Page 4 of The Konstantos Marriage Demand

Nikos’s only response was a sharp movement that released the button, letting the door slide to, shutting them in.

‘I…’ Sadie tried, but another of those arctic glares froze the words on her tongue.

She had forgotten how deep a bronze his eyes could be in certain lights. In others they could be almost molten gold, the colour of the purest honey and just as sweet—or they had been once upon a time. There was nothing sweet in the look he turned on her now, nothing to melt the knot of ice that seemed to have clenched around her stomach, twisting it brutally until she felt raw and nauseous deep inside.

And Nikos clearly had no intention of even attempting to lighten the atmosphere or to make her feel any better. Instead he simply leaned back against the wall of the compartment, folding his strong arms across the width of his chest as he subjected her to the sort of savage scrutiny that made her feel as if the burn of his gaze might actually shrivel her where she stood. Why she didn’t just collapse into a pile of ashes under it she didn’t know. Instead, she shifted awkwardly from one foot to another then, unable to bear the terrible silence any longer, forced herself to try again.

‘I—I can explain…’ was all she managed, before he made a slicing, brutal gesture with his hand that cut off all attempt at speech.

‘In my office.’

It was tossed at her, almost flung into her face, no hint of expression or trace of warmth on his features. His expression was a stone wall, no light in his eyes, his jaw set and hard.

‘But I…’ she tried again.

‘In my office,’ he repeated, and his tone left her in no doubt that he would brook no argument so there was no use in even trying.

Besides, the confined space of the lift was too small, too claustrophobic for her to want to risk confronting him while she was trapped there. She might have been prepared to face him in his office—in more civilised surroundings—but not here, not now. Not like this.

And, seeing the burn of icy anger in those golden eyes, she felt a shiver creep across her skin at the thought that civilised no longer seemed an appropriate word to describe Nikos Konstantos, either.

‘In your office, then,’ she muttered, determined not to let him have the last word, and the glance she turned in his direction had the flash of defiance in its green depths.

That glance challenged him to take things further, Nikos acknowledged grimly as he adjusted his broad shoulders against the mirrored wall of the lift. But if she knew just what sort of taking it further was actually in his thoughts then he suspected that she would back down pretty hastily. Back down and back away.

It was what he should do too. The back away part at least. He should back away, back off, get his thoughts under control. He had been rocked, knocked mentally off balance by the speed and intensity of his response to discovering that she was in the building. That his ten-o’clock appointment was actually with none other than Sadie Carteret.

With the woman who had once taken him for a fool, used him, fleeced him, damn nearly been the death of his father, and then walked out on him on what had been supposed to be their wedding day. Bile rose in his throat at just the thought. The memory should have been enough to blast his mind with black hatred, drive any more basic, more masculine response right out of it.

But instead it was desire that had hit. No—give it its proper name—it had been lust. Pure, driven, primitive male lust. Though of course there had been nothing at all pure about the thoughts that had sizzled through his mind. And that had been from only seeing her from the back.

He had taken one look at the tall, slender frame of the woman in front of him, gaze lingering on the swell of her hips, the pert bottom under the clinging navy blue skirt. The contrast between the very feminine curves and the surprisingly matronly clothing, the soft flesh pushing against the restricting material, had had a sensual kick that had made his head spin and he had known that he was resolved to get to know this Sandie Carter well—very well—as swiftly as possible.

But then she had turned and he had seen that she was not Sandie Carter at all but Sadie Carteret, the woman who had torn his world apart five years before and was now, it seemed, back in his life.

For what?

‘I suppose things will be more private there,’ she added now, smoothing a hand over her hair and then, more revealingly, down the sides of her hips, as if wiping away some nervous perspiration from her palms and fingers.

She was not as much in control as she wanted to appear and that suited him fine. He wanted her off balance, on edge with her guard down. That way she might let slip the truth about what she was after. Because she was after something—she had to be.

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