Bedded by the Greek Billionaire

He inserted it, swift and sharp as a stiletto in the ribs, and with it came just the same sort of burning pain, so that she had to fight against the wince of distress that would betray her. Somehow she managed to transform the involuntary hand movement that came up between them in a nervous, defensive gesture, into one that dismissed his slashing question, brushing it aside in angry impatience.

‘The people who mattered to Marty.’

What had she said now that had made his face change so much, turning the glittering jet ice of his eyes into a flame of pure savagery, with a burning hatred that made her take an involuntary step back, away from the danger zone?

‘You just used the wealth you had to snatch it away at the cheapest possible—’

‘You don’t know what it cost me,’ he snarled from between gritted teeth.

‘I have some idea of what the estate is worth.’

This time it was Angelos’s hand that came up between them in an expressive, angry gesture, long fingers spread wide, broad palm acting as a barrier between them.

‘I wasn’t talking about money.’

‘What else is there to talk about where this is concerned? What I’m wondering is where you got the money from.’

‘Where the hell a penniless stable boy got the cash to buy out your stepfather, hmm?’ Angelos questioned cynically, his beautiful mouth twisting in bitter scorn. ‘You clearly don’t think it could possibly have been acquired legally.’

‘I never said that!’

She tried to meet his accusing eyes squarely but her gaze skittered away from his at the memory of just how the ‘penniless stable boy’ she had believed him to be had ended up out on the streets because of her.

‘You didn’t have to say anything.’ Angelos gave the words a dangerous softness, one that made all the tiny hairs on her skin lift in a shivering response to some unseen but instinctively sensed peril. ‘It was there on your face, in your eyes. But you needn’t worry, my dear Jessica. Every euro I earned—every penny I paid for Manorfield—was worked for and earned legally. I wasn’t always a penniless stable hand—maybe the truth is that I was never a penniless one.’

‘What…?’

But at that moment the kettle boiled, the whistle sounding loud and shrill into the stunned silence that followed her shaken question. She had been so intent on the argument, on the man in front of her, that it brought her whirling round, snatching it up to silence the appalling sound before she quite realised what was happening.

‘You were making coffee,’ Angelos said pointedly when she simply stood, frozen to the spot.

The truth was that she no longer felt she could drink anything. So many feelings and emotions were knotted up in her throat that she felt sure she would choke. But even as she stood, her mind clouded with memories, her whirling thoughts refusing to be pushed into any coherent order, he stepped forward, eased the kettle from her clutching fingers and took it over to the scrubbed wooden worktop.

‘Very little milk, no sugar,’ he said, the totally matter of fact way of speaking making her mind spin again.

‘What?’

‘The way you like your coffee.’ He had replaced the kettle on the stove, but off the heat this time, taken down a cafetière from a shelf and was opening cupboards, obviously in search of coffee. ‘That is right isn’t it?’

‘You remember?’

‘Of course I remember.’

He had his back to her as he was spooning ground coffee into the glass pot, so she couldn’t see the expression on his face or have any guess at what was going through his mind. His tone was no help. It was flat and emotionless, giving nothing at all away.