a mask—completely closed.
Then, abruptly, he spoke.
‘I have something to say to you.’
A faint, puzzled look shadowed her eyes. His voice was so hard—so harsh. Surely he didn’t have to be so hard? Wasn’t there a … civilised … way of doing this? Of parting after a brief, incandescent affair that could not possibly last?
Did he see it in her eyes, her puzzlement, as if she were flinching a little from the severity of his tone? If he did, it only made his expression harden. The knot in Marisa’s stomach suddenly tightened and adrenaline prickled in her veins. It was as if something bad … worse … were about to happen, and her body was steeling itself. For the first time she started to feel not just dread of him telling her it was over, but dread at something quite different …
Because what she could see in his closed, hard expression was something she had never seen there before.
It was anger.
Leashed, tightly gripped, but there. Like a force field emanating from him. She felt the dread change inside her—change into something else.
He was looking at her with eyes she’d never seen before. No flecks of gold—only bladed steel.
What is it? What’s happening? Why is he being like this?
The questions flurried through her head. Bewildered apprehension showed in her eyes and her body tensed, flooded with adrenaline.
Then he struck.
‘You will not be seeing Ian Randall again. You’re out of his life for good.’
Shock detonated through her. He saw it in her face. Felt a savage pleasure in it. As savage as the anger that had been leashed tight within him. Now it was unleashed. He’d had to unleash it, to let it serve its purpose. An anger whose cause he would not name. Refused to name.
Because to name it would be to give it power. Power over him. Power he would not allow.
Could not allow ….
She clutched at the curved arm of the sofa, as if without its support she would crumple and fall. Shock was still etched across her face.
‘You won’t be seeing him again,’ he told her. ‘He’s going to be working out of Athens from now on. I’m transferring him to my headquarters there.’
He’d finalised the transfer while they’d been on St Cecile—it had been the obvious thing to do, he’d realised. Get Ian out of London, keep him in Athens under his watchful and suspicious eyes. Ian Randall wouldn’t be lining up any adulterous affairs under the nose of his wife’s husband. Athan knew that for a certainty.
He watched how the news was going down with Marisa. His own face was still a mask. It had to be. He must not crack now—not when he’d achieved his goal. His purpose.
He had to focus on standing there, his muscles tensed. It was as if he had suddenly put on a suit of steel, banded tightly around him, keeping him motionless, immobile.
Because if he didn’t—if he didn’t keep his body leashed in steel—then he would surge forward, clip his arms around her, draw her to him, hold her close against him tightly, so tightly—
Marisa’s expression worked—as if she were trying to cling to something, anything, that might make sense. Sense in a tidal wave of unreality …
‘You have? But Ian doesn’t work for you … ‘
It was a pointless thing to say—the least relevant—but the words fell from her lips all the same. Shock was ricocheting around inside her.
How does he know about Ian?
She heard him give a brief, hard laugh. There was no humour in it. Then it cut out abruptly.
‘Of course he works for me.’
‘No! He’s marketing director of a company—’
‘One of my subsidiaries.’
Her mouth opened, then closed. She had to make sense of this—somehow she had to make sense of this. She seized on the biggest thing she could not understand—out of all that she could not understand. Her mind was reeling.
‘But why do you care about Ian and me? What does it matter to you, even if you do employ him indirectly? What harm is it to you?’
The questions tumbled from her—bewildered—accusatory. He felt his anger lash out again.
Anger at so much. Anger at Ian for what he was doing to Eva. Anger that he’d been landed in this mess to try and sort it out. Anger that sorting it out meant doing what he was doing now to Marisa.
I don’t want to do this to her!
The thought burned across his brain. But there was no point to it. None. He had to do what he must—say what he had to. He lurched forward, his hands going around her elbows, his grip like steel.
‘Because Eva Randall—’ his voice was like steel wire ‘—Eva Randall is my sister!’
He watched her face whiten. Felt the steel bite into him, tighter yet.
‘I didn’t know.’ Her voice was a whisper. Her eyes were distended.
He gave another harsh, humourless laugh. Because the universe was mocking him—mocking the scene he had to play out to the bitter, painful end. Because ending it was all he could do now.
‘Why would he tell you?’ he countered, forcing himself to speak. ‘Why would he tell you what was no concern of yours? I knew he hadn’t told you from the moment I introduced myself to you—the moment you saw my name on my business card. I’d gambled that he hadn’t and it paid off.’
His voice changed suddenly, and as it did Marisa felt a new emotion slither through the disbelieving shock that was shaking her like an earthquake.
‘Which left the field entirely clear for me. For my purpose.’
His eyes rested on her. Eyes that had once burned into her with a desire so intense she’d thought she must melt in the scorching heat of it …
Eyes that now were black like empty space. Desolate and devoid of all things.
‘I sought you out,’ he said, and his voice was as empty as his eyes. Saying the words he had to say. The words it would take to end it. Destroy it utterly. ‘I took the apartment next door—timed my meeting with you. You’d been under my surveillance ever since I first suspected that Eva’s husband was harbouring a secret. A sordid little secret. Once I’d met you I could simply put in place what had to be done. Put an end to things between you and Ian.’ His voice twisted. ‘After all, how could you possibly be part of his life after what you have been to me …?’
Faintness drummed at her.
From somewhere very deep inside her she found words. Each one was pulled from her like knives from wounded flesh. Costing her more than
