if it hadn’t been for her stupid pride and a misguided desire to play him at his own game.
But her statement had no impact on Zander. It was five years too late.
‘Don’t insult my intelligence,’ he ground out, anger and tension evident in the aggressive thrust of his jaw and the set of his wide shoulders. ‘You were in bed with him. And you were wearing my wedding ring at the time.’
Lauranne stared at him helplessly, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to breathe. Zander was Greek to the very backbone and she knew that there was no point in trying to tell him the truth. And anyway, wasn’t part of it her fault? Hadn’t she manipulated the situation because she’d wanted Zander to be jealous? Wanted to punish him for the hurt he’d caused her. And she’d succeeded.
She’d succeeded so well that his reaction had frightened her—
The whole situation had escalated out of control so fast that she hadn’t even had a chance to confess the truth. That the embrace he’d witnessed had started off as comfort. A brotherly hug to ease the pain of having discovered that Zander had no intention of changing his playboy lifestyle just because he’d married her.
‘It’s too late for excuses and explanations,’ Zander interrupted harshly. ‘You’re only making them because you’re afraid that I’m not safe around your lover. And you’re right. I’m not safe.’ His dark eyes glittered dangerously and he fixed his gaze on her face with a fierce intensity. ‘I’m not safe at all.’
‘Zander—’
‘Despite your mouth and your attitude, you were a virgin when I met you.’ His tone was raw, his breathing shallow and decidedly unsteady as he wrestled for control. ‘So what was it, Lauranne? What happened? Did you need to experiment? Did you need to find out what it was like with other men?’
The injustice of it bit through to her soul.
Her temper flaring, she glared at him. ‘You don’t have the monopoly on variety, Zander.’
It was a foolish, inflammatory thing to say and the moment the words left her mouth she wished she could retract them.
Zander Volakis was a poor choice of adversary.
His eyes clashed with hers and Lauranne felt like an animal caught in headlights, aware of the rapid approach of danger but unable to move. Instinctively she tensed and prepared for impact. She heard his sharply indrawn breath, saw the flash of anger in his eyes and knew she was looking at a man at the very edge of tolerance.
His mouth was pressed together in a grim line, his gaze hostile and challenging, and she realised that the past was a subject she was never going to be able to discuss with this man unless he was physically restrained. He just wouldn’t listen to her. Not then and not now.
It was only when he unexpectedly turned and started scanning the photographs and award certificates on the walls that she suddenly realised that she’d been holding her breath.
Starved of oxygen, her head thumping and her heart banging against her chest, Lauranne dragged some much-needed air into her lungs. Forcing herself to breathe slowly she glanced around her. She couldn’t run because he could outrun her, so all she could do was wait, unsure as to when the next attack would come.
He stopped in front of one of her certificates, legs planted firmly apart in an attitude of pure male dominance. ‘You’ve received plenty of awards—’
‘I’m good at my job. And I was good at my job when you fired me.’
He ignored that. ‘We’d gone way past a business relationship.’
And that had been her biggest mistake, of course.
She’d married the boss. And when her marriage had fallen apart, so had her career.
‘You were my wife and you betrayed me,’ he growled. ‘And now you have what you obviously wanted. A new life with your lover.’
Lauranne gaped at him, deprived of speech by his spectacular misinterpretation of the facts.
‘Tom is not my lover.’
If she hadn’t been so appalled she would have laughed. This was a man with a brilliant brain, a man whose ability with figures was legendary and who had an awesome reputation for strategic thinking.
Why was it that with her he developed tunnel vision?
How had he added two and two and made fifty?
Hadn’t he known how much she’d loved him?
She opened her mouth to ask him that exact question and then closed it again. What was the point? It was too late. Too late for both of them. They’d moved past the point where communication could make a difference. And the past was history now. She just wanted him to be history too and the less she spoke, the better. There was only one level on which they’d ever communicated effectively and she didn’t even want to think about that.
So she stayed silent, trying to anticipate his next move.
‘I don’t want Farrer anywhere near my business,’ he said harshly, ‘but I want you working for me again.’
His emphatic statement should have stimulated a sharp retort on her part but her brain had ceased to function. She was operating on a much baser level.
Mesmerised by his shockingly potent masculinity, Lauranne opened her mouth and her tongue flickered out to moisten her lips. His dark gaze homed in on the gesture with the speed of a heat-seeking missile and suddenly she was holding her breath. Remembering.
His eyes lifted back to hers and she felt the tension throb between them, the atmosphere so taut that it threatened to snap at any moment. His eyes dropped to the tiny pulse in her neck and then moved lower still, resting on the soft swell of her breasts under the cream silk blouse.
Did he know?
Did he know what effect he had on her? Fighting the temptation to lift her hands and cover herself, Lauranne stood still, helpless to prevent the hardening of her nipples and the growing ache in her pelvis.
Imprisoned by that shimmering dark gaze, she felt herself melt inside, hypnotised by a force too powerful to resist.
Sexual awareness throbbed between them and then he swore softly in Greek and dragged his gaze away from her, a muscle working in his lean, bronzed cheek.
Of course he knew, she thought helplessly. Hadn’t he always known? He’d recognised her response to him before she had. And that was hardly surprising. A man as experienced with her sex as Zander knew everything there was to know about female reactions. He was able to detect the most subtle of signs and know exactly when to make his move.
‘Farrer would never be able to satisfy a woman like you.’ His harsh statement took her by surprise and she gaped at him, stunned by his unspoken implication that he would be the only male to ever fulfil that task. ‘You’d trample all over him.’
‘Not every woman is vulnerable to your particular brand of Neanderthal machismo,’ she said bitterly and then wished she hadn’t because he was across the room in less than two strides, pulling her against him in a powerful movement that reminded
