Emma lifted her chin. ‘Maybe I’ll sell my story to them instead. Have you thought of that? I could make big bucks and then they’d leave me alone.’
For a second Emma thought he’d surge to his feet. She read the quickened pulse throbbing at his temple and the severe line of his mouth and knew Christo Karides wasn’t used to such defiance.
Did people always do as he demanded? It was time someone broke the trend. Satisfaction filled Emma at the thought of being the one to disrupt his plans. She wasn’t a pawn to be played to suit his schemes.
‘Good try, Emma, but you won’t do it.’
‘You think you know me so well?’ She sucked in a rough breath, trying to control the wobble in her voice. It didn’t matter that fury, not hurt, made it unsteady. She hated the idea of seeming weak before this man. ‘You have no idea who I really am. You never did.’
For what seemed an age, her surveyed her. ‘I know you’re a private person. You don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.’ He paused and she wondered, choking down hurt, whether he realised he was rubbing salt on her wounds.
For she had worn her heart on her sleeve. She’d been gullible, believing the unbelievable—that handsome, charming Christo Karides, with the world at his feet, actually cared for mousy little Emma Piper.
She spun on her heel and hurried across to the window, feigning interest in the view she knew as well as the back of her hand. It gave her time to deal with the honed blade of pain slicing through her.
Silence swallowed the room. When Christo spoke again his voice had lost that easy, almost amused cadence. ‘What I mean is, you have more pride and integrity than to share anything so personal with the gutter press.’
Was he complimenting her? Emma blinked out at the sunlight glittering on the Ionian Sea and told herself it was too little and far, far too late.
‘Coping with the press is a problem I’ll deal with when I have to. My priority now is getting a divorce as quickly as possible.’
‘That’s not going to happen, Emma.’
Was that pity in his voice?
Her hackles rose. She swung round and was relieved to find she’d been wrong. That tight jaw spoke of impatience, nothing softer.
‘You can prolong the process but you can’t stop it.’ That much she knew.
‘You’re my wife. We made vows—’
‘Vows that meant nothing whatsoever to you!’ Hearing her voice grow strident, she paused, hefting a shallow breath. Emma needed to stay calm, not fall apart. She’d run from him once, overwhelmed by the disillusionment that had rocked her to the core. She refused to give in to emotion now.
‘I vowed to honour you, to cherish and look after you.’ He’d never looked more proud or more determined. ‘I have every intention of doing just that. This misunderstanding—’
‘There’s no misunderstanding. You cold-heartedly set about marrying me for a property deal.’ As if she were a chunk of real estate! ‘And to get a carer for your child.’ Emma dragged in another breath but couldn’t fill her lungs. ‘Your baby is your responsibility. Yours and your lover’s.’
An image filled her mind of Christo as she’d imagined him so often, sprawled naked in bed. But this time he wasn’t smiling invitingly at her, he was kissing another woman. Their limbs were entwined and...
Emma banished the image and ignored the sour tang on her tongue that might, if she thought about it, be jealousy.
When she spoke again her voice was ragged. ‘Together you need to look after the baby, not foist it on someone else.’
Her heart pumped an unfamiliar beat as adrenalin surged. Emma wasn’t used to confrontation. She was a negotiator, a people pleaser, not a fighter. But something inside her had snapped the day she discovered Christo’s motives and she still rode that wave of indignation.
She didn’t know which was worse—that he’d played on her emotions and callously made her fall for him, or that he’d tried to palm his baby off on someone else. An innocent child deserved its parents’ love.
What sort of world did the man inhabit? Surely one far removed from hers, where family and friends were everything.
Suddenly she realised he was on his feet, prowling towards her. Emma swallowed but stood her ground.
Fortunately he stopped a couple of paces away, so the illusion of distance held, though she caught a hint of the aftershave he used—cedar, spice and leather mingling with warm male skin. To her dismay, a little shimmy of appreciation shot through her.
‘Not my child.’ His voice was silky and soft but she heard the edge of anger. ‘I would never be so careless.’
No, she realised, Christo was careful and calculating. Everything planned. Even down to choosing a suitable bride without a trace of sentiment or true feeling.
‘And not a baby but a little three-year-old girl. The child is my stepsister’s. She died recently.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Emma felt herself soften. She knew about loss, knew the struggle to keep going when everything seemed bleak.
Was it possible grief had made Christo act out of character? Could that explain...?
No. One look into those severely set features disabused her of that notion. She’d been right the first time. Christo didn’t act in passion. He was a schemer who plotted every move.
‘I barely knew her. Only met her once, years ago.’
‘Yet you’re now responsible for her child?’ It made no sense.
He shrugged. ‘There’s no one else.’
It was on the tip of Emma’s tongue to say that must be the case because no sane person would entrust an innocent child to such a man. But she bit the words back. She processed his words—no one else. But that was right: he was an only child and his parents were dead.
‘The father?’
‘If she knew who he was, she never said.’ He paused. ‘No one is going to come along and claim the girl.’
The girl.
He didn’t even call the poor kid by her name.
Sympathy flashed through Emma. She understood what it meant to lose your family young. One day her parents had been there, seeing her off to school. The next, they’d been gone.
But she had her own battle to fight. She couldn’t be swayed by emotion. That had been her downfall before.
‘You both have my sympathy. But that’s no reason to prolong this marriage.’
‘Can you think of a better reason than to nurture a motherless child?’
How dared he talk of nurturing when his plan was to palm the child off on her?
‘Of course I can. What about—?’
‘Yes?’ He leaned closer.
‘Love’, she’d been about to say. Marrying for true love.
But it hadn’t been true and it hadn’t been love, at least on his side. It had been a marriage of convenience.
As for her own feelings, Emma was ashamed of them. Especially since, despite everything he’d done, she wasn’t as immune to this man as she wanted to be. Just as well there was no chance of him turning around and trying to persuade her he loved her. Even now she dreaded to think how effective he might be, given how he’d conned her the first time.
‘I’m not getting into an academic discussion about marriage. I’m sorry for your niece...’ in more ways than one ‘...but she’s your responsibility. Take care of