He’d said she was a different woman than she’d been three months ago, and yes, she was. She didn’t know what kind of woman she truly was, not when she’d grown up in that place and not when that had moulded her in a certain way, but she wanted to find out. Part of her freedom was the freedom to choose who she wanted to be and she could be anyone, couldn’t she?
But how can you ever truly know who you are, when you don’t even know who you were?
That would come. She’d find out. She would.
In the meantime, she would choose simply not being a victim. Or a servant or a poor trafficked girl.
She would choose to be powerful. Strong and in control. A seductress.
Let him deal with that.
CHAPTER FOUR
ARESSATATthe table reading an email on his laptop. Night had fallen abruptly, as it did in the tropics, the air heavy with humidity and the scent of flowers. The darkness was broken by the discreet lighting of the outside terrace, the thick trees and shrubs highlighted with various spotlights.
Candles in glass hurricane lamps had been placed on the table, along with a full silver service in preparation for dinner. Crystal wine glasses and white porcelain, snowy napkins and a gleaming silver ice bucket for the champagne.
His staff had outdone themselves and he was pleased.
Except that Rose was late.
It annoyed him, though he tried not to let it. His days in the Legion had taught him to be adaptable and not everyone was as punctual as he was. Though these days, everyone ran to his command, and he was not used to people disobeying his orders.
He did not look at his watch. She was making him wait, he was sure of it.
Anticipation gathered inside him, though he tried to ignore that too. The anticipation of an unexpected challenge, because she was unexpected.
He hadn’t expected that little scene by the pool, for example, her being cross with him and offering to get the sex ‘over and done with’ as if it didn’t matter. She’d been all prickly, not bothering to hide her annoyance with him at being made to wait a whole week for him to arrive, and he was male enough to find it satisfying that she was impatient. That she’d been thinking of him.
You fool. Why should you care who she’s thinking of?
He didn’t. But he could enjoy a woman thinking of him, couldn’t he? It had been years, after all. He’d also rather enjoyed her trying to tempt him by toying with the knot of her sarong. A long time since he’d played that game with a woman too, and he couldn’t deny a certain pleasure in playing it with Rose.
Except he hadn’t enjoyed her mentioning Ivan. Or how he’d let slip Ivan’s relationship to him. He couldn’t think why he had. Maybe it had been her thinking he was a human trafficker, or perhaps condoned it, and he’d felt...angry. Yet again.
He hadn’t wanted her thinking that of him, though why her opinion mattered he couldn’t fathom.
She was his wife, it was true, but only in a legal sense. Their marriage wasn’t based on any kind of emotion.
No, your marriage is based on a debt she feels she owes you.
He frowned down at his laptop, turning that thought over in his head.
That was an issue. She’d never be free, she’d told him that night in the helicopter, not until she’d paid him back, and while he understood her reasoning, he didn’t like it. What must it have been like, growing up in Ivan’s compound? Imprisoned, knowing that she was property...
The anger that had ignited three months earlier burned hotter now, smouldering like an ember in his chest, and he rubbed at it, trying to ignore it.
It was terrible what had happened to Rose, but he could not afford to personalise it. He’d learned many things in the years since his wife had been gone, and not allowing his emotions to get the better of his intellect was one of those things.
For example, if he’d known back then that Stavros and his gang of petty thugs would retaliate so violently, he wouldn’t have allowed his pride to get in the way and would have paid the protection money they’d demanded. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t wanted Naya to think him a coward. Aristiades was a proud name, and strong, and he’d refused to bow to weaker men.
Yet those weaker men had torched his house, and Naya had been killed. Her life the price of his pride.
He should never have allowed himself such arrogance. He should have thought things through. He should have thought, full stop.
A soft footfall came from the direction of the double doors that led from the dining room and out onto the terrace.
Ares dragged his attention from his laptop screen.