Page 38 of The Billionaire's Seduction Revenge

She rolled onto her back then and blinked up at him, smiled, a sexy, beautiful smile that made him furious he’d been contacted by his PA at all, even angrier that an emergency had cropped up no one else seemed able to deal with.

But the business was his priority and always would be. Emma was transient. A passing infatuation. Costa’s health, while declining, would not worsen dramatically in the next couple of days. He had to leave. To prove to himself, and Emma and Costa, that nothing substantial had changed.

“Good morning.” Her voice was husky, her lips full and pink, and as she brushed a clump of hair out of her eyes, the sheet shifted to reveal one perfect, creamy breast, so his whole body stirred with the need to pull the fabric back completely and slide into bed beside her, to hell with New York.

“What is it?” She sat up a little and he had his wish—the sheet dropped away fully. Something burst inside Vasilios then that he didn’t recognise: jealousy. That Emma had been married was a revelation he hadn’t yet processed. There hadn’t been time. They’d come straight home the night before and when he’d made love to her it had been out of a desperation to possess her, yes, but he hadn’t really suspected that other darker needs had driven that desperation. Had formed in him a desire to wipe any other man from her mind completely. Hadn’t he thought that before though? Before he’d even known about Jack, he’d wanted to make Emma his and his completely, and what she’d told him last night had only underscored that for Vasilios.

Now he looked at her body and actually hated that she’d had a husband. And though the poor man was dead, and in the most senseless, brutal way, he couldn’t help despising the idiot for marrying Emma then neglecting her so obviously.

Vasilios wasn’t a marrying kind of man—the one time he’d come close had been a monumental mistake and he’d ended it before it had gone too far. He would have made a terrible husband, because he didn’t have what it took to commit to another person. He would never risk making a woman as miserable as his mother and grandmother had been.

“Is it Costa?” She asked, reaching out and grabbing his hand. “What’s the matter?”

“No, no.” He forced the stern thoughts from his mind and relaxed his features. “Costa’s fine. I got an email overnight from New York. I need to go there for a few days, to sort something out.” He hesitated, suddenly feeling like maybe he’d overreacted by deciding to tell Emma any of this. Would she even care?

Yes, she cared. He saw something in her eyes like regret and her nod was slow, distracted. “Oh, okay.”

“I’ll be back soon.” What the hell was he promising? He was making it sound as though he couldn’t bear to be away from her, as though this was a betrayal. He shook his head quickly. “For Costa,” he added, thinking she’d be glad he’d clarified that point. “The doctor I spoke to said he thought he might only have a month. I intend to stay here. Til the end.”

Emma’s eyes misted over and she blinked away, nodding again. This wasn’t about him going to New York, but about her genuine affection for the old man.

Jealousy again!

Emma adored Costa, she felt for him in a way she’d never feel for Vasilios, because neither of them wanted any kind of emotional entanglement. So why the hell should he envy Costa?

“I’m glad,” she admitted softly. “That will mean a lot to him.”

Vasilios agreed, and felt ashamed of himself because he wasn’t sure he would have planned to spend so much time here if it weren’t for Emma being a part of the deal. Was it just that in a moment of emotional bleakness, she offered relief? Yes, there was pleasure with Emma when everything with Costa promised grief and loss. That was why he craved her like this.

“So, I’ll see you in a few days,” he said, strangely hesitant.

Emma smiled at him, a slow smile, and then she nodded, and he breathed out, relaxing. Everything was okay; this wasn’t a big deal. He was going to New York, she was staying here, and in a few days, he’d return and this would resume.

It was a thought that popped into his mind more times than he wanted as his private jet crossed the Atlantic, and even when he touched down in New York, he was glad he could still smell the faintest hint of Emma on his clothes, could remember the way they’d been together the night before so clearly, even if it did rob him of his usual attention to detail.

As was their ritual, Emma read the headlines from the business sections of the broadsheet newspapers and whenever Costa was interested in hearing more, he’d hold his hand up in the air, silently bidding Emma to continue. Oftentimes, the articles were very dry to Emma, meaning she could read them aloud while only employing half of her brain power—the rest was free to contemplate whatever she wanted and this morning, two days after Vasilios’s departure, she was obsessing over his return. He’d said a few days, hadn’t he? Did that mean he’d come back tonight? Or tomorrow? Or was it likely to be longer? He hadn’t made a firm plan. He hadn’t even elaborated on what had happened to draw him to New York. She knew only that he’d gone and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since.

It terrified her.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He was a meaningless fling.

No strings.

She knew she had to leave, to avoid the risk of getting more attached to Vasilios, but if she couldn’t go a few days without him, how the hell was she going to push herself out of this nest? And then, there was Costa to consider. As she flicked through the papers, grateful he’d started buying English broadsheets as a concession to her halting Italian, she reflected on the familiarity and reliability of this routine. She liked how well they knew each other, how easily they fit into this rhythm.

She didn’t really want to leave him, but maybe it was the right thing to do even from the perspective of self-preservation. Costa was dying. She hadn’t really thought it through when she’d accepted his offer, but to be his companion until that last moment would bring back so many painful memories and Emma wasn’t sure she was brave enough to go through another loss so soon after burying Jack.

“What’s the matter?” Costa called from across the table. Emma realised she’d stopped reading.

“Sorry,” she threw him a smile. “I lost my place.” To cover the mistake, she reached for her coffee, took a sip, then determinedly returned to the paper.

“I got enough,” he said with a shake of his head. “What’s next?”

She moved to the following headline, then the one after. Neither received much interest from Costa. Emma turned the page and then gasped, before smiling, because a photo of Vasilios coming out of a set of glass doors greeted her at the top of the page.

“What is it?”

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