Page 28 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

Vasilios found his eyes lingering on Emma’s face, even when she wasn’t speaking, so he saw the immediate response of disappointment that shaped her lips and darkened her eyes. She concealed it quickly though, putting a hand on Costa’s wrist. “We can read instead.”

Read! Since when had his grandfather become so interested in the passive pursuits of books and podcasts?

Costa’s easy smile was laced with natural affection. “Perhaps later. I have some reports to consider this morning. Do you mind?”

Vasilios’s eyes shifted towards Costa’s then. He’d retained a small share of the business, and Vasilios had discovered, a few years earlier, that he pored over the company reports each month. Costa didn’t discuss them Vasilios, and the younger man knew this to be the ultimate mark of respect—of faith. That Vasilios was handling things in a way Costa approved of. Even though Vasilios didn’t need his grandfather’s approval, it had still been a small mark of pride to know that he’d earned it.

“The June quarter?” Vasilios prompted.

Costa nodded once. “The file came in overnight.”

“Yes, I know. I approved it yesterday.” Now Vasilios was conscious of Emma’s eyes on him, and like spearing a fish, he intentionally slowed his gaze, lingered on Costa’s face and then without warning struck, flicking his attention to Emma and trapping her eyes with his. Her lips parted and her cheeks flushed pink before she escaped, quickly looking out to sea, the pulse point at the base of her throat visible as it began to race.

Satisfaction and dissatisfaction warred in his gut.

She was embarrassed. Regretful? Or finding it hard to forget the way they’d made each other feel? That was certainly true for Vasilios. His body shifted, hardened, just watching her. Little things, like the elegance of her fingers as she took hold of a croissant and broke it into pieces, or the way her lips moved, almost twitched, with emotions as she spoke. Her face was so expressive and fascinating, her body so perfectly intriguing.

Vasilios wanted her again.

And it had nothing to do with his original plan to use their sexual attraction to get to the bottom of what she was doing here, to unearth her secrets.

This was on the most animalistic and base level; he simply desired her.

He wanted more of what they’d done last night.

He hadn’t come to Puglia with any thoughts on how long he’d stay. Originally he’d imagined perhaps a week, to give himself time to observe Costa, to get to grips with the medical situation and make a plan for the most aggressive treatment path going forward.

But then he’d met Emma and the simplicity of that had fallen by the wayside.

At the time, he’d thought she represented a far greater threat to Costa than his cancer ever could.

Why, though?

Costa wasn’t a young man, but he was a happy one. Whatever Emma had done for him, it included that.

Dissatisfaction trumped satisfaction.

Vasilios was jealous.

Jealous of Costa’s relationship with Emma and of Emma’s relationship with Costa. Jealous of the way she’d slotted into Vasilios’s life and apparently his heart. It didn’t mean their relationship was physical—Vasilios knew now that it wasn’t—but their affection for one another was obvious.

And Costa’s reliance on her? From a man who’d never needed anyone before?

Vasilios expelled a rough breath, that drew the attention of both Emma and Costa. He reached for his coffee, drinking it to avoid answering a question.

He knew one thing for sure: sitting here was only serving to tank his mood. He scraped back his chair, glanced at Costa and then gave Emma the full force of his attention, his eyes boring into hers with an intensity that was derived from all that they’d shared the night before.

“Excuse me.” He left before he could do something stupid, like grabbing Emma and throwing her over his shoulder, dragging her onto his private jet and whisking her away with him, where he could take the time to pleasure her slowly, properly, piece by beautiful piece.

8

VASILIOS WAS WAITING FOR HER when she stepped out of Costa’s room, but before he could say anything, she lifted a finger to her lips, urging him to be silent. Her eyes though were wide, her cheeks pink, with good reason: Vasilios was the last person she’d expected to see.

Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t dying to see him.

He’d been away all day.

After his abrupt departure from breakfast, she’d heard his bike firing to life, and caught a glimpse of it on the narrow road that led to the villa. Without realising it, Emma had kept an ear out for him all day, so that she’d know when he returned—all the better to avoid him—she’d reassured herself. But Vasilios had stayed away, and Costa had remained locked up in his study, analysing dozens and dozens of pages of financial documents, so the most interaction Emma had with anyone was bringing Costa a coffee from time to time, and in the middle of the day, a small plate ofantipasti,his preferred lunch.

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