And about the Angelos who had appeared here this afternoon she knew nothing at all. Wherever he had lived, whatever he had done, he had prospered, there was no doubt about that, but she knew nothing of his story, of his way of life.
Had he gone back to his native Greece when he had left here…?
The thought died in her head as, his attention caught by her presence, Angelos turned his head slowly and she met his black-eyed gaze head on.
She had managed to avoid doing this all day and now she knew why. Being fixed by that polished jet stare made her feel like a butterfly, trapped and pinned to a board, unable to move. His expression was calm, even bland, but behind the heavy, hooded lids burned something she couldn’t understand or explain—she only knew that she didn’t trust it for a moment.
‘Miss Marshall…’
His tone was calm too, the inclination of his dark head in acknowledgement of her just enough to be polite, but his expression still gave nothing away.
‘You have a spectacular view,’ she heard him continue with a strong sense of disbelief. Did he really think that she had approached him to chat casually, make light conversation?
‘I don’t believe I ever saw it the last time I was here.’
‘Things were…very different then…’ Jessica managed, her tongue tangling over the words. Because she had the feeling that, coming close to him like this, she had made a terrible mistake. And suddenly she knew just what she had been avoiding all day.
By dodging any contact with him all through the afternoon she had also managed to avoid looking at him—really looking at him. Looking at him up close. And, by doing so, she knew she had been trying to deny the potent impact that he had on her senses. He had a raw, masculine appeal that had reached out and grabbed her years before, when she had been only eighteen, fresh out of school and naïve as anything. And that appeal was still there, intensified, concentrated, enhanced by seven years of maturity, seven years of success, it seemed. If Angelos had once been her Black Angel, then now he was all that and more—a Black Archangel. The epitome of male power and strength and pure, distilled, masculine sex appeal.
It was the recognition of that that had had her on the run all afternoon, dodging any contact with him that might have forced her to face up to the truth sooner. The bitter memories of the past, the sense of apprehension about his reasons for being here, even the fact that she was engaged to be married—nothing could come between her and the fact that Angelos Rousakis was the most devastatingly sexy man she had ever encountered in her life.
‘We were different people.’
She flung the words at him, using the snappish tone as a defence, hoping to hide her inner confusion. He might show every sign of having prospered since she had last seen him, but it didn’t alter the fact that she had once cost him his employment, his only home. Honour demanded that she should acknowledge that but the words tangled up on her tongue as Angelos lifted a sardonically enquiring eyebrow.
‘Were we?’
‘Yes. Totally different.’
Suddenly Jessica had had more than enough of this mystery—more than enough of his unsettling presence with no explanation for it.
‘So perhaps you’ll explain just what you’re doing here. What is it you want?’
‘What do I want?’
Angelos made a pretence of actually considering the question, looking around him with a thoughtful, assessing expression on his stunning face.
‘Well, I wouldn’t mind a house like this for a start. I always thought it was amazing when I worked here—and that was before I’d ever seen inside.’
‘It’s not for sale!’
This time, tormented by unease, she’d spoken too quickly, snapped too hard. She’d given too much away and she knew by the way that those brilliant black eyes narrowed sharply that he’d caught every trace of the discomfort she was trying to hide from him. He’d caught it and, she was beginning to suspect, had a strong suspicion of just what was firing it.
‘Not to the likes of me, hmm?’ he questioned softly, the words coming low and deadly like a striking snake. ‘Is that it, Jessica? Is that what you mean? That the Manor House can only belong to some purebred Englishman with aristocratic blood in his veins? Not some former Athens street urchin who’s fit only to groom your thoroughbred mare, to clean the mud from her coat when you come back from a ride around the estate and then to polish the tack ready for your next ride?’
‘I never said…’ Jessica blustered, horrified that he should even believe her capable of any such thought. ‘I…’
But Angelos hadn’t finished with her.
‘Or was that disappointment in your tone?’
‘Disappointment?’
‘Did you think that I was going to say that I wanted you? That that was why I’d come back—because I couldn’t get you out of my mind? That from the moment I kissed you all those years ago, I have always wanted you, always dreamed of you, always determined to have you? And now that I’ve made my fortune, now that your stepfather can no longer come between us, I’ve come back to claim you, to take you as my bride?’
‘No! Never! No way!’
Her voice was high and shrill—too high and shrill, she read in his face—and with every note it rose higher, with every violent shake of her head in emphasis, she was betraying the way that he had got to her. The way that, just for a terrible, weak, unguarded moment, she had actually felt a small, shivering thrill at contemplating the possibility he had laid before her.
‘I can’t think of anything I’d want less!’
His swift smile caught her on the raw. It was cold, mirthless, icy—a flashing gesture of triumph, without a trace of warmth in it anywhere, and not the tiniest gleam of light in the dark depths in his eyes. Somehow she knew she’d fallen right into the trap that he’d set for her—a trap she hadn’t even noticed he’d been laying.
‘Don’t you think that would sound more valid if you’d pointed out that you’re engaged to be married?’
For a moment the cold question stole away any words from her mind. How had he…?
Of course—he’d spotted her ring. But the way he made her feel—the way he obviously intended to make her feel—was that he believed her fiancé should have been uppermost in her thoughts. Which he should, she acknowledged, a terrible sense of embarrassment and guilt running through her.
She should have refuted Angelos’s suggestion with a furious, I’m not interested in any man other than my fiancé! Chris’s name should have been the first on her lips.
And that, she felt, was the trap that Angelos had planned—had expected her to fall into. Just the thought made something icy-cold slither nastily down her spine.
‘So tell me, where is your fiancé today? I would have thought that he would want to be here to support you at this time.’
Jessica bridled at the note of condemnation in his voice. Once again she wished that Chris had been here to refute the other
