Bought for the Billionaire's Revenge(22)

‘Why behind the scenes?’

She blinked, passing her phone from one hand to the other. ‘It’s more my thing.’

‘I would have thought your profile would garner donations...’

‘My name does that, too.’ She shrugged, placing the phone down on the desk and clasping her hands together in her lap. ‘And my contacts.’

He took a step into the office, looking at the computer screen. It had a list of names with donations beside them, tracking various contributions for the last few years.

‘You are apparently very effective at this,’ he murmured, leaning forward and scrolling down the page.

His body framed hers, trapping her within the circle of his arms. She thought of telling him to stop looking, saying that her work was confidential. But why? Nikos Kyriazis was hardly likely to be indiscreet with the information, and most of her donors released details of their charitable contributions as a way of attracting good publicity.

‘Thanks,’ she said, allowing herself to extract a small kernel of pleasure from his praise. ‘I suppose it’s because I feel passionately about it.’

‘Yes...’ He straightened, but stayed where he was, so that his legs straddled hers. ‘How come you have not asked me to donate?’

Her smile was a twist of her pink lips. ‘You don’t think you’ve donated enough to my cause already?’

That feeling in his gut intensified in a burst of pain. ‘This is different.’

She shook her head. ‘Not really.’ She ran a fingernail over the hem of her skirt, drawing his attention to her smooth, tanned legs.

‘Why don’t we go for dinner and you can tell me about this? Your charity. Pretend I am a donor you want to win over.’

‘But you’re not,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘And I don’t want to ask you to put money into this.’

‘It matters so much to you, though,’ he pointed out logically. ‘Surely you wouldn’t turn me down?’

She shrugged, perfecting an air of impatient unconcern. ‘If you want to donate, you can. That’s your business.’

‘Tell me more about it first.’

Marnie bit down on her lip, her eyes drifting to his face. The time she’d spent in an attempt to make sense of their situation had all been a waste, for here was yet another facet of Nikos Kyriazis that wholly renewed the riddle. His ability to set aside their contretemps and the harsh words he’d issued made her head spin.

She nodded finally, expelling a soft sigh. ‘Fine. We’ll talk at dinner.’

Nikos had dismissed enough people enough times in his life to know that he was being dismissed from her office. Feeling that somewhere in their conversation he’d scored a minor victory, he didn’t push it.





CHAPTER NINE

IN ENGLAND, MARNIE was used to being recognised. She hated the sensation but she’d come to expect it, so she had long ago given up the idea of eating in glamorous high-profile restaurants without expecting to be photographed and approached by all and sundry.

In Athens it was Nikos who drew the long, speculative glances. Nikos whose name opened doors and inspired attention and curiosity.

Marnie was actually enjoying being an outsider to the sense of celebrity. She’d never craved it, and watching him being fawned over by waitresses and even the manager at the exclusive Athens hot spot from the moment they arrived brought a small smile to her lips now.

He saw it immediately. Of their own volition his eyes dropped to the curve of her pink mouth and fire warmed her belly.

‘Yes, Marnie?’ he prompted, leaning forward so that a hint of his masculine fragrance teased her nostrils, making her gut clench with unmistakable desire. She tried to ignore it.

She crossed her legs beneath the table and shrugged. ‘I was just thinking how nice it is that I’m unknown here.’

‘Not unknown,’ he said, with a small shake of his head.

‘Well, lesser known,’ she corrected. ‘Less relevant. And you’re...’

‘Yes?’ He broke off the query when a waitress appeared with a bottle of ice-cold champagne.

‘Compliments of the owner.’ She smiled at Nikos, her cleavage exposed as she leaned forward to pour some of the liquid into a long, tapered flute.

‘Thank you,’ he murmured dismissively. ‘You were saying...?’

Marnie waited for the waitress to finish pouring. ‘You’re who everyone wants to see.’ She grinned. ‘I’m anonymous and you’re hot property.’

His laugh surprised her. It was rich and warm, and reminded her of how long it had been since she’d heard the sound.

‘Hot property?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m glad to hear you think so.’

‘You know what I mean.’ Colour bloomed in her cheeks. She focussed on the menu. ‘What’s good here? What do you recommend?’

‘It is all excellent.’ He shrugged.

She scanned the menu but she was far from hungry. Butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach and their beating wings made it impossible for her to imagine accommodating food into their kaleidoscope.

‘What do you suggest?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I can order for you, if you’d like?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ She shut down his perfectly normal offer, knowing how dire it would be to keep conceding to him.

‘As you wish.’ He pushed the menu away, his mind apparently made up.

She continued to skim her eyes over the words on the page but they were puddles and blurs.

‘How long have you done this work?’

She started, despite the fact his suggestion of dinner had been hung on a desire to learn more about the trust. ‘About four years,’ she said, reaching for the stem of her champagne flute simply for something to do.

‘You didn’t go to university?’

She shook her head. ‘The timing wasn’t right.’

A frown smudged his handsome face. ‘In what way?’

Marnie pulled her lower lip between her teeth and Nikos surprised her by reaching over and abruptly swiping his thumb across her mouth, disturbing the gesture.

‘Don’t think.’ He spoke commandingly, his words gravelled. ‘You do this too often.’

Her expression was blank. ‘I wasn’t aware thinking was a crime.’

‘It is when you are selecting which words to use to your husband. Just answer my questions directly.’

Marnie gaped, her mouth parted on an exhalation of surprise. ‘That hardly seems fair.’

‘Why was the timing not right?’ He returned to his original question, impatient for an answer.

He was right. She had been prevaricating, unconsciously trying to select words that wouldn’t apportion blame or imply resentment.

‘I wasn’t ready to leave home,’ she said quietly.

But he understood what she hadn’t been willing to say. ‘You mean your parents didn’t want you to go?’ His disapproval was marked, despite the way he spoke quietly.

The waitress reappeared, her smile bright. Was it also inviting? Or was Marnie being paranoid?

She flicked her gaze back to the menu, intent on seeming not to notice the way the waitress lingered a little too close to Nikos as she spoke.

Nikos didn’t appreciate the interruption, and his annoyance brought a childish kernel of pleasure to Marnie. She hesitated over ordering for far longer than was necessary, finally selecting scampi followed by chicken, having changed her mind several times.

Nikos glared at her and spoke in Greek, quickly dispensing with the waitress.

‘They forbade you from attending university?’

She started, shaking her head softly so that her hair flew around her cheeks. ‘Not at all.’

‘You wanted to study law. You were passionate about it.’

‘Not really.’

He ignored the rejoinder. After all, they’d spent a long time talking about their hopes and dreams. He had not misunderstood her desire to go into law. Nor did he doubt she would have achieved the requisite grades.

‘But instead you stayed at home, living with your parents, working for a charity that revolves around your sister’s illness,’ he murmured, with a directness she hadn’t expected.

‘Do you think there’s something wrong with that?’

‘Yes.’ He leaned forward and put his hand on hers. ‘You are a person, too, Marnie. You are not simply Libby’s sister. Nor your parents’ daughter. You have your own life to live.’

She compressed her lips and pulled her hand down to her lap. ‘You say that even after blackmailing me into this marriage?’

She sipped her champagne but it was too sweet. She didn’t want it. She was definitely not in the mood to celebrate. She ran her finger around the rim, staring at the hypnotic, frantic movement of the bubbles as her mind spun over the situation they found themselves in.

‘It’s not as if I can’t move on,’ she said quietly, her eyes refusing to meet his. ‘But without funds research into leukaemia is slow. It occurred to me that the people most likely to succeed at raising money are probably those who have every reason to passionately pursue it. In ten years—who knows? Maybe girls like Libby won’t get sick.’

Finally, she forced herself to lance him with her eyes; they were softened by sorrow.

‘It’s idealistic, but...’