Читать книгу A Passionate Surrender - Helen Bianchin - Страница 8

‘CRISTOS.’

The husky imprecation held an angry silkiness as Luc Dimitriades tossed the faxed report down onto his desk.

Detailed surveillance of his wife’s movements during the past nine days revealed few surprises, although one caused his eyes to narrow with contemplative suspicion.

Reflex action had him reaching for his cellphone and keying in a series of digits.

‘Put me through to Marc Andreas,’ he instructed curtly as soon as the receptionist picked up.

‘Doctor has a patient with him.’

‘It’s urgent,’ he said without compunction, and identified himself. ‘He’ll take the call.’

Minutes later he had official confirmation, and his expression hardened as he reached for the inter-office phone.

Clear, concise instructions set his plan in motion, and after replacing the receiver he stood to his feet and crossed to the large plate-glass window.

The city and harbour spread out before him in splendid panorama. Sparkling blue sea, tall office buildings in varying height and design of concrete, steel and glass. Expensive two- and three-level mansions nestled between trees and shrubbery on a carved-out rock-face overlooking the inner harbour.

Small craft moored in safe anchorage dotting inlets and coves. The bustling water-cats and ferries vying with a huge tanker being guided by tugboats into berth. The familiar arch of Sydney’s bridge, the distinctive architecture of the opera house.

It was a familiar sight. Yet today he didn’t register the view. Nor the expensive furnishings, the genuine art gracing the walls of his luxurious office.

There was no pleasure of the scene evident in his broad, chiselled features, little emotion in his dark brooding gaze as he lapsed into reflective thought.

A brief marriage in his early twenties to his childhood sweetheart had ended tragically with Emma’s accidental death mere months after their wedding. Grief-stricken, he’d thrown himself into work, putting in long hours and achieving untold success in the business arena.

Remarriage wasn’t on his agenda. He’d loved and lost, and didn’t want to lose his heart again. For the past ten years he’d enjoyed a few selective relationships…no commitments, no empty words promising permanence.

Until Ana.

The daughter of one of his executives, she’d often partnered her widowed father to various functions. She was attractive, in her mid-twenties, intelligent and she possessed a delightful sense of humour. What was more, she wasn’t in awe of him, his status or his wealth.

They’d dated a few months, enjoyed each other in bed, and for the first time since Emma’s death there was an awareness of his own mortality, his accumulated wealth…the need to share his life with one woman, have children with her, forge a future together.

Who better than Ana in the role of his wife? He cared for her, she was eminently suitable, and he could provide her with an enviable lifestyle.

The wedding had been a low-key affair attended by immediate family, followed by a few weeks in Hawaii, after which they settled easily into day-today life.

A year on, the only blight on the horizon was Celine Moore, an ex-mistress, very recently divorced and hell-bent on causing mischief.

Luc’s mouth tightened into a grim line as he recalled the few occasions when Celine had deliberately orchestrated a compromising situation. Incidents he’d dealt with with skilled diplomacy and the warning to desist. Something Celine refused to heed, and her persistence became an issue Ana found difficult to condone.

Less than two weeks ago an argument over breakfast had ended badly, and he’d arrived home that evening to discover Ana had packed a bag and taken a flight to the Gold Coast.

The note she’d left him declared a need for a few days away to think things through.

Except a few days had become nine, and the latter thirty-six hours of which had resulted in unreturned calls from voice-mail and text messages left on her cellphone.

Her father, upon confrontation, swore she wasn’t answering his messages either, and he had every reason not to lie.

Rebekah, her younger sister and business partner, also disavowed any knowledge of Ana’s whereabouts, other than to cite a holiday resort on the Gold Coast, from which enquiries revealed Ana had checked out within a few days of registering.

Hence Luc had no hesitation in engaging the services of a private detective, whose verbal updates were now detailed in a faxed report.

Ana’s actions merely confirmed Luc’s suspicions. A newly leased apartment and employment weren’t conducive to a temporary break.

However, he could deal with that, and numerous scenarios of just how he’d deal with it occupied his mind. Foremost of which was the intention to haul her over his shoulder and bring her home.

Something, he decided grimly, he should have done within a day or two of her leaving, instead of allowing her the distance, time and space she’d vowed so desperately to need. Yet she’d done the unexpected by attempting to cover her tracks…without success.

Surely she couldn’t believe he’d let her separation bid drag on for long?

The inter-office phone rang, and he crossed to the desk to take the call.

‘The pilot is on standby, and your car is out front.’

Smooth efficiency came with a high-priced salary.

‘Petros will have a bag packed by the time you reach the house.’

‘Thanks.’

An hour later Luc boarded the private jet, sank into one of four plush armchairs, and prepared for take-off.

‘Go take a lunch break.’

Ana attached the ribbon, tied a deft bow, utilised the slim edge of the scissors to curl the ribbon ends, then set the bouquet of roses to one side.

It was her third day as an assistant at a florist shop in the trendy suburb of Main Beach. She’d entered the shop on a whim, bought flowers to brighten her newly acquired apartment, and, noticing the owner’s harassed expression, she’d jokingly asked if the owner required help, citing her experience as a florist. What she didn’t impart was that she co-owned her own business in an upmarket Sydney suburb.

Incredible as it seemed, acquiring a job had been as simple as being in the right place at the right time.

Fate, it seemed, had taken a hand, although eventually she’d have to address her sojourn from Sydney, her marriage.

A hollow laugh escaped her throat as she caught up her shoulder bag and walked out onto the pavement.

It was a beautiful early summer day, the sun was warm, and there was a slight breeze drifting in from the ocean.

The usual lunch crowd filled the many cafés lining Tedder Avenue, and she crossed the street, selected an empty table and sank into a seat.

Efficient service ensured almost immediate attention, and she gave her order, then sipped chilled bottled water as she flipped through the pages of a magazine.

An article caught her eye, and she read the print with genuine interest, only to put it to one side as the waitress delivered a steaming bowl of vegetable risotto. There was also a fresh bread roll, and she picked up a fork and began eating the delectable food.

The chatter from patrons seated at adjoining tables provided a pleasant background, combining with the faint purr of vehicles slowly cruising the main street in search of an elusive parking space.

Expensive cars, wealthy owners who strolled the trendy street to one of several outdoor cafés where lunch with friends was more about being seen than satisfying a need for food.

Ana liked the ambience, enjoyed being a part of it, and the similarity to equally trendy areas in Sydney didn’t escape her.

It was relatively easy to tamp down any longing for the city where she’d been born and raised. Not so easy to dismiss the man she’d married a little more than a year ago.

Luc Dimitriades possessed the height, breadth of shoulder and attractive good looks to turn any woman’s head. Add sophisticated charm, an aura of power, and the result was devastating.

Australian-born of Greek parents, he’d chosen academia and entered the field of merchant banking, rising rapidly through the ranks to assume a position that involved directorial decision-making.

Inherited wealth combined with astute business acumen ensured he numbered high among the country’s rich and famous.

For Ana, all it had taken was one look at him and the attraction was instant, cataclysmic. Sheer sexual chemistry, potent and electric. Yet it was more than that…much more. He affected her as no man ever had, and she fell deeply, irretrievably in love with him.

It was the reason she accepted his marriage proposal, and she convinced herself it was enough he vowed his fidelity and promised to honour and care for her.

THE CATCH OF THE DECADE one national newspaper had captioned when Luc Dimitriades had taken Ana Stanford as his bride.

Maybe, given time, his affection for her would become love, and a year into the marriage she was content. She had an attentive husband, the sex was to die for, and life had assumed a pleasant routine.

Until Celine, always the temptress, re-entered the scene, newly divorced, and hunting…with Luc as her prey.

Subtle destruction, carefully orchestrated to diminish Ana’s confidence. The divorcee was very clever in aiming her verbal barbs out of Luc’s hearing. Implying an affair, citing dates and times when Luc was absent on business or when he’d extended a business meeting to include dinner with colleagues. Merely excuses given in order to be with Celine.

Doubt and suspicion, coupled with anger and jealousy built over a period of weeks.

Even now, the thought of Celine’s recent contretemps made Ana grit her teeth. Despite Luc’s denial, where there was smoke, there were embers just waiting to be fanned into flame. And infidelity was something she refused to condone.

Angry words had led to a full-scale argument, and afterwards Ana had simply made a few phone calls, packed a bag and taken the midday flight to the Gold Coast.

Apart from the note she’d left him, her only attempt at contact was a recorded message she’d left on Luc’s answer-machine, and she doubted it would appease him for long.

‘Ana.’

The voice was all too familiar, its inflexion deep and tinged with a degree of mocking cynicism.

There had been no instinctive sixth sense that might have alerted her to his presence. Nothing to warn of the unexpected.

Ana slowly raised her head and met her husband’s steady gaze. Unwanted reaction kicked in, and she banked it down, aware on a base level of the damning effect he had on her senses.

She felt vulnerable, exposed, and way too needy. It wasn’t a feeling she coveted, at least not now, not here, when she’d vowed to think with her head, not her heart.

Fat chance. All it took was one look, a few seconds in his presence, and her emotions went every which way but loose!

How was it possible to love, yet hate someone with equal measure?

She could think of any number of reasons to justify the way she felt… Ambivalence, out-of-whack hormones. The desire to hurt, as she hurt.

Why, then, did she possess this crazy urge to feel the sanctuary of his arms and the brush of his mouth on her own? The heat of his body…

A silent screeching cry rose from somewhere deep inside. Don’t go there.

Instead, she forced herself to subject him to an analytical appraisal, deliberately noting the broad facial bone structure which lent his features a chiselled look that was enhanced by piercing dark eyes, a firm muscled jaw, and a mouth to die for.

Well-groomed hair as dark as sin grew thick on his head, and he wore it slightly longer than was currently in vogue.

Attired in a three-piece business suit, deep blue shirt and impeccably knotted silk tie, he exuded an aura of invincible power.

Tall, dark and dangerous was an apt descriptive phrase, she perceived, sensing the ruthlessness hovering just beneath the surface of his control.

‘Mind if I join you?’

‘What if I say no?’

He offered a faint smile, and wondered if she knew how well he could read her. ‘It wasn’t a rhetorical question.’

Ana held his gaze. ‘Then why ask?’

Luc took the seat opposite, ordered black coffee from a hovering waitress, then focused his attention on his wife.

She looked pale, and she’d lost a few essential kilos from her petite frame. There were faint shadows evident, as if she hadn’t been sleeping well, and her eyes were dark with fatigue. Instead of its usual attractive style, her honey-blonde hair was pulled back into a pony-tail.

His silent appraisal irked her unbearably. ‘Are you done?’ Her voice sounded tense even to her own ears.

He resembled a sleekly powerful predator deceptively at ease. Except his seemingly relaxed façade didn’t fool her in the slightest. There wasn’t any doubt he’d pounce…merely a matter of when.

‘No,’ Luc intimated as she pushed the bowl of partly eaten food to one side.

‘Eat,’ Luc bade quietly, and she threw him a baleful glare.

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘Order something else.’

She barely resisted the temptation to throw something at him. ‘Should I ask how you discovered my whereabouts?’

His gaze didn’t waver, and his eyes were cool, fathomless. ‘I would have thought the answer self-explanatory.’

‘You hired a private detective.’ Her voice rose a fraction. ‘And had me followed?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t?’

Hadn’t this scenario haunted her for the past few days? Invading her sleep, unsettling her nerves?

The waitress delivered his coffee, and he requested the bill.

‘I’ll pay for my own meal.’

He shot her a hard glance. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

She checked her watch. ‘What do you want, Luc? I suggest you cut to the chase. I’m due back at work in ten minutes.’

Luc selected a paper tube of sugar and emptied it into his cup. ‘No, you’re not,’ he declared silkily.

Her gaze locked with his. ‘What do you mean…no?’

‘You no longer have a job, and your apartment lease has been terminated.’

She felt as if all the breath had suddenly left her body. Angry consternation darkened her eyes, and faint pink coloured her cheeks. ‘You have no right—’

‘Yes.’ His voice was deadly quiet. ‘I do.’

She badly wanted to hit him, and almost did. ‘No, you don’t,’ she reiterated fiercely.

‘We can argue this back and forth, but the end result will be the same.’

‘If you think I’ll calmly go back to Sydney with you,’ she began heatedly, ‘you can think again!’

His gaze seared hers. ‘This afternoon, tonight, tomorrow. It hardly matters when.’

Ana rose to her feet, only to have his hand close over her arm, halting her intention to leave.

Without pausing for thought she picked up the sugar container and hurled it at him, watching with a sense of horrified fascination as he fielded it neatly and replaced it on the table, then calmly gathered up the scattered tubes.

‘I intend to file for divorce.’ Dear heaven, where had that come from? Until now it had been a hazy choice she’d considered and discounted a hundred times during the sleepless night hours since fleeing Sydney.

His gaze seared hers. ‘Divorce isn’t an option.’

She stood trapped as the silence stretched between them, a haunting entity that became more significant with every passing second, and there was little she could do but comply as he exerted sufficient pressure to ensure she sank down onto the chair.

‘Don’t you have something to tell me?’ Luc prompted with deceptive mildness, and glimpsed her apprehension before she successfully masked it.

‘Go away and leave me alone?’ Ana taunted in return.

‘Try again.’

A muscle twisted painfully in her stomach, and she barely suppressed the instinct to soothe it with her hand.

He couldn’t possibly know. Could he? She went suddenly cold at the thought. For the past few weeks she’d alternated between joy and despair.

‘I’ll make it easy for you,’ Luc ventured with deadly softness. ‘You’re carrying my child.’

‘A child that is also mine,’ Ana said fiercely.

‘Ours.’ His silky tone sent shivers down her spine. ‘I refuse to be relegated to a weekend father, restricted to sharing my son or daughter on a part-time basis.’

‘Is that why you came after me? Because I suddenly have something you want?’ Her eyes darkened to the deepest sapphire, her anger very real at that precise moment. Yet inside she wanted to weep. For the child she’d conceived. For herself, for wanting the love of a man who she doubted would ever love her.

‘I’d rather be a single parent than attempt to raise a child in a household where its father divides his time between its mother and his mistress. How could the child begin to understand values, morals, and integrity?’

‘Mistress?’ His voice was quiet.

Too quiet, she perceived, and suppressed a faint shiver.

‘You accuse me of having an affair?’

‘Celine—’

‘Was someone with whom I shared a brief relationship three, four years ago.’

‘According to her, the affair is ongoing.’

‘Why would I need a mistress when I have you?’

Remembering their active sex life, the sheer delight they shared in bed, brought a tinge of colour to her cheeks. ‘For the hell of it?’ she ventured carelessly, adding, ‘Because you’re insatiable and one woman isn’t enough?’

His features hardened and assumed an implacable mask. ‘Don’t tempt me to say something I might regret.’

‘Go back to Sydney, Luc.’ She was like a runaway train that couldn’t stop. ‘There’s nothing you can say or do that’ll persuade me to return with you.’

‘No?’

She sensed the steel beneath the dangerously silky tone, and suppressed an illusory premonition.

‘The last time I heard, coercion carries no weight in a court of law.’

He held a trump card, and he had no hesitation in playing it. ‘However, embezzlement does.’ He paused, watching her expressive features in a bid to assess whether she had any prior knowledge William Stanford had indulged in creative accounting over a six-month time span.

‘Excuse me?’

Luc chose his words with care, weighing each for its impact. ‘The bank’s auditors have discovered a series of discrepancies.’

‘How can that involve me?’ she queried, genuinely puzzled.

‘Indirectly, it does.’

Even a naïve fool could do simple arithmetic, and she considered herself to be neither. ‘You’re implying my father is responsible?’ she demanded in disbelief. ‘I don’t believe you.’

He reached inside his jacket, withdrew a folded document and placed it in front of her. ‘A copy of the auditors’ report.’

Ana touched the paper hesitantly, then she opened the document and read the report.

It was conclusive and damning, the attached spreadsheet listing each transaction lengthy and detailed.

She felt herself go cold. Embezzlement, theft…they were one and the same, and a punishable crime.

Luc studied her expressive features, witnessed the fleeting emotions, and anticipated her loyalty.

‘It was very cleverly done,’ he revealed with a degree of cynicism. So much so, it had been missed twice. He wasn’t sure which angered him more…the loss of trust in one of his valued executives, or the fact William Stanford had relied on his daughter’s connection by marriage to avoid prosecution.

‘How long have you known?’ Ana queried with a sense of dread, unwilling to examine where this was going, yet desperately afraid her wildest suspicion would be proven true.

‘Nine days.’

Coincidentally the time she wrote him a note and took a flight north. Did he think that was the reason she left?

Men of Luc’s calibre always had a back-up plan. And this was personal. Very personal.

‘What do you want, Luc?’

‘No divorce. Our child.’ He waited a beat. ‘My wife in my home, my bed.’

‘Go to hell.’

One eyebrow rose in mockery. ‘Not today, agape mou.’

Pink coloured her cheekbones and lent her eyes a fiery sparkle. ‘You think you can make conditions and have me meekly comply?’

‘Meek wasn’t a descriptive I considered.’

Dear heaven, he was amused. She stood to her feet, gathered her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder, then she turned in the direction of the florist shop, aware that Luc fell into step at her side.

‘I intend explaining to the letting agent and my employer that you’re a presumptuous, arrogant bastard with no right to dictate my life.’

‘And your father will go to jail.’

Her step faltered as she threw him a look that would have felled a lesser man. ‘How come you get to make the rules?’

‘Because I can.’

‘And I get to choose whether to resume my marriage to you, in return for no charges laid against my father.’ There was no doubt Luc viewed this as just another business proposition. Well, damn him. She’d do the same. ‘What of restitution?’

‘It will be taken care of.’

‘And his job?’

‘Already terminated.’

She was dying inside, inch by inch. ‘His references?’ she pursued tightly.

‘I have a duty of disclosure.’

Something that would make it almost impossible for her father to gain a similar position anywhere in Sydney…possibly even the country.

‘I’ll think about it,’ Ana conceded, endeavouring to ignore the prickle of apprehension steadily creating havoc with her nervous system.

His eyes were hard, their expression implacable. ‘You have an hour.’

She closed her eyes, then opened them again, and released the breath she’d unconsciously held for several seconds.

‘Are you this diabolically relentless in the business arena?’ Stupid question, she mentally castigated. His steel-willed determination and ruthless decision-making had earned him a reputation as one of the city’s most feared negotiators.

His silence sent an icy chill feathering the length of her spine, and she cursed him afresh.

They reached the florist shop, and she turned towards him, her eyes gleaming with hidden anger as she met and held his dark gaze.

‘There are a few conditions.’

His gaze hardened, and he resisted the urge to shake her within an inch of her life. ‘You’re hardly in a position to stipulate conditions.’

Did he know how much she hurt? Just looking at him caused her physical pain, remembering the hopes and dreams she’d held, only to have them shatter one by one.

She began counting off the fingers of one hand. ‘I want your word you won’t attempt to deny me my child once it’s born.’

Something moved in his eyes, an emotion she didn’t care to define. ‘Granted.’

‘Your fidelity.’

‘You’ve had that since day one.’

She looked at him long and hard, then lifted an eyebrow in silent query. ‘Not according to Celine.’

‘Naturally, you choose to believe her over me.’ His dry tones held a damning cynicism she chose to ignore.

‘There’s just one more thing,’ she pursued.

It was impossible to tell much from his expression, and she didn’t even try.

‘And that is?’

‘I want it all in writing and legally notarised before I give you my answer.’

As an exit line it took some beating, and she didn’t look back as she stepped into the florist shop.

‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

Stiff formality replaced a former easy friendliness, and Ana silently cursed Luc afresh.

‘I’m responsible for my own decisions,’ she assured evenly. Her gaze was steady as the silence stretched into seemingly long seconds before the shop’s owner offered,

‘He doesn’t look the type of man who’d take no for an answer.’

Wasn’t that the truth! ‘I can give you this afternoon, if that’s OK?’

‘I’ve already put in a call to the employment agency.’

What else did she expect?

‘Are you going to return to Sydney with him?’

‘Possibly.’ Ana deposited her bag out back, and checked the order book, then she set to work.

Concentration was the key, but all too frequently it wavered as she examined one scheme after another, only to discard each of them. Where could she go that Luc wouldn’t find her?

A faint shiver raised the fine hairs on the back of her neck. If he’d had a private investigator following her every move, it was feasible the man was still on duty. It gave her a creepy feeling, and made her incredibly angry.

Luc had played the game with consummate skill in presenting her with a coup de grâce.

But the game had only just begun, and she intended to play by the rules…her own.