Page 22 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

Vasilios clenched his jaw, staring at the road in front of them, grinding his teeth.

His plan had been simple, initially, but when it boiled down to it, if there was even the slightest possibility that Emma had been intimate with his grandfather, there was no way Vasilios could be with her. And while he felt as though he was coming to understand her, he understood Costa so much better, and knew that there was very little chance the old man’s feelings for Emma were purely platonic.

So what?

Where did that leave him?

He’d started this—but did he actually want to finish it? And even when he wanted to more than words could express, should he? The plan that had seemed so simple was now stupid and childish. Vasilios was above deception, above underhandedness. What he needed to do was speak to Costa and not let the matter go until he had a straight answer. And then? What about Emma?

He stared at the road right in front of him, unsure how to answer that question, but confident, as Vasilios always was, that he would find the answer. It didn’t occur to Vasilios that there was danger here, and yet, with Emma’s hands wrapped around his waist, he was closer to content than he’d been in a very long time, which should have, in and of itself, served as a warning. If only Vasilios was paying attention…

6

“IHAVE ALREADY GIVEN you an answer, you just choose not to believe it,” Costa said, a short while later, when having returned to the villa, Emma had quickly excused herself, barely able to meet Vasilios’s eyes. He had a sinking feeling in the centre of his chest that she was already regretting having let down her guard with him, and he was torn between allowing her to go and wanting to pursue her, to kiss her again, to drive away those doubts.

“Do you blame me?” Vasilios grunted, hands on hips, staring out at the ocean.

“No,” Costa sighed heavily, his voice cracked by age. “I don’t blame you at all, Vas. In fact, I understand it.”

Vasilios turned to face the older man. It was the closest they’d come to having a discussion about Costa’s behaviour and Vasilios didn’t intend to shy away from it.

“I like women,” he said with a shrug. “I always have done. And women tend to like me back.” In Costa’s grin, Vasilios caught a glimpse of the man he’d been twenty years earlier. His charm was easy, his nature always relaxed. “But it’s been many years since I allowed myself to get involved in an affair.”

Vasilios lifted a brow, his scepticism only natural. “Years?”

“It’s not age, Vas, but the damned cancer. It’s been progressing slowly, but it has affected me for a long time. I’m tired.”

Vasilios moved to the seat opposite his grandfather, the last of the afternoon’s sun catching him so he squinted a little. “What do your doctors say about that?”

“There is nothing much more that can be done. It is what it is.”

Vasilios pushed away the searing sense of grief at that—he would reckon with those emotions later.

“So Emma is here truly as a companion?”

“Come on,” Costa made a short laughing sound. “Look at her. Look at me. Do you honestly believe she’d be interested?”

“Is that humility,nonno?” Vasilios asked with over-exaggerated surprise. “Fromyou?”

“If I were ten years younger…”

“I don’t doubt it,” Vasilios agreed, dismissing the thought because it made his blood run cold. “And you think her being here is above board?”

“You’re convinced she’s using me?”

“Well,” Vasilios considered his words with care. “You’re wealthy and in poor health. I don’t think it’s a ridiculous idea.”

“She has never asked me for a single thing,” Costa said with a shake of his head. “And in fact, anything I offer she either refuses or accepts grudgingly. I had suggested that she move into the house, you know. To take over the whole of the eastern wing. It was Emma who insisted that the pool house would not only be adequate, it was generous.”

Vasilios rubbed a palm over his jaw. If Emma had intended to work her way into either Costa’s heart or bed, then surely taking up residence in the house would have suited her purposes better.

Which meant what? That she was innocent? Or just really, really clever about how she was going about things.

“I’m not your father, Vas, and she’s not like any of the women he dated, nor any of the women I’ve been with. Emma is…different.”

Different. Yes, she was. An enigma, just as he’d explained at lunch. Two parts of her were at odds, and they made her fascinating and compelling. Even now, having just spent hours across from her, he was wondering about her, thinking about her, wanting to see her again.

“How did you meet?” He prompted. Having heard the story from Emma, he was naturally curious to see if their versions lined up.

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