‘It would be a tempting ploy,’ he continued, ‘but if you try it you’ll find my lawyers less eager to reach a reasonable settlement with you.’
They were back to that again? The realisation was a body blow, robbing Tessa of air and cramping her stomach.
For a moment she’d thought there was a chance they might reach some kind of truce. But it seemed that Stavros Denakis’ mistrust was even keener than his sense of guilt.
‘You still believe I want your money?’ She wouldn’t stoop to plead her case, not when it was sure to fail. Yet she could barely credit the depth of his scepticism.
‘You think I should believe you’re a complete innocent because of the hard life you’ve led?’ His dark brows rose as if in genuine surprise. ‘I think not. Women are rarely that straightforward, and I think most people would see your first act as a free woman, in flying across the globe to find me, rather telling. Of course you’re after a slice of my wealth.’
Tessa sat up straighter, curling her fingers tight into the cushioned seat. Anger vibrated through her, making it difficult to find her voice. ‘You see yourself as an expert on women, obviously. Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps, just once in a while, you might be wrong?’
His mouth quirked up in a humourless smile.
‘You should have done your research before you decided to try extorting Denakis money. Though in the circumstances I suppose your opportunity to investigate me was limited.’
Tessa trembled with the effort of sitting there instead of surging to her feet and slapping her palm across his arrogant, self-satisfied face. Or of kneeing him hard in the place most precious to his inflated masculine ego.
‘I suppose you consider all women are after you for your looks and your money,’ she said quietly. ‘What a shame to have such doubts about your own worth. To be always wondering about people’s motives.’
His brows snapped together and something dangerous sparked in his eyes. He didn’t move yet somehow his bulk seemed larger, more menacing.
‘I’m used to women throwing themselves in my path,’ he murmured in a provocative tone designed to raise her blood pressure. ‘Of them flaunting their bodies and trying to insinuate their way into my bed. Of the coy looks and the brazen invitations.’
He shrugged and his gaze slid, assessing, over her body, firmly swathed in towelling. Nevertheless, she felt his scrutiny as if no barrier protected her from him. It was like a physical caress and she knew he was recalling her reaction when they’d been together in her room and she’d thought he’d kiss her. She hadn’t been able to hide her anticipation, her breathless eagerness.
Heat bloomed in her throat and rose to scorch her cheeks. Darkening eyes met hers and held her gaze.
‘I have a particular expertise when it comes to women who extort money via marriage.’ His mouth thinned to a brutal line. ‘I met the first of my stepmothers when I was ten. The second when I was sixteen. The third at twenty-two. Not one was the genuine article, a loving wife who cared for her husband and new family.’ He bit the words out with such hatred that she winced. ‘And each was more selfish and mercenary than the last.’
He swung away to stare out to the dark blue Aegean lapping around the pier at the foot of the gardens. In profile his jaw was tight, his mouth hard and his eyes curiously blank.
He looked more alone than anyone she’d ever seen.
A whisper of unwilling sympathy softened the stiffness of Tessa’s rigid frame.
‘I’ve seen it all,’ he said, his voice a low rumble that against all reason created a twist of compassion deep inside her. ‘I’ve witnessed every ploy, every parody of affection. Women who abuse their bodies in order to look the part of a fantasy lover. Women who care more about their manicure than their promises of fidelity and love. Women whose sole aim is a life of luxury, even if they have to sell themselves to achieve it.’
His deep voice grew harsher and Tessa shuddered at the wealth of cynicism there. She’d never persuade him she was different. Why did she even want to try?
Tessa pushed herself up from the seat, turning to leave, and found herself facing the black-clad man who’d interviewed her the night she’d arrived. His face was devoid of betraying emotion. Yet his waiting stillness sent trepidation tingling down her backbone.
‘Kyrie Denakis.’
Stavros swung round, his expression abstracted. But instantly she sensed him focus on the newcomer, shoving other thoughts to one side.
‘Ne?’
The word was a signal that unleashed a rapid spate of Greek. Tessa had no hope of understanding what was said. Yet, despite the way both men avoided so much as a glance in her direction, as the tension built to a throbbing pulse in the heavy atmosphere, she knew this was about her.