Anger rose, and a sibilant curse escaped from her lips.
Without pausing for thought she gathered up the pertinent page and went in search of her errant husband.
She found him in the study, seated at his desk, his attention focussed on the computer screen.
He glanced up as she entered, took one look at her expression, and pressed the save key.
‘Good morning.’
Katrina threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Have you seen this?’ She cast the newspaper page down onto the keyboard, and jabbed a finger at the caption.
Someone had been busy. Given her extended dysfunctional family, it narrowed the suspects down to four. Any one of whom would take delight in presenting such facts to the press.
‘You want to complain and request a retraction?’
She was so angry she could hardly speak. ‘What good would that do?’
‘None whatsoever.’
Suspicion clouded logic. ‘Were you responsible?’
Katrina saw his features harden and his eyes grow cold. ‘That doesn’t even qualify for an answer.’
‘Who, then?’
Nicos’s silence was eloquent, and her anger took on a new dimension.
‘I need to make a few phone calls. Then,’ she announced between clenched teeth, ‘I’m going out.’
‘I have an invitation to attend dinner this evening.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.’
‘For both of us.’
‘You can go alone!’
‘An action that would cause speculation, surely?’ Nicos posed reasonably. ‘Given our very recent reconciliation?’
‘I have no intention of partnering you on the social circuit,’ Katrina vowed tersely.
‘Considering my attendance is minimal, it won’t be a hardship.’
‘And we haven’t reconciled. We’re merely sharing the same house!’
‘So we are,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘However, for the duration of one year we partner each other whenever the necessity should arise.’
‘That isn’t a condition of Kevin’s will.’
‘Consider it one of my own,’ he said hardily, and watched her green eyes fire with anger.
‘Don’t try to manipulate me,’ she warned as she moved to the door, adding as a parting shot, ‘I won’t stand for it.’
‘Be ready by six-fifteen,’ Nicos relayed silkily.
Katrina didn’t deign to answer, and barely restrained the temptation to slam the door behind her.
With carefully controlled movements she went upstairs, changed into tailored trousers, added a blouse, a jacket, slid her feet into heeled pumps, then collected her bag, caught up her car keys and went down to the garage.
Ten minutes later she drew to a halt adjacent a park, withdrew her cellphone, and made the first of several phone calls.
Whilst Andrea, Kevin’s second wife, coveted wealth and a luxurious lifestyle, was self-orientated to the point of selfishness, she didn’t possess a vicious bone in her body. Her daughter, Paula, by Andrea’s first marriage, was overindulged and a snob, but an unlikely candidate to raise her stepsister’s ire.
Which left Chloe, Kevin’s third wife, and her son, Enrique, by a previous marriage. Each of whom would delight in causing Katrina grief.
Katrina had contacts, and she used them ruthlessly.
An hour later she had the answer she wanted. Enrique. Now, why didn’t that surprise her?
Her stepbrother was a smooth charmer who made it no secret that in his opinion he, as the only male in a clutch of associated family females, should inherit a major share in Macbride. It mattered little that Kevin had insisted each of his successive wives sign a prenuptial agreement, and had made both Andrea and Chloe aware that Katrina was his successor.
Enrique was a young man who adored the high life, fast cars and beautiful women. He had also acquired an expensive habit in his teens, one that had seen him in a private clinic on more than one occasion during the few years Chloe had been Kevin’s wife.
At least she knew her enemy, Katrina determined as she put the car in gear and headed towards Double Bay. She intended checking out her apartment, reassessing her wardrobe; then she planned some retail therapy.
There were a few girlfriends she could phone to come join her and share lunch. Except the invitation would elicit questions she had no desire to answer, and while her heart ached for the loss of her father she knew he would hate her to grieve.
Life, he had always maintained, was a celebration. And he had celebrated it well.
Yet she missed his laughter, his love. He’d been her rock, her safe harbour. In a quirk of misplaced wisdom, he’d appointed Nicos in his place.
Katrina wanted to reiterate she didn’t need or want Nicos’s protection. Except Kevin had played his final card and had given her no choice.
It was well after five when she garaged the Porsche and entered Nicos’s home with three evening gowns draped over her arm.
She reached the stairs as Nicos emerged into the lobby, and she paused, her expression one of controlled politeness.
‘Formal, Katrina,’ Nicos drawled as he reached her. He named the venue, the charity, and glimpsed her momentary disconcertion as they ascended the stairs.
How could she have forgotten? It was one of the city’s prestigious social events, and one Kevin had unfailingly sponsored for as long as she could remember.
She had…how long? Forty-five minutes in which to shower, attend to her hair and make-up, then dress.
She made it with scant seconds to spare, and stood silent beneath Nicos’s appraisal.
The crêpe georgette gown in jade-green with its bias-cut asymmetric flounces and figure-hugging lines accented her slim curves and highlighted her cream-textured skin. To save time she’d simply swept her hair into a careless chignon, had added diamond stud earrings and a matching pendant.
As to Nicos, the sight of him made the breath catch in her throat. He held his thirty-seven years superbly, his masculine frame attesting to a regular exercise regime. Attired in a black evening suit, white shirt and black bow tie, he looked every inch the wealthy sophisticate. Yet it was his innate sexuality and an intrinsic knowledge of the opposite sex that added another dimension. One any thinking woman couldn’t fail to recognise.
A year ago she would have offered a teasing comment, brushed the edge of his jaw with her fingers and placed her mouth against his in a light kiss.
Now she did none of those things. Instead she crossed the lobby in silence at his side and slid into the car parked out front.
‘Should we discuss the evening’s role-play?’ Katrina queried as Nicos cleared the gates and traversed the leafy street.
‘In light of Enrique’s link to a certain gossip columnist?’
‘You knew?’
He cast her a quick, telling glance. ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t make it my business to find out?’
She didn’t answer. Instead she examined the passing scenery with detached interest. No matter where she’d travelled in the world, Sydney was home.
It was a beautiful city, with a picturesque harbour and buildings of varied architecture. Possessed of a relatively mild climate, the clear blue skies and sparkling waters of Port Jackson, with cliff-top mansions and numerous small craft anchored in the many bays and inlets, provided an endearing sense of familiarity evident as Nicos traversed the inner-city streets before easing the car to a halt adjacent the hotel’s main entrance for valet parking.
Guests mingled in the large lobby adjoining the grand ballroom. Uniformed waiters circled the area proffering trays of drinks, and the buzz of conversational chatter abounded.
The social élite, Katrina mused, dressed in their finest, with the women collectively displaying sufficient jewellery to fund a year’s aid to a Third-World country.
There were many guests present who would have sighted the photo of Katrina and Nicos Kasoulis and its teasing caption in the morning’s newspaper goss
ip column. Circumspect interest was expected, and she forced herself to ignore the telling glances, the quiet asides as she stood at Nicos’s side and sipped a mix of champagne and orange juice.
A few acquaintances made a point of extending their condolences for the loss of her father, others conveyed silent hand signals indicating they’d catch up through the evening.
Katrina sighted both of her stepmothers standing at opposite ends of the lobby, a presence that issued a silent statement of their individual importance on the social scene. Andrea had her man-of-the-moment in tow, while Chloe was partnered by none other than her son, Enrique.
It was a blessing that Siobhan, at least, didn’t try to compete on any level, much preferring a less fashionably social existence.
Three of Kevin’s ex-wives at one gathering would be too much to handle. It had been bad enough keeping the peace at her father’s funeral, where a farce worthy of Hollywood had been played out for the benefit of those sufficiently intrigued to observe it. Of whom there had been several, Katrina reflected grimly.
Nicos watched the fleeting expressions chase across his wife’s features, and caught the determined resolve evident as she mentally braced herself for an inevitable confrontation.
Andrea and Chloe’s interest in Kevin’s daughter could only be termed superficial, yet each woman painstakingly observed social etiquette. Enrique, on the other hand, was something else.
‘You don’t have to handle it alone.’
Katrina met Nicos’s dark gaze, and forced her lips into a faint smile. ‘Is that meant to be reassuring?’
‘Count on it.’
‘My bodyguard,’ she stated with an attempt at cynicism.
‘That, too,’ he responded with light mockery.
‘Katrina, darling.’
She turned at the sound of that soft, purring voice, and went into the air-kiss routine Andrea favoured.
‘Nicos.’ There was a degree of wariness beneath the superficial greeting before Andrea turned back to her stepdaughter. ‘Kevin would be proud you made the effort to be here so soon after his passing.’
A compliment or condemnation? Katrina chose to take the words at face value. ‘Thank you, Andrea.’
Five minutes after Andrea moved away, Chloe crossed the lobby to Katrina’s side.
‘We weren’t sure you’d attend tonight.’ Sleek, polished, and very self-assured, Kevin’s third wife possessed the practised aloofness of a catwalk model.
‘It’s what Kevin would have wanted,’ Katrina responded evenly before acknowledging her stepbrother. ‘Enrique.’
A young man whose pretty-boy attractiveness was deceptive, during Chloe’s marriage to Kevin he’d imagined that seducing Kevin’s daughter would be a shoe-in…only to discover Katrina wasn’t about to play. It hadn’t stopped him from trying, and he’d never quite forgiven her for spoiling his plans of a dream ride through life on the Macbride fortunes.
His eyes gleamed briefly with something akin to bitter resignation as they raked her slender form. ‘You look divine, sweetheart.’
‘Doesn’t she?’ Nicos caught her hand and lifted it to his lips, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he silently dared her to pull her fingers free from his grasp.
Her reaction to his touch was immediate and damning, for her pulse jumped to a quickened beat as warmth coursed through her veins. It felt as if her heart was working overtime, and it took considerable effort to appear unaffected.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Katrina demanded quietly the instant Chloe and Enrique moved out of earshot.
‘Damage control.’
‘For whose benefit?’ she queried with skepticism.
‘Yours,’ Nicos said silkily.
‘I doubt playing charades will work.’
A hovering waiter took her empty glass and offered her another, which she declined.
It was something of a relief when the ballroom doors opened minutes later and the guests were instructed to take their seats.
The food had to be delectable, given the price per ticket, but Katrina merely forked a few mouthfuls from each course, sipped a glass of excellent Chardonnay, and conversed politely with fellow guests seated at their table.
The evening’s entertainment was varied, and during a break she excused herself and threaded her way towards the powder room.
A headache was niggling away above her temple, and she’d have given anything to be able to leave and go home.
Except home was no longer her apartment, and the term of her enforced sojourn with Nicos had only just begun.
There was a queue, and she had to wait to gain space in front of the long mirror in order to freshen her lipstick.
Was it design or coincidence that seconds after emerging the first person she saw was Enrique? Considering her stepbrother inevitably had a plan, she opted for the former, acknowledged his presence, and made to bypass him en route to the ballroom.
One glance at his expression determined he had a mission in mind and, unless she was mistaken, he was bent on ill intent.
‘I wanted to see you alone,’ he began without preamble.
She could almost pre-empt what he was going to say, but she remained silent, willing to admit she might be wrong.
‘I need some money.’
‘I don’t have any on me.’
‘But you can get it.’
They’d been this route before. In the beginning, she’d thought she could help, and had. Until she’d realised she was only feeding his habit. ‘No.’
‘Tomorrow. Meet me for lunch. Bring it then.’
She was past feeling sorry for him. ‘What part of no don’t you understand?’
‘I’m begging you, dammit!’ He pulled in his temper with effort. ‘A thousand, Katrina. That’s all.’
‘Didn’t playing news gossip informant pay well enough?’
His eyes hardened. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
Her headache intensified. ‘Even if I were to lend it to you, how long will that hold off the heavies, Enrique? A week? Then what will you do?’
‘All I need is one win—’
‘No.’
Katrina watched his features darken with dread. Enrique in a mean mood was something she’d prefer to avoid.
His hand caught her arm in a painful grip. ‘Bitch!’ he exclaimed with soft venom. ‘You’ll pay for this!’
‘Let me go,’ she said quietly, and clenched her teeth against a silent cry as his fingers twisted viciously on her skin.
‘Do as Katrina says.’ Nicos’s voice was a chilling drawl. ‘Now.’
Enrique’s hand fell to his side.
‘I can’t think of any good reason for you to threaten my wife,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘Touch her again, and I can promise you won’t walk or talk for some considerable time.’
‘You should be aware I’ve instructed my lawyer to contest Kevin’s will,’ Enrique declared vehemently.
‘Something that will prove an exercise in futility,’ Nicos advised with hard inflexibility. ‘Each of Kevin’s wives were well provided for in their divorce settlements,’ Nicos continued with deceptive mildness. ‘Neither you nor Paula have any reason to make a claim against Kevin’s estate.’
‘That’s not how I see it!’ Without a further word, Enrique turned and re-entered the ballroom.
Katrina cast Nicos a fulminating look, and almost died at the latent anger evident.
‘I didn’t need rescuing!’
His expression remained unchanged. ‘No? From where I was standing, your charming stepbrother appeared to have the advantage.’
She could have told him Enrique had used a variety of bullying tactics in the past. And that Chloe’s son felt his stepsister owed him by virtue of his mother’s marriage to Kevin Macbride.
Her chin lifted fractionally, and her eyes were clear. ‘I can handle him.’
A muscle clenched at the edge of his jaw. ‘Verbally, without doubt,’ Nicos acknowledged with an
edge of cynicism.
Katrina barely restrained stamping her foot in angry frustration. ‘Don’t play the heavy, Nicos.’
‘I’ll take you home.’
‘The hell you will.’
‘Determined to thwart me at every turn, Katrina?’
She drew a deep, calming breath. ‘If we don’t go back in there, Enrique will imagine he’s scored a point against me.’
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Nicos conceded. ‘Then we leave.’
It was closer to an hour, and almost midnight when they entered the house. Together they ascended the stairs, and Katrina turned as they reached the landing.
‘Goodnight.’
Nicos lifted a hand and caught hold of her chin, then his mouth closed over hers in an evocative kiss that was all too brief as his tongue skimmed hers, tasted, then retreated.
For a moment it left her wanting more, and she fought against the instinctive need to move in close and kiss him back.
Except that would be tantamount to an admission of sorts, and she’d spent too many months building up a barrier against him. To allow him to begin tearing it down would be the height of foolishness. Besides, she doubted she could bear the pain.
She pulled away from him, and he let her go.
Too easily, she reflected as she reached her room and closed the door behind her.
CHAPTER FOUR
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?’
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 31
