Black Widow Bride

Perhaps the time had come to stop worrying about his reaction and to tell him the bald, tragic truth. That should stop him in his tracks.

She drew a deep, shuddering breath, and courage came in a rush. “She came of her own accord. I didn’t force her. I told Fliss about my b—”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear your lies. You stole my wife after only six weeks of marriage, and that is something I will never forgive! I will not listen to your lies.” Damon was breathing hard, his eyes dark with anger. “But for you, my wife would still be alive.”

He released her abruptly and she reeled away, realising with shock and horror that whatever she told him, he was not going to believe a word she said. She closed her mouth, rubbing her wrist absently. Rebecca heard his breath catch and his hand shot out.

“Let me see.” The fingers that closed around her wrist were gentle. There was silence. She stood still, tense under his touch as his thumb massaged the spot where he’d held her. Then he said tonelessly, “I am sorry.”

Rebecca stared at his long, tanned fingers resting against her wrist. “It’s okay. There’s not even a mark.”

His voice rose. “It is not okay. I hurt you.” Her head shot up. His beautiful full lips were drawn in a tight line, white and bloodless.

Rebecca bit back a hysterical giggle. He’d hurt her far worse in the past by refusing to believe in her integrity. He hadn’t even liked her. That had hurt. Withdrawing her arm from his grasp, she smiled sadly. “You didn’t—and it doesn’t matter. Really.”

His eyes were a brilliant, unfathomable blue. “So what do you say, Rebecca? Arrange Savvas’s wedding and let’s put the past behind us. Call it quits, hmm?”

She flicked him a glance.

Damon was prepared to bury the old resentments and bad feelings—perhaps there was a chance they could reach a truce. So that one day she would be able to tell him about T.J. And then there was that other temptation…

If she helped with the wedding—not for payment, of course, she couldn’t do that—but to achieve a truce—then Damon might get to know her, might even discover what she’d always known, that they were bound by invisible ties too powerful to ignore. But…

Doubt assailed her.

Damon was a wealthy, powerful man. What if he found out the truth about T.J.? She simply couldn’t risk T.J.’s security to chase a pitiful fantasy that she might—might—change Damon’s poor opinion of her.

She sighed. “Look, I told you—I don’t do weddings any more.” Defeat weighed her down. Whatever she’d once felt for him he’d trampled into the dust, making it clear that he despised her. She waved a dismissive hand at the cheque on the table. “Not even for that ridiculously large amount of money.”

“But my mother—”

“Your mother knows I can’t do the wedding. I told her myself!” Soula had sounded fine on the telephone two weeks ago and the heart attack had taken place two years ago. This helpless sense of letting Soula down was just Damon’s manipulation. In his world the end always justified the means. “If you want, I’ll call her and tell her again that I can’t do it.”

Alarm lit his eyes. “I don’t want you—”

“Talking to your mother. I know, I know!” Because he didn’t want her finding out that he’d lied about his mother’s health? Or because he didn’t want Rebecca Grainger, a woman he utterly despised, having anything to do with his beloved mother?

He tried to say something, but she held up a hand, a new burn of hurt searing her at his appallingly low opinion of her, until all she wanted to do was hit back. “So please tell her not to call me again. And I don’t want you bothering me, either. My answer stands.”

His mouth snapped shut, an uncompromising line in that hard, wildly handsome face, while his eyes glittered with menace.

Yes, it was past time she accepted that there was nothing that she could salvage from the past, nothing that would make Damon look at her through kinder eyes.

“Now, you say you’re such a busy, important man—you’d better get back to Auckland.”

Rebecca didn’t wait for his reply. One last reproachful look, then she whirled and bolted through her shop, ignoring the turning heads, until she reached the safety of her rabbit hole of an office behind the large workmanlike kitchen, shaken to the core by their bitter exchange.

Hours after their confrontation, Damon strode across the forecourt of the chain hotel of which he’d just checked out. Long shadows cast by the row of cypress trees edging the boundary crept like dark fingers across the cobbled pavers, reminding Damon that the afternoon was waning.

Had he heeded Rebecca’s parting shot this morning, he’d already have been back in Auckland, closing the Rangiwhau deal. The CEO had demanded a face-to-face meeting this afternoon. Damon had stalled. Instead of concluding a lucrative deal that would make his shareholders a killing, he’d spent the afternoon closeted in a hotel room, juggling conference calls, working like a demon…all the while plotting how to get Rebecca to change her mind. And trying to rid himself of the ridiculous notion that he’d wounded her.

Impossible. The woman ate men for breakfast.

Damon had a fleeting memory of Aaron Grainger.

A good man. A shrewd banker who’d advanced Damon a hefty, much-needed loan in the nightmarish period after his father’s death. Ari Asteriades had believed himself invincible. He’d made no provision for key personnel insurance, left no liquid funds available. Because of Aaron, Damon had managed to fight off the circling sharks and save Stellar International, keeping control in the family, keeping his tattered pride intact.

Aaron Grainger certainly hadn’t deserved to die broken and bankrupt. Damon had heard the tales about Rebecca’s profligacy. The fabulous designer wardrobe she’d ordered after her honeymoon, the jewels she’d demanded, the expensive flutters at the bookies on the racecourse, the overseas trips she’d insisted on. How she’d convinced a besotted Aaron to support her impulsive business schemes, all of which had demanded huge resources.

And then there had been the story about her lover. A handsome drug addict she’d begged Aaron to bail out of trouble. Rumour had it that Aaron had put his foot down that time. The lover had been history—but only after Aaron had paid off his horrendous debts.

Damon’s jaw tightened. Reaching the Mercedes, Damon opened the trunk and tossed in his overnight bag and laptop case. Aaron should have put a stop to it sooner, before his beautiful wife had driven him to death—and dishonour.

No doubt about it, Rebecca deserved whatever she got.

He slammed the driver’s door harder than he’d intended and stuck the key in the ignition. The ring of his cell phone interrupted his angry musings, and he jabbed a button on the cell phone where he’d just secured it against the dashboard. “Yes?” he demanded.

“Will she do it?” Savvas asked.

There was no need to ask to whom Savvas was referring. Reluctant to report his failure, Damon responded, “How is Mama?”

“Feeling dizzy again. The doctor is concerned about her. He says she worries too much, that she must take things easy.”

“Or?” Damon knew there had to be a consequence. Dr. Campbell was not given to fussing unnecessarily.

“Or she could have another heart attack, and this time…” Savvas’s voice trailed away.

“And this time it might prove fatal,” Damon finished grimly.

“Don’t talk like that!”

“It’s the reality.” Damon could almost see his brother crossing himself superstitiously at his words.

“You know, Damon, sometimes I wish I’d never asked Demetra to marry me. This damn wedding—”

“This from the man who preaches true love?” Damon cut in mockingly, disturbed more than he cared to admit by the idea that Savvas might be having second thoughts.

“No, no. I don’t mean that I would forgo having met Demetra or falling in love with her. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me. I meant I should have moved her in with me.”

“Vre, the family would never have stood for it. Thea Iphegenia would’ve fainted in horror.”

“Yet they turn a blind eye to the women you escort, Damon. They don’t accuse you of sinning.” Savvas’s complaint filled the car’s interior.

“That’s different. I’m a widower. And anyway, I choose women of the world, not maidens with marriage written all over them, like your Demetra,” he told his brother, his mouth twisting. He stared unseeingly through the windscreen into the golden glow of the late Northland afternoon. Felicity had been his last foray into respectability. It would be a cold day in hell before he tried it again.

“Maybe it would’ve been better to marry in court, present Mama and the family with a fait accompli. But now it’s too late—the big Greek wedding is already in production. Damon, I fear it might kill Mama.”

“Savvas, Mama wants this wedding. Desperately. Can you deprive her of it?”

His mother asked for so little. And gave them so much. Instead of retreating into tears and grief after his father’s unexpected and devastating death, she had battled beside him as he’d wrestled for control of Stellar International. She deserved happiness, contentment.

Stupidly he’d thought his marriage would secure that.

He twisted the key. The Mercedes roared to life.

“Mama says she wants to hold a grandchild in her arms before she dies,” Savvas was saying. “Demetra wants to start trying for a family as soon as the honeymoon’s over. But first we need to arrange the wedding.”

His mother lived for her family. Family looked out for family. That was his mother’s creed. Cold, bitter rage twisted inside Damon’s heart. All his mother wanted was to see Savvas wed. Rebecca could pull it off. Easily.

But Rebecca had already refused his mother’s direct request—and now she’d refused him. He wasn’t a man accustomed to refusal. Rebecca would help his mother and organise his brother’s wedding. He’d make sure of it.

With slow deliberation he put the gear into reverse.

“It cannot be easy asking her for help. You hate her. I mean, not that I blame you or anything.” Savvas faltered, then sighed. “Look, there’s something I must tell you. After the wedding I saw her a couple of times and she seemed…quiet. I didn’t see anything of the wild, wicked woman people talk about—”

“Hang on, are you telling me you dated Rebecca while I was on my honeymoon?” The car idled. Damon felt an almost forgotten red tide of rage boil up within him. Hell. He’d told her to stay away from Savvas.

“She’s a very beautiful woman.” His brother sounded sheepish.

“Beautiful?” Damon snorted. “If you like black widows. She’s as dangerous as sin to the unwary.”

“But, Damon, she wasn’t like that!” Then, after a taut pause, Savvas amended hastily, “At least I could’ve sworn she wasn’t like that. She was kind to me. We had some good times.”

Good times? He didn’t like that one little bit. Damon found he didn’t even want to contemplate the implications. Reversing the car out of the parking bay in one smooth manoeuvre, he swung the steering wheel and headed smoothly for the exit. “No, of course she wasn’t like that,” Damon said bitingly. “That’s her game. She spins her web, and the victim steps in.”

There was a long silence. “Well, it’s past.” Savvas sighed more heavily this time. “After what she did, I didn’t contact her again. You’re my brother—how could I?”

Inside the suddenly silent Mercedes, Damon was fiercely glad that Savvas had proved loyal to him and hoped it had cut Rebecca to the quick when Savvas had failed to call her again.

Savvas was speaking again and Damon forced himself to concentrate. “To see her, it must be hard for you. If she comes back to Auckland, it’s going to cost—”

Damon cut him short. “Whatever the cost, I will do it. For Mama.”

He clicked off the phone and swung the Mercedes into the main street of Tohunga. This time he’d do what he should’ve done from the outset: use charm. Rebecca had never made any bones about the attraction he’d held for her in the past. A little flirting, add a couple of handsome cheques and she’d be putty in his hands.

The empty parking space right outside Chocolatique gave him considerable satisfaction. It was all working out. As he entered Rebecca’s shop, Damon straightened his tie, squared his shoulders and pasted a breathtaking smile to his face—one that guaranteed women would fall at his feet.

But Rebecca was not there. Gone for the day, he was advised by her blushing assistant, who kept sneaking him little looks from under her lashes.

Five minutes later, his smile gone, seething with impatience, Damon gunned his Mercedes down the road to Rebecca’s home, determined to be out of this parochial town within an hour. And equally determined that when he left, Rebecca would be sitting beside him—whether she liked it or not.

Whatever the cost.

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