almost lifted a hand to her aching head—too much stress and too little sleep—but she was conscious of the security camera. She was watched from inside the house she couldn’t even see down its long drive.
A lifetime’s training in never revealing weakness kept her arm by her side and her chin up. If Lambis Evangelos and his lackeys thought she’d meekly run away...
Her lips turned up in a mirthless smile. They had no idea what despair could do. What she could do.
Slowly, shoulders back and hands swinging at her sides, she strolled to the car. She didn’t even flinch when the first snowflakes spattered her face.
It needed only that to put the seal on this horrible journey. The secretive trip to Athens on a friend’s boat in order to avoid the paparazzi. The press had mobbed her in St Galla and they’d been forced to slip out in the dead of night. The long journey, the crowds and bustle of Athens, then the stonewalling when she’d arrived at the Evangelos Enterprises office. Then the long, exhausting drive north.
She’d come this far. She refused to return home, defeated. There was too much at stake.
Opening the back door of the car, she slid in beside Seb. Sure enough, he was sleeping, a lock of blond hair flopping over his too-pale face. He looked vulnerable, curled up with his teddy under his chin.
Amelie’s heart turned over and love, fierce and fortifying, slammed into her. She shrugged out of her long coat and scooted over against him, draping it over the pair of them. He shifted, frowning in his sleep, opening his mouth as if to protest, but then subsided without so much as a whimper. Under the cashmere, Amelie wrapped her arm around him and hugged him close.
They’d hit a dead end and she was out of alternatives. She’d have to come up with another plan, but for now, she’d allow herself a tiny respite. Ten minutes’ rest before she revised her plan of action. With a sigh of exhaustion she closed her eyes.
Ten minutes...
* * *
A knocking woke her. She had that awful cotton wool taste in her mouth that told her she’d actually fallen asleep in broad daylight.
Except it wasn’t daylight. It was murky twilight and so chilly it was a wonder she’d slept.
Again that knocking, harder this time, and Amelie swung her head round. Through the side window she saw a dark shadow loom like a giant mountain bear. Her heart skidded against her ribs. Adrenaline pumped too hard, too fast, and she had to force down a moment’s primitive, instinctive fear.
Then she woke properly, remembering their predicament. If only it was merely wildlife she had to worry about!
She slid along the back seat, carefully tucking her coat around Seb, who, remarkably, still slept. The poor kid truly was running on empty.
As she put her hand on the handle, the massive form outside retreated, allowing her to open the door.
Instantly a blast of frigid air struck. Amelie gasped then forced herself out, shutting the door quickly to keep in the relative warmth. Fat snowflakes tickled her face. She sucked in a draught of oxygen that froze her throat and made all the tiny hairs on her body rise.
Except she suspected it wasn’t the cold air alone that did that. More likely it was reaction to the great, shaggy bear of a man standing just a pace away.
At least those profoundly broad shoulders blocked some of the wind. They were a perfect frame for a wickedly bold, dark face—straight black eyebrows, strong, too strong nose, high-cut cheekbones and a jaw that reminded her of the Acropolis’s uncompromising angles. It didn’t matter that his mouth was finely chiselled and full, for he didn’t smile. His mouth was grim, a perfect match for eyes as grey and dour as the mountain looming beyond him.
No welcome. No offer of assistance.
Amelie lifted her chin, the better to see him, refusing to be intimidated by that beetling brow or the aggressive bunch of his huge hands.
Or by the unwanted punch of pure feminine response to his aura of potent masculinity.
By sheer force of will she kept her arms at her sides instead of wrapping them around her freezing body. She’d stood firm against the worst St Galla could throw at her, not least her own father. She wasn’t about to fall in a heap because of a scowl.
No matter how much she wanted to turn tail and find some cosy hotel where she could curl up and be alone.
This isn’t about you, Amelie.
The reminder gave her strength. Her life had always been about others. Her forays into seeking personal happiness had been disastrous.
‘Kalimera.’ Good day.
He didn’t reply. Not by so much as a muscle twitch did his expression change, yet she had the impression that anger coiled tight within that imposing frame.
The only thing about him that moved was his hair, overlong and tousled by the whipping wind, jet black like his eyebrows, and if his expression was any indication, his heart.
How could a man so stern and unyielding make her pulse quicken and her knees go weak with excitement?
‘You’re blocking the gates.’
Biting back a retort she knew would win her no friends, Amelie smiled. It was the small public smile she sometimes felt she’d perfected before she could walk. The sort that wore well, no matter how tough the circumstances or how much she wished she was anywhere else.
‘So I am.’ Because parking here had been the only way to guarantee attention. Lambis Evangelos and his employees couldn’t drive in or out with her car parked across the entrance. ‘If you open the gates I’ll remedy that.’
He didn’t even bother to shake his head or, being Greek, to lift his chin in that supremely dismissive reverse nod that signified no.
Tiredness dragged at Amelie, and a building fury that she’d travelled so far, hiding from the press all the way, fearing someone would recognise them and destroy their anonymity, to be met by this. The blank annoyance of a man who didn’t give a damn.
Perhaps this last-ditch effort was doomed to fail.
Acid swirled through her insides and the metallic taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue. Amelie felt a tremor of despair begin deep in the pit of her belly and widened her stance, staking her right to be here.
At the movement something flickered in those deep-set eyes, but he said nothing.
So be it. He might be rugged up in a massive coat but Amelie wasn’t dressed for this unseasonably early snowstorm. Her clothes were chic rather than warm. The weather on the Mediterranean island of St Galla had been summery. The cool weather wouldn’t begin there for another couple of months and snow was rare.
Amelie turned to open the rear car door.
‘What are you doing?’ His voice was deep and resonant. She felt it circle her ribs then burrow low, making her insides soften.
Suddenly, gloriously, anger welled, burning bright in veins turned sluggish with cold and the prospect of defeat. She would not let this man with a voice like hot
