mistake—but we can’t do anything about it now. But I’m not staying here a second longer than I have to. I want to leave tomorrow, first thing. Before anyone is awake.’
He’d finished buttoning up his shirt and the expression on his rugged face was hidden by a series of shifting shadows. ‘You’re aware that you need my cooperation to do that? That I own the airstrip as well as the planes—and no other aircraft is allowed to land or take off from here without my permission. I might not be willing to let you go so easily, Keeley—have you thought about that?’
‘I don’t care what you want, you’d just better let me go,’ she said, her voice shaking now. ‘Because I’m a strong swimmer—and if I have to make my own way to the nearest island, then believe me I will. Or I’ll contact one of the international newspapers and tell them I’m being kept prisoner on the Greek tycoon’s island—I imagine the press could have a lot of fun with that. Unless you’re planning to confiscate my computer while you’re at it—which, I have to inform you, is a criminal offence. No? So get out of here, Ariston—and prepare one of your planes to take me back to England. Do you understand?’
ARISTON STARED OUT of the vast windows, but for once the travel-brochure views of his island home failed to impress him. He might as well have been in a darkened cave for all the notice he took of the sapphire sea and silver sand, or the neglected cup of coffee which had been cooling on his desk for the last half-hour. All he could see was a pair of bright green eyes and a pair of soft, rosy lips—and pale hair which had trickled through his fingers like moonlight.
What was his problem? he wondered impatiently as he stood up with a sudden jerking movement which made the cup rattle. Why did he persist in feeling so unsettled when all should have been well in his world? Weeks had passed since Keeley Turner had fallen eagerly into his arms during a sexual encounter which had blown his mind but ended badly. She had flown back to London the next morning, refusing to meet his eye and saying nothing other than a tight-lipped goodbye before turning her back on him. But she had taken the money he’d given her, hadn’t she? Had shown no qualms about accepting the additional sum he had included. He’d thought he might receive an angry email telling him what he could do with his money—wasn’t that what he’d hoped might happen?—along with some furious tirade suggesting he might be offering payment for services rendered. But no. She was a woman, wasn’t she—and what woman would ever turn down the offer of easy money?
And that had been that. He hadn’t heard from her since. He told himself that was a good thing—that he had achieved what he had set out to achieve and bedded a woman whose memory had been haunting him for years. But infuriatingly, little had changed. In fact, it seemed a whole lot worse. Surely by now he shouldn’t still be thinking about her, or the way it had felt to press his lips to her pulsating heat as she had orgasmed right into his mouth. Was it because he wasn’t used to a woman walking away from him, or because he couldn’t help admiring the tempestuous show of spirit she had displayed when she had stormed away? Or just because she’d been the hottest lover he’d ever had?
But after yet another disturbed night he found himself wondering where was the closure he’d been chasing and why he hadn’t tried a little harder to keep her here a bit longer, so he could have got her out of his system. Should he have softened his answers to her questions with a little diplomacy and told her what she wanted to hear, instead of giving it to her straight? His mouth hardened. It didn’t matter. He didn’t like lies and it was too late to go back over that now. What was done was done.
At least Pavlos had announced his engagement to the beautiful Marina, with a wedding planned for early next year. His brother was happy—he’d called him just last night from Melbourne and told him so, and Ariston felt as if his work was done. That all was well within the Kavakos dynasty—its future now ensured...if only this damned disquiet would leave him.
But it didn’t leave him, despite a schedule spent travelling across much of Southeast Asia—and although he threw himself into his work even more single-mindedly than usual, he remained as unsettled as ever. Which was why he found himself making an unplanned trip to England on his private jet, telling himself it was always useful to pay an unexpected visit to his London office because it kept his staff on their toes. And besides, he liked London. He kept a fully staffed apartment there which he used at different times during the year—often when the summer heat of Lasia was at its most intense. But even in London he found himself struggling to concentrate on his latest shipbuilding project or enjoy the fact that the company had been featured in the prestigious Forbes magazine in a flattering article praising his business acumen.
He told himself it was curiosity—or maybe courtesy—which made him decide to call on Keeley, to see how she was doing. Maybe she’d calmed down enough to be civil to him. He felt the beat of anticipation. Maybe even more.
He had his car drop him down the road from her bedsit and when he knocked on the door, the long silence which followed made him think nobody was home. A ragged sigh escaped from his lungs. So that was that. He could leave a note, which he suspected would find its way straight into the bin. He could try calling but something told him that if she saw his name on the screen, she wouldn’t pick up. And that had never happened to him before either.
But then the door opened a little and there was Keeley’s face peering out at him through the narrow crack—her expression telling him he was the last person she had expected to see. Or wanted to see. His eyes narrowed because she looked terrible. Her blonde hair hung in limp strands as if it hadn’t been washed in days, her face was waxy white and she had deep shadows beneath her eyes. He’d never seen a woman who had paid such scant attention to her appearance—but then he’d never made an impromptu call like this before. ‘Hello, Keeley,’ he said quietly.
Keeley stiffened, her knuckles tightening over the doorknob as she stared into Ariston’s searing blue eyes and a wave of horror washed over her. What in heavens name was he doing here—and how was she going to deal with it? Her instinct was to slam the door in his face but she’d tried that once before without success and, besides, she couldn’t do that, could she? Not in the circumstances. She might despise him but she needed to talk to him and it just so happened that fate had scheduled that unwanted prospect without her having to arrange it herself. She found herself wishing she’d had time to brush her hair or put on clothes she hadn’t fallen asleep in, but maybe it was better this way. At least she wouldn’t have to worry about him making a pass at her when she looked like this. Why, he must be wondering what had possessed him to take someone like her to his bed.
‘You’d better come in,’ she said.
He looked surprised at the invitation and she understood why. After the way they’d parted he must have thought she’d never want to see him again. But no matter how much she wished that could be true, she couldn’t turn him away—just as she couldn’t turn the clock back. She had to tell him. It was her duty to tell him.
Before he worked it out for himself.
‘So what brings you here today, Ariston?’ she said, once they were standing facing each other in the claustrophobically small sitting room. ‘Let me guess... Pavlos is back in London and you’ve decided to check whether or not I’ve got my greedy hooks in him. Well, as you can see—I’m here on my own.’
He gave a short shake of his head. ‘Pavlos is engaged to be married.’
‘Wow,’ she said, feeling winded though she wasn’t sure why. ‘Congratulations. So you got what you wanted.’
He shrugged. ‘My wish to see my brother happily settled with a suitable partner has been fulfilled, yes.’
‘But if Pavlos is safe from my supposed clutches, then what brings you to New Malden?’ She frowned. ‘An area like this isn’t exactly a billionaire’s stomping ground, is it? And I don’t recall leaving anything behind on your island which might need “returning”.’
‘I was in London and I thought I’d drop by to see how