The Helen Bianchin Collection. Helen Bianchin

      Move your gear in, unpack, take a shower, check your e-mails, make a few calls, then have an early night, she prompted silently.

      It was almost ten when hunger forced the realisation she’d missed dinner. Lunch had been a sandwich eaten at her desk, and breakfast had comprised orange juice and black coffee.

      Hardly adequate sustenance, she decided as she made her way down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

      A ham sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice, and she’d almost finished both when she heard the front door close followed by the beep of the security alarm being set.

      There was no way she could escape upstairs without detection, and she didn’t bother to try. The slim hope she’d held that Nicos would simply ignore the array of lights on this level died as he entered the kitchen.

      The mere look of him stirred her senses, and set her composure seriously awry.

      A dramatic mesh of primitive sexuality and latent power that had a lethal effect on any woman’s peace of mind. Especially hers.

      It irked her unbearably that he knew, with just one look at her, no matter how she schooled her expression.

      ‘A late-night snack, or did you miss dinner?’ Nicos queried mildly as he crossed the room to stand a metre distant.

      He took in the baggy tee shirt that reached her thighs, her bare legs and feet, and the hair she’d swept into a pony-tail. A look that was the antithesis of the corporate executive.

      ‘You’re back early.’

      ‘You’re evading the question.’

      Katrina lifted the cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Both,’ she informed succinctly.

      He loosened his tie and thrust both hands into his trouser pockets. She looked beat, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. At a guess she hadn’t slept much in the past few nights.

      Anxiety at their enforced living arrangements?

      ‘Should we attempt polite conversation?’ Katrina parried.

      He looked vaguely dangerous. She tried to tell herself such a thought was the height of foolishness. But the feeling was there, in the look of him, his relaxed stance. Deceptive, she accorded warily, as all her fine body hairs rose up in protective self-defence.

      Instinct warned she should tread carefully. Yet she was prey to a devilish imp prompting her towards certain conflagration.

      ‘How was your date—sorry, dinner?’ she corrected deliberately.

      One eyebrow rose with deliberate cynicism. ‘Why assume my companion was female?’

      ‘A calculated guess, given the increasing number of women in the business arena.’

      ‘And my penchant for the company of women?’ Nicos queried silkily.

      ‘You have a certain reputation.’ A statement that held a wealth of cynicism.

      ‘I won’t deny intimacy with previous partners,’ he said with dangerous softness. ‘The relationships were selective and meant something at the time.’

      ‘But you don’t offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.’

      He didn’t move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?’ he demanded silkily.

      The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?’ She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don’t see that it will now.’

      His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, your answer would be?’

      She didn’t hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.’

      ‘An eloquent phrase.’

      Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the remains of her tea. ‘Forget polite.’ She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let’s just stick with good morning and goodnight.’

      ‘You think that will work?’

      Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?

      ‘The alternative is a war zone.’

      ‘Battles won and lost?’

      She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.’

      ‘An interesting analogy.’

      ‘Isn’t it?’ She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’

      ‘Sleep well, pedhaki mou.’

      His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.

      Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.

       CHAPTER THREE

      THERE was evidence Nicos had already eaten breakfast when Katrina entered the kitchen the next morning.

      The aroma of freshly made coffee teased her nostrils, and she took down a cup and filled it from the cafetière, added sugar, slotted bread into the toaster, then sipped the excellent brew as she waited for the toast to pop.

      A daily newspaper lay on the table, and she scanned the front-page headlines highlighting the latest criminal injustice, the fall of a major company, and touting plaudits for two councillors running in the upcoming elections.

      When the toast was ready she spread it with conserve, topped her cup with coffee, then she pulled out a chair and dedicated fifteen minutes to acquiring an informative view of the day’s reported journalism.

      Until she reached the social pages, and found herself looking at a photograph of her and Nicos. Taken, she confirmed on closer examination, at a social function not long after their marriage. The caption read, Together Again?

      An unidentified source confirms Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis have reunited to satisfy a condition of Kevin Macbride’s (of Macbride) will. Fact or fallacy?

      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