“He can’t do this!”

“Your father had your best interests at heart,” the lawyer told her.

“Making the terms of his will conditional on me effecting a reconciliation with my ex-husband?” Katrina queried scathingly. It was ridiculous!

“I understand a divorce has not been formalized.”

Katrina’s level of desperation moved up a notch. She hadn’t got around to it, and neither had Nicos.

“I have no intention of allowing Nicos Kasoulis back into my life!”

Bestselling Australian author HELEN BIANCHIN has a sophisticated, intense writing style and especially enjoys creating passionate heroes and independent heroines. The emotional sparks really fly between her characters, and the sensuality sizzles! We hope you enjoy The Husband Test, and look out next year for more wonderful stories from Helen Bianchin.

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The Husband Test
Helen Bianchin

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

KATRINA felt her breath hitch a little as her voice rose in disbelief. ‘You’re not serious?’

It was a joke. A tasteless, sick joke. Except lawyers didn’t sink to this level of facetiousness during a professional consultation. ‘Dear God,’ she said irreverently. ‘You are serious.’

The man seated behind the imposing mahogany desk shifted his shoulders, and eased into a well-rehearsed platitude. ‘Your late father expressed concern at the difficulties you might incur.’

Difficulties didn’t even begin to describe the shenanigans her extended dysfunctional family were heaping on her head.

Not that this was anything new. She had been the favoured one for as long as she could remember. Daddy’s golden girl. His only child. A constant, immovable thorn in the side of his second and third wives and their child apiece from previous marriages.

No one could say her life hadn’t been interesting, Katrina reflected. Three paternal divorces, two scheming ex-wives, and two equally devious stepsiblings.

During her formative years she’d been able to escape to boarding school. Except for holidays at home, most of which had been hell on wheels as she’d fought a battle in an ongoing war where reality had been a seething sea of emotional and mental one-upmanship beneath the façade of pleasant inter-family relationships.

The time between each of her father’s divorces had proved to be the lull before the next storm, and instead of bowing her down it had merely strengthened her desire to be a worthy successor to his extensive business interests.

Much to the delight of the man who’d sired her.

Now, that same man was intent on reaching out a hand from the grave to resurrect a part of her life she fought on a daily basis to forget.

Katrina cast the lawyer a penetrating look. ‘He can’t do this,’ she refuted firmly as she attempted to hide the faint tide of panic that was slowly invading her body.

‘Your father had your best interests at heart.’

‘Making the terms of his will conditional on me effecting a reconciliation with my ex-husband?’ she queried scathingly. It was ridiculous!

‘I understand a divorce has not been formalised.’

Her level of desperation moved up a notch. She hadn’t got around to it and, as no papers had been served on her, neither had Nicos.

‘I have no intention of allowing Nicos Kasoulis back into my life.’

Greek-born, Nicos had emigrated to Australia at a young age with his parents. As a young adult he’d gained various degrees, then had entered the hi-tech industry, inheriting his father’s extensive business interests when both parents died in an aircraft crash. Katrina had met him at a party, their instant attraction mutual, and they’d married three months later.

‘Kevin appointed Nicos Kasoulis an executor,’ the lawyer relayed. ‘Shortly before his death, your father also appointed him to the board of directors of Macbride.’

Why hadn’t she been apprised of that? Dammit, she held a responsible position in the Macbride conglomerate. Choosing not to take her into his confidence was paternal manipulation at its worst.

Her chin lifted fractionally. ‘I shall contest the will.’ Dammit, he couldn’t do this to her!

‘The conditions are iron-clad,’ the lawyer reiterated gently. ‘Each of your father’s ex-wives will receive a specified lump sum plus an annuity until such time as they remarry, sufficient to support a reasonable lifestyle in the principal residence they gained at the time of their divorce. There are a few bequests to charity, but the remainder of the estate passes in equal one-third shares to you and Nicos, with the remaining share being held in trust for your children. There is a stipulation,’ he continued, ‘making it conditional both you and Nicos Kasoulis refrain from filing for divorce, and reside in the same residence together for the minimum term of one year.’

Had Nicos Kasoulis known of these conditions when he’d attended her father’s funeral less than a week ago?

Without doubt, Katrina decided grimly, recalling how he’d stood like a dark angel on the fringes, watchful, his touch cool, almost impersonal, as he’d taken her hand in his and had brushed his lips to her cheek.

He’d uttered a few words in condolence, politely declined to attend the wake held in Kevin Macbride’s home, and had walked to his car, slid in behind the wheel, and driven away.

‘And if I choose not to heed my late father’s request?’

‘Nicos Kasoulis retains control in the boardroom, and a financial interest in Macbride.’

She didn’t believe him, couldn’t accept Kevin had gone to such lengths to satisfy a whim to have his daughter reconcile with a man he had considered more than her equal.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Katrina refuted. She was the rightful heir to the Macbride business empire. Dammit, it wasn’t about money…nor bricks and mortar, stocks and bonds.

It was what they represented. The sweat and toil of a young Irish lad from Tullamore who at the age of fifteen had worked his way to Australia to begin a new life in Sydney as a brickie’s labourer. At twenty-one he’d formed his own company and made his first million. At thirty he’d become a legend, and had been fêted as such. With the pick of Sydney’s society maidens to choose from, he’d acquired a wife, sired a babe, and had developed a roving eye. Something that had got him into trouble and out of marriage a few too many times. A lovable rogue, as Katrina’s mother had referred to Kevin Macbride on a good day.

To Katrina he’d been a saint. A tall dark-haired man whose laugh had begun in his belly and had rolled out into the air as a full-blooded shout. Someone who’d swept her up into his arms, rubbed his sun-drenched cheek against her own fair one, told stories that would have charmed the fairies, and who’d loved her unconditionally.

From a young age she’d played pretend Monopoly with his kingdom, sitting on his knee, absorbing every business fact he’d imparted. During school holidays she’d accompanied him to building sites, had had her own hard hat, and had been able to cuss as well as any hardened labourer—mentally. For if Kevin had caught even a whisper of such language falling from her lips he’d never have allowed her on any site again.

Something that would have hurt far more than a paternal slap, for she’d inherited his love of creating something magnificent from bricks and mortar. Of siting the land, envisaging architectural design, selecting the materials, the glass, seeing it rise from the ground to finish as a masterpiece. Houses, buildings, office towers. In later years Kevin Macbride had delegated, but everything that bore his stamp had received his personal touch. It had been his Irish pride, and her own, to see that it was done.

To imagine conceding any of it to Nicos Kasoulis was unconscionable. She couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. Macbride belonged to a Macbride.

‘You refuse?’

The lawyer’s smooth tones intruded, and she lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. ‘Nicos Kasoulis will not gain sole control of Macbride.’

Her eyes were the green of the fields of her father’s homeland. Brilliant, lush. Emphasised by the pale cream texture of her skin, the deep auburn hair that fell in a river of dark red-gold silky curls down her back.

For all that Kevin Macbride had been a big man, his only child had inherited her mother’s petite frame and slender curves, the hair and eyes from her paternal grandmother, and a temper to match.

Too much woman for many a man, the lawyer mused, who’d long been intrigued by the private life of one of the city’s icons whose business interests had commanded large legal fees over the years.

‘You will, therefore, adhere to your father’s wishes as set out in his will?’

Live with Nicos Kasoulis? Share a home, her life, with him for one year? ‘If that’s what it takes,’ Katrina vowed solemnly, and he was willing to swear he caught a hint of tensile steel that boded ill for any man hoping to bend her will.

Was Nicos Kasoulis that man? He would have thought so, given the look of him. Yet, despite the marriage, they’d separated after a few brief months, and rumour rarely held much basis for fact.

His business was to ensure Kevin Macbride’s wishes were legally maintained. Not to wonder at the man’s private life, nor that of his only child.

‘I shall despatch formal notification of your willingness to comply.’

Katrina lifted one eyebrow, and her voice was dry and totally lacking in humour. ‘Did my father specify a date for this reconciliation?’

‘Within seven days of his passing.’

Kevin Macbride had never been one to waste time, but a week was over-zealous, surely?

She looked around the sumptuous furnishings, the expensive prints adorning the walls, the heavy plate-glass and caught the view out over the harbour.

Suddenly she wanted out of here, away from officialdom and legalities. She needed to feel the fresh air on her face, to put the top down on her Porsche and drive, let the breeze toss her hair and bring colour to her cheeks. To be free to think, before she had to deal with Nicos.

With determined resolve she rose to her feet. ‘I imagine we’ll be in touch again before long.’ There would be documents to sign, the due process of winding up a deceased’s estate. She extended her hand in a formal gesture that concluded the appointment, murmured a few polite words in parting, then she moved into the corridor leading to Reception.

The lawyer walked at her side, then stood as she passed through the double glass doors and stepped towards the lift.

There was no doubt Katrina Kasoulis was a beautiful young woman. Something about the way she held herself, her grace of movement, and that hair…

He hid a faint sigh, for she burned as a bright flame, and a man could get singed just from looking.

Katrina rode the lift down to the ground floor, crossed the street to the adjacent car park, located the relevant floor, and slid in behind the wheel of her car.

It was almost five, the day’s office hours reaching a close, and she eased the Porsche onto street level, then entered the stream of city traffic.

Katrina drove, negotiating the choked roadways until she’d covered distance and the traffic dissipated. Then she moved into a higher gear, heard the muted response of the finely tuned engine, and revelled in the speed.

It was almost six when she pulled to a halt on the grassy bank overlooking the beach. There was a tanker on the horizon, easing slowly down towards the inner harbour, and a few children frolicked in the shallows beneath the watchful eye of their parents.

Gulls crested low over the water, dipped, skidded along the surface and settled, only to move their wings in a graceful arc to skim onto the sand.

It was a peaceful scene, one she desperately needed to ease the ache of recent loss. There had been so much to organise, family to deal with.

And now there was Nicos.

It was over, done with. And she’d healed.

Liar.

She only had to think of him to remember how it had been between them. Not a day went past that her subconscious didn’t force a memory. He invaded her mind, possessed her dreams, and became her worst nightmare.

All too frequently she woke in a sweat, his hands, his mouth on her so real she could almost swear he’d been there with her.

Yet she’d always be alone, the security system intact, and she’d spend what remained of the night reading or watching a late movie on television in an attempt to dispel his haunting image.

Occasionally she bumped into him at social gatherings around the city, professional soirées where her presence was de rigueur. Then they greeted each other, exchanged polite conversation…and moved on. Except she was acutely conscious of him, his steady gaze, the latent power he exuded, and his sensual heat.

Even now her pulse quickened to a faster beat, and her skin warmed, the soft body hairs raising in awareness. Sensation unfurled deep inside, and spread through her body like a lick of flame, activating each pleasure pulse, every erotic zone.

This was crazy. She took a deep, steadying breath and held onto it, then slowly exhaled. Two, three times over.

Focus, she bade silently. Remember why you walked out on him.

Dear Lord, how could she forget Nicos’s ex-mistress relaying news of a confirmed pregnancy and naming Nicos as the father of her unborn child?

Georgia Burton, a model whose slender beauty graced several magazine covers, had delighted in informing a conception date coinciding with a time when Nicos had been out of town on business.

Georgia’s assurance her affair with Nicos hadn’t ended with his marriage was something Katrina couldn’t condone, despite Nicos’s adamant denial, and after one argument too many she’d simply packed up her things and moved into temporary accommodation.

Even now, several months later, the memory, the pain, was just as intense as it had been the day she had left him.

The peal of her cell phone sounded loud in the silence, interrupting the solitude, and she checked the caller ID, saw it was her mother, and took the call.

‘Siobhan?’

‘Darling, have you forgotten you’re joining me for dinner and the theatre tonight?’

Katrina closed her eyes and stifled a curse. ‘Can we skip dinner? I’ll collect you at seven-thirty.’ She could just about make it if she edged over the speed limit, took the quickest shower on record, and dressed.

‘Seven forty-five. I have tickets, and valet parking will eliminate several minutes.’

She made it…just. Together they entered the auditorium and slid into their seats just as the curtain rose.

Katrina focussed on the stage, the actors, and blocked out everything else. It was a technique she’d learned at a young age, and now it served her well.

Between acts she gathered with her mother among patrons in the lobby, sipped a cool drink, and indulged in conversation. Siobhan owned a boutique in exclusive Double Bay, and had in the years since her divorce become an astute and extremely successful businesswoman.

‘I’ve put something aside for you,’ Siobhan relayed.

Her mother’s taste in clothes was impeccable, and Katrina proffered a warm smile. ‘Thanks. I’ll write you a cheque.’

Siobhan pressed her hand on that of her daughter. ‘A gift, darling.’

A prickle of awareness slithered down Katrina’s spine, and she barely caught herself from shivering in reaction.

Only one man had this effect on her, and she turned slowly, forcing herself to skim the fellow patrons with casual interest.

A difficult feat when all her body’s self-protective instincts were on full alert.

Nicos Kasoulis stood as part of a group, his head inclined towards a gorgeous blonde whose avid attention was almost sickening. Two men, two women. A cosy foursome.

Yet even as she was about to turn away he lifted his head and captured her glance, held it, those dark eyes steady, mesmeric, almost frightening.

He had the height, Katrina conceded, the breadth of shoulder, the stance, that drew attention.

Sculptured facial bone structure inherited from his Greek ancestors—wide cheekbones, strong jaw, not to mention a mouth that promised a thousand sensual delights and eyes as dark as sin—merely added another dimension to a man who wore an aura of power as comfortably as a second skin. Thick dark hair worn longer than was currently conventional added an individualistic tone to a man whose strength of will was equally admired as well as feared among his contemporaries.

If he thought to intimidate her, he was mistaken. Katrina lifted her chin, and her eyes flashed with green fire an instant before she deliberately turned her back on him.

At that moment the electronic buzzer sounded, heralding patrons to return to their seats.

Katrina’s focus was shot to hell, and the final act passed in a blur of dialogue and action that held little consequence. Her entire train of thought was centred around escaping the auditorium without bumping into the man who’d stirred her to passionate heights, the mere thought of which caused her equilibrium to crash and burn.

An escape Nicos would contrive to allow, or not, as the mood took him.

Not, she perceived as they made their way through the lobby to the front entrance.

‘Katrina. Siobhan.’

His voice was like black satin, dark and smoothly dangerous beneath the veneer of sophisticated politeness.

‘Why, Nicos,’ her mother breathed with delight as he bent to brush his lips to her cheek. ‘How nice to see you.’

Traitor, Katrina accorded silently. Siobhan had been one of Nicos’s conquests from the beginning. Still was.

‘Likewise.’ He turned slightly and fixed Katrina with a deceptively mild gaze. ‘Dinner tomorrow night. Seven?’

Bastard. The curse stopped in her throat as she caught her mother’s surprise. Nicos, damn him, merely arched an eyebrow.

‘Katrina hasn’t told you?’

She wanted to hit him, and almost did. ‘No.’ The single word escaped as a furious negative.

Siobhan looked from her daughter to Nicos, who merely inclined his head in silent deference to Katrina.

Grr! She wanted to scratch his eyes out, and for a wild nanosecond she actually considered it.

He knew, darn it. She could tell from the faint musing gleam evident, the slight quirk at the edge of his mouth as he waited for her to pick up the ball and play.

There was no way around it, and better the truth than prevarication. ‘Kevin, in his infinite wisdom,’ she declared with heavy irony, ‘has made it a condition of his will that I reside in the same house with Nicos for a year. If I don’t, Nicos gains a majority control of Macbride.’ She threw him a dark look that would have felled a lesser man. ‘Something I absolutely refuse to let happen.’

‘Oh, my,’ Siobhan voiced faintly, her eyes clouding as she glimpsed her daughter’s simmering temper.

Siobhan knew her ex-husband well. The iron will beneath the soft, persuasive Irish charm. It had been a time ago, and she’d long forgiven him. For the one good thing to come out of their union had been Katrina.

‘The man’s a meddling fool,’ she said quietly, and saw her daughter’s wry smile. But a smart one. Oh, yes, Kevin Macbride had been nothing if not astute. And he’d developed an instant liking for the attractive Greek his daughter had wed. Maybe, just maybe, the father might achieve in death what he hadn’t been able to achieve while he’d been alive.

Siobhan, how could you? Katrina seethed silently. While I’m capable of slaying my own dragons, I expected you to stand beside me, not welcome the enemy with grace and charm.

Nicos discerned each and every fleeting expression on his wife’s features. She’d lost weight, her skin was pale, and at the moment she was a seething bundle of barely controlled fury. A bundle he was hard-pressed not to heft over one shoulder and carry kicking and cursing out to his car. And ultimately into his bed.

Katrina glimpsed the intent in those dark eyes, and wanted to hit him. ‘Goodnight.’

The word was evinced as a cool dismissal. Icy, with a tinge of disdain meant to convey the edge of her temper.

She saw what he was going to do an instant before his head descended, and he anticipated her move, countered it, and captured her mouth with his own in a kiss that destroyed her carefully erected defences.

Brief, possessive, evocative, it brought a vivid reminder of what had been.

And would be again.

The purpose was there, a silent statement that was neither threat nor challenge. Merely fact.

Then he straightened, and his lips curved into a musing smile as he caught the unmistakable edge of anger in her glittering green gaze.

‘Seven, Katrina,’ he reminded her with deceptive quietness, and saw her chin tilt fractionally.

Cool, control. She’d had plenty of practice at displaying both emotions. ‘Name the restaurant, and I’ll meet you there.’

One eyebrow arched. A silent, faintly mocking gesture that put a serious dent in her bid for independence.

‘The foyer of the Ritz-Carlton.’

An established, élite hotel situated a few blocks from her Double Bay apartment, negating the need to take her car.

She had no doubt it was a deliberate choice on his part, and she was sorely tempted to stamp her foot in childish repudiation. Instead, she offered him a cool glance and kept her voice neutral. ‘Fine.’

Nicos inclined his head towards Siobhan, then he turned and began weaving his way through numerous patrons converging near the entrance.

‘Don’t say a word,’ Katrina warned in caution as they gained the external pavement.

‘Darling, I wouldn’t dream of it,’ her mother evinced with a soft chuckle.

CHAPTER TWO

THE evening was warm, the air like silk on a soft breeze whispering in from the sea as Katrina locked her car and set the alarm.

The hotel entrance lay ahead, its elegant façade attesting élite patronage in an established, moneyed inner-city suburb.

She’d dressed to kill, although only she knew how much time had been spent selecting and discarding one set of clothes after another in a quest to do battle and win.

Nicos viewed her entry into the lounge with veiled interest.

Business, he silently attested, noting the power suit in stylish black. The cut of the jacket, the mid-thigh length of the straight skirt, the sheer black hose showcasing shapely legs, slim ankles emphasised by stiletto-heeled black pumps. Jewellery confined to a diamond pendant on a slender gold chain, and a simple diamond stud worn in each earlobe.

Was she aware how well he could read her? The tiny signals that indicated her mood were evident in the sweep of her hair into a smooth, sophisticated French twist, the perfectly applied make-up, highlighting her eyes, the shape of her mouth. The tilt of her chin.

It was a façade, one he’d been able to dispense with easily. He retained a vivid memory of the way she melted beneath his touch. The spill of hair as he slid his fingers through its thick length and cupped her nape, angling her head so that soft, evocative mouth lifted to meet his own. The wild, untamed passion of her response as she met and matched him, treading a path to mutual satisfaction that was more, much more than he’d shared with any other woman in his lifetime.

He saw the moment she sighted him, and glimpsed the faint straightening of her shoulders, the way her fingers tightened over her evening purse. Her step didn’t falter as she crossed towards him.

‘Nicos.’ Her greeting was polite, almost cool.

Take control, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Shall we go through?’

Fire and ice, he mused. A combination that never failed to intrigue him. ‘Eager to be done, Katrina?’

Her gaze met and held his. ‘I’d prefer to keep this short,’ she stated civilly, and caught the imperceptible lift of those broad shoulders.

‘Such honesty,’ he chided softly.

He made no attempt to touch her, but this close she was all too aware of his body heat, the faint tang of his exclusive cologne. Not to mention the aura of leashed power that was so much a part of him.

He was biding his time, she alluded with a tinge of bitterness. Tonight was a mere indulgence. A social formality in an attempt to create some form of mutual truce whereby they could co-exist for the next year.

Nicos had nothing to lose, while she…

Don’t think about it, she chided silently as she entered the restaurant at Nicos’s side.

Seated, she let him choose the wine while she perused the menu, ordering after scant deliberation a starter and a side salad.

‘Not hungry?’ Nicos posed as he watched her sip the excellent Chardonnay.

Katrina met his gaze with equanimity. ‘Not particularly.’ Her stomach felt as if it were attempting intricate somersaults, and the movement was not conducive to the easy digestion of food.

It irked that he could still have this effect. Worse, that all it took was one look at him and her pulse raced to a faster beat.

Was he aware of it? She hoped not. She’d spent a lifetime learning to mask her feelings. To smile, and pretend she was immune from the barbs two stepmothers and two stepsiblings had inflicted at every opportunity.

Adopting a façade wasn’t difficult. She did it every day of her life. Professionally. Emotionally.

‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’

‘Why not finish your meal first?’ Nicos countered silkily.

Katrina picked at her salad, then discarded it. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘Some more wine?’

‘No. Thanks,’ she added politely. The need for a clear head was essential.

Dammit, why did he have to be so blatantly male? He savoured his food as he savoured a woman. With care, enjoyment, and satisfaction.

There was something incredibly sensual about the movement of his hands, and she had only to look at his mouth to imagine how it felt on her own. The devastation it could wreak as he pleasured her. He had the touch, the knowledge, to drive a woman wild.

Focus, she chided silently. This isn’t about you. Or Nicos. It’s about claiming a right to Macbride.

‘We need to decide whose residence we’ll share,’ she began firmly.

He forked a succulent piece of fish, and followed it with a portion of salad. ‘Naturally you’d prefer your apartment.’

It couldn’t be this easy. ‘Yes.’

He cast her a measured look. ‘The Point Piper house is large. It would be more convenient for you to move in there.’

It surprised her that he hadn’t sold the luxurious mansion they’d occupied for the few brief months of their ill-fated marriage. An architectural masterpiece built against sloping rock-face, it encompassed three levels of modern living, with terraced grounds, ornamental gardens, a swimming pool, and a magnificent harbour view.

It also housed too many memories. ‘No, it wouldn’t.’

Nicos replaced his cutlery and settled back comfortably in his chair. ‘Afraid, Katrina?’

She looked at him carefully, noting his steady gaze, the seemingly relaxed expression. Deceptive to the unwary, she acknowledged silently, for Nicos Kasoulis possessed a razor-sharp mind and a killer instinct. Qualities that had gained him immense respect from both friend and foe. In the business arena, and among the socially élite.

It had been this ruthless streak that had appealed so much to Kevin Macbride, who’d seen in Nicos what he’d himself possessed: someone who knew what he wanted and went after it regardless of anything or anyone who stood in his way.

‘Have I reason to be?’

His smile held a certain wryness. ‘You must know I have your welfare at heart.’

‘If that were so, you’d have stood down as executor of Kevin’s will.’

‘I gave him my word.’

‘And that is everything.’

‘Cynicism doesn’t suit you.’

Katrina picked up her glass, and took a leisurely sip of wine. ‘Forgive me,’ she said without any hint of apology. ‘I learned it at any early age.’

‘Why not try a dessert?’ Nicos queried blandly, and saw the fire bank beneath those brilliant green eyes.

She took a deep breath and sought to retain a semblance of calm. ‘We need to arrive at some sort of compromise.’

Nicos slid a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, extracted a bulky envelope, and tossed it down onto the table in front of her.

Katrina viewed it with suspicion. ‘What’s this?’

‘A remote for the front gates, and keys to my home.’

He was far too sure of himself. ‘Presumptuous, aren’t you?’

‘Practical,’ he corrected.

‘Arrogant,’ she attested. ‘What if I insist you move into my apartment?’ she queried heatedly, hating him at that moment.

‘Do you really want me in the next bedroom to yours?’ Nicos queried mildly. ‘Sharing the same living quarters, the same kitchen? In an apartment more suited to one person than two?’

‘You know nothing about my apartment,’ she retaliated, and saw the slight lift of his eyebrow.

‘I was responsible for the gutting and rebuilding of the original homestead.’

She cast him a scathing look. ‘Next you’ll tell me you own it.’

Nicos inclined his head. ‘Guilty.’

If she’d known, she’d never have bought it. Her eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, it had been her father who’d first drawn her attention to the penthouse apartment in the large, modernised, tri-level home. Less than a month after she’d walked out on Nicos.

Nicos watched the fleeting emotions chase across her expressive features before she successfully masked them.

‘Mythos Investments is one of my companies.’

Of course. The name alone should have alerted her, but at the time she hadn’t given much thought to anything other than finding a solitary haven of her own.

Suspicion ignited, and demanded answer. ‘Did you employ a private detective to monitor my every move?’ Katrina queried tightly.

An ex-military whose instructions were to observe, protect if necessary, and be unobtrusive at all times. A successful operation, Nicos acknowledged, for which the man had received a handsome remuneration.

His silence was more eloquent than mere words, and Katrina’s mouth thinned. ‘I see.’

Nicos’s gaze speared hers. ‘What do you see, pedhi mou?’ His voice was dangerously quiet.

Too quiet. Like the calm before a storm. Something she chose to ignore.

‘Two men bent on manipulating my life,’ she retaliated fiercely. ‘My father during his lifetime, and now you.’ She picked up her water glass and momentarily toyed with the idea of throwing its contents in his face.

‘Don’t,’ Nicos warned softly.

She was caught on the brink of violence. Aware of the acute satisfaction of such an action, and the folly of carrying it through. ‘You read minds?’

‘Yours.’

She took in a deep breath and released it slowly. ‘The activity reports would have been incredibly repetitive,’ she began tightly.

Work, social activities. A few male partners, none of whom had stayed overnight.

‘How dare you?’ The anger bubbled over. ‘It was an invasion of privacy. Harassment. I should file charges against you!’

His gaze didn’t waver. ‘It was protection.’

‘Did Kevin know?’ she demanded starkly.

‘We discussed it.’

Traitors, both of them. ‘Dear heaven,’ she breathed with pious disregard. ‘I’m twenty-seven, not seventeen!’

‘You’re the daughter of a very wealthy man, and—’

‘The estranged wife of someone who is almost my father’s equal,’ Katrina finished bitterly.

‘Yes.’

‘I hate you.’

His shoulders lifted in an imperturbable shrug. ‘So—hate me. At least it’s an active emotion.’

She was steaming, her anger a palpable entity.

He caught the way her fingers curled into her palm, the whiteness of her knuckles as she sought control.

‘If you leave now, you’ll only delay the inevitable,’ Nicos warned silkily. ‘And invoke a repeat performance.’

It didn’t help that he was right.

‘I don’t want this,’ she vowed with unaccustomed vehemence. ‘Any of it.’

‘But you want Macbride.’

It was a statement she didn’t, couldn’t refute.

Why should sharing a residence for a year with her estranged husband pose any problems? They were both adults. They had extensive work obligations, separate interests. With luck, they’d hardly see each other much at all.

A tiny bubble of laughter rose and died in her throat. Who was she kidding?

Katrina looked at the bulky envelope, then lifted her head and met his enigmatic gaze. ‘I won’t share a bedroom with you.’

Their eyes clashed, brilliant green and dark brown. And held. She wasn’t conscious of the way her breath hitched, or its slow release several long seconds later.

‘I don’t believe I asked you to.’

His voice was cool, almost ice, and she contained a slight shiver as it threatened to slither the length of her spine.

‘Friday,’ Katrina stated. The seventh day, thus fulfilling the first condition listed in Kevin’s will. ‘Evening,’ she qualified.

‘I won’t be home until late.’

One eyebrow arched in disdain. ‘I don’t see that as a problem.’

Nicos inclined his head, signalled the waiter, and ordered coffee.

‘Not for me.’ She had to get out of here, away from the man who’d once held her heart, her world, in his hands.

Whatever needed to be faced, she’d face on Friday. But for now, she wanted to be as far away from Nicos Kasoulis as possible.

With unhurried movements she rose to her feet, collected her evening purse, barely stifling a startled gasp as Nicos unfolded his lengthy frame and caught hold of her wrist.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she vented with an angry snap.

‘I’d say it’s obvious.’

The waiter appeared out of nowhere, accepted the cash Nicos handed him, beamed appreciatively at the size of the tip, and Katrina had little option but to allow Nicos to accompany her from the restaurant.

The instant they reached the foyer she tried to wrench her hand from his, and failed miserably. Short of an undignified struggle she was compelled to walk at his side through the elegant arcade to the street.

‘If you don’t let my hand go, I’ll scream,’ she threatened, sotto voce.

‘Go ahead,’ Nicos directed imperturbably. ‘I imagine female histrionics will garner some attention.’

‘You’re the most impossible man I’ve ever met!’

His quiet laughter was the living end.

‘Go to hell!’

‘You don’t want me to take you there,’ Nicos warned with a dangerous silkiness that sent ice slithering down the length of her spine.

‘I don’t want you…finis.’

‘Is that a challenge?’

‘A statement.’

‘A year, Katrina. Maybe we could attempt a truce of sorts?’

She spared him an angry glance. ‘I doubt it’s possible.’

‘Try,’ he suggested succinctly.

She reached into her evening purse, extracted a set of keys, and indicated the sleek white Porsche parked kerbside. ‘My car.’

‘Proving a point, Katrina?’

‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps I should follow your example.’ He lowered his head and pulled her close in one easy movement.

She opened her mouth to protest, but no word escaped as he took possession in a manner that reached right down to her soul. And tugged at something long dormant. Evoking a vivid memory of how it used to be between them.

Of its own accord her body sank in against his, savouring for a brief few seconds the feeling of coming home. Of recognition at the most base level, and need.

The slow sweep of his tongue explored her own, tangled, then took her deep.

Dear Lord, how could she be this needy?

With a reluctant groan she tore her mouth away, and attempted to put some distance between them. Her own distress was evident, and she fought a mixture of anger and resentment as he brushed his knuckles along the edge of her jaw.

‘Chemistry,’ she dismissed with practised flippancy.

His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable, and she stifled a silent curse.

‘You think so?’ He took the keys from her hand, deactivated the alarm, then he unlocked the door. He opened it, slid the key into the ignition, then stood to one side as she slipped in behind the wheel.

‘Friday, Katrina.’

As if she needed reminding. With a deft twist of the wrist she gunned the engine into life, eased out of the parking space, then she sent the car forward at a quick pace.

She barely had time to shift through the gears before it was necessary to change down as she reached the driveway to her apartment.

Minutes later she’d garaged the Porsche and was safely indoors, choosing the lift instead of stairs to reach her apartment.

It wasn’t late, only a few minutes past nine. Too early to go to bed. She toyed with the idea of phoning any one of several friends, suggesting she meet up with them and share a drink and chat a while. Except they would ask questions at such an impulsive action, and questions were something she’d prefer to avoid.

Instead, she undressed, pulled on an oversized tee shirt, removed her make-up, then she curled up in a comfortable armchair and changed channels on the television until she found something worth watching.

Katrina must have fallen asleep, for when she woke her neck felt stiff, one leg was numb, and a glance at her watch revealed it was long past midnight.

Minutes later she doused the lights and crawled into bed to lie awake haunted by the feel of Nicos’s mouth on her own.

Choosing what to pack required minimum effort. A selection of clothes for the office, casual gear, and a few suitable outfits for the rare social occasion.

Katrina closed the zip on both suitcases, took one last look around the apartment, then she set the security alarm, closed the outer door, and summoned the lift down to the basement garage.

It was only a few kilometres from Double Bay to Point Piper, and no matter how she qualified the move it was impossible to control her nervous tension as she turned into the elegant street housing Nicos’s home.

Katrina eased the car to a halt, engaged the remote control, waited as the high wrought-iron gate slid smoothly to one side, then she traversed the semi-circular driveway towards a stylish tri-level home set in well-kept grounds. One of many in this tree-lined street where a mix of old and new residences provided an air of wealth in a harbour-front suburb.

The wide portico framed an impressive entry with ornate double doors protected by a sophisticated security system.

A married couple came in each weekday to clean and tend the grounds, but they would have left hours ago, Katrina reflected as she entered the lobby.

The house was silent, and it was impossible to shrug off a sense of déjàvu.

Late-afternoon sun hit the ornamental multi-paned leaded glass, sending prisms of soft pinks and greens across the cream marble-tiled floor, showcasing the high ceilings, the wide curved staircase leading to an oval balcony, an elegant chandelier.

To her right lay a large formal lounge and dining room, to her left a study, an informal sitting room, dining room and kitchen.

A spacious entertainment room, sauna, spa, gym, were situated on the lower floor, together with an indoor swimming pool with wide French doors leading out onto terraced gardens.

Five bedrooms, each with en suite, comprised the upper level of a beautifully furnished house with magnificent views out over the inner harbour.

For a brief few months it had been home. A place where she’d shared love, laughter, and great passion.

Don’t go there, a tiny voice warned.

Discipline was something she’d mastered at a young age, yet she was helpless against the unwanted emotions invading her mind, her body.

Re-entering Nicos Kasoulis’s space was a move fraught with tension. Yet what choice did she have?

None, if she wanted control of Macbride, Katrina reflected a trifle pensively as she ascended stairs to the upper floor.

Did Nicos occupy the master suite they’d once shared? Or had he moved into one of the other bedrooms?

The master suite, she determined minutes later. His clothes were there, and an array of masculine toiletries took up space on the marbled vanity.

She skimmed a glance over the large bed, and endeavoured to still her increased heartbeat. How could he bear to stay here? Occupy this room, this bed?

Pain clenched in her stomach, and she turned abruptly away in an attempt to stifle a host of memories.

Control, she had it. But for how long? a devilish imp taunted as she chose a bedroom on the opposite side of the balcony.

There was, she saw at once, a small desk ideal for her laptop. A calculated guess on Nicos’s part that she’d select this room, or sheer coincidence?

Second-guessing Nicos’s motivation was a fruitless exercise.

Move your gear in, unpack, take a shower, check your e-mails, make a few calls, then have an early night, she prompted silently.

It was almost ten when hunger forced the realisation she’d missed dinner. Lunch had been a sandwich eaten at her desk, and breakfast had comprised orange juice and black coffee.

Hardly adequate sustenance, she decided as she made her way down to the kitchen to raid the refrigerator.

A ham sandwich and a cup of tea would suffice, and she’d almost finished both when she heard the front door close followed by the beep of the security alarm being set.

There was no way she could escape upstairs without detection, and she didn’t bother to try. The slim hope she’d held that Nicos would simply ignore the array of lights on this level died as he entered the kitchen.

The mere look of him stirred her senses, and set her composure seriously awry.

A dramatic mesh of primitive sexuality and latent power that had a lethal effect on any woman’s peace of mind. Especially hers.

It irked her unbearably that he knew, with just one look at her, no matter how she schooled her expression.

‘A late-night snack, or did you miss dinner?’ Nicos queried mildly as he crossed the room to stand a metre distant.

He took in the baggy tee shirt that reached her thighs, her bare legs and feet, and the hair she’d swept into a pony-tail. A look that was the antithesis of the corporate executive.

‘You’re back early.’

‘You’re evading the question.’

Katrina lifted the cup and took a sip of tea. ‘Both,’ she informed succinctly.

He loosened his tie and thrust both hands into his trouser pockets. She looked beat, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. At a guess she hadn’t slept much in the past few nights.

Anxiety at their enforced living arrangements?

‘Should we attempt polite conversation?’ Katrina parried.

He looked vaguely dangerous. She tried to tell herself such a thought was the height of foolishness. But the feeling was there, in the look of him, his relaxed stance. Deceptive, she accorded warily, as all her fine body hairs rose up in protective self-defence.

Instinct warned she should tread carefully. Yet she was prey to a devilish imp prompting her towards certain conflagration.

‘How was your date—sorry, dinner?’ she corrected deliberately.

One eyebrow rose with deliberate cynicism. ‘Why assume my companion was female?’

‘A calculated guess, given the increasing number of women in the business arena.’

‘And my penchant for the company of women?’ Nicos queried silkily.

‘You have a certain reputation.’ A statement that held a wealth of cynicism.

‘I won’t deny intimacy with previous partners,’ he said with dangerous softness. ‘The relationships were selective and meant something at the time.’

‘But you don’t offer fidelity. In or out of marriage.’

He didn’t move, but she had the sensation he was suddenly standing much too close. ‘You want me to reiterate something you refuse to believe?’ he demanded silkily.

The air between them was electric. ‘Why bother?’ She held his gaze without fear. ‘We did that to death at the time. It achieved nothing then. I don’t see that it will now.’

His control was admirable, but his eyes were dark, almost chillingly still. ‘If I were to offer the same query following your return from a business dinner, your answer would be?’

She didn’t hesitate. ‘Get stuffed.’

‘An eloquent phrase.’

Katrina turned towards the sink and jettisoned the remains of her tea. ‘Forget polite.’ She rinsed the cup and placed it in the dishwasher. ‘Let’s just stick with good morning and goodnight.’

‘You think that will work?’

Why did she get the feeling he was at least one step ahead of her?

‘The alternative is a war zone.’

‘Battles won and lost?’

She gave him a long, considering look. ‘It’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.’

‘An interesting analogy.’

‘Isn’t it?’ She turned away from him and stepped towards the door. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Sleep well, pedhaki mou.’

His cynical drawl echoed in her mind as she ascended the stairs, and even in the relative safety of her bedroom the affectionate endearment recurred as a repetitive taunt.

Consequently sleep proved an elusive captive, until exhaustion overcame the many scenarios she plotted against him.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE was evidence Nicos had already eaten breakfast when Katrina entered the kitchen the next morning.

The aroma of freshly made coffee teased her nostrils, and she took down a cup and filled it from the cafetière, added sugar, slotted bread into the toaster, then sipped the excellent brew as she waited for the toast to pop.

A daily newspaper lay on the table, and she scanned the front-page headlines highlighting the latest criminal injustice, the fall of a major company, and touting plaudits for two councillors running in the upcoming elections.

When the toast was ready she spread it with conserve, topped her cup with coffee, then she pulled out a chair and dedicated fifteen minutes to acquiring an informative view of the day’s reported journalism.

Until she reached the social pages, and found herself looking at a photograph of her and Nicos. Taken, she confirmed on closer examination, at a social function not long after their marriage. The caption read, Together Again?

An unidentified source confirms Nicos and Katrina Kasoulis have reunited to satisfy a condition of Kevin Macbride’s (of Macbride) will. Fact or fallacy?

Anger rose, and a sibilant curse escaped from her lips.

Without pausing for thought she gathered up the pertinent page and went in search of her errant husband.

She found him in the study, seated at his desk, his attention focussed on the computer screen.

He glanced up as she entered, took one look at her expression, and pressed the save key.

‘Good morning.’

Katrina threw him a fulminating glare. ‘Have you seen this?’ She cast the newspaper page down onto the keyboard, and jabbed a finger at the caption.

Someone had been busy. Given her extended dysfunctional family, it narrowed the suspects down to four. Any one of whom would take delight in presenting such facts to the press.

‘You want to complain and request a retraction?’

She was so angry she could hardly speak. ‘What good would that do?’

‘None whatsoever.’

Suspicion clouded logic. ‘Were you responsible?’

Katrina saw his features harden and his eyes grow cold. ‘That doesn’t even qualify for an answer.’

‘Who, then?’

Nicos’s silence was eloquent, and her anger took on a new dimension.

‘I need to make a few phone calls. Then,’ she announced between clenched teeth, ‘I’m going out.’

‘I have an invitation to attend dinner this evening.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.’

‘For both of us.’

‘You can go alone!’

‘An action that would cause speculation, surely?’ Nicos posed reasonably. ‘Given our very recent reconciliation?’

‘I have no intention of partnering you on the social circuit,’ Katrina vowed tersely.

‘Considering my attendance is minimal, it won’t be a hardship.’

‘And we haven’t reconciled. We’re merely sharing the same house!’

‘So we are,’ Nicos said with dangerous softness. ‘However, for the duration of one year we partner each other whenever the necessity should arise.’

‘That isn’t a condition of Kevin’s will.’

‘Consider it one of my own,’ he said hardily, and watched her green eyes fire with anger.

‘Don’t try to manipulate me,’ she warned as she moved to the door, adding as a parting shot, ‘I won’t stand for it.’

‘Be ready by six-fifteen,’ Nicos relayed silkily.

Katrina didn’t deign to answer, and barely restrained the temptation to slam the door behind her.

With carefully controlled movements she went upstairs, changed into tailored trousers, added a blouse, a jacket, slid her feet into heeled pumps, then collected her bag, caught up her car keys and went down to the garage.

Ten minutes later she drew to a halt adjacent a park, withdrew her cellphone, and made the first of several phone calls.

Whilst Andrea, Kevin’s second wife, coveted wealth and a luxurious lifestyle, was self-orientated to the point of selfishness, she didn’t possess a vicious bone in her body. Her daughter, Paula, by Andrea’s first marriage, was overindulged and a snob, but an unlikely candidate to raise her stepsister’s ire.

Which left Chloe, Kevin’s third wife, and her son, Enrique, by a previous marriage. Each of whom would delight in causing Katrina grief.

Katrina had contacts, and she used them ruthlessly.

An hour later she had the answer she wanted. Enrique. Now, why didn’t that surprise her?

Her stepbrother was a smooth charmer who made it no secret that in his opinion he, as the only male in a clutch of associated family females, should inherit a major share in Macbride. It mattered little that Kevin had insisted each of his successive wives sign a prenuptial agreement, and had made both Andrea and Chloe aware that Katrina was his successor.

Enrique was a young man who adored the high life, fast cars and beautiful women. He had also acquired an expensive habit in his teens, one that had seen him in a private clinic on more than one occasion during the few years Chloe had been Kevin’s wife.

At least she knew her enemy, Katrina determined as she put the car in gear and headed towards Double Bay. She intended checking out her apartment, reassessing her wardrobe; then she planned some retail therapy.

There were a few girlfriends she could phone to come join her and share lunch. Except the invitation would elicit questions she had no desire to answer, and while her heart ached for the loss of her father she knew he would hate her to grieve.

Life, he had always maintained, was a celebration. And he had celebrated it well.

Yet she missed his laughter, his love. He’d been her rock, her safe harbour. In a quirk of misplaced wisdom, he’d appointed Nicos in his place.

Katrina wanted to reiterate she didn’t need or want Nicos’s protection. Except Kevin had played his final card and had given her no choice.

It was well after five when she garaged the Porsche and entered Nicos’s home with three evening gowns draped over her arm.

She reached the stairs as Nicos emerged into the lobby, and she paused, her expression one of controlled politeness.

‘Formal, Katrina,’ Nicos drawled as he reached her. He named the venue, the charity, and glimpsed her momentary disconcertion as they ascended the stairs.

How could she have forgotten? It was one of the city’s prestigious social events, and one Kevin had unfailingly sponsored for as long as she could remember.

She had…how long? Forty-five minutes in which to shower, attend to her hair and make-up, then dress.

She made it with scant seconds to spare, and stood silent beneath Nicos’s appraisal.

The crêpe georgette gown in jade-green with its bias-cut asymmetric flounces and figure-hugging lines accented her slim curves and highlighted her cream-textured skin. To save time she’d simply swept her hair into a careless chignon, had added diamond stud earrings and a matching pendant.

As to Nicos, the sight of him made the breath catch in her throat. He held his thirty-seven years superbly, his masculine frame attesting to a regular exercise regime. Attired in a black evening suit, white shirt and black bow tie, he looked every inch the wealthy sophisticate. Yet it was his innate sexuality and an intrinsic knowledge of the opposite sex that added another dimension. One any thinking woman couldn’t fail to recognise.

A year ago she would have offered a teasing comment, brushed the edge of his jaw with her fingers and placed her mouth against his in a light kiss.

Now she did none of those things. Instead she crossed the lobby in silence at his side and slid into the car parked out front.

‘Should we discuss the evening’s role-play?’ Katrina queried as Nicos cleared the gates and traversed the leafy street.

‘In light of Enrique’s link to a certain gossip columnist?’

‘You knew?’

He cast her a quick, telling glance. ‘Did you imagine I wouldn’t make it my business to find out?’

She didn’t answer. Instead she examined the passing scenery with detached interest. No matter where she’d travelled in the world, Sydney was home.

It was a beautiful city, with a picturesque harbour and buildings of varied architecture. Possessed of a relatively mild climate, the clear blue skies and sparkling waters of Port Jackson, with cliff-top mansions and numerous small craft anchored in the many bays and inlets, provided an endearing sense of familiarity evident as Nicos traversed the inner-city streets before easing the car to a halt adjacent the hotel’s main entrance for valet parking.

Guests mingled in the large lobby adjoining the grand ballroom. Uniformed waiters circled the area proffering trays of drinks, and the buzz of conversational chatter abounded.

The social élite, Katrina mused, dressed in their finest, with the women collectively displaying sufficient jewellery to fund a year’s aid to a Third-World country.

There were many guests present who would have sighted the photo of Katrina and Nicos Kasoulis and its teasing caption in the morning’s newspaper gossip column. Circumspect interest was expected, and she forced herself to ignore the telling glances, the quiet asides as she stood at Nicos’s side and sipped a mix of champagne and orange juice.

A few acquaintances made a point of extending their condolences for the loss of her father, others conveyed silent hand signals indicating they’d catch up through the evening.

Katrina sighted both of her stepmothers standing at opposite ends of the lobby, a presence that issued a silent statement of their individual importance on the social scene. Andrea had her man-of-the-moment in tow, while Chloe was partnered by none other than her son, Enrique.

It was a blessing that Siobhan, at least, didn’t try to compete on any level, much preferring a less fashionably social existence.

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