‘Let me see, you were discussing cocktails with the bartender and doing nothing to bat off his very clear interest in you.’
‘And you think that automatically makes me less of a person? Because I wasn’t snarling at a total stranger?’
‘Your actions weren’t those of a bereaved widow.’
‘Everyone handles grief differently. Just because you chose to sit in a corner nursing your whisky and demanding silence doesn’t mean you have the monopoly on heartache.’
She watched his face harden further. ‘And what of the events afterwards? Which step of the grieving process did you tick by sharing the bed of a stranger before your husband was even in the ground?’
Despite her reeling senses, she fought to keep her voice steady. ‘That’s what bothers you, isn’t it? The fact that I committed some cardinal sin by seeking solace before I’d buried my husband.’
‘Was that what you were doing? Seeking solace?’ His gaze bored into her, almost as if he was willing her to answer in the affirmative.
Because that would make him see her in a better light?
She shook her head and started to straighten her clothes. ‘Does it matter what I say? You’ve already judged and found me guilty. I slept with you three days before my husband was in the ground. Trust me, you don’t detest me more than I detest myself. But tell me, what’s your excuse? Why did you sleep with me, other than that I was a willing body with a fascinating hair colour you couldn’t resist?’
Her question made him jerk backward. He frowned and slowly his hand fell away from her throat. Hazel eyes dropped to his hand, and she watched it slowly curl into a fist, then release.
‘For some of us, the pain reaches a point when it becomes unbearable. You were there. You offered a willing distraction.’
For some of us...a willing distraction...
Perla wasn’t sure which of the two statements hurt deeper. What she was sure of was that Arion believed both statements; believed she’d gone to the bar at Macdonald Hall for her own selfish reasons other than with grief in mind.
And, in a way, wasn’t he half right? The actions that had propelled her out of her car had had more to do with her frustration and anger at what Morgan had done to her than with pure grief.
The grief had come later, of course. Because, despite everything else he’d put her through, his loss hurt the two people she’d come to see as surrogate parents.
Terry and Sarah had partly filled a void she’d longed for Morgan to complete. They’d treated her as their own, and for someone who’d known only the coldness of the state foster system for most of her life, it’d been a blessed feeling to finally be part of a loving family. To feel a degree of being wanted she’d never experienced before.
Of course, she couldn’t tell Arion that; he wouldn’t believe her. She’d all but thrown herself at him in that car park, just after prattling on about Santorini and weddings.
She knew her actions had fallen far short of that expected of a newly bereaved wife. But she refused to let him keep denouncing her as a whore.
‘I went into that bar for a drink, nothing else. I’ve never picked up a man in my life. You were a mistake that shouldn’t have happened. But you happened. We had a moment. You can choose to shame me over it for as long as you live if it makes you feel better. I prefer to put it behind me, forget it ever happened.’
Hazel eyes narrowed and her breath caught. She’d been trying to reason with him. Instead, she’d made him angrier.
‘If you wanted to forget you shouldn’t have come here today. You should’ve appointed a representative and made them deal with this situation on your behalf. Coming here and parking yourself in my lobby tells me forgetting was the last thing on your mind.’
‘You’re wrong! Besides, I live in the real world, Mr Pantelides. Representatives and lawyers cost money. Hiring one to do the job I was perfectly capable of doing myself is irrational. The only thing this trip’s cost me is a train ticket.’
One smooth eyebrow rose. Then his hand glided back to her neck, then down to her shoulder to rest just beneath her breast. ‘Are you sure?’ His breathing had grown slightly ragged and his other hand was now flexing through her hair, toying with it.
‘Mr Pantelides—’
‘You once told me my given name pleases you,’ he murmured in that deadly low voice.
Her breath hitched. ‘How can I forget if you keep reminding me?’
‘Perhaps I don’t want you to forget. Perhaps I want you to relive the pain and devastation and the pleasure with me.’ One thumb teased her nipple and she felt her knees give way. ‘If I have to be like him, then maybe I deserve whatever I get.’