The Greek's Bought Wife. Helen Bianchin
more than two weeks ago.
Nic had been aware of the numerous girls who sought Vasili’s company, his bed, and his share of the Leandros fortune. Although Tina Matheson had been the first girl Vasili had invited to move in with him.
What Nic hadn’t known was news of Tina’s pregnancy. Stacey had been Vasili’s only confidante in that piece of information, the day before his untimely death.
There had been no mention of it…hell, no visible sign of it as the slender auburn-haired girl had stood at Vasili’s grave-side ten days ago.
Among the grief-stricken, Tina had stood apart. Cool, controlled, with a fragility he’d instinctively felt the need to ease.
Yet he’d been polite on introduction, distant as befitted the solemnity of the occasion, and had stood in silence as Stacey had issued Tina with an invitation to join the family in a private wake.
Tina’s refusal had surprised him. Given the circumstances, he’d thought she’d use any advantage to further her relationship with the Leandros family.
If he was honest, he’d have admitted he wanted to see her again in less sombre surroundings, for there was some indefinable quality about her that intrigued him.
Her stance, the way she held herself aloof. The classical, fine-boned features, cream-textured skin. Eyes the colour and brilliance of emeralds, deep, unfathomable.
Untouchable, he’d reminded himself.
His half-brother’s woman. The mother of Vasili’s unborn child.
The existence of a Leandros grandchild had provided an element of hope for Paul and Stacey Leandros. The child of their child. A child who would share Vasili’s inheritance, and take its rightful place in the Leandros family.
Both Paul and Stacey had assumed Tina would welcome their support, their help. Dammit, their unconditional affection and love.
Except Tina had politely refused Stacey’s, then Paul’s advances. Something that merely accelerated Stacey’s grief to an inconsolable level.
Now it was Nic’s turn to attempt to sway Tina’s decision. At any cost, Paul had determined.
Money. Sufficient of it could buy most anything, anyone, Nic decided with wry cynicism as he passed through security and rode the lift to the penthouse level. Besides which, he was a shrewd judge of character, a lauded strategist…and he had a few contingency plans.
It was simply a matter of determining the one most likely to succeed, and putting it into action.
Seconds later he crossed the marble-tiled floor to a set of ornate double doors.
Nic pressed the call button, then held it down when no one answered.
Nic wondered at Vasili’s fascination with the woman carrying his child, for at twenty-seven Tina was almost six years Vasili’s senior, and the only child of a widowed mother whose remarriage five years ago had resulted in a move to Noosa on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast.
Tina had a record of average scholastic achievements, a love of sport, life. A flair for fashion had led to a managerial position in an up-market Double Bay boutique owned by her mother. A collection of friends, but no long-term boyfriend.
Dammit, why didn’t she answer?
Impatience creased his features as he withdrew his cellphone, hit auto-dial, and queried Paul as to when the apartment had last been checked.
His father’s answer brought forth a frown. The morning following Vasili’s death.
Two weeks ago?
‘Given the current situation,’ Paul relayed, ‘Stacey refuses to interfere with Tina’s live-in arrangement.’ His voice sharpened. ‘Give me a few minutes and I’ll call you back.’
Nic didn’t have to wait long for Paul to relay the building manager was on his way with a master-key.
The apartment offered stunning views over the bay, but Nic took little notice of the sparkling nightscape beyond floor-to-ceiling glass as he thanked the manager and closed the door behind him. Instead he walked through the lounge, eyes alert for any signs of occupation, only to discover there was none.
Vasili’s clothes hung in one of two large walk-in robes, and there was an assortment of male toiletries atop a double marble vanity unit in the master en suite.
The sight of them hurt, like a stake through the heart. Curiously more so than when he’d received the tragic call from Paul; more so even than the funeral. For now there was the visual attestation Vasili would never return to claim what was his…clothes, possessions, or the joy of holding his child.
A muscle bunched at the edge of his jaw as he crossed to the second robe, only to discover on opening the door that it was empty.
Nic moved through the apartment, checking a second bedroom, a third…and discovered both were empty. There were no clothes in either wardrobe or chest of drawers. No sign of any feminine possessions in each adjoining en suite.
A husky oath escaped from his lips.
Tina Matheson had moved out.
It was obvious Paul hadn’t considered keeping tabs on her. Dammit, he’d only given the need a fleeting thought, then dismissed it, sure she’d milk the situation, eagerly taking whatever Paul and Stacey offered. Hell, even demand more in a quest to set herself up for life by virtue of the child she carried.
He checked the dining-room, the kitchen, spotted a set of keys resting on the marble bench-top and reached for them, examining each before weighing the set in one hand. Then he slid them into his jacket pocket and made a phone call.
The name Leandros garnered respect. It also opened doors to data not easily available to the general public.
Within fifteen minutes Nic had the information he needed.
It didn’t take long to drive the few kilometres to a small private hotel where Tina Matheson was registered as a guest.
Locating her room took mere minutes, and when there was no answer to his knock he repeated the action, harder, more forceful than before.
He was about to give it another try when the security chain was removed, the lock disengaged, the door opened sufficiently for him to glimpse a female clutching a large bath-towel around her slender form.
Nic registered damp auburn curls piled high on her head, pale features, and a pair of brilliant emerald-green eyes.
Eyes that hardened somewhat as they ascertained his identity.
‘Go away.’
The door slammed shut, and he stifled a lurid oath.
‘Do that again,’ he warned with dangerous silkiness, ‘and I’ll disregard common courtesy.’
He heard the security chain engage, then the door opened a fraction. ‘I could take that as a threat and call the police.’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Don’t tempt me.’
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
‘Not if I can help it.’
‘We can have a conversation now,’ Nic offered with deceptive mildness, ‘in relative privacy. Or,’ he paused slightly, ‘I’ll arrive at your place of business tomorrow and hold it there.’
There was a perceptible silence, then Nic heard the locks disengage, and the door swung open.
She was more petite than he recalled, but then she was barefoot. The bath-towel had been discarded in favour of a towelling robe.
She looked tired, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. The result of grief, lack of sleep…or both?
‘Another Leandros emissary?’ Tina took in the tall, broad male frame clothed in superb tailoring, forced