had gone and done?
The answer was bleak and brutal. The method Athan Teodarkis had chosen was far more effective. Far more certain.
He’d been right about that. She was out of Ian’s life now—and she would stay out. Nothing else was possible now. Nothing at all …
Unthinkingly, methodically, she went on with her packing.
The intercom on Athan’s desk flashed repeatedly, and his secretary’s voice, when she spoke, sounded flustered and apologetic.
‘Kyrios Teodarkis—I am so sorry! It is Kyria Eva’s husband! He insists on seeing you. I told him you had a board meeting in ten minutes, but—’
‘It’s all right,’ Athan interrupted her. ‘I’ll see him.’ His voice was grim. So was his expression. He had half expected this. Ian Randall would not lightly give up his intended mistress.
Who would give up Marisa Milburne? So beautiful, so passionate a woman.
The familiar guillotine sliced down over his thoughts. It had been much in use these past days. Slicing down ruthlessly on so many thoughts—so many memories. But he would allow himself none of them—not a single one. Their indulgence was forever barred to him. His eyes hardened. He would not allow his feckless, faithless brother-in-law to indulge himself any longer with his forbidden fruit.
I had to give her up—so must he!
His expression was still reflecting the savagery of his thoughts as Ian swept in. He looked agitated and launched straight in.
‘Athan—what the hell is this about? Neil Mackay says it comes from you, but I don’t understand why. Why do you want me at your HQ?’
Athan sat back. He appeared unperturbed by the outburst. ‘It’s time you moved on. And up. It’s promotion, Ian—aren’t you pleased?’
His tone was equable. He would keep this civil—or his sister would get wind of a fracas between him and her husband and get upset.
‘Oh, come on,’ Ian said disbelievingly. ‘You’ve no call to promote me!’ He paused, eyes narrowing. ‘This is about Eva, isn’t it? You think it will please her to be back in Athens.’
Athan’s gaze levelled on him. ‘Eva’s happiness is paramount to me.’ He paused. ‘Never forget that.’ He paused again, and when he spoke, it carried the message he intended it to. ‘After all—’ his voice was limpid ‘—it was because it made her happy that I let her marry you.’
Colour mounted in his brother in law’s face. ‘And you’ve never forgiven me for marrying her, have you?’
Athan’s gaze never dropped. ‘Providing you don’t hurt her, or upset her, I … tolerate you.’
He watched glacially as the colour flared out across his brother-in-law’s handsome face. The face of a man who helped himself to whatever he wanted in life—smiling, charming, selfish, self-indulgent. He’d charmed Eva, wooed her, and ended up persuading her to marry him.
And proved himself faithless within two years of their wedding.
Silently Athan cursed his unwanted brother-in-law. Cursed the life-long intimacy between their families—Sheila Randall’s all-but-adoption of his then teenaged sister. He cursed Sheila’s son for getting anywhere near the impressionable, vulnerable Eva so disastrously eager to fall in love with his golden looks and easy charm.
Cursed him for having used those same golden looks and easy charm to work their damage on yet another woman—on Marisa …
‘You … tolerate me?’ Ian’s voice cut through his litany of inner curses.
‘That’s very good of you, Athan. Very … generous. But maybe—’ now there was something different in his voice that made Athan’s eyes narrow ‘—maybe I’m tired of your tolerance. Tired of your generosity. Tired of it being known that as Athan Teodarkis’s brother-in-law no wonder I’m a board director, no wonder I get sent off on plush secondments to the West Coast, with instructions to take holidays in Hawaii to keep my wife happy—my boss’s sister.’ He took a step forward. ‘Maybe it’s time to tell you I can live without your tolerance, your generosity!’
Athan’s gaze skewered him. ‘And maybe—’ his voice cracked like a whip, all civility gone now ‘—you’ll do exactly what I say you will. Or would you rather—’ he bit out each word ‘—I tell Eva about Marisa Milburne.’
Ian Randall froze. Before Athan’s eyes the other man’s face paled. ‘How the hell do you know about Marisa?’ he demanded.
Athan spread his hands out on his desk. ‘Don’t take me for an idiot. You installed her in a flat in Holland Park.’
‘You bastard,’ Ian breathed. ‘You spied on me.’
‘Like I said—don’t take me for an idiot.’ Athan’s voice was caustic.
‘And you would actually be prepared to tell Eva about her?’ Ian said in a hollow tone.
Athan’s lasering gaze never left his brother-in-law’s face. ‘I won’t have to. Marisa Milburne is no longer in your flat.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. She’s gone. Cleared out.’ He paused. ‘Presumably,’ he said deliberately, his eyes like slate, ‘she’s selected another wealthy lover to beguile …?’
He saw Ian’s face freeze again. But this time there was something in his frozen gaze that Athan could not identify. Then slowly, as if the ice was thawing, his brother-in-law turned and headed for the door. As he reached it, he turned. His face was like marble.
‘You’ll have my letter of resignation on your desk tomorrow morning.’
Then he was gone.
Almost, Athan charged after him. Charged after him to seize his shoulders and shake him like the rat he was. But he wouldn’t soil himself on the man. As for his threatened resignation—he’d never do it. The position he had was far too cushy a number. And if he tried to go it alone, escape from Athan’s scrutiny—necessary scrutiny, as he’d amply demonstrated—Eva would kick up. She wouldn’t want any bad feeling between her husband and her brother.
Grimly, Athan made himself sit back in his chair, his face like thunder. Let Ian rush out and vent his spleen! Do whatever the hell he wanted. Anger bit through him. Damn the man—damn him and double damn him!
Angrily, he swung in his chair, his eyes stormy, unforgiving. If Eva’s philandering husband had had the slightest moral backbone Marisa Milburne would never now be plaguing him the way she was.
Never haunting him the way she was.
Filling his memory. Tormenting him.
Tormenting him with wanting her. That was the damnation of it—the thing he was trying to crush out of his mind, his memory. Because what was the point of letting it torment him? There was nothing he could do about it—nothing. He had to accept that. He’d decided on his strategy to ensure that his wretched,
