that was extreme appreciation of her fantastic physique. Then another thought was uppermost. How did she hide that body from me? At not one single point had there been the slightest indication of what she was hiding—and he hadn’t noticed. Not for a moment, not for an instant! How had she done it?
But he knew—she’d done it by disguising that fantastic, honed, sleek, fit body of hers in those appalling clothes. In that unspeakable purple tracksuit that had turned her into some kind of inflated dummy, and that shapeless, ill-fitting grey skirt and even more shapeless and ill-fitting white blouse whose tightness of sleeve had had nothing whatsoever to do with her arms being fat—but had simply been because her biceps and triceps were honed, compacted muscle. He could see that now, as she approached more closely.
He stepped out from amongst the trees. ‘Hello, there,’ he said.
His greeting was affable, and pleasantly voiced, and it stopped her dead in her tracks as if a concrete block had dropped down in front of her from the sky.
Something that was partly a shriek of shock, partly a gasp of air escaped from Ellen. She stared, aghast—Max Vasilikos was the last person she wanted to see!
The emotional stress of the day, the agitation from having had to commandeer him and tell him she would never agree to sell her share of Haughton, had overset her so much that the moment he’d closed the back door behind him she’d headed upstairs to change into her running gear. She’d had to get out of the house. Had to work off the stress and tension and the biting anxiety. A long, hard run would help.
She’d set off on the long route, down the drive and looping back through the woods, then into a field and back into the grounds, taking a breather by the folly before setting off around the lake, hoping against hope that by the time she got back to the house he and his flash car would have gone.
Instead here he was, appearing in front of her out of nowhere like the demon king in a pantomime!
A demon king in whose eyes was an expression that sent a wave of excruciating colour flooding through her.
She was agonisingly aware of her skimpy, revealing attire. Mercilessly revealing her muscular body. She lifted her chin, desperately fighting back her reaction. She would not be put out of countenance by him seeing her like this any more than she had been when he’d seen her plonked beside Chloe, and the dreadful contrast she’d made to her stepsister. It was a comparison that was hitting him again—she could see it as his eyes swept over her appraisingly.
‘I could see you were totally different from Chloe—but not like this!’ he exclaimed. ‘You couldn’t be more unalike—even sharing a surname, you’d never be taken for sisters in a thousand years.’
He shook his head in disbelief. Missing completely the sudden look of pain at his words in her eyes. Then he was speaking again.
‘I’m sorry—I shouldn’t be delaying you. Your muscles will seize up.’ He started to walk forward in the direction of the house, his pace rapid, with long strides. ‘Look,’ he went on, ‘keep going—but slow down to a jog so we can talk.’
He moved to one side of the path. She started up again, conscious that her heart was pounding far more quickly than the exertion of her run required. She found herself blinking. The casual cruelty of what he’d just said reverberated in her, but she must not let it show. With an effort, and still burningly conscious of her skimpy attire and perspiring body, of her hair held back only by a wide sweatband, of being bereft of the glasses she’d been wearing over lunch, she loped beside him.
‘What about?’ she returned. The thought came to her that maybe she could use this wretched encounter to convince him that there really was no point in his staying any longer—that buying Haughton was off the menu for him.
‘I’m making an offer for this place,’ he said, glancing at her. ‘It will be near the asking price...’ He trailed off.
Dismay lanced through her. ‘I still don’t want to sell my share,’ she replied grittily.
‘Your third...’ Max didn’t take his eyes from her ‘...will be well over a million pounds...’
‘I don’t care what it is. Mr Vasilikos—please understand—my share is not for sale at any price. I don’t want to sell.’
‘Why not?’ His brows snapped together.
‘What do you mean, why not?’ she riposted. ‘My reasons are my own—I don’t want to sell.’ She turned her face, making herself look at him. ‘That’s all there is to it. And I’ll make it as hard as I possibly can for you to complete a sale. I’ll fight it to the bitter end!’
Vehemence broke through in her voice and she could see it register with him. His eyebrows rose, and she knew he was about to say something—but she didn’t want to hear. Didn’t want to do anything but get away from him. Get back to the house, the sanctuary of her bedroom. Throw herself down on the bed and weep and weep. For what she feared most in the world would come true if this man went through with his threat!
She couldn’t bear it—she just couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to lose her home. The place she loved most in all the world. She couldn’t bear it.
With a burst of speed she shot forward, leaving him behind. Leaving behind Max Vasilikos, the man who wanted to wrench her home from her.
As he watched her power forward, accelerating away, Max let her go. But when she disappeared from sight across the lawns that crossed the front of the house his thoughts were full.
Why was Ellen Mountford so set on making difficulties for him? And why were his eyes following her fantastic figure until she was totally beyond his view? And why was he then regretting that she was beyond it?
The question was suddenly stronger in his head, knocking aside his concern about an easy purchase of the place he intended to buy, whatever obstacles one of its owners might put in his path.
When he reached the house Max went in search of his hostess. She was in the drawing room with her daughter, and both greeted him effusively, starting to ask him about his tour of the outbuildings and the grounds.
But he cut immediately to the chase.
‘Why was I not informed of the ownership structure of this property?’ he asked.
His voice was level, but there was a note in it that anyone who’d ever been in commercial negotiations with him would have taken as a warning not to try and outmanoeuvre him or prevaricate.
‘Your stepdaughter apprised me of the facts after lunch,’ he went on.
He kept his level gaze on Pauline. Beside her on the sofa, Chloe Mountford gave a little choke. An angry one. But her mother threw her a silencing look. Then she turned her face towards Max. She gave a little sigh.
‘Oh, dear, what has the poor girl told you, Mr Vasilikos?’ There was a note of apprehension in her voice.
‘That she does not wish to sell her share,’ he replied bluntly. ‘And that she is prepared to force you to resort to legal measures to make her do so. Which will, as you must be aware, be both costly and time-consuming.’
Pauline
