Siobhan, how could you? Katrina seethed silently. While I’m capable of slaying my own dragons, I expected you to stand beside me, not welcome the enemy with grace and charm.
Nicos discerned each and every fleeting expression on his wife’s features. She’d lost weight, her skin was pale, and at the moment she was a seething bundle of barely controlled fury. A bundle he was hard-pressed not to heft over one shoulder and carry kicking and cursing out to his car. And ultimately into his bed.
Katrina glimpsed the intent in those dark eyes, and wanted to hit him. ‘Goodnight.’
The word was evinced as a cool dismissal. Icy, with a tinge of disdain meant to convey the edge of her temper.
She saw what he was going to do an instant before his head descended, and he anticipated her move, countered it, and captured her mouth with his own in a kiss that destroyed her carefully erected defences.
Brief, possessive, evocative, it brought a vivid reminder of what had been.
And would be again.
The purpose was there, a silent statement that was neither threat nor challenge. Merely fact.
Then he straightened, and his lips curved into a musing smile as he caught the unmistakable edge of anger in her glittering green gaze.
‘Seven, Katrina,’ he reminded her with deceptive quietness, and saw her chin tilt fractionally.
Cool, control. She’d had plenty of practice at displaying both emotions. ‘Name the restaurant, and I’ll meet you there.’
One eyebrow arched. A silent, faintly mocking gesture that put a serious dent in her bid for independence.
‘The foyer of the Ritz-Carlton.’
An established, élite hotel situated a few blocks from her Double Bay apartment, negating the need to take her car.
She had no doubt it was a deliberate choice on his part, and she was sorely tempted to stamp her foot in childish repudiation. Instead, she offered him a cool glance and kept her voice neutral. ‘Fine.’
Nicos inclined his head towards Siobhan, then he turned and began weaving his way through numerous patrons converging near the entrance.
‘Don’t say a word,’ Katrina warned in caution as they gained the external pavement.
‘Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ her mother evinced with a soft chuckle.
THE evening was warm, the air like silk on a soft breeze whispering in from the sea as Katrina locked her car and set the alarm.
The hotel entrance lay ahead, its elegant façade attesting élite patronage in an established, moneyed inner-city suburb.
She’d dressed to kill, although only she knew how much time had been spent selecting and discarding one set of clothes after another in a quest to do battle and win.
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