the time he had tracked her down, she had filed for a legal separation, thus preventing him from spiriting their children from the country. She had also filed a restraining order, citing her healing bruises and cracked ribs as evidence that she was not safe in Dion’s company.
The Kiriakis clan knew nothing of this. Even Leiandros, head of the Kiriakis Empire and thus the family, was ignorant of the reasons for the final break in Dion and Savannah’s marriage.
Leiandros’s sculpted face hardened. “That’s right. You never did say a final goodbye. You wouldn’t give Dion his freedom and you wouldn’t live with him. You were the kind of wife nightmares are made of.”
Each word pierced her heart and her sense of self as a woman, but she refused to bow in shame under the weight of his ugly judgments. “I would have given Dion a divorce at any time over the last three years.” He had been the one to threaten to take their daughters if she made good on her intention to file for permanent dissolution of their marriage.
Leiandros’s face tightened with derision and she felt the familiar pain his scorn caused. His opinion of her had been cast in stone the night they met.
She’d been nervous attending a party given by a man she didn’t know, a man Dion had raved about and stressed she had to impress in order to be accepted into the Kiriakis family. If that pressure had not been enough to make her tremble with anxiety, the fact that Dion had abandoned her in a crowd of strangers speaking a language she did not understand was.
Attempting to be unobtrusive, she hovered near a wall by the door to the terrace, away from the other guests.
“Kalispera. Pos se lene? Me lene Leiandros,” A deep, male voice speaking in Greek penetrated her isolation.
She looked up to see the most devastatingly attractive man she’d ever encountered. His lazy smile all but stole her breath right out of her chest. She stared at him, mesmerized by a rush of inexplicable feelings toward him, unhindered by societal conventions or even unfamiliarity.
Feeling horribly guilty for such a reaction to a man who was not her husband, she blushed and dropped her gaze. Using the only Greek phrase she knew, she told him she could not understand his language. “Then katalaveno.”
He placed a finger under her chin and forced her head up so she had no choice but to look in his eyes. His smile had turned vaguely predatory. “Dance with me,” he said in perfect English.
She was shaking her head, trying to force her frozen vocal chords to utter the word no even as he put a possessive arm around her waist and pulled her out onto the terrace. He then drew her into his arms, his hold anything but conventional. She struggled while their bodies swayed to the seductive chords of the Greek music.
He pressed her closer. “Relax. I’m not going to eat you.”
“But I shouldn’t be dancing with you,” she told him.
His hold grew even more possessive. “Why? Are you here with a boyfriend?”
“No, but—”
Demanding lips drowned her explanation that she was with her husband, not a boyfriend. Her struggles to get free increased, but the heat of his body and the feel of his hands caressing her back and her nape were already seducing her good intentions.
And to her everlasting shame she felt her body melt in helpless response. The kiss drew emotions from her Dion had never tapped into. She wanted it to go on forever, but even under the influence of a wholly alien passion, she knew she had to break away from the seduction of his lips.
The hand on her back moved to her front and cupped her breast as if he had every right to do so. The fact that he was touching her so intimately was not nearly so appalling as her body’s reaction to it. Her breasts seemed to swell within the confines of her lacy bra while their tips grew hard and aching. She’d never felt this way with Dion.
The thought was enough to send her tearing from Leiandros, her sense of honor in tatters while her body actually vibrated with the need to be back in his arms. “I’m married,” she gasped.
His eyes flared with the light of battle and she stood paralyzed for a solid minute, their gazes locked, their breathing erratic.
“Leiandros. I see you’ve met my wife.”
And Leiandros, whose body was turned away from Dion so her husband could not see his expression had glared at her with a hate filled condemnation that had not diminished in six years.
“Do not fool yourself into believing that since my cousin is not here to defend himself, your behavior can be dismissed with lies.”
Leiandros’s voice brought her back to the present, to a woman no longer capable of any kind of response to a man. For a moment she grieved the memory of those awesome feelings she had not experienced since and knew she would never experience again. Dion had seen to that.
Leiandros’s six-foot-four-inch frame towered over her own five feet, eight inches, making her feel small and vulnerable to his masculinity and the anger exuding off of him. She took an involuntary step backward and finding refuge in silence, she merely inclined her head before turning in order to leave.
“Do not walk away from me, Savannah. You won’t find me as easy to manage as my cousin.”
The implied threat in his tone halted her, but she did not turn around. “I do not need to manage you, Leiandros Kiriakis. After today, all necessity for communication between myself and your family will be at an end.” Her voice came out in an unfamiliar husky drawl when she had meant to sound firm.
“In that, you are mistaken, Savannah.” His ominous tone sent shivers skating along her nerve endings.
She whirled to face him, taking in the stunning lines of his masculine features, the way the sun glinted off his jet-black hair and the aura of power surrounding him even as she tried to read the expression in his enigmatic gaze.
“What do you mean?” Had Dion betrayed her in the end?
Leiandros’s sensual lips thinned. “That is something we will have to discuss at a later date. My wife’s graveside service begins in a few minutes. Be content with the knowledge that as sole trustee for your daughters’ inheritance, you and I must of necessity talk occasionally.”
Pain assailed her—a sympathetic pain for the grief this strong and arrogant man must be feeling at the death of his wife in the same car accident as his cousin.
“I’m sorry. I won’t keep you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you coming?”
“I have no place there.”
“Iona thought you had no place here, yet you came.”
Because of the phone call. She never would have come if Dion had not made that call the night before his accident.
“Regardless of what the Kiriakis clan would like to be true, I married Dion. I owed my presence here to his memory.” Both the memory of the Dion who had courted her and the man who had called that one last time.
“Then do you not owe me your attendance at Petra’s service as a member of my family?”
“Why
