Читать книгу No Mistress But Love - Kate Proctor - Страница 7

‘JUST where the hell have you been?’ demanded Lindy, her aggressive words bringing Niko’s complaint about her language flashing back to her as she confronted Tim Russell on opening the door to the office.

‘Close the door,’ he ordered sharply, glancing furtively past her.

‘I have every intention of closing it,’ she retorted, slamming the door hard behind her. ‘Because I don’t intend the guests hearing the earful I intend letting you have, you low-down creep! I——’

‘I suggest you shut up and listen to what I have to say, because I’ve only a few minutes.’

‘What do you mean—you’ve only a few minutes?’ she demanded, her eyes sweeping contemptuously over his bleary-eyed, ill-shaven features. ‘You’ll just——’

‘It means I’ve a boatman waiting to take me off this damned island,’ he informed her, crouching down to the holdall at his feet and closing it.

Lindy’s eyes widened in startled disbelief. In the two months she had been here, as his petty moodiness had hardened to vindictive hectoring and she had lost all memory of the man she had once believed him to be, she had grown to despise him. As for his qualifications for the job, she had yet to puzzle out whether he was very good at hotel management or simply adept at delegating most things, as he invariably did, to the highly trained staff at his disposal. Her friends had been right in their belief that he was expecting more from her than he had admitted, and she recognised his unpleasant behaviour towards her as his way of trying to punish her for so naively having believed him—behaviour she responded to with open contempt. This vindictive specimen of manhood she could handle with ease, she told herself, but Niko Leandros was another matter altogether, and for that reason Tim Russell was going nowhere without her!

‘Right—let’s go,’ she stated, anger searing through her as he began laughing derisively. ‘If you’re worried about honouring your gambling debts I suggest you send Mr Leandros a fiver when we get back to England—that should just about cover my worth, shouldn’t it?’

‘If I’d known Leandros was likely to be part of it I’d never have got involved in that particular card school,’ he muttered, rising to his feet and hooking the holdall over his shoulder. ‘Unfortunately I’d had a bit too much to drink by the time he put in his unexpected appearance.’

‘Oh, I see. You were drunk, and that makes it perfectly all right for me to be left to the mercies of a self-opinionated playboy, is that it?’

‘Who do you think you’re kidding, Lindy?’ he jeered. ‘You fancy him like mad and make no effort to hide it—a fact that makes me see red when I think of the “I wish men would leave me alone” routine you’ve been dishing out to me. But I’d say Leandros can’t exactly be described as impervious to you, as he’s the one who suggested I stake you.’

‘And how many of you were there in this card game?’ demanded Lindy frigidly, refusing even to acknowledge his opening gibes. ‘Tell me, Tim, how many other of the degenerate gambling fraternity had the opportunity to win me?’

‘He bought the rest of them out of the game—it was just the two of us.’ His gaze hardened visibly. ‘Damn it, Lindy, none of this would have happened if you’d behaved like a normal woman towards me. And don’t try telling me you expected things to carry on between us as they had in England, because even I refuse to believe you could be that stupid!’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ she rounded on him, trying desperately not to lose her temper, ‘but that’s exactly what I believed—and what you led me to believe. And to blame me for your bouts of drunkenness, your womanising and your——’

‘I hate to interrupt this litany of praise,’ he snapped, ‘but I really have to get a move on.’

‘We have to get a move on,’ she informed him coldly.

‘I’m afraid you’re going nowhere while Leandros has your passport.’

Lindy’s eyes flew to the safe, in which her passport should have been, uncertainty mixed with horror filling them.

‘Sorry, but Leandros insisted on sending one of his henchmen back here for it as a sort of bond,’ explained Tim with no discernible trace of remorse.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she croaked weakly. ‘My God, you really are the most loathsome apology for a man I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across!’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘And how would you describe the dashing young Leandros heir?’ he sneered. ‘I’m sure you’ll be only too willing to drop your virginal airs where he’s concerned and wheedle your way——’

‘I shan’t need to wheedle,’ she informed him, her’ words hoarse with disgust. ‘Because I intend going to him right this minute and telling him the truth.’

‘Oh, yes?’ he enquired, his expression mocking. ‘You fancy a spell in a Greek gaol, do you? Because that’s where he’d have the two of us slapped, make no mistake about that.’

‘We haven’t broken any laws!’ exclaimed Lindy, thrown by a momentary flash of fear darting through her. ‘None that could warrant gaol, anyway,’ she added uncertainly.

‘You have some experience with Greek law, have you?’ he sneered, then paused as though savouring an idea. ‘Mind you, if the pair of us ended up inside perhaps I’d get an uninterrupted chance to show you exactly the lines along which I’d planned our relationship to develop …though I can no longer guarantee my intentions would be as honourable as they once were.’ He smiled wolfishly, hitching the holdall more securely on his shoulder as he did so. ‘So yes, why don’t you go ahead and confide all in Leandros? It might just have some very interesting repercussions.’

‘Get out of here!’ she spat at him, trembling with rage, yet startled to detect fear flashing through her once more.

‘Yes—I suppose I should, if that’s your answer.’ He sighed with false regret. ‘And I really shouldn’t keep that boatman waiting, even though I am paying him a small fortune to get me discreetly over to the mainland…your entire share of our salary, in fact. But I’m sure that, if you play your cards better than I did with Leandros, money won’t be one of your worries—the guy’s loaded.’

He had actually managed to frighten her with his talk of prison, she admitted bemusedly to herself as the door closed behind him and silence began filling the room with an almost palpable oppressiveness. She frowned, trying to examine that fleeting, puzzling fear, only to find it had disappeared along with the loathsome Tim. Her frown deepened as she remembered how her friends had tried to warn her of how naïve she was being where Tim was concerned. She gave a small shudder as she wondered what their reaction would be to the way things had now turned out—not one of them, she was certain, would have envisaged anything remotely as bad as this. How could she have been so incredibly pig-headed?

‘With embarrassing ease,’ she gloomily answered herself aloud, suddenly acutely conscious of how completely bereft she was of someone to confide in. Her status as the manager’s wife had erected an intangible barrier between herself and the rest of the staff, most of whom spoke quite good English and were unanimously friendly—but it was a friendliness that stopped short of allowing her to seek the actual friendship someone of her open and outgoing nature would naturally have sought. And she had to admit that it had troubled her, she thought unhappily, gazing around the room and frowning suddenly as her attention was caught by the unusual dimness of the light.

She turned and looked behind her, her gaze falling on the graceful marble-pillared lampstand in the corner, the single source lighting the room. She walked over to it, her frown deepening as she removed the heavy manila file balanced on top of the shade which had so dimmed the amount of light being emitted. So, she pondered, mystified and wary, Tim had been sneaking around almost in the dark—obviously intent on slipping in and out unnoticed.

After a few moments’ bemused thought she gave a dismissive shrug and tossed the file on to one of the cabinets, gazing around her once more in the now improved light. One thing was for sure, she thought wryly: she wouldn’t be taking on the little amount of work Tim hadn’t managed to delegate—her lack of Greek ensured that. In fact, though she had found plenty to do in the way of work to keep herself occupied, there had been few specific duties for her to perform. At first, Tim had taken delight in delegating menial tasks to her whenever an opportunity had arisen, though his pleasure had soon diminished with the unconcerned enthusiasm with which she would turn her hand even to something as dull as making beds.

But what was she to do now he was gone? she wondered apprehensively…Her job, non-existent though it was, had been part and parcel of his.

But what was very much more to the point…what was she going to do right now?

Pulling a small face, she switched off the lamp and stumbled her way in the dark to the door—trying to comfort herself with imagining Tim Russell barking his shins on the furniture as he had made the same journey in reverse.

She took the lift to the top floor, her heart thudding painfully in her chest and her thoughts drifting everywhere except to the man she was about to face once more. Had Tim taken only the holdall he had been carrying, or had he had his other things stashed away, ready for a speedy departure? She managed to keep her mind on similarly dredged-up thoughts until the lift doors had opened, knowing that the answers didn’t interest her in the least.

Resisting a strong urge to step back into the lift and ride up and down in it all night if it came to it, she strode to the door of Niko’s suite and knocked loudly on it before she had a chance to weaken.

‘It was unlocked anyway,’ he informed her as he opened the door. ‘In future, all you have to do is walk in.’

‘How was I to know that?’ she demanded icily, allowing her eyes to rise no higher than his silk-shirted shoulder-line as she stepped inside. ‘Which is my room?’

‘I’ll take you to it,’ he murmured, his face coming disconcertingly into her line of vision as he gave a small, mocking bow. ‘I don’t suppose your errant husband has turned up, has he?’ he asked as he led her through an archway and down a corridor, his words bringing a startled flush of guilt to her face.

‘I’ve really no idea,’ she muttered, her words sounding alarmingly strained and reluctant to her ears.

He drew to a halt outside one of the panelled oak doors leading off the corridor.

‘When did you last see him?’ he asked, turning to face her.

Lindy had begun lowering her eyes the moment they had spotted him turning. ‘I can’t remember,’ she lied, without the slightest glimmer of hope of being believed. ‘After what he’s done to me, I honestly wouldn’t care if I never saw him again!’

‘And I doubt very much whether you will—at least, not on this island,’ he murmured, his shrewdly watchful eyes never once leaving her face.

‘Good,’ muttered Lindy. ‘Now—is this my room?’

She took a step towards the door outside which they had stopped and found her path blocked by the bulk of his body.

‘How long have you been married?’

Lindy bit back an exclamation of irritation, yet as she did so she also experienced the niggling beginnings of alarm. She should have prepared herself for this, she thought nervously. The need for her and Tim to provide any details of their alleged marriage had never arisen, and they had never really discussed concocting any. If she started lying off the top of her head in her present state of tense exhaustion she knew she was perfectly capable of forgetting every lie she had uttered come tomorrow…detailed lying had never been her forte, even at the best of times.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather we didn’t even mention the man’s name,’ she said, striving to sound blasé.

She flinched as his hands descended on her shoulders, and promptly closed her eyes—simply because she couldn’t trust them not to betray her one way or another.

‘Russell stated in his application form that you were getting married around the middle of August. Given that we’re now approaching November, I can’t honestly say your attitude reflects that expected of a bride of just over two months.’

With considerable difficulty Lindy forced her mind not to dwell on this further evidence of Tim’s calculating duplicity.

‘If you already knew—why did you ask?’ she snapped, then, realising that that sort of retort would get her nowhere, added hastily, ‘If you must know, I married Tim on the rebound.’

She felt like awarding herself a medal for such a gratifying display of mental dexterity.

‘Really? Yet you and Russell applied for the job in the spring—I was under the impression that marriages on the rebound took place within a matter of days rather than months.’

‘Well, you were wrong,’ Lindy retorted, still not daring to open her eyes—especially not now that the faint yet distinctive aroma that was so unmistakably his had started working its way past her nostrils and into her senses. It was a smell that was no more than the vague fragrance of freshly laundered silk, combined with a delicate spiciness, far too subtle to be aftershave—yet it was a smell that was exclusively his and which now seemed to have the power to affect her like a seductive caress.

‘Lindy, if you insist on standing here with your eyes closed I shall only kiss you.’

She opened her eyes, not as quickly as she had intended simply because they had reacted to her efforts as though held together by glue. By the time they were fully open his features were a blur before them and her lips were already unconsciously parting to savour the impact of his.

Her arms reached out to embrace him as her mouth leapt to eager life beneath the intoxicating ministrations of his. But it was only her hands that made contact with his silk-shirted torso, and as she attempted to draw nearer, her arms straining to encircle him, realisation slowly began penetrating the fog of excited confusion clouding her mind that she was being deliberately held at arm’s length. And it was that belatedly dawning realisation that stung her into finding the strength to break free. What she found doubly humiliating was that he made no effort to stop her, merely lifting his hands from her shoulders as she twisted away from him, and it was with considerable difficulty that she restrained herself from burying her face in her hands in utter mortification.

‘It’s not fair,’ she panted hoarsely in an attempt to salvage at least a shred of her tattered pride. ‘You’re taking advantage of me when I’m practically dead on my feet with nervous exhaustion!’

‘Why on earth should you be in a state of nervous exhaustion?’ he asked, his tone amused as he opened the door, then swung her round and propelled her through it. ‘Surely not over that husband of yours, whose name you don’t even wish to hear?’

‘No doubt you find this all highly amusing,’ she flung at him, then found herself having to stifle an exclamation of sheer delight as the room was suddenly bathed in soft light.

It was a large room, airy and uncluttered, and with delicate splashes of buttery yellow here and there warming the dazzling whiteness of it. As in the main living area, this room had an outer wall consisting entirely of huge plate-glass sliding doors, one of which was opened to let the soft night breezes billow and dance through the curtains now drawn across them.

In the middle of the room was a huge canopied bed, its crocheted cotton covering so exquisitely worked that it was as though the bed had been shrouded in dazzling white lace.

Suddenly aware that she was being watched, Lindy brought the infatuated rovings of her eyes to an abrupt halt.

‘Why should I find any of this in the least amusing?’ he enquired, as though prompting her to continue her onslaught.

‘Because you’re not a poor defenceless woman who’s been used as a poker chip—that’s why!’ she instantly obliged, anger flashing in her eyes as she spun round to face him. ‘You wouldn’t find it nearly amusing if you were me, I can assure you!’

The expression on his face proclaimed all too clearly his undoubted amusement and the struggle he was having concealing it, which made her suspect that her ‘poor defenceless woman’ claim might have been overdoing it a little.

‘If I happened to be you I suspect I’d be thanking my lucky stars I’d been won by a man with whom I’m so obviously sexually compatible.’

Lindy was stunned into stupefied silence…she couldn’t possibly have heard him correctly!

‘And I’d be shuddering at the thought of all the other men who could have won me—none of them, admittedly, as grossly disfigured as I am, but several of them old enough to be your grandfather.’

‘You liar! You——’ She bit back the words with a ferocity that could have amputated her tongue. She had just been about to let slip she knew it had been a game between himself and Tim alone!

‘You were saying?’ he drawled, the anger blazing in his eyes a startling contrast to the total lack of expression on his face.

‘I was saying you were a liar,’ croaked Lindy, suddenly very frightened. ‘You…you wouldn’t be thinking any of those things if you were me, you’d just be terrified and…and nervously exhausted,’ she finished off lamely.

‘I’d say you were the liar,’ he informed her in chillingly quiet tones, ‘because you’re not in the least terrified of me…something that could turn out to be a dangerous error of judgement on your part.’ He turned and walked to the door. ‘There are some matters I should like to discuss with you later, so I’ll have food brought up for us in half an hour and I shall expect you to join me then. There’s a bathroom leading off the dressing-room—and, if there’s anything you find you need, just ask and it will be provided.’

His head dropped in the most minimal of bows before he closed the door behind him.

That bow was typical of him, thought Lindy dazedly, taking leaden steps towards the bed; it was the sort of gesture that only the super-confident—and usually abundantly wealthy—could afford to make. In the lowly, a bow was an act of obeisance—in men such as Niko Leandros it was a none too subtle statement of their feelings of total superiority.

She gazed down at the bed, on which she had been about to sit, and decided its coverings were far too grand for such treatment; instead she made her way over to the dainty gondola chair in front of the dressing-table and sat down.

The sight of her own possessions neatly arranged before her sent a small frisson of alarmed awareness winging through her. She opened a couple of the drawers and again found her own possessions neatly stacked inside.

With a groaned sigh she propped her elbows on the dressing-table top, cupping her chin in her hands and gazing despondently at her reflection. Her hair was a mess, she noted half-heartedly—but the streaks of sun in it and the tan she had acquired definitely suited her, she realised with a twinge of surprise. She straightened, picking up a hairbrush and trying to bring some order to her hair.

Suddenly she flung down the hairbrush—was she completely out of her mind? She must be, to be sitting here, twittering away to herself about her appearance and behaving like some sort of concubine in a gilded cage. She shook her head furiously, as though trying to dispel the confusing mixture of emotions the very thought was evoking in her, then glanced down at her watch and leapt to her feet.

Niko Leandros might have a few matters to discuss with her—but so had she one or two she intended discussing with him!

She made a rapid examination of her surroundings and found her rather meagre wardrobe hung neatly away in a spacious dressing-room. What summer clothes she had were several years old and looking decidedly shapeless, but, having lent Tim all her money, she had had no option but to make do with them. She had actually had hopes of a shopping spree in Athens once he had paid her back, she reminded herself resentfully—a resentment that somehow struck her as peculiarly mild, given the mind-boggling thoroughness with which he had deceived her. Probably because she now had so much else to occupy her mind, she decided somewhat irrationally as she entered the bathroom.

Ruthlessly closing her mind to the breathtaking opulence of her surroundings as she took her bath, she concentrated on what she would say to Niko. It was pointless going over the top and frightening herself with thoughts of concubines, she told herself firmly. Moving her into his apartment like this obviously had to be some sort of warped joke on his part, she reasoned calmly—a joke directed at Tim, who was no longer around to respond to it.

‘…you’re not in the least terrified of me…something that could turn out to be a dangerous error of judgement on your part.’

With those words ringing in her ears, she leapt from the bath and began drying herself vigorously. And, despite the glow of warmth burnishing her skin, she felt herself shiver as she remembered Tim’s claim that Niko would be quite likely to have the pair of them slapped in gaol.

‘Damn you, Tim Russell!’ she groaned frustratedly into a huge, fluffy white towel.

The chances were that Tim had only said that to frighten her…and he had succeeded. And there was no getting away from the fact that Niko Leandros too had frightened her—something for which she should be thankful, because now there was no way she would be tempted to risk telling him the truth.

She entered the dressing-room, a luxury she had heard of but never before experienced, and began riffling through her clothes, vague plans beginning to form in her mind. She would simply suggest that, as Tim was gone…

‘For heaven’s sake, Lindy, you’re not supposed to know he’s gone!’ she groaned aloud. What she would simply suggest was that if he was right, and Tim had gone, she would work whatever notice was required of her and then return to England.

It was only when she had finished dressing that she became aware of the almost obsessive care she had taken over it—and it was an awareness that had an acutely depressing effect on her already flagging spirits.

She might as well accept the fact that she was attracted to Niko Leandros in a way she had never been attracted to any other man, she told herself despondently. And another fact she might as well face, she informed herself ruthlessly, was that, even had they met under the most ideal of circumstances, he wouldn’t have given her even so much as a passing glance.

Having notched the belt of her sea-blue dress as far as it would go, she then dragged her fingers angrily through her hair and undid all the painstaking taming to which she had so assiduously subjected it.

Niko was nowhere to be seen when she reached the drawing-room, and she was gazing anxiously around, wondering if the apartment included a dining-room, when he stepped through the gently billowing curtains now drawn across the balcony doors.

‘I usually eat outside,’ he announced, his eyes flickering over her in a manner Lindy found deflatingly noncommittal.

And obviously he had no intention of making any concession to her preferences, she thought, having to force her legs to do the necessary to propel her across the room. Because her preference would have been to eat under the stars anyway she began dredging her mind for some other aspect of him with which to find fault…and came up with nothing. It was just that he was the most disgustingly attractive man imaginable, she admitted defeatedly, giving up refusing to acknowledge the painfully breathtaking surge of excitement that had started up in her at the mere sight of him and which seemed to be getting worse the nearer she drew to him.

‘I had no idea what you like to eat,’ he said, holding aside the curtain for her as she stepped out on to the balcony. ‘So I asked for a selection of dishes you’ve shown a preference for to be sent up.’

He drew out a chair, on which Lindy seated herself with all the aplomb she could muster—which was precious little, given that her every instinct was to cry out in childlike wonderment at the perfection of her surroundings.

The balcony was large and paved with jewel-like mosaics: huge earthenware and marble urns spilled out a profusion of flowering plants, the delicate scents of which had mingled to float in the air with a softly heady fragrance.

The white pedestal table at which she was seated was set for two, crystal wine goblets and heavy silver cutlery glittering and gleaming in the soft light cast by clusters of candles in marble holders of varying heights and positioned in such a way as to enable the two diners to face one another, unimpeded by their presence. To the side of the table was a white trolley, on which sat several silver-canopied dishes and a napkin-wrapped opened bottle of red wine.

‘The chef seemed to have no knowledge of your preferences in wine,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her, ‘so I selected something that should blend in with your culinary tastes…though I wouldn’t necessarily bet money on that,’ he murmured drily, reaching over and removing the covers from some of the dishes.

Unsettled by his tone, Lindy glanced nervously across the table at him. He was laughing at her, she thought uncomfortably, suddenly acutely conscious of how completely out of her depth she was in such exotic surroundings and in such sophisticated company.

‘It’s just that you have such…how can I put it?…unusual tastes in Greek food,’ he murmured, obviously having intercepted her look of discomfort and feeling obliged to offer a token panacea. ‘Anyway, do help yourself.’

Feeling about as at ease as a peasant might, having been invited to dine at a king’s table, Lindy helped herself to small portions from a few of the dishes. Her tastes in Greek food probably did add up to the equivalent of steak and kidney pie and custard, she thought self-consciously, but that was only because she had never had anyone to guide her. In a fit of petty vindictiveness soon after their arrival Tim had informed her she was not to mingle with the guests, so she had only twice eaten in the hotel’s superb dining-room. She had taken to selecting her meals from whatever took her fancy in the kitchen—the cosy, paternalistic chef giving her little tasters from one dish or another and often chuckling with undisguised mirth at the selections she made…had he been able to speak even a few words of English he would no doubt have explained what he had so frequently found amusing about her selections. Far from finding her ignorance amusing, Niko Leandros plainly found it repellently primitive!

‘I’m sorry—I’ve been unforgivably rude,’ he said, cutting across her mortified thoughts and startling her with the genuine contrition in his tone. ‘Greek food isn’t necessarily to everyone’s taste.’

‘Oh, but I love it!’ exclaimed Lindy. ‘It’s just that…well, anyway…I enjoy the dishes I’ve tried very much.’

‘It’s just that what?’ he probed, frowning when she explained her sorties into the kitchen. ‘I can’t understand why you haven’t been eating in the dining-room,’ he said. ‘There you’d have been served conventionally balanced meals.’

‘I…I just preferred not to,’ she stammered.

Every time she opened her mouth she seemed to be stepping into a potential minefield, she thought wearily, wondering how long it would be before she tripped herself up irrevocably.

It wasn’t the most relaxed of meals she had ever participated in, and certainly not in the remotest way romantic, despite the fairy-tale surroundings and her princely companion…probably because of him, she thought morosely, for her Adonis of a companion had lapsed into a decidedly uncompanionable silence which had lasted throughout a meal patently not to his taste.

It was when two of the waiters arrived to clear things away and place a tray of coffee inside for them that Lindy began to see things with a troubling clarity. She began wondering what the waiters were making of all this—the manager nowhere to be seen, and his wife now ensconced in the private suite of a member of the Leandros family. The only shred of consolation she managed to derive from her tortured thoughts was that true friendship with any other member of staff had been denied her…and that was hardly any consolation at all, because all she wanted to do was curl up and die from the humiliation of it all.

‘Are you familiar with Greek coffee?’ he asked, having escorted her inside as the waiters had bustled out and now reaching over to pour the coffee.

Lindy nodded. ‘Though I’m afraid I learned the hard way,’ she admitted, remembering the mouthful of coffee grounds she had almost swallowed as she had attempted to drain that first cup she had sampled—needless to say, Tim hadn’t warned her and had been waiting for her to do just that.

He smiled as he handed her a cup, a smile that turned her heart over violently, then filled it with an aching sadness as it suddenly recognised this man’s total unattainability.

‘Mr Leandros——’ she broke off as he pulled a comically protesting face and felt the sadness embed itself deeper into her heart ‘—Niko,’ she conceded with the ghost of a smile, ‘if…if you’re right and Tim doesn’t show up——’

‘I’d say the likelihood of his showing up is extremely remote now—wouldn’t you?’ he enquired, his eyes, usually so alert and watchful, trained on the coffee-cup in his hand.

‘Yes…well, what I was going to say was that…well, naturally I’d work whatever notice is required of me…and then I’d like to go home.’

‘I have no idea what is required of you contractually; I’d guess the contact was solely with your husband and you were no more than an appendage—my late uncle tended to have a pretty chauvinistic attitude to women.’

‘Your late uncle?’ queried Lindy, having difficulty remaining civil; the very idea of any woman, let alone herself, being regarded as an inconsequential appendage to a man made her see red.

‘Yes—late,’ he snapped. ‘He was the member of the family—a great-uncle, to be precise—who owned this island and, thereby, the hotel.’

‘And he must have died recently…I’m sorry to hear that,’ muttered Lindy, offering her condolences more out of politeness than any feeling they would be appreciated.

‘You knew him?’ he drawled.

‘You know I didn’t,’ she replied, her hands clenching in fury in her lap.

‘I can’t say I did either,’ he startled her by admitting. ‘One of his eccentricities—of which he had many—was to have as little to do with his relatives as possible. He used to take off whenever any member of the family showed up here.’

Lindy made no reply, though it did occur to her that regarding it as perfectly normal to win a woman in a game of poker would probably be described by most as an example of outright eccentricity.

‘Unfortunately I was incapacitated shortly after his death, and the family’s financial advisers decided to go ahead and find a replacement for the management team already here but due to leave in August. Personally I’d simply have wound down the entire operation then and there—a hotel geared solely to being a holiday haven throughout the year to a couple of dozen exceptionally wealthy clients is an anachronism in this day and age.’

‘Perhaps it’s just as well for the staff that you didn’t have a say in the matter,’ retorted Lindy. ‘Because they’d all be out of jobs.’

‘Ah, yes,’ he murmured sarcastically, ‘that abundant compassion of yours leaps once more to the fore. The fact is that I have rather a large say in all matters—since I’m the one the old boy left all this to.’

Mentally kicking herself for having walked straight into such a put-down, Lindy picked up her cup and took a mouthful from it—a mouthful, as it turned out, mainly of coffee grounds. Praying the floor would open up and swallow her, she was reduced to spitting what she could back into her cup and hating her companion, who simply stared at her in disdainful silence for several seconds, before leaping to his feet and leaving the room.

It served him right for mixing with someone he found so painfully his inferior, she thought angrily, running her tongue over her clogged teeth and feeling slightly nauseous as she succeeded only in spreading the grounds more evenly.

‘Here, rinse out your mouth with this,’ ordered Niko, returning to shove a glass of water under her nose.

Lindy took a mouthful and washed it around.

‘Now—spit it into this,’ he instructed with barely concealed impatience, handing her the coffee-cup into which she had already spat once.

‘I’m perfectly capable of rinsing out my mouth without you standing over me and giving me blow-by-blow instructions!’ she exclaimed irritably once she had obeyed, deciding to put up with the residual grounds in her mouth rather than go through that humiliating performance again. ‘To get back to what we were discussing,’ she continued as he returned to his seat and resumed drinking his own coffee, ‘if you own this damned——’

‘Spare me the adjectives,’ he drawled languidly.

Resisting an almost overwhelming urge to pick up the coffee-pot and brain him with it, Lindy took a deep breath and started again.

‘If you own this hotel, surely whatever you say goes?’

‘Yes.’

‘So—whether or not I work notice before leaving is entirely up to you.’

‘Yes.’

Lindy waited, confidently expecting him to say more. Gradually it dawned on her that she was in for an exceptionally long wait.

‘So?’ she prompted with reckless aggression. This time her vain wait lasted mere seconds before she made another try. ‘So when may I leave?’

‘You may not leave,’ he replied. ‘I won you and you’re now mine—remember?’

‘Nobody owns me!’ shrieked Lindy, her control snapping as she leapt to her feet. ‘And nobody ever will! I realise that gambling debts are regarded as sacrosanct among hardened gamblers such as you—so, if you would be good enough to let me know how much it is that Tim Russell owes you, I’ll see about getting it repaid.’

‘Tim Russell?’ he queried, batting his eyelids with their profusion of outrageously long lashes at her in a parody of surprise. ‘What an extremely odd way for a bride to refer to her husband—even one married on the rebound.’

‘How much does he owe you?’ Lindy almost screamed at him.

‘He owes me nothing,’ he replied, smiling as he tilted his head to look up at her, arrogant self-assurance oozing from his every pore. ‘He had something I wanted…and now it’s mine.’

Knowing she would end up gibbering if she didn’t get a grip on herself, Lindy took a ragged breath before speaking.

‘Mr Leandros—though I know none of the details, I do know that you were involved in a very serious accident.’

‘Which ruined my once legendary looks,’ he sighed theatrically, the mocking look accompanying his words bringing her blood instantly back to the boiling-point.

‘And I realise how difficult convalescence must be for someone as used to the jet-setting social scene as you so obviously are,’ she continued through noticeably clenched teeth. ‘I realise too——’

‘Being a woman of such compassion,’ he slipped in mockingly.

‘—that you’re the type who finds it next to impossible to exist without his playthings,’ Lindy ploughed on determinedly. ‘So I suggest that you have a selection of them sent here—instead of trying to rope me in as a substitute. Because, as you’ve already witnessed for yourself tonight, I’d make an absolutely abysmal substitute for the type of women you’re used to.’