fastened on the glass in her hand and the impatience in his eyes changed to incredulity. ‘Clearly the use of alcohol as a crutch runs in the family.’
Standing in the doorway holding a glass of whisky wasn’t exactly the impression of herself that she would have chosen to give another person, but his judgemental tone and the look of contempt in his eyes squashed any feelings of embarrassment that she might otherwise have suffered. The tension and pressure had been building all day and something inside her suddenly snapped. ‘Tact and sensitivity? When did you ever show tact and sensitivity? Certainly not in my hearing. Given that you are the cause of all our current problems, I advise you to leave now while your limbs are still attached to your body.’
Thick, dark lashes lowered, shielding the expression in his eyes. ‘By all means blame me if it makes you feel better,’ he drawled in a soft tone, ‘but we both know that I can hardly be held responsible for your sister’s drink problem.’
‘No?’ Her misery and grief turned to furious anger. ‘My sister had the misfortune to spend time with you, Mr Kyriacou. That in itself is surely sufficient justification for alcoholic support. Having met you and spent time with you, I can understand all too easily why she would have found herself in need of that support.’ Her tone was acid. ‘I should imagine it was the only way my poor sister could get through the day. If I were in the unfortunate position of being forced into your company on a regular basis, I too would drink to excess, I can assure you.’
His eyes moved slowly over her hair and face and she was suddenly uncomfortably aware of the contrast between her soaking wet, ultra ordinary appearance and the svelte, perfectly groomed woman she’d seen him with in the newspaper.
His smile was faintly contemptuous as if the mere thought of her being in his company was laughable. ‘There is no way you would ever find yourself spending time with me on a regular basis. You are not the sort of woman I would ever willingly seek out.’ The bored derision in his tone was deliberately insulting and she gave a soft gasp of outrage.
‘I think you’d better go.’ She started to close the door, but Nikos Kyriacou planted a foot inside the hallway and shouldered his way through.
‘I’ve already told you, I’m tired of playing games.’ He pushed the door shut with the palm of his hand, his expression grim as he stared at her. ‘Once you have returned my property, I will leave.’
‘Your broke my sister’s heart. You promised to marry her.’
His voice cool and unemotional, Nikos took a step backwards. ‘I never would have married someone like your sister. It is laughable to think I would have considered it.’
Angie gasped, both at the words and his derisive tone. ‘You just don’t care, do you? Her death means nothing to you but a logistical inconvenience. You’d better leave. Now.’
‘Removing myself from the company of your appalling family is my highest priority. Unfortunately I cannot leave until the necklace is restored to my family.’ Clearly he thought he was slumming it by having to deal with them and his blatant distaste goaded her still further. It didn’t matter that she, herself, had been shocked and embarrassed by both her sister and mother’s behaviour in the past. All that mattered now was the fact that he had judged Tiffany good enough to sleep with but not to marry.
‘The necklace no longer belongs to you. A gift is a gift. Maybe you’ll remember that next time you give away something valuable.’
Nikos didn’t flinch. ‘The necklace did not belong to your sister.’
‘Well, she was wearing it when she died,’ Angie reminded him helpfully, ‘so, unless you’re suggesting that she stole it, then it appears to now be in our possession. Perhaps the loss of the necklace will force you to rethink your lifestyle, Mr Kyriacou. You say that you would never have married a girl like my sister, but you were more than happy to seduce her, were you not? You came here, so soon after her death, not to sympathise or offer condolences but to demand the return of a gift. What sort of cold, unfeeling monster does that make you, I wonder?’
His explosion of temper was as sudden as it was shocking as he turned on her with a dangerous flash of his eyes and let out a stream of fluent Greek that contained words that she hadn’t encountered before. But, even if her knowledge of the Greek language hadn’t allowed her to pick up the gist of his diatribe, the threatening expression on his bronzed handsome face was more than sufficient to provide adequate translation.
The volcanic force of his anger made her want to seek refuge under the nearest table and she had to force herself to keep her own expression impassive, determined not to reveal either that he’d frightened her or that she spoke his language.
‘Shouting isn’t going to change the facts. Nor is ranting in a foreign language.’
He took a deep breath and stabbed bronzed fingers through his glossy dark hair. ‘Despite what you may believe, I sincerely regret your sister’s death and a full investigation was conducted by the appropriate authorities, as I’ve already told you.’ His English was heavily accented, as if the sudden switch of language had thrown him. ‘The truth is that, had your sister drunk less, she wouldn’t now be dead.’
Angie’s expression was stony as she fixed her eyes on his. ‘The truth is that had you not given her a reason to drink she wouldn’t now be dead. You need to be more responsible in your relationships, Mr Kyriacou.’
The air hissed through his teeth. ‘I’m extremely responsible in my relationships.’
‘Really?’ Angie picked up her bag and dragged out the newspaper. ‘Who’s she, then? Some convenient bimbo you picked up last night? Or do you need the necklace so that you can give it to her as proof of your undying love and devotion?’
He stared at the picture in the paper and a muscle worked in his lean cheek. ‘She’s no one important.’
‘No one important? Does she know that?’
‘The press photograph me all the time. It’s an obsession.’
‘How very inconvenient for you.’ All he cared about was his image. ‘It must be almost impossible to conduct your affairs in private. I really couldn’t care less who you sleep with, Mr Kyriacou, except to feel the most sincere sympathy for them. My point is merely that this photograph shows you to be decidedly lacking in sensitivity genes. Six months ago my sister was wearing your necklace around her throat and partying in your villa. Now we’re mourning her death and you are out seeking a replacement. The facts are right in front of me, so don’t try and tell me that you care and have feelings.’
‘I don’t plan to tell you anything. I’m not in the habit of explaining myself to anyone.’
‘Well, you should be! Being rich and bossy doesn’t give you the right to walk all over people.’
He looked at her then, his gaze disturbingly intense as it rested on her face. ‘You really do have a most unfortunate personality.’ His voice was silky-smooth and the stillness of his powerful frame was possibly more intimidating than his volcanic burst of temper. ‘Perhaps if you spent less time examining bones and pieces of pottery and more time on personal relationships, your mood might improve. Even if it were possible to overlook your complete lack of interest in your appearance, take it from me, if there’s one thing guaranteed to turn a guy off it’s hysteria. You might want to work on that.’
It was the final straw. The suggestion
