His gaze probed hers. ‘That morning outside the coffee shop, that was where you were going?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does your father think?’
She bit her lip. ‘He doesn’t know.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Because it will draw attention to his lies about his upbringing? Everyone knows he was born and raised in the favelas.’
‘It’s part of the reason why I didn’t tell him, yes. But he denies his favela upbringing because he’s…ashamed.’
‘And yet he doesn’t mind anyone knowing about his mother?’
‘He thinks it gives him a little leverage with the common man to be indirectly associated with the favelas.’
‘So he likes to rewrite his history as he goes along?’
‘Perhaps. I don’t delude myself for one second that my father doesn’t bend the rules and the truth at times.’
His harsh laugh made her start. ‘Right. Are you talking about, oh, let’s see…doing ninety on a sixty miles per hour road, or are we talking about something with a little more…teeth?’
That note she’d heard before. The one that sent a foreboding chill along her spine, that warned her that something else was going on here. Something she should be running far and fast from. ‘I…I’m not sure what you’re implying.’
‘Then let me spell it out for you. Are we talking about harmless anecdotes or are we talking about actual deeds? You know—broken kneecaps? Ruptured spleens. Kidnap for ransom?’
Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Come on, you know what your father is capable of. Do I need to remind you of what he did to you when you displeased him?’
She followed his gaze to the marks on her arm and slowly shook her head. ‘I don’t excuse this but I refuse to believe he’s the monster you describe.’
His mouth twisted. ‘I’ll let you enjoy your rosy outlook for now, querida. I, too, felt like that once about my own father.’
‘Is that what you’re going to do to my father? Make him accountable for the things he’s done?’
For several heartbeats she was sure he wouldn’t answer her, or would change the subject the way he’d done in the past. But finally he nodded.
‘Yes. I intend to make him pay for what he took from me twelve years ago.’
Her breath froze in her lungs. ‘What did he take from you?’
He turned abruptly and faced the water, his stance rigid and forbidding. But Inez found herself moving towards him anyway, a visceral need driving her. She reached out and touched his shoulder. He tensed harder and she was reminded of his reaction to her touch on his boat. ‘Theo?’
‘I don’t like being touched when my back’s turned, anjo.’
She frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Part of my demons.’
Her gut clenched hard at the rough note in his voice. ‘Did…did my father do that to you?’
‘Not personally. After all, he’s an upright citizen now, isn’t he? A man the people should trust.’ He whipped about to face her.
‘But he had something to do with your claustrophobia. And this?’
‘Yes.’
‘Theo—’
‘Enough with the questions! You’re forgetting why you’re here. Do you need a reminder?’
She swallowed at the arctic look in his eyes. All signs of the raw, vulnerable pain she’d glimpsed minutes ago were wiped clean. Theo Pantelides was once again a man in control, bent on revenge. Slowly, she shook her head. ‘No. No, I don’t.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
THEIR CONVERSATION AT the beach set a frigid benchmark for the beginning of her stay at Theo’s glass mansion.
The next two weeks passed in an icy blur of hectic days and even more hectic evenings. They’d quickly fallen into a routine where Theo left after a quick cup of coffee and a brief outline of when and where they would be dining that evening.
On the second morning when she’d told him she was heading for the charity, he’d raised an eyebrow. ‘What sort of work do you do there?’
‘Whatever I’m needed to do.’ She’d been reluctant to tell him any specifics in case he disparaged her efforts as a rich girl’s means of passing the time till the next party.