung her into his arms, his movements sure as he navigated the short steps onto the tarmac.

She gritted her teeth as her senses zinged to life. “Put me down. I’m perfectly capable of walking.” She pushed at his chest, trying to ignore her body’s leap of pleasure at his proximity.

“You may be, but I don’t want to be here all day. It’s been a long flight and you need to rest. And I need a stiff drink and ashower, in that order. So oblige me, would you?” His long strides ate up the short distance from the plane to the electric-powered golf cart parked nearby. Once there, he placed her on the seat and slid in beside her before accelerating toward the villa half a mile away.

The sharp retort on her lips evaporated as the beauty of her surroundings washed over her.

Althea was a five-kilometre-long, lush green paradise dropped into the middle of the Aegean Sea, with nothing for miles but the jewelled brilliance of the warm, turquoise-coloured water. Located due east of the Cycladic group of islands, it enjoyed almost year-round sunshine.

The four weeks she’d spent here after their wedding had been the happiest of her life, and she bit her lip in sharp remembrance as the Byzantine-themed villa came into full view.

Whitewashed and red-roofed, the two-story building sat resplendent on a small hill in the late afternoon sun. Bordered on either side by cypress and eucalyptus trees, the villa enjoyed a constant soft breeze, which lessened the sometimes-harsh impact of the Greek sun. The view from the front was spectacular, offering up panoramic scenes of landscaped gardens in the foreground and a private cove and white sands of the beach beyond. She knew the vista from the sea view deck at the back of the home was equally breathtaking, having spent many a morning breakfasting there during their honeymoon.

Nick had barely stopped the golf cart outside the solid oak doors when they flew open. A plump old woman stood on the threshold, her wrinkled face creased into a beaming smile.

Belle couldn’t help but smile in return. “Demetra, how are you?” She could be polite, even if she didn’t want to be here.

“KyriaAndreakos! Good, you’re home. Very, very good.” She clapped her hands together in glee before rushing down to throw her arms round Belle.

Nick spoke curtly to the older woman, who drew back with an apologetic but assessing look. She mumbled under her breath, cast Belle another smile, and then turned to supervise her husband, Yannis, as he unloaded the suitcases from the cart.

“What did you say to her?” Belle asked sharply.

“I told her you weren’t in the best of health, so she should contain her exuberance.” Nick stated unapologetically, unfolding his lithe body from the vehicle and coming to help her up. With reluctance, she accepted his help, unwilling to cause a scene in front of Demetra. But it didn’t stop her voicing her thoughts.

“I’d thank you not to give everyone the impression I’m made of fragile glass, primed to shatter into a million pieces at any moment.”

“If you say so,pethi mou.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your little one, nor your little anything for that matter.” Her voice came out in a screech, and her face burned.

She saw the smile that played about his lips, and her anger went up another notch.

“And you can stop using that humouring tone with me. In fact, you can leave me alone altogether.” To her chagrin, her voice broke, and a sob rose in her throat. Had she possessed the strength to march away from him, she would have; instead she felt herself wilting like a delicate flower exposed to too much sun.

With a muttered oath, Nick swung her up in his arms for the second time in less than ten minutes, mounted the steps, and entered the villa. She barely had time to reacquaint herself with the interior of the place she’d once called home before Nick whisked her up the grand staircase and turned into the left hallway. Paintings of seascapes, richly coloured tapestries, and the mosaic motifs that made up the stunning décor whizzed byas he strode rapidly to the end of the long corridor, pushed open the door, and advanced toward the huge bed in the middle of the room.

Bracing a knee on the mattress, he laid her down on the luxurious coverlet.

She sank back into the cool, soft pillows, striving to hide the sharp awareness that rampaged through her. But although she pulled away from him, she couldn’t stop her eyes from devouring him.

A lock of hair had fallen over his eyes as he’d bent over, and she clenched her fist against the urge to smooth it back, the way she would’ve done as a newlywed. In contrast to her agitation, she noted with resentment how his chest rose and fell with smooth control beneath the black shirt he wore.

His body, as toned and sleek as ever, vibrated with latent power from the top of his dark head to the tips of his handmade loafers.

She looked away, desperately forcing aside the heat that rose within her. The sexual charge between them had always been extremely potent, and time and distance, it seemed, had only heightened it for her. When it continued to creep up in unrelenting waves, she moved away from him toward the middle of the bed, fearful she’d betray her body’s response with the arrows of white-hot desire that shot to the very centre of her being.

Casting her eyes around the room instead, she noted the décor hadn’t changed from the pleasant white and blue design. The large bed was still fringed by billowing white canopied curtains, and the deep blue coverlet streaked with gold was as vibrant and silky beneath her fingers as it had been the first time she’d stroked it.

The handmade Cycladic furniture that graced the bedside and the room, along with the richly patterned rugs scattered on the white tiled floor, were also the same ones she remembered.

Nothing had changed, she noted with cutting poignancy. Nothing except the man in front of her, who had made her fall deeply in love with him, only to reveal fathoms-deep control issues that went beyond the running of his multi-billion-euro empire. By the time she’d found the strength to walk away, Nick’s need to control her had plunged to a level so deep, it obliterated everything in its path, including her love. Of course, the final straws had been his stance on their future children, or the distinct lack of them, and the glaring realization that Nick didn’t love her—certainly not enough to say those three simple words to her.

“I want to rest now, so if you’ll excuse me?” Her voice didn’t hold as firm as she willed it, and she hoped he’d think it was through tiredness rather than an unhealthy mixture of pain, sadness, and arousal.

“Do you need anything? A glass of water or a cool drink?” Was his voice husky, or were her ears playing tricks on her?

“No, thanks, I’m fine.”Please, please leave. I want to be on my own.

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