His face morphed into a cold mask. His eyes gave nothing away. They were curiously blank, and somehow that hurt far more than if he’d stayed angry or become suddenly remorseful. If he’d broken down and said how he’d made a youthful mistake, how he regretted his actions, how he’d built himself into a better man because he knew he’d needed to do so, then she might have felt a wave of sympathy for him.
As it was, she felt angry, betrayed—and sad. So very sad. Who was this man she’d given herself to last night? She couldn’t forget the way he’d looked when he’d opened the guest-room door—lost and alone and almost terrified—but how did that mesh with who she now knew him to be?
“I did indeed,” he said, his voice cold and empty. “And I served my time for it, too.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Yet you keep it hidden. And you changed your name.”
A flash of anger did cross his features then. “Of course I did. I was a child, Lucilla, and I made a mistake. Is that supposed to follow me for the rest of my life?”
“But your father …” She felt many things for her own father, but not the kind of hate that could make her want to kill him. Never that. Disappointment and love and exasperation, yes.
His jaw was tight. “Just because a man makes a baby with a woman doesn’t mean he’s a father.”
“It also doesn’t mean he deserves what you did to yours.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. It hurt to say such things to him, and yet she couldn’t understand how he could have done what the detective told her.
Nikos Stavrou spent four years in a juvenile-detention facility for attacking his father and nearly killing the man. No, the Stavrou home was not a happy one. The father was drunk and disorderly much of the time, and the police were often called out for domestic disturbances. But to attack your own father with a club and beat him so badly he spent two months in the hospital and now lived on disability?
It made her shudder to think the same man who had done those things had touched her so tenderly last night. He’d stroked her skin like she was a cherished possession, but those same hands had wielded a weapon against his own father.
“I won’t discuss this with you, Lucilla. It’s none of your goddamned business.”
The lump in her throat was huge. She didn’t understand, and yet she also felt as if she’d crossed some sort of line she shouldn’t by bringing this up. But what choice did she have? He couldn’t stay. She couldn’t allow a man like him to run this company and sit in judgment of her and her family when he had no right to be so judgmental.
“No, it’s not,” she said. “But the Chatsfield is. And I want you gone. Give your notice, Christos. Call my father and make it happen.”
His eyes glittered dangerously. For someone who should be intimidated right now, he certainly wasn’t showing any signs of it. “I’m not afraid of you, Lucilla.”
“I’m giving you until the shareholders’ meeting. If you aren’t gone by then, I’ll have a lot to say when it’s my turn to speak.”
“What a cold bitch you are,” he said softly, and she felt the blow of those words like he’d stabbed her in the heart. “So superior and morally indignant. But don’t forget when you’re looking down your spoiled nose at me that I know what kind of sounds you make when you come. I’ve heard you beg, Lucilla. For me. For my touch.”
She swallowed. “That’s before I knew—”
“You’d beg me again, right now, right here, if I kissed you. You’d beg me, Lucilla. Don’t ever forget that.”
She backed up instinctively, her heart thumping in her breast. Because if he came around that desk and took her in his arms, she was afraid he might prove his point. Because part of her ached for him. Part of her remembered that wild, lonely man and the refuge they’d found together in her bed. For a few hours, neither of them had been alone.
An illusion, she told herself. Christos was never alone because women fell at his feet all the time. She, however, had made their night into something more without intending to. She’d actually started to like him, just a teeny bit. But it was false. He wasn’t even who he said he was, so how much of a stretch was it for him to pretend last night? Pretend that what they’d shared had been important, at least for that bit of time they were together?
“The meeting, Christos,” she said as she reached the door. “Give your notice and you can address the meeting as if everything is normal. Say you got another offer. I don’t care. But do it or so help me …”
She couldn’t look at his face a moment longer, couldn’t see the rage and frustration—and regret?—playing across his features without wanting to rush to his side and put her arms around him.
She reached for the door blindly, found it and yanked it open. She was back inside her office, trembling and gulping air, when she realized that tears dripped from her cheeks. It had been so long since she’d cried. So damn long.
But she couldn’t hold it back another moment. She sank into a chair and put her face in her hands. Then she sobbed.
Lucilla’s phone rang that night, startling her out of a half sleep. She was still on her sofa, papers arrayed before her. She’d had a hard time concentrating on them as guilt and anger vied for dominance.
She found her phone beneath a pile of papers. It was Christos’s number and her heart dropped before soaring inexplicably.
“Yes?” she said, her voice scratchy and uncertain. She closed her eyes and prayed for composure.
“I want to talk to you.”
“You are talking to me.”
“In person, Lucilla.”
“I’ll be in at eight in the morning.”
“Now.”
She shoved her hair back from her face. “Then talk on the phone. It’s all you’re getting.”
He blew out a breath. “Very well. I want to know how you learned this information.”
Her heart ached. “I hired someone.”
“Clearly.” He sounded so cold and she hated it. “It must have cost you a lot of money.”
“I have money. You know it because my father put you in charge of the trust.”
“Yes. I wonder that you did not buy your mother’s portrait, but you spend a fortune to uncover my past. Do you hate me that much, Lucilla?”
Her heart throbbed at the reminder of her mother’s picture. It had been a necessary sacrifice not to bid on it. But why did she now feel like the one who was wrong? Why did she hurt for him? “I don’t hate you,” she said, and meant it for once. “I just want my rightful place in my own damn company.”
“It’s not yours,” he said. “It’s your father’s. And your siblings’. It belongs to all of you. And I am the right person to return it to its glory days.”
“I’m capable, Christos.”
“You are. But you lack experience. I’ve turned around more companies before breakfast than you’ve ever even thought about. But you go ahead, Lucilla mou, do things your way.”
Her breath caught. “You’re resigning?”
“Does that make you happy?”
Yes. And no. Dammit! “Of course it does.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I won’t tell anyone, Christos. You have my word on that. Resign, and I’ll tear up the report.”
She thought he chuckled softly. “You drive a hard bargain, kitten. The Chatsfield is yours. Run it into the ground for all I care.”
“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she said softly.
“Hurt me?” He sounded surprised. “You can’t, Lucilla. I’d have to care first.”
He hung up then, and she just sat there with her phone to her ear, thinking how empty it made her feel not to hear him breathing.
Lucilla did not feel all that triumphant over the next few days as the shareholders’ meeting approached. Christos looked through her most of the time. When he did look at her, there wasn’t an ounce of feeling in his icy eyes. His gaze passed over her and she felt as if a winter storm had ravaged her every time.
She hadn’t told anyone about the rep
ort. She’d even held off telling Antonio. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want to share this information just yet. Besides, Antonio was still working on taking over the Kennedy hotels and she didn’t want to distract him. Having those hotels added to the Chatsfield holdings would only cement her position as the rightful CEO once Christos was gone.
Once Christos was gone.
That thought didn’t make her as happy as it once had, which made her furious with herself. Why was she so maudlin? Just because they’d slept together one stormy night? Because she’d seen him vulnerable and human? It wasn’t enough, she reminded herself. If she let herself feel sorry for him, she was no better than he’d told her she was weeks ago. She’d been tough and ruthless, just like he’d told her she needed to be, so why was she always thinking about it?
She worked late on the night before the meeting, going over her business plan and spreadsheets. Once Christos left, her father might try to bring someone else in, but she wouldn’t give him that opportunity. She would prove she was the logical successor, and she would do everything so perfectly that Gene Chatsfield could think of no one better to oversee the family business.
When she knew everything was perfect, she turned off her computer and checked her watch. It was just after eight in the evening. She yawned and stood, placing all her papers in her briefcase. Then she turned off her light and walked out. Christos’s door was open and a light burned at his desk. She thought about sneaking past, but then she squared her shoulders and walked over to the threshold.
Christos looked up, his face startlingly handsome in the low light of a desk lamp. She’d kissed his firm jaw, thrust her tongue between his sensual lips. Felt his lips on her body. Everywhere on her body.
“Ah, Lucilla, come in.” He stood and walked over to the liquor cabinet contained inside an antique Edwardian sideboard. “Have a drink with me.”
“I shouldn’t,” she said as a wave of guilt rose inside her.
“Just one. A toast to the future. Your future.”
She stepped inside his office almost reluctantly. “Maybe just one.” How could she refuse when she was getting precisely what she wanted? She’d won. She’d rousted him from her company and this was the eve of her triumph.
He poured vodka in a glass and added tonic and a twist of lime. Then he held it out to her. “Your favorite, correct?”
It shocked her that he knew. “Yes.”
Their fingers touched as she took it. Her skin burned from the contact but she did not snatch her hand away.
“I observe, Lucilla mou. You drink vodka and tonic, pinot grigio and cabernet sauvignon with the occasional malbec tossed in for variety. These are your drinks.”
She set her case down on a chair. “They are.” It embarrassed her that she did not know his. He’d had wine with her that night he’d brought dinner over—but she didn’t know what he actually preferred.
He poured Scotch in a glass and she thought, Aha. And then she felt a twinge of sadness because why did it matter?
He held up his glass. “To you, Lucilla. You’ve won the battle.”
“I’m sorry, Christos,” she caught herself saying.
He shrugged and took a drink. Then he leaned against the cabinet and watched her. “Aren’t you going to drink to your triumph?”
She didn’t really have a taste for alcohol right this minute. Her stomach churned like she was a girl again. A girl who was filled with fear and worry for her family and who didn’t know how to make things right. She’d tried, but it had cost her so much. Her dreams, her independence for a very long time, and even her health when she’d been diagnosed with an ulcer at the tender age of seventeen.
But that was a long time ago and she didn’t have ulcers anymore. She lifted the glass and took a drink. The vodka burned going down and she nearly coughed. But she didn’t. She swallowed hard and put the drink down on a table. Then she picked up her briefcase. The room seemed a little wobbly when she straightened again and she admonished herself. She really needed to eat better.
She couldn’t exist on energy drinks and sugary pastries—with the occasional piece of fruit thrown in—if she were going to maintain her health and run this company properly.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” she said—was she slurring? Lucilla blinked as the room seemed a little wobblier. Then she put her hand to her head.
Christos was at her side. “Why don’t you sit a moment? You look green.”
She felt green. He eased her into the chair and she sat there for a moment, feeling so sleepy that she wanted to put her head back on the soft cushions and take a nap. Christos was frowning down at her, his hands in his pockets now.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just so tired.”
“Then close your eyes and rest.”
She forced her eyes open and tried to stand. “No, I should go home. Much to prepare for.”
Christos’s hand was on her shoulder, pushing her gently back into the chair. “Sleep, glykia mou. All will be well when you awake.”
CHAPTER NINE
WHEN LUCILLA WOKE, she was in a bed. She lay there for a moment, her head fuzzy, and tried to remember how she’d gotten here. She’d been in her office, it had been late, and then she’d stopped for a drink with Christos. She didn’t remember anything after that. She must have been so tired she’d taken a taxi home and collapsed in her bed.
She pushed herself up on an elbow, frowning as she did so. She would almost swear she could hear the ocean …
Which was insane. She did not hear the ocean. There was no ocean in London. She yawned and rubbed her hand over her face.
And then her heart began to race as she remembered what day this was. The shareholders’ meeting! She had to get dressed and get to the office before it started. Christos would be announcing his departure and she would be there to step up to the plate and take responsibility for the future of the company.
She whipped the covers back and climbed from the bed—and then she stood there and wobbled for a moment. The room did not look familiar. In fact, it did not smell familiar. There was a hint of salt in the air. She wrinkled her nose—was that lemon?
The shutters were closed but light slanted in between them, making a grid on the floor. Shutters? She did not have shutters. Her heart skipping, Lucilla shuffled over to the nearest shutter and wrenched it wide.
The light was blinding and it took a few seconds of blinking before everything came into focus. She shook her head. Was she hallucinating? Everywhere she could see, there was nothing but blue. A large terrace gave way to an infinity pool and beyond that, stretching as far as the eye could see, was nothing but ocean. Her stomach fell to the floor as panic twisted itself into her brain.
Lucilla turned and ran over to the bedroom door. But when she tried to wrench it open, it didn’t move. Fear crawled its way up her spine. But it didn’t last long, because fury rode hard on its heels. She was not in England. She didn’t know where she was, but someone had kidnapped her and whisked her away before the shareholders’ meeting.
It had to be Christos, of course. No one else would do such a thing. But where had he sent her? And how in the hell was she going to escape and return to oust his sorry ass?
Lucilla turned and headed for the big glass windows that fronted the terrace. But they were locked, too. She considered picking up a chair and shattering the glass, but what good would it do if she cut herself in the process? Breaking windows wasn’t nearly as easy as they made it look in the movies.
She spied a phone on the bedside table and wrenched up the receiver. There was no dial tone and she dropped it again with a frustrated growl.
Just then, the handle turned and she stood there with her heart in her throat as the door swung inward. She wasn’t sure what she expected but the man standing there with a tray in his hands was certainly not it.
“Christos!”
He crossed the threshold. The smell of food made her stomach rumble but she was much too angry to eat.<
br />
“Good morning, Lucilla. I trust you slept well?”
She clenched her fists at her side. “Where am I? What have you done?”
He set the tray on the table at the foot of the bed and she decided not to wait for an answer. She rushed out the door and down a darkened stairwell until she burst into a spacious, light-filled living room that also looked out on the sea. On this side of the house, however, she could see a village and a harbor down below. The buildings were blinding white in the sun, the ocean so crystalline-blue and the surrounding land was clearly volcanic with raw cliff faces and smaller islands farther out to sea that were dotted with green.
She spun around to find Christos behind her, hands shoved in his pockets, watching her with those icy blue eyes that mirrored the color of the water. Confusion and pain slid into her.
“Greece?” she said. “You brought me to Greece.”
He shrugged. “You left me no choice.”
She shoved a hand through her hair. And then she caught her reflection in a mirror at the opposite end of the room. Her hair was a wild tangle of chestnut, her skin pale as cream and she was wearing a pair of panties and a touristy T-shirt that said I ♥ Kefalonia.
“I left you no choice? Christos, you kidnapped me!” And then she realized how he must have done it. Her heart pounded in her chest. “My God, you drugged me.”
“As I said, you left me no choice.”
She shook her head violently. Tears sprang to her eyes. She’d wanted to believe in him. She had believed in him. Even though he’d done something terrible when he’d been a child, she’d told herself it was a long time ago. He was not a child anymore, and he was not violent.
But he was dishonest. And maybe he was still violent, too. How did she really know?
Fear uncoiled itself in her belly. Just as quickly, her heart said, No. He was not the kind of man who would hurt her. He’d been so wonderful, so tender, that night when they’d made love. And he didn’t have to be. He could have taken her hard, violently, and walked away without another look. But he’d been gentle when she’d told him it had been a long time.
Heiress's Defiance Page 9
