knew that like or dislike didn’t necessarily have much to do with a man’s sexual desires. Take Demetri’s case. He’d made love to people he didn’t even know. And she’d been such a contemptible pushover, believing his lies every time, doubting the evidence her close friends had tried to give her. Making excuses for his lack of interest in her, because she’d wanted to believe it was all fine and everything was as it appeared. Until she’d gone for lunch at that Athens restaurant and seen him there with his girlfriend.
It had still taken her days to accept the reality, but she’d never be so naive again.
It would hardly make sense if Sebastian Nikosto wanted to kiss her, after the things he’d said, but nothing about this whole situation made sense. The more she puzzled over it, the more her confusion increased.
She felt as if she were locked in a nightmare. If only she could fall asleep she might wake up and find herself back in her bedroom in Naxos. Had Sebastian’s anger been with her, or with the deal he’d struck with her uncle? He’d made it sound as if the whole thing had been her idea.
Some aspects were so ironic, she’d have laughed if she hadn’t been in such distress.
Thio had probably thought she would suit an Australian Greek because of her Australian mother. Meanwhile, Sebastian Nikosto had taken one glance at her from across a room and had felt cheated. She’d never forget that frown, how it had speared through her like a red-hot needle.
Was it because she wasn’t attractive enough? Had her uncle explained to him that the woman he was throwing in to sweeten his pillow had blue eyes, not the dark shining beautiful eyes most Greek women took for granted as their heritage?
She stabbed a pin into her chignon. Whatever happened, she would die before she kissed a man who’d been paid to take her. No wonder he judged her with contempt. She must seem like the leftovers on the bargain rack in the Easter sales, thrown in as an added incentive. She was almost looking forward to meeting the man again and showing him his mistake. She truly was.
Despite all her bravado, the coward inside her was tempted not to keep the dinner engagement. What if she were to lie low in her room with a headache instead? In the morning, simply check out of the hotel and disappear from Nikosto’s life without a trace?
She would have to check out, anyway. She wasn’t sure what the price would be, but with the grand piano and all in the suite she guessed she wouldn’t be able to afford many nights here.
After the devastating conversation with Thea, desperation had inspired her with a survival plan. If she sold what little jewellery she’d brought and added the proceeds to her holiday money, provided she found somewhere cheaper to stay, she should have enough to get by on until she could find some sort of job. There must be art galleries in Australia. Under the terms of her father’s will, unless she married first she couldn’t inherit her money until she was twenty-five. All she had to do was to stay alive another fourteen months.
More and more throughout the afternoon her thoughts had returned to that beach house on the coast. She wondered if her mother’s auntie still lived there. Would she remember the little girl who’d come to stay nearly twenty years ago? Would she even be alive?
It was tempting to just cut all communication with Sebastian Nikosto and his accomplices in the crime right now. That was what the man deserved. What they all deserved, she thought fiercely. She should just vanish into thin air. Trouble was, if she did that he might raise some sort of alarm. She shuddered to think of how it would be if she were pursued by the Australian police. She could imagine the sneering headlines back in Greece.
Ariadne of Naxos goes missing in Australia. Has Ariadne been eaten by crocodiles?
Ariadne, lost in the outback.
And one that made her wince. The runaway bride runs again.
No, disappearing without saying goodbye could not be an option. And there was no one else who could fix her dilemma for her. She was on her own, in a strange country, and for the first time in her life there was no one else to rely on except herself and her own ingenuity.
She needed to go downstairs in that lift, face Sebastian Nikosto squarely, and tell him eye to eye that she would never marry him, under any circumstances, and that she never wanted to see him again.
A surge of nervous excitement flooded her veins. What if he was furious? She almost hoped he was. It would do her heart good to see him lose his cool control and spit with rage.
She highlighted her cheekbones with liberal application of blush, at the same time boosting her mental courage with some strong, healthy anger. Whatever he said to her this time, however cold and hostile he was, whatever bitter insults he fired at her in that silky voice, there was no way her pride could ever let him think she was afraid of him.
Let the barracuda do his worst. Make-up would be her shield.
She painted a generous swathe of eyeshadow across her lids. Even without it her eyes had appeared dark and stormy after the adrenaline-wired past thirty-six hours. Now they looked enormous, and with more adrenaline pumping into her bloodstream every second there was no disguising their feverish glitter. She smoothed some kohl underneath with her fingertip. Somehow the blue of her irises deepened.
The effect was atmospheric, almost gothic, and intensely satisfying. She felt as if she were in disguise. What to wear was more of a worry.
She hardly wanted to inflame the man’s desires. A burkha would have been her choice if she’d had one to hand, but pride wouldn’t allow her to appear like a woman in a state of panic, anyway. In the end she chose a black, heavily embroidered lace dress that glittered with the occasional sequin when she moved. Since the dress had only thin straps she added a feathery bolero to cover her shoulders. The lining ended a few inches short of the hem, revealing a see-through glimpse of thigh in certain lights, but with the feathers added she looked modest enough.
At last, dressed and ready for battle, her breathing nearly as fast as her galloping pulse rate, she surveyed her reflection.
Red lipstick, the only touch of colour. Black dress, feathers, purse. The sheerest of dusk-coloured silk stockings, and black, very high heels to lend her some much-needed height.
All black.
Well, he wanted his Greek woman, didn’t he?
Sebastian shaved with care, keeping an eye on the clock. Not that he felt any guilt over failing to meet the plane from Athens. Not exactly.
He was a busy guy. If he didn’t keep an eye on Celestrial, who knew how much of a tangle things could get into? He could hardly place himself at the beck and call of every heiress with a whim to make him her husband.
Still, manners dictated that tonight he should make the effort to be punctual. It didn’t have to be a late evening. He could buy her a decent dinner, smooth over the jagged hostilities of the first meeting, and be away by nine to get in some work.
He hoped Miss Giorgias was in a better frame of mind. She’d have been jet-lagged, of course, which would explain her waspish behaviour.
He splashed his face with water and reached for a towel, avoiding meeting his gaze in the mirror. He hadn’t really been so hard on her, had he? There was a lot more he could have said. Anyway, hadn’t she thanked him at the end for being kind?
He felt that uncomfortable twinge again and brushed it aside. For God’s sake, did he have to be a nursemaid simply because he’d agreed—under duress—to meet the woman and check out the possibilities?
He dried off his chest, dropped the towel into the hamper, then slapped on a little of the aftershave his sisters had given him. Lemon, sage and sandalwood, the label read. Guaranteed.
He made a rueful grimace. Guaranteed to soothe a princess?
As rarely happened to a man with his gaze fixed firmly on the stars, his eye fell on a green, moss-like growth around the base of the tap. How long had that been there? It was robust enough to have established quite