don’t make remarks about my feelings for a man I have never met or even heard a peep out of in my twenty-two years,’ she threw back. ‘And don’t,’ she added warningly, ‘Even attempt to defend him by telling tales about how badly my father let him down or I will be showing you the door, Mr Pallis—or killing the messenger.’
She couldn’t stop the last bit—it just came out. A tight silence dropped between them. Zoe could not take her eyes off the sudden stillness in control of his face. Her heart had picked up extra beats again and those prickles were making themselves felt as she waited for him to retaliate. When he took a step towards her, she raised her chin up in defiance even as her eyes revealed that she knew that this time she had gone too far with her snipes.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she jerked out as he raised a hand then made her stiffen and drag in a breath as he closed his fingers around her wrist. It was only when he brought up his other hand to carefully prise the knife she hadn’t been aware that she was holding from her fingers that she realised what he was doing.
Maintaining his grip on her wrist, he leant past her to drop the knife back on the counter top. The move brought him close, too close, overwhelming her suddenly with his superior height and the amount of leashed power lurking beneath the suit. Her next breath feathered its way across her throat when she picked up his clean, masculine scent.
‘OK, Miss Kanellis,’ he murmured. ‘Let us take it as a given that we don’t like each other. However, heed my advice when I suggest that you stick to using words to try piercing me with; knives tend to draw blood.’
Her cheeks heated up. ‘I was not intending to—’
‘I meant your blood, Zoe,’ he whispered soberly. He held onto her eyes for a few mind-stinging seconds then let go of her wrist and took a step back.
He really confused her when he relaxed his wide shoulders and offered her a smile—or half of one. ‘I could do with that cup of coffee you offered to make me.’
Flustered by the whole macho demonstration, Zoe stared as he pulled out a chair at the table then lowered himself gracefully into it. Even that had been done as a stab at her insolent manner.
Crushing her lips together, she turned her attention to the kettle and wished the uncomfortable flush would cool from her cheeks. Half of it was there because she was so angry with herself for losing the high ground with her unwitting gesture with the knife; she hadn’t even noticed that she’d picked it up from the breadboard.
Talk about mind transference, she mocked as she poured boiling water onto instant-coffee granules.
‘Do you want milk and sugar?’ she asked him.
‘No thank you, to both.’
‘A biscuit then?’ Never let it be said that her mother had not taught her good manners; she mocked herself yet again.
There was another of those hesitations behind her before he answered, ‘Yes, why not?’
His manners were coming back out for an airing, Zoe recognised as she reached up to open a cupboard and took out a packet of digestives. She knew he didn’t really want the darn biscuit—but two ‘no thank you’s would have made him appear churlish so he’d taken the gracious route.
She placed the two coffees and a plate of biscuits down on the table then sat down on a chair opposite his. Outside the sun was shining in through the kitchen window, casting a sunbeam across the table top. As he picked up his coffee, Zoe watched the sunbeam touch the honey-brown skin of his long fingers as they curled around the mug. Her insides were churning and she knew why. Normally she avoided conflict, would run away from it if she could. Yet here she was intentionally goading Anton Pallis into a row. And really she knew she wasn’t being fair because none of this was his fault.
‘Scapegoat,’ he said, bringing her chin shooting upwards. He sent her a wry kind of look. ‘You need to grind your axe on someone and I happen to be handy. But your fight is not with me, you know. It’s with Theo.’
He really believed that? ‘Tell me,’ she countered. ‘How does it feel to walk in my father’s shoes?’
Right there he had it, Anton noted without allowing himself to react: the reason why she’d shrunk away from him at the front door earlier. Why she hated him so much. She saw his relationship with her grandfather as the sole reason her father had been left out in the cold.
A baby’s demanding cries suddenly impinged on the tension sizzling between them across the table. Perhaps it was good thing, he mused as he watched her rise to her feet. She’d gone pale again, he noticed, was maybe even a little ashamed of herself. Without saying a single word, she walked out of the room.
Left alone, he sat staring into his coffee, not frowning, not doing anything, because in truth he knew that for all its intended insult the stab about her ‘father’s shoes’ held a nucleus of truth. How was he to know what might have happened between Theo and his son if he had not been there to fill the gap left by Leander’s dramatic parting?
In the silence of the untidy kitchen, he sent another curse out to Theo for being so stubborn and making this situation what it now was.
Toby’s room was almost as tiny as the full-sized cot standing in it. But it was as pretty as a picture, all white and pale blue, with splashes of fire-engine red. Zoe had tried to convince her parents to give the baby her larger bedroom because she was away at uni most of the time, but they’d refused, insisting that the room was her room—and anyway this room was the perfect size for a small baby.
A baby they’d yearned twenty years for. Just when they had believed their chances had passed them by, this little angel had been conceived. And Zoe loved him. She loved him so much her heart swelled as she reached into the cot and picked her brother up.
He was wet and he was grizzly but he recognised her voice and opened his eyes when she said softly, ‘No one is taking you away from me, my darling.’
Taking time to change him out of his wet things, she made him comfortable then carried him downstairs. The noise outside seemed to be getting worse and she frowned as she walked down the hallway, wondering what could have excited them all to such a degree.
The reason for the increased noise stood in front of the kitchen window with his back to the room. It must have got round that Anton Pallis was here. All it would take next would be for a helicopter to land in the street and for Theo Kanellis to step out, and the press would feel like all their wildest dreams had come true.
Greek billionaires converge on tiny terrace in Islington! Zoe wrote the headline as she went to collect Toby’s bottle from the fridge.
This billionaire was talking into his mobile phone again. Something really alien curled up her tummy muscles as she looked at him. It wasn’t attraction, exactly, she told herself, though she would be lying if she did not acknowledge he was very good to look at—all height and width and long, lean elegance encapsulated in your typical million-dollar suit.
Dragging her eyes away from him, she listened to him talking in Greek as she busied herself. He was angry about something and when he heard her moving about and glanced around there was an impatient frown on his face. Finishing the telephone conversation abruptly, he rested back against the sink unit, accessed a number in his directory then the phone was back at his ear again.
Zoe stopped listening. Walking round to
