SUNDAY dawned with grey skies and the imminent threat of rain. Katrina rose early, donned a sweatshirt, shorts and trainers, went downstairs to the kitchen, made up fresh orange juice, filled a glass and drank the contents, then traversed the spiral staircase to the gym.
The house was quiet, and she entered the large room, viewed the various equipment, crossed to the punching bag and swung a solid right into its centre. Something which bruised her knuckles, but gave infinite satisfaction.
‘If you aim for a repeat, I suggest you don a boxing glove,’ Nicos drawled as he entered the room, and she turned towards him with a glare that merely caused him to arch an eyebrow in silent query. ‘Or perhaps you’d rather hit the quarry instead of making do with a substitute?’
Had he followed her down here? Doubtful, given time spent in the gym was part of his daily routine. She cursed herself for unintentionally choosing an early morning sojourn.
‘Don’t tempt me.’
She looked about seventeen, devoid of make-up and her hair caught in a pony-tail. Her eyes were stormy, her mouth soft and full. He had to curb the desire to cross the room and explore her mouth with his own, aware such an action would probably earn him a swift jab in the ribs and a diatribe worthy of a seasoned navvy.
Katrina crossed to the treadmill, adjusted the settings, and set it in motion, increasing the speed to a punishing pace, then followed it with time on the exercise bike.
She deliberately concentrated her energies on achieving a predetermined number of kilometres, and was unable to stem a heightened awareness of Nicos as he spent time with various weights, the bench press, and the treadmill.
Her fitness regime didn’t come close to his, something that appeared clearly obvious as she picked up a towel and began to dab the sheen of sweat beading her forehead.
Katrina spared Nicos a surreptitious glance as she curled the towel round her neck. He could have been taking a walk in the park for all the effort it appeared to cost him.
The flex of well-honed muscle and sinew presented a dramatic mesh of strength and power, one that was impossible to ignore. For it brought images to mind she’d tried hard to forget.
It mattered little that she’d been unsuccessful. Or that being thrust back into his presence forced her to confront an ongoing battle with her emotions.
Anger and pain warred with a primitive alchemy. One she recognised, the other she condemned.
How could she feel anything for a man who had not only kept his mistress after marriage, but had foolishly impregnated her without caution?
Why, then, had Nicos agreed to Kevin’s ridiculous suggestion? Worse, what role did Georgia play in all of this?
Dammit, there was a child involved. A baby boy who must surely be only a matter of weeks old. What of him?
There were too many conflicting thoughts chasing through her mind for easy conjecture, and with a mental shake of her shoulders she contemplated entering the sauna, then the plunge pool. Except that would mean stripping off, and there was no way she intended to disrobe in his presence.
Besides, she really needed to put some space and distance between them, and she quietly exited the room. Breakfast, followed by a shower, then she’d don casual clothes and go out for the day.
Anywhere that would take her away from this house and the indomitable man who owned it.
Twenty minutes later she descended the stairs, en route to the garage, and encountered Nicos in the lobby.
He took in the bag slung over her shoulder, and car keys in her hand. ‘Going out?’
‘You object?’ Katrina countered coolly.
‘Now, why should I do that?’
She made to move past him. ‘Don’t wait up.’
A hand closed over her forearm. ‘An observance of common courtesy wouldn’t go astray.’
She cast his hand a telling glance, then lifted her gaze to meet his. ‘As to where I’ll be, and the time of my return? Difficult, when I have no definite plans.’
‘Except to escape.’
It irked that he knew her so well. ‘Yes.’
He let her go, and minutes later she eased her car through the gates, then headed towards the northern beaches.
She could have phoned a friend and organised to share the day, but she preferred solitude and a good book.
Choosing a relatively isolated beach, she spread out a towel, switched her mobile phone to message-bank, and opened the latest paperback release written by a favourite author.
Lunch was a sandwich bought from a nearby kiosk, plus bottled spring water, and she read for a few hours, then oddly restless she packed up her belongings and drove into the city where she browsed the shops at Darling Harbour.
It was easy to lose herself in the wandering crowd, and she paused to admire a silver bracelet displayed in a silversmith’s window. Its intricate design was sufficiently unusual to warrant closer examination, and she was about to enter the shop when a familiar voice greeted her. ‘Slumming, darling?’
Katrina turned to face a tall, slender blonde whose attractive features had, she knew, been cosmetically enhanced. The result was perfection, complemented by exquisite make-up, and her designer apparel emphasised sculptured curves and a physically toned body.
‘Paula,’ she acknowledged, aware her stepsister’s smile was as superficial as her apparent warmth.
‘Trying for incognito, Katrina? Or am I missing something, and this—’ she indicated the shorts, shirt knotted at the midriff, and trainers ‘—is a new look?’
‘It’s called casual,’ Katrina responded lightly, and witnessed Paula’s faint moue.
‘And where is the inimitable Nicos?’
‘I left him at home.’ That much was true. Although how long he remained there was another thing.
‘So newly reconciled.’ Her smile was the antithesis of sweet. ‘Although everyone knows it’s only to comply with dear Kevin’s last wishes.’
‘Everyone?’
‘Why, yes, darling.’ She appeared to sharpen her claws. ‘You’re the lead topic among the social set.’
Doubtlessly fuelled by erroneous speculation. So what else was new? ‘Really?’
‘Naturally, you’re aware Enrique intends to contest the will.’
‘As you do?’
‘Oh, no, sweetie. I have it on authority it would be a lost cause.’ Paula raked Katrina’s slender frame. ‘How does it feel to be an heiress, darling? You always were Daddy’s pride and joy. You even married the prince, only to discover he had feet of clay.’ Her smile held little warmth. ‘Interesting coincidence his mistress is back in town.’ Her eyes widened with false dismay. ‘Oh, dear, you didn’t know?’
She’d had a lifetime of experience in schooling her features. ‘I should thank you for the advance warning.’
‘My pleasure.’
Katrina didn’t attempt to qualify a reason to leave. ‘Bye, Paula.’
The practised pout didn’t quite cut it. ‘Just when we were beginning to catch up.’
Catching up with Paula was something Katrina preferred to avoid. A personality clash, Andrea had termed their animosity from the onset.
Friendship between the daughter of one partner and the daughter of another had never been an issue. Existing in superficial harmony required wit, wisdom, and an ever vigilant eye…for the barbed comment, the embellishment of truth, and the metaphorical stab in the back. It had been Paula’s mission in life to discredit Kevin’s ewe-lamb.
Andrea’s stint as Katrina’s stepmother hadn’t lasted long, and just when Katrina had thought it could only get better, along had come Chloe and Enrique.
And that had been worse, much worse.
Katrina spared her watch a glance, ignored the temptation to ring Siobhan, and retraced her steps to the car park. She’d visit one of the large cinema complexes, take in a movie, grab something to eat, then go home.
Except there were too many choices, and she indulged the whim to see two movies, almost back to back, with time for a snack and coffee in between each scheduled session.
It was after ten when she garaged the car and let herself quietly into the house.
Nicos emerged into the lobby from his study as she was about to ascend the stairs. Did he possess X-ray vision? Or had he added a camera to his state-of-the-art security system?
His casual attire of jeans and a polo shirt emphasised his breadth of shoulder, lean waist, and long legs.
‘Did you think to check your voice-mail?’
The silky query gave little indication of his mood, and she paused, meeting his level glance with equanimity.
‘Not since mid-afternoon. Why?’
‘Siobhan has rung twice. Enrique, ditto, stressing the need for an urgent response. And Harry, who assured you have his number.’ His expression remained enigmatic, but she detected a hint of dangerous steel just beneath the surface. ‘Each of whom revealed they’d tried and failed to reach you on your cellphone.’
‘You want I should apologise for inadvertently relegating you to message-taking?’
Nicos shifted slightly, a movement that seemed to bring him too close for comfort.
She kept her gaze steady, noticing the tiny lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, before travelling down to encompass the set of his mouth, the firm line of his lips, the edge of his jaw.
He exuded an electric stillness that reminded her of a predator about to pounce. Go, a tiny voice prompted. Except she was primed to fight, and viewed escape as a negative option.
‘I don’t owe you an explanation,’ Katrina cautioned, and watched the subtle flex of sinew and muscle as he thrust one hand into his trouser pocket.
‘On that we differ.’
‘Go to hell.’ She turned to ascend the stairs, only to have Nicos spin her round to face him.
‘Don’t push it,’ he warned with deadly softness.
His grip on her arm was deceptive, and she knew it would tighten measurably if she attempted to wrench free of him.
Katrina looked pointedly at her arm, then shifted her gaze to meet his. ‘Forcible restraint, Nicos?’
‘You want all out war?’
Apprehension slithered down the length of her spine. ‘Polite harmony would be preferable.’
‘Then, I suggest you work towards it.’ His voice sounded like silk being rased by razor-sharp steel.
‘Same goes.’
He released her arm, and she moved quickly upstairs, aware that he watched her ascent. Her bedroom resembled a sanctuary, and she closed the door, then crossed to sink down onto the bed.
With deft ease she activated her cellphone, replayed the recorded messages, then she rang her mother.
Dear, sweet Harry, who was contracted to redecorate two adjoining townhouses she’d recently bought as an investment.
‘Colours, darling. We need to talk. You simply cannot have blue.’
So she’d ring him from the office, they’d argue, she’d relent and agree to his choice. Their token wrangling was viewed with the fondness of long friendship.
Enrique was something else. Arrogant, persistent, desperate. A dangerous combination, she perceived as she stripped off her clothes and made for the shower.
Later she lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling. A few days down, with three hundred and sixty-two to go. How in heaven would she last the distance?
Katrina woke late with a headache, missed breakfast in her rush to get to the office on time, and from there on it was downhill all the way through the day.
Whatever could go wrong, did. She dealt with complaints in areas that usually ran smoothly, mediated and lost to a tyrannical subcontractor who bore an elephant-sized grudge, and was terse to the point of rudeness when Enrique insisted he take five minutes of her time.
Lunch was a non-event, and at two she sent out for sandwiches which she ate at her desk. At four o’clock she took a call from Kevin’s lawyer informing Enrique intended to contest the will on the grounds he was entitled to a share of the estate.
Enrique’s protest was merely a nuisance factor, but it was the lawyer’s duty to apprise her of the development.
The headache, for which she’d taken painkillers mid-morning and mid-afternoon, settled into a throbbing ache that left her feeling physically depleted.
It was almost six when she garaged her car and entered the house. All she wanted to do was indulge in a leisurely spa bath, take more painkillers, pull the shutters closed in her room, slip beneath the cool percale sheets, and shut out the rest of the world for as long as it took to lose the headache and regain her composure.
She almost made it. Would have, if she hadn’t had to go downstairs to search for more painkillers, as all she had left was an empty blister pack.
Nicos found her in the kitchen, looking a whiter shade of pale, her slender form wrapped in a towelling robe, and her hair tumbling down her back.
‘What in hell—?’
The words were barely audible, and quickly checked as he subjected her to an encompassing appraisal.
Katrina closed her eyes against the sight of him. The last thing she needed was a verbal inquisition.
‘Hell works for me,’ she said wearily. ‘Where do you keep your supply of painkillers?’
He crossed to an expanse of inbuilt cupboards, opened one, and extracted a packet, then he filled a glass with water and handed both to her.
‘Headache?’
‘Yes.’ She freed two tablets and swallowed them down with water.
She was hardly aware that he had moved to hook out a chair until he gently pushed her into it.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Bed, all she wanted was to lie down and wait for the pain to go away.
He ignored her protest as he discarded his jacket, loosened his tie, and turned back the cuffs of his shirt.
‘Be quiet, and relax.’
She opened her mouth, then closed it again as his hands began working the tense muscles at her neck, then her shoulders.
Oh, dear heaven, that felt good. So good. She let her lashes drift down, and just went with the flow as his fingers worked their magic.
No one had been this kind to her in a while. Not hands-on kind. Not since Kevin had fallen ill.
Unbidden, withheld emotions rose to the surface, and the tears welled then trickled silently down each cheek.
Nicos felt a plop of warm moisture hit his fingers as he used both thumbs to massage her neck, and he swore softly, then with simple expediency he lifted her from the chair and pulled her close in against him.
If he had said one word, she’d have jerked free, but the comfort he offered was too great, and for the first time since Kevin’s death she quietly sobbed her heart out.
She was hardly aware that he rested his cheek against the top of her head, or that her arms crept round his waist as she held onto him.
After a while he swept an arm beneath her knees and carried her upstairs to her room. He turned back the covers, then lay down on the bed with her, all too aware that any minute she’d realise where she was and who was with her, and push him away.
Except she didn’t. The shudders shaking her slender frame gradually lessened, and she fell still. Her breathing evened out and slipped to a steady beat as she slid into sleep.
Holding her reawakened a host of memories, each of them a torture to his libido, and after a while he attempted to slowly ease himself away, only to have her murmur in protest.
So he stayed. Aware he was all kinds of a fool. For enjoying the feel of her in his arms, her scent, the soft silkiness of her hair beneath his lips.
The evening air cooled, and he toed off his shoes, pulled up the covers, and eventually slept.
Katrina surfaced through the layers of wakefulness to an awareness that, while she was definitely in bed, she wasn’t alone.
Not only not alone, but her head was cushioned against a male chest, a muscular arm kept her there, and her own arm lay linked around his waist.
Nicos. Realisation hit, and her first instinct was to scramble out of the bed and away from him.
Then several things registered. She was in her own room, Nicos was fully dressed, and she had instant memory recall.
Maybe if she slowly removed her arm… She attempted to dislodge it, only to have Nicos tighten his hold.
He slept like a cat, aware of her slightest move, and he’d sensed the moment she’d woken, had felt the change in her breathing, the instant tension. He could almost hear her thinking.
What he wanted was to lean forward and brush his lips to her temple, to slip a hand beneath the gaping folds of her robe and caress her breasts. Nuzzle the vulnerable hollow at the edge of her neck, then trail lower to tease one tender peak as he let the fingers of one hand brush a path to the apex of her thighs.
Early morning lovemaking, he reflected, made for a wonderful way to begin the day.
Maybe… No, he dismissed. Not here, not now. When the time was right, there would be no hesitation. But he wanted her to need him, and for that he required time. Something, thanks to the terms of Kevin’s will, he had plenty of. Wasn’t there an analogy that those who waited got what they deserved? He thought grimly of his aroused body, the desire, and banked it down.
Half an hour in the gym, followed by a shower and breakfast, then he’d channel his energy into the corporate day ahead.
But first he’d indulge himself a little.
‘Headache gone?’
Katrina’s body tensed at the sound of his husky voice, and she cautiously lifted her head. ‘Yes.’ All her instincts screamed a warning to put some distance between them, fast.
‘You slept well.’
It didn’t appear that she’d moved much through the night. Or perhaps he hadn’t allowed her to. For a moment she struggled with the need to thank him for offering support. A wave of embarrassment encompassed her body at the thought of the tears she’d shed in the comfort of his arms.
She slowly rose to a sitting position, caught his amused gleam, looked hurriedly down at her gaping robe, then quickly pulled the edges together.
With an easy, fluid movement Nicos swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood to his feet. His dark hair was slightly ruffled, and he combed his fingers through it, then he bent down to collect his shoes.
‘Breakfast on the terrace at eight?’ he slanted, enjoying her confusion. Without waiting for her to respond he moved towards the door, and Katrina was left gazing at the empty aperture.
For a few seconds she stood in stunned silence, then she quickly turned back the bed covers, gathered up fresh underwear and headed for the en suite.
Half an hour later she collected her briefcase and moved quickly down the stairs. She’d just set foot in the lobby when Nicos entered it via the passageway leading from the spiral staircase connecting to the gym.
Her heart executed a double flip at the sight of him in shorts and sweatshirt, a damp towel hugging his neck, and trainers. He looked disturbingly male, all bunched muscle, and the faint sheen of sweat leaving patches of damp on a tee shirt that clung to wide shoulders, a broad chest.
Nicos took in the briefcase, the business suit, the stiletto heels, and slanted an eyebrow.
‘An early start?’
‘Yes,’ Katrina agreed evenly. She could put in some time on the computer before her secretary arrived and the day began in earnest.
He used the edge of the towel to blot moisture beading his forehead. ‘Don’t wait dinner. I’ll be late.’
‘So will I,’ she responded without thought, and stepped towards the internal door leading to the garage.
What on earth had prompted her to say that, when she hadn’t planned a thing? She could ring Siobhan and suggest they eat out, she contemplated as she fired the engine and eased her car towards the gates. Maybe take in an art gallery, or a foreign movie.
The day progressed with only a few minor irritations. She contacted Harry, and arranged to meet him in her lunch-hour at the townhouses where, in typical Harry-style, he overrode her suggestions with the air of one who knows best.
‘Muted green carpet, a mix of pale apricot, peach and shades of cream for the paintwork and soft furnishings, darling.’ He caught her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips, then drew a wide arc with one arm. ‘It will be truly magnifica.’
‘Not blue?’ she teased, and caught his pained expression. ‘Okay,’ she capitulated with a warm smile. ‘Suppose you tell me what colour scheme you’ve devised for the adjoining townhouse?’
Harry waxed lyrical, as only Harry could, and she wrangled a little, because he expected it, and they achieved a compromise with which each was quietly pleased.
She had a good eye for a bargain, a knack for being able to envisage the finished product, and the two adjoining townhouses numbered her third property purchase in the past year. Each one had been completely redecorated by Harry’s team of contractors, and sold for a handsome profit. As she cut him a percentage of that profit, he had more than the usual interest in each project.
‘I’m looking at something in Surrey Hills.’ It was an older suburb, parts of which were becoming trendy among the ‘double income, no kids’ set.
Harry’s eyes sharpened. ‘A terrace house?’
‘Three, actually.’
‘Solid structure?’ He fired off a number of questions, then requested the address. ‘I’ll go check them out, and get back to you.’
He would, she knew, make them a priority, and as she drove back into the city she wondered if his vision would match her own.
Three terrace houses might be a bit ambitious, but they were in a block of six, situated in a prime position, and formed part of a deceased estate which the family wanted sold.
The afternoon was busy. She left the office late, and went directly to meet Siobhan at the small, trendy restaurant a friend had recommended. New owners, a fresh decor and an appealing menu provided an excellent meal.
The film Katrina chose was a slick Spanish comedy with English subtitles, containing wry, often black humour, and afterwards they shared coffee.
Her mother was great company, with an infectious wit, and very much her daughter’s friend, for they shared an equality that dispensed with any generation gap.
‘Are you coping okay?’ Siobhan queried gently as she reached forward and caught hold of Katrina’s hands, the touch warm, brief.
‘Now, there’s an ambiguous question.’ She managed a smile. ‘Care to define it?’
‘Living with Nicos.’
The term held connotations Katrina didn’t want to think about. ‘Separate rooms, separate lives.’
A succinct summary that didn’t come close to describing the electric tension apparent. It was a latent force, a constant reminder of what they’d once shared, and she rode an emotional see-saw trying to deal with it.
Siobhan wisely kept her own counsel. She knew her daughter well. Enough not to pursue a sensitive subject. ‘More coffee, darling?’
Katrina shook her head. ‘No, thanks.’ She spared her watch a glance and saw that it was close to midnight. ‘I really should get—’ she faltered on the verge of saying home. ‘Back.’
Nicos’s Mercedes was in the garage when she drove in, and lights glowed in the house.
He appeared from the direction of the study as she entered the lobby. He’d discarded his jacket and tie, had loosened the two top shirt buttons, and had rolled up his sleeve cuffs.
‘Interesting evening?’
She could prevaricate and almost did, except something in those dark eyes warned against defiance. ‘Dinner and a movie with Siobhan,’ she elucidated. ‘We lingered over coffee.’ If he could question her whereabouts, she could query his. ‘Yours?’
‘Dinner with a client.’
‘Who won?’ It was a facetious query, and one that brought a faint, humorous twist to the edge of his mouth.
‘I achieved a narrow winning margin.’
Of course. Nicos didn’t play to lose. ‘Congratulations.’
He inclined his head. ‘A business colleague has issued a dinner invitation for tomorrow evening.’
‘How nice for you.’
‘Naturally I expect you to accompany me.’
Naturally. ‘What if I choose not to?’
‘I thought we’d agreed to present a united front?’
‘In that case, you won’t object accompanying me to the ballet next Monday evening?’ Katrina countered with a sweet smile. Nicos enjoyed the arts, but that did not include classical dance.
His gaze narrowed. ‘You have tickets?’
‘Of course.’ A visiting Russian troupe had ensured a bookings sell-out, and she’d intended to invite a friend. Now she hastily revised her plans to include Nicos.
Her smile broadened. ‘It’s called negotiation. A term you’re very familiar with.’
‘Done.’
‘In that case,’ she said sweetly. ‘I’ll say goodnight.’ Without a further word she turned and ascended the stairs.