Marriage Without Love & More Than a Convenient Marriage(81)

When it came to other men trying to exercise power over him, he absolutely was all of those things. He fought dirty when he had to and without compunction.

He had a functioning conscience, however, especially when it came to women and kids. When it came to his wife, he was completely sincere in wanting to protect her in every way.

Except if it meant shielding her from himself. When Adara’s brother, “Nic,” he had called himself, had invited them to take a room at his house, that was exactly what Gideon had heard. A room. One bed.

Normally he would never take up such an offer. Given the unsavory elements in his background, he kept to himself whenever possible. He liked his privacy and was also a man who liked his own personal space. Even at home in New York, he and Adara slept in separate beds in separate bedrooms. He visited hers; she never came to his. When she rose to shower after their lovemaking, he took his cue and left.

That had always grated, the way she disappeared before the sweat had dried on his skin, but it was the price of autonomy so he paid it.

Had paid it. He was becoming damn restless for entry into the space Adara occupied—willing to do whatever it took to invade it, even put himself into the inferior position of accepting a favor from a stranger.

Irritated by these unwanted adjustments to his rigidly organized life, he listened with half an ear to the vineyard manager’s wife babble about housekeepers on vacation and stocked refrigerators, trying not to betray his impatience for her to get the hell out and leave them alone.

The nervous woman insisted on orienting them in the house, which looked from the outside like an Old English rabbit warren. Once inside, however, the floor plan opened up. Half the interior walls had been knocked out, some had been left as archways and pony walls, and the exterior ones along the back had been replaced by floor-to-ceiling windows. The remodeling, skilled as it was, was obvious to Gideon’s sharp eye, but he approved. The revised floor plan let the stunning view of grounds, beach and sea become the wallpaper for the airy main-floor living space.

“The code for the guest wireless is on the desk in here,” the woman prattled on as she led them up the stairs and pressed open a pair of double doors.

Gideon glanced into a modern office of sleek equipment, comfortable workspaces and a stylish, old-fashioned wet bar. A frosted crest was subtly carved into the mirrored wall behind it. In the back of his mind, he heard again the male voice identifying himself when he had called the hotel, the modulated voice vaguely familiar.

It’s Nic...Makricosta. I’m looking for my sister, Adara. Gideon had put the tiny hesitation down to anything from nerves to distraction.

Now, as he recognized the crest, he put two and two together and came up with C-4 explosive. A curse escaped him.

Both women turned startled gazes to where he lingered in the office doorway.

“You told me your brother had changed his name. I didn’t realize to what,” Gideon said, trying for dry and wry, but his throat had become a wasteland in the face of serious danger to his invented identity.

“Oh,” Adara said with ingenuous humor. “I didn’t realize I never...” A tiny smile of sheepish pride crept across her lips. “He’s kind of a big deal, isn’t he? It’s one of the reasons I hesitated to get in touch. I thought he might dismiss me as a crackpot, or as someone trying to get money out of him.”

Kind of a big deal? Nicodemus Marcussen was the owner and president of the world’s largest media empire, not to mention a celebrated journalist in his own right. His work these days tended toward in-depth analysis of third-world coup d’état stuff, but he was no stranger to political exposés and other investigative reporting in print or on camera. Running a background check would be something he did between pouring his morning coffee and taking his first sip.

Gideon reassured himself Nic had no reason to do it, but tension still crawled though him as they continued their tour.

“My number is on the speed dial,” the woman said to Adara. “Please call if you need anything. The Kyrios was most emphatic that you be looked after. He’s hurrying his business in Athens as best he can, but it will be a couple of days before he’s able to join you.” She made the statement as she led them into a regal guest room brimming with fresh flowers, wine, a fruit basket, a private balcony with cushioned wicker furniture and a massive sleigh bed with a puffy white cover. “I trust you’ll be comfortable?”

Gideon watched Adara count the number of beds in the room and become almost as pale as the pristine quilt. She looked to him, clearly expecting him to ask for a second room. Any day previous to this one he would have, without hesitation. Today he remained stubbornly silent.