Page 5 of Reunited By the Greek's Baby

Isla clenched her fists against the impulse to reach out and trace those powerful, charismatic features.

‘Hello, Isla.’

His voice had a rasping edge that she might, once, have associated with deep affection. Now she knew better.

She narrowed her eyes and that’s when she noticed something unfamiliar. A scar near his left eye, ragged and still pink. Obviously recent.

Of course it was recent. It was four months since she’d seen him. The memory of that last morning before his trip to Athens, the laughter and tenderness, undid her.

Because it had been followed by rejection, all the more cruel for being totally unexpected.

Isla stumbled towards the couch, reaching for support.

Instead of touching worn velvet her fingers met flesh. Long fingers closed around hers and she felt the pressure of a warm palm at the small of her back.

‘Don’t. Touch. Me!’

Isla jerked away, flinging up her other arm to ward him off.

Over her raised hand she read his shock. Good. She’d hate to think she was the only one suffering.

Had he expected her to welcome him with open arms? She might have been naïve once but she’d had a fast-track lesson in reality.

Her knees gave way and she collapsed onto the sofa. ‘The kettle’s boiled.’

He looked like he was going to speak. Instead he turned away and busied himself with the tea.

It was bittersweet, watching him at such a domestic task, and it took her back to Greece. Except the man she’d known then wasn’t this man. He’d been a mirage concocted to seduce a naïve foreigner into a brief romance.

The only thing real between them had been the incredible sexual compulsion that had led, on her side, to impossible fantasies. The affection, connection and understanding—those had been figments of her imagination.

Isla set her jaw and tried to survey him with a clear head. It wasn’t just his clothes that had altered. He held himself differently, with rigid shoulders and a guarded expression.

He was uncomfortable? He deserved to be.

He swung around, gaze capturing hers, and she felt it like a blow to her heart. Those leonine eyes glowed molten gold, taking her straight back to the wonder of his lovemaking and the tender acceptance she’d felt in his arms.

Clearly it was a trick of the light.

She blinked. There, the impression was gone. His eyes were brown and unreadable.

‘There are brownies.’ Isla nodded to the biscuit tin.

He didn’t move, just surveyed her in a way that made her feel scraped bare.

In the past she’d revelled in the fact he took his time to see her, understand her, make her feel unique and appreciated. Now she knew it was a clever seduction technique. He’d probably been seducing gullible women for years. It meant nothing.

She’dmeant nothing. He’d told her so and backed it up with threats of legal action if she contacted him again.

Her heart dipped. She’d had a lifetime of feeling like an outsider. Theo’s rejection had devastated her because she’d finally let down her defences. She’d believed in him, inthem.

What was he doing here?

Whatever his motivations, this man was trouble. With a huff of feigned impatience she moved to the edge of the couch as if to get the tea herself but he forestalled her.

‘Don’t move.’ He didn’t raise his voice but there was no mistaking it as anything other than a command.

Deftly he assembled plates and mugs, poured tea and shared out the food. He put hers on the little table beside the couch, then with a stern look as if warning her from moving, he took a plate and mug through to Rebecca.

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