thousand, Katrina. That’s all.’
‘Didn’t playing news gossip informant pay well enough?’
His eyes hardened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Her headache intensified. ‘Even if I were to lend it to you, how long will that hold off the heavies, Enrique? A week? Then what will you do?’
‘All I need is one win—’
‘No.’
Katrina watched his features darken with dread. Enrique in a mean mood was something she’d prefer to avoid.
His hand caught her arm in a painful grip. ‘Bitch!’ he exclaimed with soft venom. ‘You’ll pay for this!’
‘Let me go,’ she said quietly, and clenched her teeth against a silent cry as his fingers twisted viciously on her skin.
‘Do as Katrina says.’ Nicos’s voice was a chilling drawl. ‘Now.’
Enrique’s hand fell to his side.
‘I can’t think of any good reason for you to threaten my wife,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘Touch her again, and I can promise you won’t walk or talk for some considerable time.’
‘You should be aware I’ve instructed my lawyer to contest Kevin’s will,’ Enrique declared vehemently.
‘Something that will prove an exercise in futility,’ Nicos advised with hard inflexibility. ‘Each of Kevin’s wives were well provided for in their divorce settlements,’ Nicos continued with deceptive mildness. ‘Neither you nor Paula have any reason to make a claim against Kevin’s estate.’
‘That’s not how I see it!’ Without a further word, Enrique turned and re-entered the ballroom.
Katrina cast Nicos a fulminating look, and almost died at the latent anger evident.
‘I didn’t need rescuing!’
His expression remained unchanged. ‘No? From where I was standing, your charming stepbrother appeared to have the advantage.’
She could have told him Enrique had used a variety of bullying tactics in the past. And that Chloe’s son felt his stepsister owed him by virtue of his mother’s marriage to Kevin Macbride.
Her chin lifted fractionally, and her eyes were clear. ‘I can handle him.’
A muscle clenched at the edge of his jaw. ‘Verbally, without doubt,’ Nicos acknowledged with an edge of cynicism.
Katrina barely restrained stamping her foot in angry frustration. ‘Don’t play the heavy, Nicos.’
‘I’ll take you home.’
‘The hell you will.’
‘Determined to thwart me at every turn, Katrina?’
She drew a deep, calming breath. ‘If we don’t go back in there, Enrique will imagine he’s scored a point against me.’
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Nicos conceded. ‘Then we leave.’
It was closer to an hour, and almost midnight when they entered the house. Together they ascended the stairs, and Katrina turned as they reached the landing.
‘Goodnight.’
Nicos lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, then his mouth closed over hers in an evocative kiss that was all too brief as his tongue skimmed hers, tasted, then retreated.
For a moment it left her wanting more, and she fought against the instinctive need to move in close and kiss him back.
Except that would be tantamount to an admission of sorts, and she’d spent too many months building up a barrier against him. To allow him to begin tearing it down would be the height of foolishness. Besides, she doubted she could bear the pain.
She pulled away from him, and he let her go.
Too easily, she reflected as she reached her room and closed the door behind her.
SUNDAY dawned with grey skies and the imminent threat of rain. Katrina rose early, donned a sweatshirt, shorts and trainers, went downstairs to the kitchen, made up fresh orange juice, filled a glass and drank the contents, then traversed the spiral staircase to the gym.
The house was quiet, and she entered the large room, viewed the various equipment, crossed to the punching bag and swung a solid right into its centre. Something which bruised her knuckles, but gave infinite satisfaction.
‘If you aim for a repeat, I suggest you don a boxing glove,’ Nicos drawled as he entered the room, and she turned towards him with a glare that merely caused him to arch an eyebrow in silent query. ‘Or perhaps you’d rather hit the quarry instead of making do with a substitute?’
Had he followed her down here? Doubtful, given time spent in the gym was part of his daily routine. She cursed herself for unintentionally choosing an early morning sojourn.
‘Don’t tempt me.’
She looked about seventeen, devoid of make-up and her hair caught in a pony-tail. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth soft and full. He had to curb the desire to cross the room and explore her mouth with his own, aware such an action would probably earn him a swift jab in the ribs and a diatribe worthy of a seasoned navvy.
Katrina crossed to the treadmill, adjusted the settings, and set it in motion, increasing the speed to a punishing pace, then followed it with time on the exercise bike.
She deliberately concentrated her energies on achieving a predetermined number of kilometres, and was unable to stem a heightened awareness of Nicos as he spent time with various weights, the bench press, and the treadmill.
Her fitness regime didn’t come close to his, something that appeared clearly obvious as she picked up a towel and began to dab the sheen of sweat beading her forehead.
Katrina spared Nicos a surreptitious glance as she curled the towel round her neck. He could have been taking a walk in the park for all the effort it appeared to cost him.
The flex of well-honed muscle and sinew presented a dramatic mesh of strength and power, one that was impossible to ignore. For it brought images to mind she’d tried hard to forget.
It mattered little that she’d been unsuccessful. Or that being thrust back into his presence forced her to confront an ongoing battle with her emotions.
Anger and pain warred with a primitive alchemy. One she recognised, the other she condemned.
How could she feel anything for a man who had not only kept his mistress after marriage, but had foolishly impregnated her without caution?
Why, then, had Nicos agreed to Kevin’s ridiculous suggestion? Worse, what role did
