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jeans he had pulled on. Just looking at Cristo made her heartbeat pick up speed and her breathing quicken: he was so physically gorgeous. White-hot sex appeal was bred into his very bones. Even more disturbingly, the wilful line of his beautiful mouth was remarkably like her son, Lorcan’s, she registered in dismay, rushing to suppress that unnerving sense of familiarity. Inside himself Cristo was seething with anger, she did know that, but Cristo rarely revealed anger on the surface, deeming that a weakness. And one thing Cristophe Donakis did not do was weakness.

      ‘I deserve that you check out my side of the story,’ Erin proclaimed as regally as a queen. ‘You didn’t give me the opportunity three years ago, so the least you can do is take care of the omission now.’

      A winged ebony brow quirked. ‘And if I agree, you’ll get back into bed?’

      ‘I have just one more thing to say.’

      ‘You’re pricing yourself out of the market.’

      Erin gazed back at him, remembering when she had loved him, when she had simply lived for his quick easy smile and attention and shrinking from the recollection, fearful of ever laying her heart out again. ‘No, I’m worth waiting for.’

      Cristo dealt her a hungry appraisal that made her triangular face burn as though he had turned an open flame on her skin. ‘Speak …’

      ‘Ask yourself why I would commit fraud and put myself at risk of a prison sentence while refusing to accept the valuable diamond jewellery you tried to give me on several occasions,’ she advised softly. ‘If I wanted money that badly, keeping the diamonds and selling them would have been much more sensible.’

      Cristo held her eyes coolly without reaction and then released his breath on a slow measured hiss. ‘Get back in bed,’ he breathed.

      Erin retrieved her pillow and undid the tie on the robe, letting it fall as she scrambled onto the divan. Cristo watched, desire igniting almost simultaneously to raise his temperature. Surely there had never been any woman with paler, more perfect skin or more delicate yet highly feminine curves? He lay down on the bed beside her with a sense that all was right in his world for the first time in a long time. Erin studied the stark beauty of his features, knowing why no other man had tempted her, knowing why she was still heart whole. Nobody had ever come close to comparing to Cristo either in looks or passion. Eyes drowsy, she lifted a hand in the simmering silence and with her forefinger gently traced the volatile curve of his full lower lip. His gaze smouldered and his hand came up to entrap hers, long fingers wrapping round her smaller hand with precision.

      ‘Go to sleep,’ he breathed ruefully, noting the shadows that lay below her eyes like bruises. ‘You’re exhausted.’

      Why should it bother him that she looked so tired? Why had he even noticed? His expressive mouth tightened.

      They were enjoying the equivalent of a two-night stand: finer feelings of any kind were not required. Nor had he any intention of getting caught up in discussing their previous relationship. There was nothing to discuss. But Erin had looked so shocked when he accused her of cheating on him. Perhaps she had been shocked that he had found her out. Clearly her partner that night had stayed silent about Cristo’s entry to the hotel room. And Erin had always had a talent for playing innocent and naïve. Once that had charmed him, fooled him. Now it merely set his teeth on edge with suspicion.

      What was Erin hoping to get out of this weekend? She was a survivor. As was he and he didn’t like the fact that he was enjoying her company so much.

      The next day they had breakfast on the terrace mid-morning. Erin had slept so late she was embarrassed. Sleeping in, after all, was a luxury she no longer enjoyed at home. The twins woke up at the crack of dawn demanding attention and since their birth Erin had learned to get by on short rations of sleep. Casually garbed in white cotton trousers teamed with a colourful silk top, she spread honey on her toast and enjoyed the picturesque landscape of rolling hills covered with mature chestnut and oak woods at the rear of the villa. It occurred to her that she might as well have been on a pleasure trip, for the accommodation and food were superb and even the company was acceptable.

      Acceptable, jeered a little mocking voice in her head as she glanced at Cristo, lean and darkly magnificent in a black polo shirt and tailored chinos, predictably pacing the terrace as he ate and drank, the restive spirit that drove him unable to keep the lid on his sheer energy this early in the day. He had let her sleep undisturbed, had already been up and dressed when he finally wakened her. As his spectacular dark golden eyes surged her she went pink, something akin to panic assailing her as she felt her treacherous body’s instant response to his powerful masculinity. There was an ache at the heart of her, a physical reminder of the wild passion they had shared. Yes, shared, she labelled, refusing to overlook her own behaviour. The sleazy weekend of her worst imaginings had come nowhere near reality and it had also proved surprisingly informative, she acknowledged wryly as she continued to think deeply about Cristo’s admission that he had believed she had cheated on him. How could he not have confronted her about that? And yet she knew why not, she understood the bone-deep unforgiving pride that was so much a part of his nature. He had successfully hidden his anger from her at the time, refusing to vent it, something she could not have done in his place. He had accepted her supposed betrayal and, even now, his lack of faith in her when she had loved him appalled her. As Cristo had reminded her, though, it was the past and she thought it was wiser not to dwell on it.

      He took her out for a drive in an open-topped sports car. Such freedom felt strange to her. She was accustomed to taking the twins to the park on Saturday mornings. Guilt weighed her down for she knew that her children would be missing out on that outing because Erin’s mother found it difficult to watch over her grandchildren alone in a public place. Lorcan loved to explore and he wandered off, often followed by his sister. Erin had twice found her son standing up to his knees in the boating lake and had carried him kicking and screaming back to dry land where Nuala waited to enrage him with the toddler version of, ‘I told you so.’

      ‘How did you end up working for Sam Morton?’ Cristo prompted.

      ‘Pure good luck. I was living at home and working as a personal trainer again. My best client was a friend of Sam’s. That kind lady talked me up to him when he was looking for a spa manager and he phoned me and offered me an interview.’

      ‘What made you leave London to return to Oxford?’

      Erin shot him a taut glance and opted for honesty. ‘I couldn’t afford city life when I was living on benefits. I should never have resigned from my job at the Mobila spa—that was rash and short-sighted of me.’

      ‘I was surprised when you resigned,’ Cristo admitted. ‘Later I assumed it was because you’d been dipping into the till and you thought it would be safer to stage a vanishing act.’

      Erin stiffened at that reminder but said nothing, resigned to the fact that she could not combat that charge until she had, at least, tackled Sally Jennings. ‘I left because I didn’t want to keep running into you and I assumed you’d feel the same way but I was over-sensitive. Leaving after working there such a short time blighted my CV. It was also much harder to find another job than I thought it would be.’ Especially once she had realised that she was pregnant and no longer feeling well, she completed inwardly.

      A hundred memories of their time together were assailing Cristo and lending a brooding edge to his mood. He remembered her twirling in the rain with an umbrella. She had preferred nights in watching DVDs to nights out at a club but the horror movies, which she loved, gave her nightmares. He had learned not to mind being used as a security blanket in the middle of the night. They had virtually lived together at weekends when he was in London, his innate untidiness driving her wild while her love of pizza had left him cold. Now he asked himself how well he had ever known her.

      The sun beat down on them as they walked around a little hill village, packed with stone houses and narrow twisting alleys. In the cool quiet interior of the tiny ancient church, she lit a candle and said a little prayer for peace while Cristo waited outside for her. Around him she couldn’t think straight and the level of her emotional turmoil was starting to scare her.

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