The Good Greek Wife? by Kate Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

‘Don’t…’
    â€˜Don’t what?’
    But then he opened his eyes and looked down into her face and she knew exactly what he meant. What exactly he did not want her to do.
    He didn’t want her to touch him. He was rejecting without words the feel of her hand on his, the connection of skin on skin. He didn’t have to say a word; it was there in his face, in his eyes.
    And that was when she realised just what a terrible mistake she had made. Impulse and concern had made her break through the barriers that she had felt between them. The barriers that she had erected in her mind in self-defence because of the need to protect herself from the shock of his sudden arrival, the memory of all that had been between them before he had left.
    â€˜So your wife is not allowed to touch you?’
    â€˜My wife… Were you ever truly my wife ?’
    His eyes burned into hers as he raised his other hand to fasten around her fingers, clasping them tightly under the warmth and roughness of his palm. And as he pulled at it, bringing it down and away from his face, the force of his hold made her wince as her fingers were squeezed together.
    But a moment later the slight discomfort was forgotten as shock ricocheted through her thoughts, making her head spin.
    â€˜You!’
    She spat the word at him as she fought for control, struggled with the need to lash out with the hand that was free or launch herself straight at him, pounding her fist on his chest.
    â€˜It was you!’
    She had seen the long white line of the scar before but then it had gleamed in the cold burn of the moonlight, the only visible part of a face that had been hidden by a cap, the fall of long dark hair, a heavy beard. The last time she had seen that scar it had been on the face of the man she had believed was a fisherman.
    â€˜You were spying on me!’
    The memories of the previous night, the recollection of Jason’s arms around her, and the thought of those dark burning eyes watching her put a new tension into her voice.
    â€˜Spying?’ Dark cynicism rang in Zarek’s voice. ‘That word implies that you have something to hide.’
    â€˜As opposed to you who was hiding from me.’
    She shouldn’t be doing this, Penny told herself. She shouldn’t be taking the conversation down this route. What she should be doing was asking Zarek where he had been, what had happened to him. She should want to find out—she did want to find out—just how he had come by that dreadful scar and what had happened to him. But she couldn’t make her mouth actually form the questions. Her tongue seemed to have frozen and her throat wouldn’t work on those words. Instead she heard the provocative and aggressive words come out as a challenge.
    The thought that he had come home earlier but had not let her know that he was alive burned in her heart. That he had hidden from her, watched her, waiting—for what?—for her to betray herself in some way, was like a knife twisting in the wound. She had once been convinced that when she knew that he was alive and well she would be so happy, and had even allowed herself to think they might just have a chance to start all over again.
    And now this…
    Did she need further proof that, whatever else had happened while he was away, nothing had changed his mind about their marriage? He still regarded her with suspicion, as someone who was not to be trusted. Not as the woman he had loved and missed. But then of course she had known that that was the case from the start.
    â€˜Don’t you think that I had the right to find out just what had been happening while I was away?’
    â€˜You didn’t want to see me? Ask me.’
    Another of those darkly blazing looks told her that he didn’t need to ask. That in his mind she was already tried and condemned without a chance of appeal.
    â€˜â€œI want to get away from here, start living again,”’