Nicos viewed her entry into the lounge with veiled interest.
Business, he silently attested, noting the power suit in stylish black. The cut of the jacket, the mid-thigh length of the straight skirt, the sheer black hose showcasing shapely legs, slim ankles emphasised by stiletto-heeled black pumps. Jewellery confined to a diamond pendant on a slender gold chain, and a simple diamond stud worn in each earlobe.
Was she aware how well he could read her? The tiny signals that indicated her mood were evident in the sweep of her hair into a smooth, sophisticated French twist, the perfectly applied make-up, highlighting her eyes, the shape of her mouth. The tilt of her chin.
It was a façade, one he’d been able to dispense with easily. He retained a vivid memory of the way she melted beneath his touch. The spill of hair as he slid his fingers through its thick length and cupped her nape, angling her head so that soft, evocative mouth lifted to meet his own. The wild, untamed passion of her response as she met and matched him, treading a path to mutual satisfaction that was more, much more than he’d shared with any other woman in his lifetime.
He saw the moment she sighted him, and glimpsed the faint straightening of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened over her evening purse. Her step didn’t falter as she crossed towards him.
‘Nicos.’ Her greeting was polite, almost cool.
Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go through?’
Fire and ice, he mused. A combination that never failed to intrigue him. ‘Eager to be done, Katrina?’
Her gaze met and held his. ‘I’d prefer to keep this short,’ she stated civilly, and caught the imperceptible lift of those broad shoulders.
‘Such honesty,’ he chided softly.
He made no attempt to touch her, but this close she was all too aware of his body heat, the faint tang of his exclusive cologne. Not to mention the aura of leashed power that was so much a part of him.
He was biding his time, she alluded with a tinge of bitterness. Tonight was a mere indulgence. A social formality in an attempt to create some form of mutual truce whereby they could co-exist for the next year.
Nicos had nothing to lose, while she…
Don’t think about it, she chided silently as she entered the restaurant at Nicos’s side.
Seated, she let him choose the wine while she perused the menu, ordering after scant deliberation a starter and a side salad.
‘Not hungry?’ Nicos posed as he watched her sip the excellent Chardonnay.
Katrina met his gaze with equanimity. ‘Not particularly.’ Her stomach felt as if it were attempting intricate somersaults, and the movement was not conducive to the easy digestion of food.
It irked that he could still have this effect. Worse, that all it took was one look at him and her pulse raced to a faster beat.
Was he aware of it? She hoped not. She’d spent a lifetime learning to mask her feelings. To smile, and pretend she was immune from the barbs two stepmothers and two stepsiblings had inflicted at every opportunity.
Adopting a façade wasn’t difficult. She did it every day of her life. Professionally. Emotionally.
‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’
‘Why not finish your meal first?’ Nicos countered silkily.
Katrina picked at her salad, then discarded it. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’
‘Some more wine?’
‘No. Thanks,’ she added politely. The need for a clear head was essential.
Dammit, why did he have to be so blatantly male? He savoured his food as he savoured a woman. With care, enjoyment, and satisfaction.
There was something incredibly sensual about the movement of his hands, and she had only to look at his mouth to imagine how it felt on her own. The devastation it could wreak as he pleasured her. He had the touch, the knowledge, to drive a woman wild.
Focus, she chided silently. This isn’t about you. Or Nicos. It’s about claiming a right to Macbride.
‘We need to decide whose residence we’ll share,’ she began firmly.
He forked a succulent piece of fish, and followed it with a portion of salad. ‘Naturally you’d prefer your apartment.’
It couldn’t be this easy. ‘Yes.’
He cast her a measured look. ‘The Point Piper house is large. It would be more convenient for you to move in there.’
It surprised her that he hadn’t sold the luxurious mansion they’d occupied for the few brief months of their ill-fated marriage. An architectural masterpiece built against sloping rock-face, it encompassed three levels of modern living, with terraced grounds, ornamental gardens, a swimming pool, and a magnificent harbour view.
It also housed too many memories. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’
Nicos replaced his cutlery and settled back comfortably in his chair. ‘Afraid, Katrina?’
She looked at him carefully, noting his steady gaze, the seemingly relaxed expression. Deceptive to the unwary, she acknowledged silently, for Nicos Kasoulis possessed a razor-sharp mind and a killer instinct. Qualities that had gained him immense respect from both friend and foe. In the business arena, and among the socially élite.
It had been this ruthless streak that had appealed so much to Kevin Macbride, who’d seen in Nicos what he’d himself possessed: someone who knew what he wanted and went after it regardless of anything or anyone who stood in his way.
‘Have I reason to be?’
His smile held a certain wryness. ‘You must know I have your welfare at heart.’
‘If that were so, you’d have stood down as executor of Kevin’s will.’
‘I gave him my word.’
‘And that is everything.’
‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’
Katrina picked up her glass, and took a leisurely sip of wine. ‘Forgive me,’ she said without any hint of apology. ‘I learned it at any early age.’
‘Why not try a dessert?’ Nicos queried blandly, and saw the fire bank beneath those brilliant green eyes.
She took a deep breath and sought to retain a semblance of calm. ‘We need to arrive at some sort of compromise.’
Nicos slid a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracted a bulky envelope, and tossed it down onto the table in front of her.
Katrina viewed it with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’
‘A remote for the front gates, and keys to my home.’
He was far too sure of himself. ‘Presumptuous, aren’t you?’
‘Practical,’ he corrected.
‘Arrogant,’ she attested. ‘What if I insist you move into my apartment?’ she queried heatedly, hating him at that moment.
‘Do you really want me in the next bedroom to yours?’ Nicos queried mildly. ‘Sharing the same living quarters, the same kitchen? In an apartment more suited to one person than two?’
‘You know nothing about my apartment,’ she retaliated, and saw the slight lift of his eyebrow.
‘I was responsible for the gutting and rebuilding of the original homestead.’
She cast him a scathing look. ‘Next you’ll tell me you own it.’
Nicos inclined his head. ‘Guilty.’
If she’d known, she’d never have bought it. Her eyes narrowed. Come