The way she said it reminded him of his buttoned-up high school teacher. The one who’d finally lost her patience with him in the art cupboard.
‘I was being facetious,’ he said.
‘Ah, yes. Another one of your less admirable traits.’
He grinned at her over the car bonnet. ‘I really shouldn’t like you so much. It’s asking for trouble.’
Wasn’t that the truth? In the end he’d been grateful for the cold shoulder since Africa. It had given him a chance to regroup and remind himself what he was doing in the company of Zeus’s daughter and why. When he took her to his bed he had to stay detached, and by God he would. So that meant no drowning in those big violet-blue eyes and no inhaling the scent of her neck as if it was nectar of the gods.
‘Trouble seems to be something you are exceptionally good at.’
Nic swaggered round the front of the car, leaned in and murmured. ‘Oh I’m good at lots of things. Especially heat, ice queen. Speaking of which—is this your natural habitat? Is a lion going to prowl from my wardrobe tonight?’
She nudged him away from her. ‘Only if you get high enough. There’s a bar on the north side that only sells vodka. Your kind of place.’
Obviously she knew more about him than he did about her. Or at least she thought she did.
‘Do you watch me, Pia? When you help with Q Virtus?’ Clearly she’d been sent to Zanzibar in her father’s stead, and he wondered how many other meetings she’d attended. Exactly how hands-on she was.
Pia flushed a little and turned to stare determinedly at the forest of towering pine and Siberian spruce that he’d only just noticed. The silvery twilight enhanced the sweep of her cheek, the flawless pearl shimmer of her skin. He couldn’t take his eyes from her—was conscious of every breath she drew, the way her full breasts rose and fell, the tiny sigh of exhalation.
‘At times I have to watch everyone; don’t take it personally.’
‘Have to?’ he asked, and the question made her flinch—as if she’d said something she shouldn’t have. ‘So you help to run Q Virtus as well as Merpia?’
Not forgetting this hotel and whatever other companies besides. He wasn’t sure why he was coming over so incredulous. It wasn’t as if a man couldn’t manage—why not her? Because deep down, despite the signs of power, you thought she was salad dressing. The pampered daughter of a powerful man, with a healthy ego to boot, who helps out around the office looking pretty.
That he was comparing her to his mother bothered him. An heiress who did the bare minimum in the boardroom to reach the country club by noon. But Pia seemed to take it far more seriously than that. She hadn’t stopped working for five seconds since they’d left Zanzibar; her phone continually bonged with mail, or texts, or calls from some nameless face she spoke proficiently to with that icy cool composure that simultaneously made him shiver and want to divulge her of her clothing to warm her up.
He’d underestimated her, and for a second he wondered what else he was missing. Wondered if his certainty that she would quickly tumble into his bed wasn’t a product of arrogant folly.
Pia smiled wryly, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. He didn’t like being transparent. It boded ill. The only way he’d get through the next few days was to be as mysterious as her father and say nothing that would jeopardise their meeting in Paris.
‘Q Virtus takes up some of my time, yes,’ she said, as if choosing her words carefully.
And with the past swimming round his head like sharks intent on their prey it was on the tip of his tongue to say, It won’t when I’m finished, so I hope you have a career-change, but she’d switched gear so quickly he reckoned he’d have whiplash by morning. Which was just as well. Because it occurred to him that the voice of his conscience was getting louder, demanding to be heard. Soon he’d be forced to listen to the repercussions of crushing Pia’s world, along with her father. And he didn’t want to hear it—didn’t want to know.
‘You have two choices of sleeping arrangements.’
‘I thought you’d never ask, querida. Show me the way.’
She shook her head, as if despairing of an incorrigible boy. ‘Either one of the cabins, or inside the hotel on an ice bed. Whichever you choose it will be hiking distance from my room, I assure you.’
Ice bed? Like hell. ‘But who will keep me warm?’ he asked, lending his voice a seductive lilt that promised sinful debauchery.
Nic told himself the tremor that rustled over her was thanks to him and not to the abysmal temperatures in this godforsaken place. He had to snatch encouragement where he could.
‘I’ll send a member of staff with extra blankets—and before the thought even enters your head, Carvalho, the staff are strictly off-limits here. Please spare me the headache of getting rid of another girl.’
That was another thing. He didn’t like the reminder that he was responsible for getting a petite q fired. He’d been on the phone all morning, trying to find her, all to no avail. It was as if she’d disappeared like a spectre into the night. It made him distinctly uneasy.
‘What’s the matter, Nic?’ she asked sweetly—a striking contradiction to the inscrutable fire in her kohl-rimmed eyes. ‘Worried about your little friend?’
Dios, he was becoming as transparent as glass. But he lavished himself with the theory that she was jealous and used the opening for what it was. Perfect.
‘Maybe all the rumours of you Merisis being Greek mafia make people suspicious?’
She let loose a humourless laugh. ‘What colourful imaginations people have. I promise you, the Merisis have never had any association with the mafia, and when I find out who started that uproar he’ll have to answer to me.’
‘Not to Zeus?’
‘Oh, absolutely. Zeus too. And if you think I’m scary you’ve seen nothing yet.’
‘Scary? You are a pussycat, bonita.’
‘Keep pushing and you’ll feel my claws,’ she grated out.
Nic grinned. ‘Promises, promises...’
The main doors opened before them and Pia’s countenance shifted, lighting up like a child on Christmas morning. Such elation, such a beautiful sight. It made something unfurl in the space behind his ribs and flap like the wings of a bird. Weird.
Arched tunnels were held aloft by ice columns currently being sculpted by artists with chisels and picks. In the next room ice chairs were being carved into throne-like works of art. In fact the actual artwork was so stunningly intricate the time it must have taken to create the place had to be astounding.
Pia was talking away with a luminous light in her eyes that was just as breath-stealing. ‘The walls, fixtures, fittings, even the drinking glasses are made entirely of ice or compacted snow and held together with snice. Which I suppose would be your equivalent of mortar.’
‘You love this place, don’t you?’ he asked.
Splaying her fingers, she glossed over a smooth ice table. ‘I like art, and this place is a year-round art project. I like to see it planned and built, the ice chiselled and shaped. I love the fresh crisp air. I can finally breathe in purity rather than the fumes of a car or a jet. This place is magical to me. When it melts in spring I always feel sad, but when it’s rebuilt, given another chance to come to life and give joy, I feel...’ Her smooth, delicate throat convulsed. ‘It feels reborn.’
Nic almost lost his footing on the discarded shards of ice block scattered over the ground.
Mesmerising was the only word he could think of when she talked that way. Candidly, yet almost dazed. As if she was miles away. He’d hazard a guess she’d forgotten who she was talking to. But Nic hadn’t missed the way she’d hitched on her words and spoken as if she’d seen so much darkness and ugliness in her life that the idea of being reborn appealed to her.
When she caught him staring she frowned. ‘Do I have icicles running off my nose?’
Nic had no idea what possessed him, but he curled his arm about her waist, pulled her up against him and pressed his warm
lips against her frozen little nose.
Just as before, she remained motionless. Not resisting, not exactly passive, but it was as if he held a vat of explosive energy that was too compressed and thought better of daring to move.
After a while he became concerned that she would pass out from lack of oxygen so he eased back. ‘Better?’
A gorgeous flush pinkened her cheeks, but the pensive pleat in her brow said she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. Which even he could admit wasn’t very far.
Gingerly, she stepped backwards. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ he said huskily, wanting her back in his arms, crushed tighter against him. ‘So, are we the only guests here?’
‘Afraid so. Other guests won’t arrive for another week or two.’
She backed up another step, creating a gulf as vast and bleak as the Grand Canyon. If she wasn’t the main player in his game of revenge he would be worried that the distance made him feel...empty.
‘I think we should turn in for the night.’
‘Let’s not. The night is still young. I say we ditch our bags and hit the bar. Join me?’ When she gave her head a little shake he unleashed the big guns and smiled with every ounce of sinful charm in his arsenal. ‘Please, bonita?’
* * *
Hot loganberry juice warming her hands, Pia tipped her head back to gaze at a sky full of darkness and began to count the stars within a mind grid. When they didn’t make an even number her clavicle started to itch so she started again. Anything to distract her from the man lounging obscenely close beside her—those dark bedroom eyes lingering on her throat as he threw out pheromones in great hulking waves.
There really shouldn’t be anything sexy about a man padded out in warm gear, knocking back vodka as if it was mineral water.
Pia had coaxed him outdoors before he either drove her insane or destroyed the bar. His mere presence had cranked the temperature in the room so high she’d imagined the ice melting, pouring down the walls in silvery droplets until there was nothing left but the midnight stars.
Right then she felt the shift in the air. ‘Wait for it...watch.’
‘I am watching.’
‘No, you’re not, you’re watching me.’ And it was starting to annoy her. The contrived deceit of it. Why would Nic truly be interested in bedding a cold, uptight, neurotic mess like her? He wouldn’t. This was a bet, a deal, and she’d do well not to go all jelly-legged next time he kissed her frozen nose. ‘Now. Look up.’
A whirlwind of pale green light appeared and swirled above, the streaks tossed about with abandon. Then dark red clouds of fire pulsated in waves and arcs, undulating against the midnight sky and darting towards the heavens.
It was a collision of energetic charged particles that never failed to make her heart float in her chest and her blood sing a chorus of joy that she was still alive.
‘Dios. I take back everything I said. This is amazing, Pia. I’ve heard of the Northern Lights but this...’
‘Aurora Borealis—named after Aurora, the Roman goddess of dawn, and Boreas, the Greek name for the north wind.’
Nic tutted good-naturedly. ‘Should’ve known the Greeks would have something to do with it.’
Pia pursed her lips to contain a smile. Okay, so she had this fluttery feeling going on in her chest. It was bizarre. Not at all like the soft and gentle flapping of butterflies’ wings people spoke of—no, no, no. More like pterodactyls swooping and clipping her heart with every pass. Actually, maybe bizarre was the wrong word. Terrifying was more like it.
She snuck a peek at him from the corner of her eye, then cursed herself for the urge.
Languid and sprawled out on the bench seat beside her, head tipped back, thick glossy hair curling in waves over his collar, he was simply too gorgeous for words. He was gazing upward, his whisky eyes full of awe and Pia shuddered with the need to taste the liquor glistening on his full mouth.
Why did looking at him make her want so much? Long for him to pull her into his arms.
The ache in her chest bloomed into self-disgust when he caught her staring and conjured up one of those glorious smiles that did odd things to her internal organs. Like jiggle them around a bit.
‘What’s the plan for tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘I’m touring some land where we’re considering building more warm lodges. I’ll be gone all morning.’
‘We will be gone all morning,’ he shot back, in that honed Carvalho dominating tone.
The very one she ignored.
‘I can’t see the huskies liking you, Lobisomem. They know a threat when they see it. Astute creatures.’
‘I’ve never understood that moniker,’ he said.
She didn’t miss the way he’d brought the topic right back round to Zeus. She chalked up the ability to his incredibly shrewd mind. The why of it was what escaped her.
‘Maybe Zeus saw a predator in you.’
‘What’s with the Greek mythological connotations anyway?’
‘My great-grandfather started the club and he was obsessed with the stories. He was also a successful businessman in his own right, and if you ask me I’d say the control went to his head. In the years before he died he apparently believed himself a god. Sounds like a whacko to me.’
‘Does your father believe himself a god, Pia?’
His voice was hard enough to shatter the bench they sat upon.
Had her father believed himself a god? ‘I have no idea.’ Sometimes she’d had no clue what had gone through his head.
‘None? Are you saying you aren’t close?’
She resisted the compulsion to shuffle in her seat. ‘If you’re speaking in terms of general proximity then no, we’re rarely close.’ She knew fine well he wasn’t, but this was the last thing she wanted to discuss. Just prayed he’d drop it.
‘I’m talking about emotions, querida, and you know it. A trip to the zoo when you were in pigtails. A loving face in the crowd at your school recitals. A celebratory meal when you passed your exams. Now sharing a bottle of wine and laughing over dinner, reminiscing over the good times. Close. As a father and daughter should be.’
A mass of stark yearning hit her shockingly hard in the solar plexus and she bowed forward, pretending to adjust the ties on her boots to ease the pain. She was unsure why she should feel that strongly, since her father had given her the important things in life—a roof over her head, food on the table and some measure of calm.
She sat upright and drank the last mouthful of loganberry, the sweet tartness exploding on her tongue. ‘Not in the least,’ she said. Only to wish the words back a second later. How pitiful they sounded. The empathy in his eyes didn’t help. Whisky eyes, warm enough to melt her heart. Impossible.
‘Any brothers or sisters?’ he asked.
Translation: Are you his only heir?
Pia held an exasperated sigh in check. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could take this. Every word, every touch had an ulterior motive. Most likely even his warmth and sincerity. And still there she was, cradling that soft, secret place inside her, hopelessly wishing he spoke the truth and wanted nothing more than to genuinely know her. Such a fool. She knew better.
‘No brothers or sisters. You?’
‘Only child too. One of those impossible dreams, but my mother... Well, let’s say she wasn’t particularly maternal.’
Join the club.
It wasn’t until he said, ‘Not close to her, then?’ that she realised she’d said it out loud. Good God, she had to get away from him!
Digging her feet into the ground for a firm hold, she stood tall. ‘I need some sleep. There’s no need for you to come along tomorrow, so do yourself a favour and stay warm in your chalet bed.’ Give me some peace—leave me be, please.
‘You couldn’t pay me to sleep on ice. I suppose to you it’s like coffins for vampires.’
He said it with a wicked smile, as if he was trying to lighten the mood, but it went down like a
lead balloon.
She gave him a withering glare. ‘Aren’t you hilarious? You should’ve been a comedian.’ Though in a way he was right. She wanted the cold to numb the sensation of him, banish the heat he injected into her veins.
‘I still don’t understand what would possess you to sleep in the main hotel on packed ice. Believe me, if you knew what it was like to sleep on the streets—’
‘It’s an experience,’ she said quietly, glancing at the doors to the Ice Castle with a painful kind of desperation.
‘Ah,’ he said derisively, and the change in him drew her eyes back to his. ‘Like those celebrities who go to developing nations and starve just to know what it feels like. Except they can’t possibly know what real, true, gripping hunger feels like. So if you’re trying to prove something...’
On and on he went, and his tone got harder and more cynical. Right then he reminded her so much of her father that she started to shake and she...she... Don’t say it, Pia. Don’t do it.
Throat raw and swollen, every word hurt as they tore from her mouth. ‘Maybe I do it not only for the experience but because I’ve been there, and I need to remember where I’ve come from so I can see what I’ve achieved. Maybe I like to feel the cold biting into my back in order to feel grateful that I’m one of the lucky ones and I now have a warm bed every night. And that, Mr Carvalho, is something I’ll never take for granted. Ever. Again.’
Pia squeezed her eyes shut, hating both of them in that moment. She couldn’t believe she’d just told him that.
Oh, come on, Pia, deep down you wanted him to know you’ve shared some of his darker days, that you have something in common. That you’re more than the sum total of your parts.
Nic blinked up at her, jaw slack. ‘When? I don’t understand...’
‘For the first seventeen years of my life. So don’t you dare judge me!’
‘Where was your father?’
‘I wouldn’t know, okay? I didn’t meet him until I was seventeen. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some sleep.’ Her voice sounded quivery and she hated it—hated it. And—oh, my God!—the backs of her eyes were stinging.
‘Hey, hey...’ he said, launching from the bench and reaching for her, strong arms wide open.
The Ultimate Revenge Page 7
