A future here, at the villa that was her birthright.
For the first time since the funeral and her disastrous wedding day, Emma felt a flicker of her natural optimism.
Her training was in business and event management. She was good it and had recently won a coveted job at an upmarket vineyard and resort that she’d turned down when she married because she planned to move to Athens with Christo.
Emma suppressed a shiver and yanked her thoughts back to her new future.
She’d work for herself. The gracious old villa with its private grounds and guest accommodation was perfect, not only for holidays but as an exclusive, upmarket venue for private celebrations. That would be where she’d pitch her efforts.
Corfu was the destination of choice for many holiday makers. With hard work and good marketing, she could create a niche business that would offer a taste of old-world charm with modern luxury and panache.
It would be hard work, a real challenge, but she needed that, she realised.
Wasn’t that what she’d always done? Kept herself busy whenever she faced another loss so that she had no choice but to keep going? It was her way of coping, of not sinking under the weight of grief. She’d adapted to a new life in a new state with her grandparents after her parents had died. She’d taken on the challenge of supporting Papou after her grandmother’s death.
It was easier to focus on the ideas tumbling in her brain than the searing pain deep inside. To pretend Christo hadn’t broken her heart and undermined her self-confidence with his casual dismissal.
Emma’s mouth set in a tight line. She was still angry and hurt but now she had a plan, something tangible to work towards. That would be her lifeline. Today for the first time she no longer felt she’d shatter at the slightest touch.
Today she’d contact a lawyer about a divorce and getting back her property and—
‘Miss Emma!’
She turned to see Dora hurrying around the rocks at the end of the private beach. Her face was flushed and her hands twisted.
Emma’s heart slammed against her ribs. She knew distress when she saw it, had been on the receiving end of bad news enough to recognise it instantly. Foreboding swamped her. She started forward, hand outstretched, her beach towel falling to the ground. Was it her aunt or uncle? Not Maia, surely?
‘I came to warn you,’ Dora gasped. ‘Your—’
‘There’s no need for that, Mrs Panayiotis.’ The deep voice with its bite of ice came from behind the housekeeper. ‘I’m perfectly capable of speaking for myself.’
Then he appeared—tall, broad-shouldered and steely-eyed. Christo Karides.
Emma’s husband.
Her heart slammed to a stop, her feet taking root in the sand. The atmosphere darkened as if storm clouds had covered the sun. Was it the effect of his inimical stare? For a second she couldn’t breathe, an invisible band constricting her lungs as she stared into that face, so familiar and yet so different.
Then, abruptly, her heart started pumping harder than before. She sucked in a faltering breath.
He was still the most handsome man she’d ever seen with his coal-black hair and olive-gold skin contrasting with clear, slate-blue eyes. Eyes that right now seared her right down to the soles of her feet.
Desperately Emma tried for dispassionate as she surveyed those proud features that looked like they’d been etched by a master’s hand. Strong nose, square jaw, the tiniest hint of a cleft in that determined chin. Only the small silvered scar beside his mouth, barely visible, marred all that masculine perfection. Perversely, it accentuated how good-looking Christo really was.
Handsome is as handsome does. She could almost hear her grandmother’s voice in her ears.
This man had proved himself anything but handsome. Or trustworthy. Or in any way worth her notice.
Wrangling her lungs into action again, Emma took a deep breath and conjured a reassuring smile for Dora. ‘It’s okay. Perhaps you’d like to organise some tea for us in the main salon? We’ll be up shortly.’
As acts of hostility went, it was a tiny one, ordering tea when she knew Christo liked coffee, strong and sweet, but it was a start. Emma preferred conciliation to confrontation yet she had no intention of making him feel welcome.
Silence enveloped them as Dora hurried away. A silence Emma wasn’t eager to break.
She told herself she was over the worst. The shock, the disillusionment, the shattered heart. But it was easier to believe it when the man she’d once loved with all her foolish, naïve hopes wasn’t standing before her like an echo of her dreams.
Yet Emma wasn’t the innocent she’d been a week ago. Christo Karides had seen to that. He’d stripped her illusions away, brutally but effectively. She was another woman now.
Pushing her shoulders back, Emma lifted her chin and looked straight into those glittering eyes. ‘I can’t say it’s good to see you, but I suppose it’s time we sorted this out.’
* * *
Christo stared at the woman before him, momentarily bereft of words for the first time in his adult life.
He told himself it was the shock of seeing her safe and healthy, after almost a week of worry. It had been uncharacteristic of gentle, considerate Emma to vanish like that, as all her friends and relatives kept telling him. He’d worried she’d been injured or even kidnapped.
Till she’d called her aunt and left a cryptic message saying she was okay but needed time alone.
Time alone!
His blood sizzled at her sheer effrontery.
What sort of behaviour was that for a bride? Especially for the bride of Christo Karides, one of the most sought-after bachelors in Europe, pursued wherever he went.
That had been another first—finding himself frantic with anxiety. Christo recalled the scouring, metallic taste of fear on his tongue and the icy grip of worry clutching his vitals. He never wanted to experience that again.
Nor did he appreciate being made a laughing stock.
Or enduring the questioning looks her relatives had given him, as if her vanishing act was his doing! As if he hadn’t spent weeks carefully courting Katsoyiannis’s delicate granddaughter. Treating her with all the respect due to his future wife.
Christo clamped his jaw, tension radiating across his shoulders and down into bunching fists.
It wasn’t just discovering Emma hale and hearty that transfixed him. It was the change in her.
The woman he’d married had been demure and sweet-tempered. She’d deferred to her grandfather and been patently eager to please Christo, with her ardent if slightly clumsy responses to his kisses.
The woman before him was different. She sparked with unfamiliar energy. Her stance, legs apart and hands planted on hips, was defiant rather than placating.
The Emma Piper he knew was a slight figure, slender and appealing in a muted sort of way. This Emma even looked different. She wore a skimpy bikini of bright aqua. It clung to a figure far more sexy than he’d anticipated, though admittedly he’d never seen her anything but fully dressed. Her damp skin glowed like a gold-tinted pearl and those plump breasts rising and falling with her quick breaths looked as if they’d fill his palms to perfection.
A feral rush of heat jagged at his groin, an instant, unstoppable reaction that did not fit his mood or his expectations.
Christo dragged his gaze up to her face and saw her eyebrows arch in query, challenging him as if he had no right to stare.
As if she wasn’t his runaway wife!
‘You’ve