Isabella had been a terrible cook. The book he’d given her for their first wedding anniversary had been a joke—he still had it. It was one of the few items he’d brought with him to the island—another bruise to be pushed into, to remind himself of what he’d once had, and been too foolish to appreciate. Too selfish to protect.
‘What did you study at university?’ he asked, turning the questions back on her, seeking temporary relief in the change of subject. With Genevieve here, he found his predilection for sadistic self-torture waning, in favour of enjoying these few days. A slight reprieve, he thought, one that was in and of itself a double-edged sword.
Because he couldn’t look at this woman and want her, couldn’t look at and admire her beauty, without knowing it was a betrayal of Isabella. The woman who’d deserved so much better than he’d been able to offer.
In hindsight, marrying her had been a mistake. But she’d loved him so much, and her father had desperately wanted the union. Rather than disappointing either of them, Nikos had proposed. But his focus had always been on the business, his passion entirely given over to his professional successes.
In reality, he was no better than Genevieve’s husband had been. The thought sickened him, so he blanked it, focusing instead on the woman across from him and the storm raging outside, and the fact it didn’t show any signs of dying down. Not that he really wanted it to.
Chapter Seven
‘ICOULD WATCHyou lose yourself to me all day,’ he said, darkly, lifting his head from between her legs to stare up into her eyes. Genevieve felt heat flush her cheeks—now not from the pleasure of what he was doing to her body, but because of the words he gave her.
‘I—’ The sense of embarrassment had her quickly shutting her mouth, flattening the admission she’d been about to make.
‘You?’ he asked gruffly, drawing his mouth to her thigh and kissing her there. Her fingers reached down and tangled in his dark hair.
She arched her back as a thousand and one fantasies whispered through her. What the hell? Wasn’t honesty her new policy? ‘I never knew sex could feel like this.’
He lifted up to stare at her then, bracing himself on his elbows.
In for a penny, in for a pound…
‘Until I met you, I’d never actually, um, you know…finished.’
‘You mean, come?’
He was teasing her, but there was something dark in the backs of his eyes, a look that spoke of repressed anger. She nodded her head quickly, dropping her gaze. His body moved then, shifting up hers, until his hard cock was at her sex and the weight of him was on top of her, all rough and muscly. ‘Your husband—’ he spoke darkly, thickly ‘—is a useless bastard.’
She closed her eyes, a strange sense of loyalty—ingrained rather than deserved—making her want to argue that. But how could she? Objectively, he was right.
‘You deserve to feel this often and always. Your husband should have known better.’ And he kissed her then as he took her, in the way she desperately wanted: hard, fast, as though they were the last humans on earth and this act alone could save humanity. All thoughts of James fell from her mind as she revelled only in this.
Genevieve woke early the next morning. Her dreams had been a strange mixture of the past. Meeting James, their wedding, her mother’s strokes, and death, the hospital, the island, the storm that had brought her here. She tried to turn over and go back to sleep, but her brain was too active, replaying things she would sooner forget. James’s affairs. The headlines. The media’s calls to her—even from former students of her alma mater, who’d thought that might give them an ‘in’ with her. The feeling of shame and embarrassment that the whole world must know her own husband didn’t even love her.
Eventually, she gave up on sleep, and paced quietly across the cabin, setting a pot of water on to boil, then making her way to the bookshelf. She’d never been much of a crime fan, but she picked up the John Grisham book and read a few pages, before placing it softly back on the shelf and, out of desperation, reaching for the only other English language book available. Even if it was a recipe book.
She lifted it out, fingers flicking through the recipes, until something fell loose from the pages and dropped to the floor. She bent to pick it up at the same time she became conscious of Nikos moving. Standing and quickly stalking towards her. But it was too late; she’d already seen it. Though it made little sense.
For within the pages of the recipe book, a single photo had been stored. Of what looked like Nikos on his wedding day. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and stared at it, at the beautiful woman in the photo, with bright blonde hair and huge green eyes, and the kind of smile that could light up a whole room. The woman was looking up at Nikos as though he was the centre of her entire universe.
‘Give that to me.’ His voice was hard, roughened by something—secrecy, pain, anger?
Genevieve’s stomach rolled.
‘Are you married?’
He took the photo from her fingers, and she offered no resistance, but she quickly stepped back, putting space between them.
His lips formed a grim line; he looked almost unrecognisable. No, he looked as he had that first night. Unapproachable and barely human.
Her whole body felt knotty and strange. If this man was married, if she’d unwittingly become the other woman, a source of pain to another long-suffering wife, as she’d been, she could never forgive herself.
‘No.’
Her heart twisted as her eyes lifted to his.
‘But you were?’
