was tight-lipped, and Maddie didn’t comment. She was as unsurprised that a Greek tycoon should own his own island as she’d been to learn that he’d taken off with Irini Zinovieff.
What had they been doing during that week—apart from the obvious? she questioned wretchedly, increasingly wired up inside. Discussing how best to deal with a recalcitrant wife—a wife who should be providing him with an heir but plainly had no intention of doing so?
And had they come up with some plan of action? Bitten the bullet and decided that he must expend his considerable charm and sexual magnetism to get her into bed again and conceive the child that was so necessary to their plans? Was that why he had returned from his idyll with Irini looking so grim and drained?
Well, he could try. And get no place fast, she vowed, bitterly ashamed of the way her heart turned over inside her breast at the very thought of sharing a bed again with her sinfully wilful, drop-dead sexy husband.
A shame that lasted until the pilot put them down on a smooth area of flower-dotted grass a hundred yards from a stone-built villa, when deep apprehension took over, abating just a little as two figures emerged from the side of the building, male and female, stocky, dark, and beaming all over their seamed nut-brown faces.
Coming down to land, she’d seen no sign of a village or a harbour, just a seemingly impenetrable rocky coastline, steep-sided fields, wooded hillsides, and occasional flashes of silver where streams tumbled through ravines down to the silky azure sea.
Fear of being alone with him gripped her, doubly intense because she knew how easily he could, if he wanted to, cleave through her defences as if they were weaker than ill-set jelly, and drive her wild with sexual excitement, with wanting him, needing him, only him.
But the appearance of the approaching couple made her let out a shaky breath of relief. A least she and Dimitri wouldn’t be completely alone here.
Relief, when it concerned Dimitri Kouvaris, had a habit of being short-lived. A lesson rammed home when he imparted coolly, ‘Yiannis and Xanthe caretake for me. In return they have their own home and a small farm on the opposite side of the island. I warn you, they don’t speak a single word of English. So if you’re planning on begging a boat ride with them back to the mainland it’s not going to happen.’ He proceeded to greet the couple warmly in his own language. His smile was the one she remembered from the days of her happiness, producing a deep ache in her heart for what might have been, had he loved her and not simply used her for his own devious ends.
Yiannis and his stout wife Xanthe obviously thought the sun rose and set with Dimitri Kouvaris, Maddie thought sourly. But she couldn’t blame them. Hadn’t she been completely bowled over by his effortless charm? So who was she to harbour scorn?
Introductions were made, and Maddie submitted to having both her hands clasped with enthusiasm and returning smiles until her face ached, not understanding a word of what was being said to her.
She was sorry to see the friendly couple go, gathering the luggage the pilot had unloaded and carrying it to the villa, where the main door stood open in welcome. She followed them slowly, leaving Dimitri to exchange a few words with the company pilot.
The heat was intense. Her denim jeans and T-shirt were sticking to her body, and her hair felt heavy and damp on her forehead and the nape of her neck. Inside her breast her heart was heavy. She had no firm idea why Dimitri had brought her to this isolated place, just uneasy suspicions, and she knew she wouldn’t like it, whatever it was.
‘We could both use a shower.’ He had caught up with her, shortened his pace to match hers. Pandering to her northern wilting in the face of the fierce Mediterranean heat? Unaffected, he looked as fresh as a daisy, crisp and cool in stone-coloured chinos and a similarly coloured cotton open-necked shirt.
So she was hot, sweaty, bulgy in the hip and bosom department, and couldn’t hold a candle to the cool, elegant sophistication of his lover, who had probably never even gently perspired in the whole of her pampered life. But there was no need to rub it in! Too hot and bothered, too incensed by her own interpretation of his remarks she didn’t respond, simply questioned sharply, ‘So why are we here?’
For a moment there was silence but for the sound of their footfalls on the paved area beyond the flowerjewelled grass. Then, ‘It is generally believed that we are enjoying the honeymoon you were denied three months ago.’ If he sounded sour, he couldn’t help it. He’d been working all hours towards getting a new business regime on track, towards freeing him up to surprise her with a three-month honeymoon—anywhere in the world she fancied, her choice. This— this confrontation over her wish to end their marriage—was the last thing he’d wanted.
The scornful objection she would have lobbed at him died in her throat as she lanced a glare at him. There was a gritty edginess to his unforgettable features, tension in the line of his mouth betraying inner turmoil.
Did he dislike the situation as much as she did? Was his plan to get her pregnant, provide him with the heir he needed, beginning to sicken him, too? To his dynastic way of thinking an heir was all-important. During their short and head-spinning courtship he had often spoken of his desire to have a family—a desire she had matched back then with a retrospectively cringe-making enthusiasm.
Was there yet another side to this need of his? A long entrenched, driving need for a family of his own because from an early age he hadn’t had one? Losing both his parents at such an early age and being brought up by his aunt Alexandra wouldn’t have been a bed of roses. As far as Maddie could tell, and backed up by what Cristos had said to Amanda, the old lady didn’t have an affectionate or compassionate bone in her body.
The odd shift in her mood kept her silent while he escorted her through the house. The cool tiled rooms with vaulted high ceilings contrasted with the heat outside, and the wide white marble staircase with its delicate cast-iron banisters soared up to airy corridors and the room the honeymooning couple would share.
The suitcases had been unpacked, and Xanthe was putting the last of the garments in a vast hanging cupboard, full of smiles, bobs and many words as she made her exit. Not giving the room even a cursory glance, Maddie waited until the door had closed behind the caretaker, then said, ‘I know we need to talk—about the divorce.’ Her face reddened beneath the chilling impassivity of his gaze but she struggled on, disadvantaged by his seeming indifference to what she was trying to say. It made her feel like a low-grade employee asking for a rise in wages she had done nothing to earn. ‘But we could have done it in Athens without putting on this farce.’
‘So we could. If there were any question of an immediate divorce.’
He was closing that door. Again. The word immediate induced panic. She would get her divorce when it suited him. When she had given him an heir. And if he pulled out all the stops to make it happen, then manufactured evidence to prove she was an unfit mother, a feckless wife, she would lose her child, her sense of self-worth, and in all probability her parents and two of her brothers would lose their home and their livelihood. Because if he were as unprincipled and callous as to hoodwink her into a short-term, no pain no gain marriage he wouldn’t think twice about pulling the rug from under her family’s feet once the need for blackmail was over.
Her feeling of sympathy for his loveless upbringing, his lack of close family, vanished like a snowflake falling on hot coals. He had strolled over to open the louvres on one of the tall windows that marched down the length of the room. As insouciant as all-get-out, he turned to face her, his hands in the pockets of his chinos, pulling the fabric tight against his hips.
Giving her a glinting look she couldn’t read, he drawled, ‘Tell me, why do you want a divorce?’
