FOR THE THREE hours her husband retreated to his stateroom, Immie remained on tenterhooks, her nerves stretching by the second. Questions and scenarios teemed and tumbled over in her mind.
He’d been without his memories for ten months. What if they never came back? What if it went beyond the three years she’d agreed to stay married to Zeph?
Was amnesia even curable? Or was it a throw of the dice as to what happened, when?
If he didn’t regain his memories soon, would there come a time in the next fifteen months when she’d have to come clean, if only to detach herself from this enforced bond so she could carry on with her plans to take back full autonomy of Callahan Shipping—the company she’d devoted most of her adult life to before Zeph and her father had thrown a marriage of convenience in her way—and reclaim her own life? And if she so chose, would this altered, seemingly considerate, smiling Zeph Diamandis stand in her way?
Hadn’t she suffered enough living under the thumbs of powerful men?
Now, watching him stride across the third and largest deck on the yacht towards her, she willed, futilely it turned out, her every nerve ending not to shiver to awareness at the sight of him.
Dear God, had he always been this visually compelling? Or was it the mystery of his disappearance adding to the reluctant allure?
The question disintegrated under the force of his stare as he looked first into her eyes, then down her body with his fierce gaze. Every inch of her body strained against...something in his proximity. Until she wanted to scream. To throw herself in the plunge pool in the middle of the deck just to cool off.
‘Kalispera, glikia mou,’ he drawled when he reached her.
Scrambling, she latched onto the first thing that came to mind. ‘Um...hi. You didn’t change.’
He still wore the shorts and T-shirt he’d arrived in. And his feet were...bare. For insanely long moments she stared at them, wondering if she’d had way too much sun. Because only some sort of altered state would account for why she found Zeph’s bare feet sexy.
She snatched her rapt gaze away, only to follow the graceful masculine line of his shrug.
‘Nothing in my wardrobe seems satisfactory.’
Now she was certain she was losing her mind. ‘I’m sorry...what?’
He shrugged again, then dragged his fingers through his hair, threatening to leave her mouth gaping with the intoxicating picture he made.
Dear God, what was happening to her? Was she truly falling into the cliché of ‘needing to get laid’ to diffuse this sudden rampant lust haze overtaking her? When her two previous relationships before she’d married Zeph had all but fizzled out before they’d barely begun, leading her to believe her sex drive might be dysfunctional at best or broken beyond repair at worst?
‘There are two dozen shades of grey and black and navy in there. It doesn’t please me,’ he elaborated, thankfully shoving her back into the present, and the mundane discussion of clothing.
But it wasn’t as mundane as she wished.
Because even this felt like a weird role reversal from when she’d stepped off the private jet Zeph had sent to Texas to bring her to Athens.
He’d taken one look at her and summoned a handful of haute couture designers to his luxury apartment. Within hours she’d been the unwilling new owner of the latest designs and the darling of several renowned fashion designers.
Since then, as per his instructions, her wardrobe was refreshed on a seasonal basis without fail, with new and upcoming designers desperate for her to be on their ‘to-dress’ list. That keen desire garnered loyalty. Enough for her to trust their discretion if she were to make a request now.
Not that she intended to announce Zeph’s presence to any of them. She might still be relatively unknown, since she rarely socialised, but her name wielded enough power to ensure they remained extra discreet if they wanted her business.
‘I can arrange for a new wardrobe to be brought to the apartment this afternoon, if you’d like?’ she said, eager for this task to take her mind off...every electrifying thing about him.
He inclined his head in an almost regal fashion, absorbing far too much of her focus. ‘Ne, efharisto,’ he said, then he frowned. ‘The apartment?’
‘Yes, the chopper is waiting to take us into Athens. Your doctor is meeting us there in an hour. It’s all arranged.’
His jaw rippled with displeasure for a moment before he shrugged. ‘Very well. You’re in the driving seat, gynaika mou. For now.’
She told herself she wasn’t pleased that he’d dropped the Miss Callahan. And yet, for the second time since he stepped on the deck, addressing her with an endearment sent a fizzy spiral of...something through her.
‘Do you want anything else before we leave?’
‘Appreciated though it is, I’m beginning to feel like fragile glass. Enough with the fussing, Imogen. Let’s get this over with.’
A quick text to her stylist to get the wardrobe organised and she was grabbing her bag. Then she started when he reached for her elbow.
Either he didn’t see her startled expression or he chose to ignore it as he led her into the lift and up the three decks to the top where the sleek chopper waited.
Like the other members of the crew, the chopper pilot’s eyes were agog when he spotted Zeph. They exchanged words in Greek, with the pilot’s face wreathed in smiles.
And through it all, Zeph kept a hold of her, his fingers meshed with hers.
And with each second her breath grew shallower, this unique sensation of holding her husband’s hand throwing her for a loop. Which was why she mentioned it as soon as they were on board and the aircraft was winging its way north towards the Greek capital.
‘You don’t have to do this, you know?’ she blurted before she could stop herself.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Do what, exactly?’
‘This.’ She indicated the grip he had on her hand.
‘And why not?’
‘You’ll soon find out so I don’t think it’s a big deal to tell you. You’re a powerful man. You have a multibillion-euro business. You have homes around the world. You’ve dated some of the world’s most beautiful women. But this...isn’t like you. You’re not prone to public displays. So you don’t need to...keep holding my hand. Or whatever.’
His eyes glinted and even before he spoke her skin was tingling, her belly flipping over with nervous energy at the brooding expression filling his features.
‘I see only one beautiful woman in front of me, eros mou. One who is wearing my ring and carrying my name. I am confident there is a cogent reason for making that choice, and that reason is not a titivating mystery as your tone implies.’
Not ready for the twist in conversation, she blurted out unguardedly, ‘What do you want me to tell you? That we fell in love at first sight?’
His nostrils flared and that glint turned almost brooding, almost contemplative before he shook his head. ‘At first sight? Perhaps not. But I’m willing to bet a few substantial assets that it was lust at first sight.’
She couldn’t help the gasp that erupted from between her lips. She tried to hide it with a scoff. ‘That is just your libido talking—’
‘I most certainly hope so or I’d have to see the doctor for far more worrying reasons than the gaps in my memories,’ he quipped briskly.
It took her a stunned moment to realise he was cracking a joke. A fraction more of that time for the laughter to spurt out of her. Then she was laughing hysterically.
And Zeph...
Something caught and tightened excitedly in her midriff as he too threw back his head and laughed. Free, unfettered humour, wrapping them in a cocoon so warm, so cosy, so thrilling, that her heart swelled with yearning.
An uncontrollable two minutes later, she realised the look on his face had changed, yet again. His gaze was sharper on her face, a fierce intensity that drilled into her as his scrutiny continued. ‘You have an amazing laugh, Imogen,’ he announced thickly.
Her own died away under the charges snapping between them. Charges that made her skin dance for entirely different reasons. Heat scorched between her legs, making her squirm in her seat.
He saw it, acknowledged it with a smugly masculine look as his gaze dropped to her chest. She didn’t need to look down to know her nipples were at attention. She could feel them every time she took her suddenly erratic breaths.
‘And you look even more spectacular when you’re aroused.’
She shook her head, adamant not to let those seductive words seem beneath her guard. ‘We’re straying away from the subject.’
His lips quirked. ‘Or I’d say we’re exactly on point.’
And she was still mired in that state of stunned shock and awe when they landed on the rooftop of their exclusive apartment building near Kifisia in Athens. As with the crew on the yacht, she’d briefed the staff about their employer’s return and requested discretion, so only the housekeeper and two butlers were waiting when Imogen and Zeph entered the stunningly appointed apartment.
Despina, the housekeeper in her sixties and one of the few women who’d known Zeph since birth, rushed forward, tears in her eyes.
A torrent of Greek was unleashed and, again, Imogen stood stunned when Zeph smiled and even allowed the older woman to kiss him on the cheeks. When she departed with an enthusiastic promise of his favourite refreshments, the older of the two butlers said quietly, ‘The doctor has arrived, Kyrios Diamandis. He’s waiting downstairs.’
Zeph nodded, his features settling into the kind of sharp focus she was used to seeing on the old Zeph. So much so, she felt a shiver rush through her.
Whether he sensed it or had actually seen her shiver, his gaze swung to her as they proceeded down several dove-grey-wallpapered hallways and into the vast living room decorated in tones of white and grey.
She watched him, breath held, as he looked around the room, then pinned his eyes on her.
‘Something wrong?’ he intoned, his deep voice rumbling through her.
‘Just wondering if anything in here rings a bell?’ she asked.
He looked around again, his hands popped in his pockets in that calmly assured way that left her stunned at the way he was taking all this.
‘No, it doesn’t,’ he rasped finally. ‘But that’s not what’s bothering you, is it?’ he added.
Since she could hardly say that the brief glimpse of his old self had sent a frisson of alarm through her, she touched on one of the many subjects seeking dominance in her mind.
‘As much as I trust the staff and employees, we won’t be able to keep the news of your return under wraps for long. I give it a week at the very least.’
His lips thinned and midnight-blue eyes narrowed for a moment. ‘I have a PR team, I suspect?’
‘Of course.’
He nodded. ‘Arrange a meeting with them. I’ll let them know how I want this handled.’
She shouldn’t have been surprised that, for a man who didn’t know anything about his past, Zeph was resuming the mantle of powerful magnate with such ease. She suspected he had been born with every imperious strain fully installed in his DNA.
So then who was the man who’d cracked jokes and laughed with her in the chopper? A long-buried and now resurfacing facet of Zeph Diamandis or a temporary aberration?
She tightened her gut against the very suggestion that she wanted it to be the former. She had no right to wish for anything where this man was concerned. What she needed to concentrate on was the future.
Her freedom. A release from this sterile marriage with her company fully under her control.
With that in mind, she tried not to react to the eyes pinned on her as she sent an email about the PR team meeting for later that afternoon.
Then she breathed a sigh of relief when Despina entered with two maids bearing trays of food.
‘I’ll go and get the doctor,’ Imogen said hastily, ignoring the fact that she had staff to do that for her.
Zeph’s steady, brooding gaze reverted to her as she went to take a step away from the charged atmosphere. But if she’d expected him to remain silent, she should’ve known better.
‘You can run as much as you like. I’ll always catch you,’ he said with deadly softness into the storm of electricity that was growing thicker in the room.
Immie stumbled.
Righted herself.
Took a deep breath.
All without looking back at him.
Because if that voice was any indication, she was terrified at what she’d see in his eyes. Hell, she was terrified anyway. Because this version of her husband seemed intently focused on what the previous version had coolly and effectively disregarded—any hint of an emotional connection between them.
And as she went to retrieve the doctor from the smaller living room, she promised herself she would conquer this new and unwanted hyperawareness she’d developed around the husband who needed to, imperatively, remain at arm’s length at all times.
Just how she would do that...she didn’t know.
But she hadn’t come this far, sacrificed this much, to fail within sight of her goal.
Determination reinstated, she showed the doctor into the living room.
She’d never met the older man before on account of Zeph being in rude health with a top-notch exercise regime in place the whole time she’d known him.
But now she watched the doctor’s eyes widen as he took his patient in. Watched his professionalism slip a little as he shook hands with Zeph.
Just like with the yacht crew and the apartment staff, he started to speak in Greek, then switched to English in deference to Immie. ‘It’s... I am so incredibly pleased to see you alive and well, Kyrios Diamandis.’
Zeph nodded, and although his smile wasn’t as wide, it was there nonetheless, fanning that flame inside Immie as she watched his sensual lips curve.
As she remembered his words to her minutes ago.
She pushed them away, concentrated on the exchange.
‘As much as I’m happy to be seen, under these particular circumstances, I wish it wasn’t necessary,’ Zeph replied.
His eyes met hers as he said the words, and she bit her lip.
As much as she wanted to get on with her life, was she, somewhere deep down, a little relieved that they weren’t locked in the perpetual state of rancour his craving for retribution had engendered?
Again, she pushed that thought away as the doctor nodded.
‘Ne, I also. Let us attempt to get you back on the road to recovery, ne?’ he said, then glanced at Imogen. ‘Your wife told me on the phone that she hasn’t observed any outward signs of adverse health?’
Zeph’s gaze lingered on her, staying for several seconds too long. ‘She’s correct. I feel fine.’
When the doctor nodded and beckoned his two assistants forward with cases that looked to contain medical equipment, Imogen took that as her cue to leave.
Zeph’s voice stopped her before she’d made it three steps. ‘Stay, Imogen.’
The command rumbled through her, delivering layers of electricity and indomitable power that rushed fever through her blood.
She told herself she was annoyed at the imperial demand, that he’d made it impossible for her to leave, given their audience. But when she returned to the seating area, and he snagged her hand before she could place distance between them, she knew she’d stayed because this new Zeph continued to compel her with effortless power.
It was a relief not to be the subject of chilling indifference or glacial fury.
She tried to brush away the keen awareness of his muscled thigh next to hers as the doctor glanced at her.
‘If it’s not too much trouble, tell me the circumstances of locating your husband, Kyria Diamandis. It might help with his treatment.’
Reminded of the incident—goodness, was it just this morning?—she paused to summon the right words.
Zeph’s eyes glimmered at her, as if he found her hesitation amusing.
Imogen shrugged. ‘It was no big deal, really. He was in church in a small Greek village with a bunch of the people I assume he’s been living with since he went missing. He didn’t know who I was when I said I was his wife but he eventually...gave me the benefit of doubt.’
If the doctor was hoping for a salacious tale, such as a confession that she’d blown in like a telenovela heroine just as her husband was about to marry another woman, she wasn’t about to make his day.
Zephyr Diamandis might be one of the richest men in the world, but he’d guarded his privacy with jaw-dropping zeal, with his PR department working overtime to ensure the very same. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to be embroiled in a media circus.
The doctor nodded, and proceeded to examine Zeph. Who continued to eye her with open interest as if the doctor and his minions weren’t present.
‘Tell me what your last memory is before ten months ago, Kyrios Diamandis.’
Finally the amusement was wiped off his face. His lips pursed and the area around his mouth grooved. ‘I’m sitting on a doorstep of a house. I can hear Greek voices around me so I’m assuming it’s here in Greece, but I could be wrong. I remember I’m waiting for someone but I don’t know who.’ He shrugged but Immie suspected his thoughts weren’t as carefree as he projected. ‘I also have recurring dreams playing out exactly those scenes so it may be the memory originated from a dream instead of the other way around.’
The doctor nodded, glanced at his assistant who made notes on a tablet, unaware that Imogen was frozen into shocked stillness.
‘Do you recognise the person you’re waiting for when they arrive?’ the doctor asked.
Zeph’s lips thinned further, his jaw clenching tight before he answered. ‘No. Because they never do.’
Her heart lurched and she bunched her hands in her lap to prevent them from visibly shaking. Sucking in a slow, even breath so his attention didn’t stray to her, she swallowed.
But collecting her fraying composure didn’t stop the snarled words she remembered starkly from flashing through her mind.
Because of your family’s greed I lost my grandfather and then my father. I sat on my doorstep in the rain waiting for a father who never came home again. Be thankful I only want marriage to secure this deal, and not a biblical eye for an eye, Miss Callahan.
Her heart twisted further when Zeph raised a hand to rub his temple. It was the first adverse sign she’d witnessed of his condition and her heart lurched for different reasons.
‘It’s imperative that you don’t try to force the memories,’ the doctor admonished gently, peering over his bifocals at Zeph and the hand worrying his temple, then her. ‘If that memory brings on headaches, you should refrain from probing it too much. That goes for you too, Kyria Diamandis. Attempting to prod his memories could do more damage that way.’
As much as she wanted to feel relief for being let off the confessional hook, she also dreaded the weight of the secrets she needed to carry.
‘So you’re saying there’s nothing at all that can be done?’ Zeph asked.
Imogen tensed further, conflicting emotions and hope and faint alarm swirling through her. She definitely wanted Zeph to get better. But it struck her acutely she didn’t want to deal with the old version of her husband. Not because she couldn’t—because somehow being forced to face down the board members and keeping a multibillion-euro conglomerate afloat had uncovered a spine of steel she was extremely proud of—but because she simply...didn’t want to. Yet.
And perhaps even for his own sake, she wanted this formidable but less...intense Zeph to stay awhile. She grimaced at the faint guilt that brought, pushed the whole notion away and focused on the doctor.
Who looked apologetic. ‘Retrograde amnesia—which I’m fairly certain is what you have—resolves itself in its own time. You’ve lived with it for almost a year. How long it lasts is anyone’s guess.’
‘One day at a time is all well and good, but I have several months’ worth of questions. There are some things I will insist on knowing, Doctor, whether they incite a headache or not. I should warn you about that now.’ The words were soft but the intent behind them were implacable. And again, he said them with his eyes fixed on her.
The expression in the doctor’s eyes said he knew he wouldn’t be moved on that point. ‘Then I suggest that it’s done carefully, with a minimum of stress. The good thing is that you’re back among the familiar with people who’ve known you some or all your life. That in itself is a great start.’
Zeph gave a low laugh. ‘Minimum stress,’ he echoed. ‘That might be easier said than done.’
‘Then I must insist on frequent monitoring. Perhaps once a week.’
Imogen nodded, eager to dispel that faint alarm she’d experienced. ‘We’ll be here so we can arrange for you—’
‘No, we won’t,’ Zeph slid in smoothly but firmly.
Her eyes widened as she stared at him. ‘Why not?’
He shrugged, then cast a look around the living room. ‘I like it on the boat. We seem to have everything we need on board. For now, I’d like to make that my primary residence.’
‘But... I need to be in Athens. I have work to do and I can’t just abandon it to go live on the yacht.’
‘From what I’ve seen everything you need to work is on board. We’ll continue to do that. What isn’t available will be organised, I’m certain.’
She wanted to snap that he couldn’t just turn up and start ordering her life. But that would be a lie. She had stepped into his shoes because her new surname dictated she step up. She still had a responsibility to see it through. If nothing else, for the sake of expediting the one thing she craved above all else. The freedom she’d attain in a little over a year.
As her protest died on her lips, the doctor nodded in agreement. ‘If that’s where Kyrios Diamandis feels most comfortable then I recommend you heed it.’
Immie stopped herself from rolling her eyes, but not so much attempting to halt the flared panic and fizz of...something that broke beneath her skin.
While the yacht was a sprawling vessel with plenty of room, she couldn’t help but feel as if she’d been...trapped.
In Athens, she had the safety of her office or the separate apartment she’d had to herself within Zeph’s luxury penthouse. There, they’d lived separate lives, rarely seeing each other unless some social function or other dictated their joint attendance. Beyond that, she’d seldom interacted with Zeph.
Every week, he’d been away on some international business trip while she had been working furiously to get Callahan Shipping back on firmer ground.
But it had been one of those necessary but rare social gatherings that had thrown them together on the yacht the weekend he went missing ten months ago.
‘I think you were already doing so, weren’t you, kyria?’
She blinked and focused on the doctor. ‘Hmm?’
The older man smiled. ‘I have heard it straight from Zephyr in the past that the yacht is his preferred place to relax.’
Her eyes widened as Zeph’s own eyebrows shot up. Apparently neither of them believed he’d divulged something so...mundane but personal to the good doctor.
‘I told you that?’ Zeph mused.
The doctor smiled wryly. ‘I may have suggested that you slow down once or twice in the past during your biannual physical. And the impression I got from you was that the yacht was the most desirable form of relaxation.’
Zeph’s quietly intense gaze swung back to her. ‘Then it’s decided.’
Imogen opened her mouth, but every argument that arose sounded like opposition against the very tool that might aid Zeph’s healing. Besides, if there was one thing she remembered clearly from the two brief but searing meetings during which Zeph had laid out his plans for their convenient marriage, it was that in the eyes of the public they were to appear like any married couple, any hint of animosity a violation of their agreement.
Leaving her newly returned-from-the-dead husband to fend for himself on a yacht while she remained in Athens would seem callous and uncaring at best and intensely cold-hearted at worst.
Beyond that she needed to remember that one day, sooner or later, Zeph would regain his memories. And while she would fight to retain the independence she’d gained in his absence, she didn’t want to place herself in his worse books by denying him what he wanted now.
So she cleared her throat. ‘I’ll need to put a few things in place but...yes, if that’s what’s needed, then we will return to the yacht.’
She tried to ignore the blaze of triumph in his eyes and the unnerving sensation that she’d set herself on a risky path whose destination she couldn’t quite see. Fixing her eyes on the doctor, she cleared her throat. ‘Is there anything else I...need to know?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘Nothing else. I will stress, though, that this is a waiting game, so patience is very much imperative.’
She didn’t realise she was knotting her fingers harder until she saw Zeph’s gaze drop to take in the action.
‘I think my wife wants me back. Very much,’ he drawled, speculative heat in his gaze.
And while the words weren’t suggestive in any way, she couldn’t help the cascade of heat pelting over her body. Or the accelerated beat of her heart. She shook her head to dispel the sensations. ‘You’re alive and well. That’s all that matters right now.’
The doctor nodded approvingly, even as Zeph’s gaze mocked her. ‘Is it?’
She cursed herself for the heat that lit her face. For the disturbing emotions that lurked beneath her skin, ready to explode at the merest instigation.
What on earth was happening here?
She kept her gaze pinned on the doctor, breathing in relief when he answered. ‘I’ll get some blood tests done but, for now, there’s nothing more to do but monitor the situation.’
Immie rose to her feet and brushed clammy hands down her thighs. Without glancing Zeph’s way, she summoned a smile. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I have a few phone calls to make before we leave.’
She turned and walked away, then her breath caught when she stepped into the hallway and realised Zeph was behind her.
Startled, she glanced into his narrowed, still faintly mocking eyes.
‘A kiss before you go?’
She barely managed to catch herself before her jaw fell to the floor.
It was framed like a question, but the gleam in his eyes said it was something more. Perhaps even a foray into the heart of their relationship.
A part of her sagged in relief that she hadn’t fallen over, because, of course, that would’ve definitively given the game away. Even if this game seemed to have suddenly developed higher stakes.
Looking into his eyes as she scrambled for ways to refuse—and disarmingly failing—she wondered if somehow Zeph knew the rules more than he was letting on. That his instincts weren’t prodding him to toy with her. To what end?
To make her suffer more than she already had?
The slide of his thumb over her knuckles seemed both attention-claiming and an insistence.
Give me what I want...
His gaze compelled. And with each second she hesitated, she knew she was drawing more unwanted speculation from Zeph.
So...stomach churning and with the certainty that she was about to take the first shaky step on this risky path, Immie leaned towards him and brushed her lips over his.
Except a brush was far from what happened next.
Before she could pull away, Zeph’s hand was gliding up her throat and around to cup her nape, his fingers holding her firmly in place as he deepened the kiss. Brushing became sealing, and then his tongue was sweeping over the seam of her lips, tasting her with bold strokes that immediately resonated between her legs. Her gasp was swallowed beneath the force of his exploration, the rough sound he made further causing those tiny explosions between her legs to intensify.
Imogen’s brain was still in free fall when he released her. When those eyes raked her face and returned to linger on her tingling lips. Lips she realised she was licking a second later and immediately stopped.
But his taste was in her mouth, in her bloodstream. Suffusing her senses.
And...oh, God...she wanted more.
That traitorous thought sent her stumbling back, her breathing nowhere near normal as she dropped her gaze from his, in case he witnessed her flustered yearning, and hurried away to the sound of his very masculine drawl.
‘Hurry back, glikia mou.’
He was toying with her, she assured herself as she went through their connecting apartments to the study she used when she worked from home.
Settling onto the seat behind her desk, she took another deep breath to calm her roiling emotions, then immediately reversed any gains by touching her lips.
God. That kiss.
No, she wasn’t going to think about it. Whatever Zeph might be going through now with his memory loss, he was still the same man underneath. Hell, she’d even spotted a few of the traits she remembered, especially in that intense stare he kept levelling at her.
It was only because they’d spent just a handful of occasions—albeit emotionally fraught, for her—of extended time in each other’s company that she was unnerved.
Sooner or later, he would grow bored. And his memories would return.
Then she would finally be free.
But what if they didn’t?
She gulped down her apprehension and reached for her phone.
A ten-minute conversation with her PA and everything she needed to work from the yacht had been actioned. Immie bit back a sigh at how ridiculously easy it was to uproot her life in favour of a situation she could feel in her bones would be more turbulent than she wished.
Distracted, she wasn’t aware she’d activated the video function on the next call until a face popped up on her screen.
‘Oh, hey there. I was about to email you,’ Noah Emery said.
Immie’s smile was easier and open now.
Her deputy at Callahan had been invaluable these past ten months and continued to be.
An American like her, with college-quarterback good looks to match. She’d managed to poach him from a rival company when it’d become clear that her workload in managing Callahan Shipping while being an active member of the board of Diamandis would be nigh on impossible without further assistance.
‘I’ve saved you the trouble, then.’
He smiled and nodded, his sandy hair immaculately styled and in place.
Not like Zeph’s long, sexily tousled locks.
She stumbled back from that thought, a little alarmed at how it’d slipped so easily beneath her guard.
‘I wanted to congratulate you on the Canadian deal. I saw the memo you sent to our lawyers this morning.’
Her smile widened further. ‘Thanks. Here’s to hoping they don’t throw any more roadblocks in our way before it’s done and dusted.’
‘Yeah. But while we wait for that to go through, I was hoping to discuss some Callahan business with you. Are you free for lunch today? Your PA said you were at the apartment. I could grab something and come to you if you’re working from home?’
She opened her mouth to answer just as Zeph appeared in the doorway.
He didn’t enter. Just draped himself against the doorjamb, four fingers in each pocket in a picture of casual sexiness that made her throat dry.
And the way he watched her. As if she was the most absorbing thing for miles. As if she was his personal project he intended to keep a keen eye on.
That singular, intense focus snatched all of her breath. She didn’t need to scour her memories to know she’d never experienced anything like it. At every stage in her life, she’d fought to be seen. To be heard. More often than not with little success.
When she’d first discovered that her father had expected her to come into the world as a fully fledged male Callahan—via a tipsy conversation to his guests after an all-male hunting weekend in Texas when her father had believed she’d gone to bed—she’d been stunned, then hurt. Then she’d spent months being bewildered and indignant at the injustice of it. At the very unfair supposition when biology dictated that it was a purely fifty-fifty chance she would be born female.
It turned out biology didn’t matter. Her father had willed it and expected it to happen. And when it hadn’t, he’d laid the blame entirely at her feet.
Not once had he shifted his stance.
So yes, Immie knew what it was like to be overlooked, to be dismissed as a disappointment, to be isolated and ignored, and then sacrificed like a worthless pawn when the situation suited.
‘Immie?’
She dragged her gaze from the man lounging in the doorway to her study and back to the screen. ‘Um... I can’t today,’ she answered Noah. ‘I have a full schedule.’
‘Oh. Okay. Tomorrow, then? There’s a new chef at The Hydra. I know you like their food.’
Aware of the eyes boring into her from several feet away, she cleared her throat. ‘I’m going to be working remotely for a while, Noah. Just email or call with whatever you need me for until further notice.’
He frowned, light brown eyes filling with worry. ‘Is everything okay?’
Zeph slowly straightened, that languidness disappearing as he sauntered into the room. And with each step, he took another large chunk of her concentration while making her intensely aware of his magnetic presence. ‘Everything is fine,’ she said with a forced smile. ‘I’ll be in touch when I’ve looked through the emails.’
He looked as if he wanted to push for more, but, feeling a little guilty, she ended the call.
Silence throbbed in the room.
When it got too much, she lifted her head and met his gaze head-on.
‘Another demanding client?’ he enquired, a bite in his voice.
She shook her head. ‘Noah isn’t a client. He’s a colleague at Callahan Shipping.’
Midnight-blue eyes narrowed into serious slits. ‘A colleague who invites himself over to lunch as and when he pleases?’ That edge had intensified, even though his body remained relaxed. Deceptively languid.
‘I work long hours most days. I’ve learned to be flexible with my working hours.’
‘And he’s been here to the apartment from the sounds of it. How accommodating of you.’
‘He’s an invaluable asset.’
That mocking eyebrow went up. ‘Is he? Enlighten me how,’ he invited bitingly as he reached her desk, and promptly perched on one corner.
Immie struggled not to glance down at his muscled thigh so close she could reach out and touch it. Touch him.
‘Why do you want to know?’
His lips twitched but the humour from before was absent now. ‘I didn’t spend all three hours “resting” this morning. After almost a year of dealing with a blank space, I’m sure you’ll understand how curiosity is difficult to resist. I have the broad strokes of my life. So if this Noah works for Callahan Shipping, which is a semi-independent company I happen to own, then he’s technically my employee. So answer the question, Imogen.’
She swallowed, an abstract part of her wondering why the hell she was so on edge. ‘He has a brilliant business mind. I was lucky he was willing to relocate from the States to Athens to help me run the company.’ When he continued to level a stare at her, she added, ‘He went to Harvard, graduated at the top of his class at Harvard Business School.’
When that didn’t elicit more than an intensely bored expression, she bit her lip. ‘You do know what Harvard is, don’t you?’
One corner of his mouth quirked. ‘Surprisingly, yes.’
‘Then...?’
‘You want to know why your little puppy’s credentials don’t impress me?’
Unlike her other emotions, she let him see her irritation. ‘He’s not my little puppy.’
‘No? Sycophancy isn’t undetectable with memory loss, you know,’ he said. And while his tone was dryly amused, there was an edge to it.
Much as there’d been on the yacht when he’d talked about her trip to the nightclub.
Why that sent another fizz of electricity through her system, Immie was absolutely not going to accommodate. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
His lips thinned for several seconds before he rose to his feet. ‘The pilot is waiting. It’s time to go.’
She opened her mouth to put forth a myriad objections. But when her gaze, which seemed incapable of not running over him, tracked him from head to toe, the words that emerged mildly stunned her. ‘You want to leave already?’
Zeph’s eyes glittered at her. ‘I see no reason to remain here.’
‘But...the things I ordered for you are on their way. You don’t want to change?’
‘You object to what I’m wearing?’
‘Yes... I mean, no, but...’ Her treacherous gaze tracked him again. ‘It’s just I thought you’d have found something here in the meantime.’
‘I didn’t. But I made a curious discovery though,’ he mused.
Her skin jumped as he watched her with those brooding eyes. ‘What?’ she asked tentatively.
‘I got an initial impression from the tour on the yacht. And it seems I’m gathering a distinct picture that we don’t sleep in the same room. Or even share the same apartment. Why is that, matia mou?’ he murmured. But it was a deadly sound that raised every hair on her nape. Reminding her—as if she needed it—that this man in front of her was just a different facet of the Zeph she knew.
She licked her lower lip, a motion that seemed to make his midnight eyes gain even more depth and mystery. Hesitation would be deemed evasion. She knew that.
So she scrambled to deliver a true but partial version of their circumstance. ‘It was your idea. You travelled a lot for business. And you were used to having your space, and this apartment was available. We didn’t see a need to change the status quo where it didn’t need to be changed.’
A flash of something she would’ve termed displeasure in anyone else’s eyes came and went just as quickly. ‘How long had we been married before we were parted?’
We were parted.
As if theirs had been an emotionally charged and heartbreaking severance instead of the cold, shocking mystery his disappearance had truly been. A disappearance that had come within a whisker of turning suspicious eyes on her until the authorities ruled her innocent. ‘A little over a year.’
This time the emotion lingered a fraction longer in the nostrils that flared. ‘So I left a relatively new bride behind?’
Why on earth did the murmured words send a heated blush flowing into her cheeks? She was the daughter of a brash and brazen Texan who’d had a dim view of the female of the species to the point of pretending they didn’t exist until needed. Which meant that she’d been familiar with cuss words long before she’d shed her braces.
Imogen was silently repeating one of those unladylike cuss words when he spoke again.
‘I have a lot to make up for and catch up with, then, in that case.’
‘I...what? No, you don’t,’ she said, a little too hurriedly. Because her blaring instinct warned she didn’t want to know what that meant.
He slowly prowled towards her as he spoke, causing her to retreat. Until the desk blocked her. She was clinging to the edge when he smiled down at her.
‘I believe I do. I can’t wait to begin. Did we have a honeymoon?’
‘I...no.’
‘Just as I thought. Then I can’t think of a better place to start than with the honeymoon we didn’t have.’