The thought caught her off-guard.
Why would she want to seduce Christos? She wanted to resist him. To fight him. To disdain him. With a determined tilt of her chin she unpacked her meagre selection of clothes into a drawer then stood in the middle of the room.
What next?
But she knew, of course, the one thing in the house that would calm her nerves.
She practically tiptoed down the stairs and across the kitchen to the beautiful piano. When she lifted the lid she looked guiltily over her shoulder, as though Christos might arrive and boss her away from the glorious instrument.
He didn’t, of course, and so she sat in the centre of the stool and lifted her hands to the keys.
Her fingers flew and the music exploded, bracing the house with melody. She played and played, for over an hour, and gradually she felt herself being stitched back together. As sure as chord followed chord, she would find a way to make everything better. She would get through this.
She would cope.
She would manage.
Because that’s what she did.
With a nod of her head, she dropped the lid carefully back into place and padded through the house.
It was a hot day. Even with the airconditioning, she felt warm just moving around and the swimming pool was beckoning to her. She lay on her back in the calming water, staring at the bright blue sky, wondering when fate and life would conspire to offer something good to her?
It was a self-pitying thought and she didn’t care for it, so she dismissed it with determination and stepped out of the pool.
There were several patio lounges on one side of the deck. She lay in one, intending to move inside in search of food soon after, only her eyes were suddenly very heavy. After all, she’d had only a few hours of very broken sleep the night before and she’d woken early. She stifled a yawn and settled a little lower into the daybed. She’d just rest for a moment, Elle thought, slipping easily into unconsciousness.
It was in this manner that Christos found her when he returned to the house several hours later.
At first, he thought his fears had been realised and that she’d left at her first opportunity, for the house had seemed empty.
A thorough search had revealed only that she was either a nervous or compulsive cleaner, but there was no sign of the beautiful American.
Until he’d come downstairs and thought of the pool at the last moment. Then, he’d seen her, sleeping like a baby, her skin reddened by the sun.
With a sound of frustration he strode across the terrace and blocked the heat from her body. She was so beautiful; he felt something inside of him stir at the sight of her. It wasn’t his fault. He could hate her and want her at the same time. She was the definition of ‘impossible to resist’. And how many other men had found that?
He ignored the jealousy. It wasn’t appropriate. She was the worst kind of woman; cheap and mercenary – someone who valued sex only in terms of what it could get them. Just like her mother had presumably been. But looking at her the accusation felt sharply discordant and stung in his mind. He swore softly and reached down, shaking her shoulder none too gently.
She woke slowly, her eyes peeling to look at him with evident annoyance. “Go away,” she said crossly, turning a little and falling instantly back to sleep. Her lips parted and her breathing resumed its same slow, rhythmic exhalation.
She was as light as a feather; he cradled her against his chest and strode into the house. “What are you doing?” She asked in the same groggy tone, her eyes still glued shut.
“You’re completely sunburned,” he said with obvious censure. “What kind of fool lies around for hours in the middle of the day under the Greek sun?”
Half-asleep, her expression of pain was more obvious for she was less able to conceal it. An answering cut of empathy lanced his gut. He refused to heed it.
“A fool like me,” she murmured. “Put me down. I can walk.”
He stifled a groan of frustration as he eased her to the floor. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” She cleared her throat. “I was tired.”
“I’m glad you rested,” he said. “You won’t get much sleep tonight either.”
She nodded, but the inference stung. “I’m going to go and shower.”
He watched her disappear with a sense of growing annoyance. She was practically running away from him. When he went upstairs a few minutes later, he discovered that she’d locked the door to the bedroom.
And could he blame her?
He shook his head and returned to the kitchen. While she showered, he removed jars and containers and put together a platter, so that by the time she appeared in a pair of pajamas that would have been at home on a geriatric in a nursing home there was a selection of olives, cheese, bread, pastrami, salami and fruit.
She stared at it in surprise and her stomach let out an answering groan.
“Hungry?” He asked, lifting his brows in invitation.
She nodded, lifting an olive from the platter and popping it in her mouth.
“Come.” He nodded towards the outdoor area. “It’s a nice evening. Let’s eat on the terrace.”
She followed behind him, uncertainty and doubts plaguing her every step. When he was horrible, she could find a way to manage because she was on the defensive. When he was almost-normal, it was a whole new ball game.
“Wine?” He offered as she took her seat.
She shook her head. “No. Thank you.”
He slid into the seat opposite but leaned back, watching her thoughtfully. He was unnerving her and Christos suspected he was more glad than sorry. She had a guilty conscience, that much was obvious. Her fingers were shaking as she reached for some cheese and lifted it to her mouth.
That mouth.
It pouted even as she chewed and he ached to pull her lower lip between his teeth.
“So you are not a musician. Besides swindling men out of their fortunes in exchange for the use of your body, what do you do with yourself?”
Her face flashed with hurt, as he’d known it would. The satisfaction he’d expected from landing such a taunt on her head didn’t come.
She did her best to ignore the insult. He was trying to get a rise out of her and she was pretty sure she would score a point if she sidestepped the temptation to show how he could hurt her. “I’m a waitress.”
“A waitress?” He laughed cynically. “That seems like a waste of your … talents.”
“Some of us don’t have billionaire daddies prepared to bankroll our careers,” she said with mock innocence.
His smile didn’t drop. He didn’t need to defend himself. He’d used very little of his trust fund to build his empire. His wealth was a result of his own dogged determination, not Filip’s money.
“Most people don’t,” he responded with a shrug. “And is waitressing all you hoped and dreamed?”
She narrowed her eyes, sparking at his snobbery. “It’s a good job, and my manager’s kind. I have the flexibility to be with Filip when he’s home from school. You have no right to speak scathingly about a perfectly legitimate form of employment.”
He reached for some salami and ate it to buy for time. “It doesn’t matter,” he said finally. “It’s not relevant.”
She looked as though she was about to say something but she closed her mouth and nodded slowly. They sat in silence, and it was anything but companionable. The tension buzzed around them despite the perfect surrounds and glorious night.
“These olives are very nice,” she said finally, for something to say. The lack of noise was beginning to stretch her nerves to breaking point.
He nodded in agreement. “They’re from my family’s property.”
Bitterness on behalf of her brother filled Elle. “Where is it?”
“Why do you ask, agape mou? So you can go and break the news to my mother’s face?”
She startled, the horrible suspicion completely unfounded. “No.” She dipped her
head forward and focussed her eyes on her knees. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “I was just making conversation.”
“There’s no need,” he said coldly, though staring at the pathetic picture she made caused some unknown emotion to tear through his conscience.
“Fine.” She scraped the chair back and glared at him hopelessly. “I’ll just go and wait for you in bed, shall I?”
He watched her go with a thoroughly deserved sense of shame. He was treating her terribly and even if she deserved his contempt, he wasn’t sure the behaviour did him any credit. He had her where he wanted her. Why couldn’t he at least be polite?
Because she’s going to ruin your mother’s life, he reminded himself forcefully. If he showed her pity and kindness, she would take it and use it to her advantage. She was just that kind of woman. He sat on the terrace until the blanket of stars sparkled richly overhead, his eyes focussed far in the distance.
Hours later, when he was himself ready for bed, he thought of her. Desire lurched through his system. If he went to her, she would answer. If he touched her, she would touch back. They were dancing in circles, both filled with loathing, but their bodies hadn’t got the memo.
If he went to her, they’d sleep together, and he’d find relief for the throbbing ache of need that had been chasing him all day.
But he’d hate himself.
He went to the bedroom they’d shared the night before purely to tell her that he was going to give her time to adjust to their new circumstances. He needn’t have bothered. She was fast asleep. With a small groan, he entered the room, flicked the light off and then went back downstairs to his own room.
He’d have a clearer idea of what to do the next morning.
Only morning broke with an unfamiliar sound.
Music.
With a frown, he moved downstairs and bee-lined for the kitchen. For of course he knew what to expect.
Elle, her long blonde hair tumbled over one shoulder, her eyes downcast, her fingers possessed. He had a few seconds to observe her before she noticed him and abruptly stopped playing. “Did I wake you?”
“Yes.” Now there was no mistaking his need for her. Did she feel it too? For all he had bullied her into staying, he was reluctant to make her feel that she was in any way sexually obliged to him. The very notion was anathema to him. His possession of her only worked if she felt the same answering ache inside of her.
“I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Couldn’t you?” He pressed his thumb beneath her chin, lifting her face upwards. “You should have come to find me.”
Her eyes were enormous and so grey they were almost like steel. “I thought about it.” Her expression was one of defiance. “I suppose you’re going to use that against me. But I don’t care. Lying doesn’t come naturally to me, despite what you might think.”
He stared at her without showing any emotion. “I want you.”
A simple admission that was so much more, for it was also a question. And Elle’s heart lifted at the tiny, miniscule sign of respect. How far she’d fallen to be gratified by such an insignificant sign of deference.
“I want you too,” she said softly, hating herself for the weakness but standing greedily, hungrily.
He crushed her to him, kissing her as though they were lovers who had been separated for years, not hours. His hands pushed at the cotton of her shirt, grazing her bare skin with a deep sense of gladness. There was no time to move upstairs. The sofa was closer and again they moved towards it.
Their bodies were in unison. They made love as though they were performing the steps of a dance to a song that had been written to them, and only they knew. They were perfectly in synch as they moved: touching, tasting, feeling, pleasuring. Her hands were light as they caressed his body and she lost the ability to think.
Her movements were automatic; she was powerless to control a single thing.
She wrapped her legs around his waist as she felt herself begin to explode, and he chased after her, pushing them high into the heavens on a wave of ecstatic release.
The flame of their passion had burned brightly, but it left in its wake a cold dawning of understanding.
This is how it would be for Elle.
Egg-shells and ecstasy, she thought with a frown. Until he told her to leave.
And he would. She had to accept the terms of what he was offering and deal with it. Hoping for more, wanting more, these emotions would only lead to heartache.
“Tonight, we share a bed,” he said, half-joking. But Elle didn’t hear the humorous self-deprecation in his words. She garnered only the command and she nodded jerkily beneath him. Suddenly his weight was suffocating her and she pushed at his chest.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” she said, pushing to a sitting position and straightening her pajama top to cover her breasts.
“Don’t be.” He studied her but the shift in her mood was an enigma. “I usually get up early anyway.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. I go jogging. Want to join me?”
“No thanks.”
“Suit yourself.” He stood, and as an afterthought, reached down and cupped her cheek.
She stood, shaking away from him, her heart groaning under the weight of acting as though everything was fine.
Her mood infuriated him. He ran for longer than normal, hoping that each mile he took in would lead to an easing of his state of mind. But the longer he ran the more he obsessed over the details of her appearance in his life.
She was impossible to understand. When they’d first met, he’d sensed a duality in her that was difficult to comprehend. She was both sexy vixen and innocent angel. She’d taken risks that no unsophisticated, inexperienced woman would entertain – even going to his home – and yet she was incredibly naïve at times. And she seemed blind to the power she wielded. Her ability to punish him by withholding her gorgeous body, for example, was a tool at her fingertips. Yet she made no effort to hide her desire for him.
But she was miserable. And could he blame her? He’d blackmailed her, as she’d said, into staying and he had nothing to offer but sex and scorn.
Yet he couldn’t let her go.
He swore loudly as he crossed the street. He was renowned for his swift judgments and laser-like certainty. But when he thought of Elle, all he felt was a mixed bag of doubt and that in and of itself infuriated him.
5
“Tell me about her.” The night was dark. He had been held up at work, and had, for hours, been physically craving her body. Yet he’d stopped to pick up sushi. He’d spoken to her with polite interest as he’d arranged it onto a platter, and he was looking at her now, wondering if his patience would be rewarded with a smile anytime soon.
“About who?” She paused with her chopsticks poised just above an avocado maki.
“Your mother.” He tried his hardest to keep the disapproval from his tone but how could he not feel the woman’s betrayal personally?
Elle’s eyes widened and then she dropped her gaze to the plate. Her appetite had vanished. “She’s dead.”
“Yes. You said that. When? How?”
“Four years ago. Drink driving.”
“A drunk hit her?”
Elle shook her head. “She was the drunk.” She lifted her water and sipped it. “Thank God she killed only herself.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, though it added another element to the already grim picture he had of this woman.
“Me too. She was … she wasn’t … I never entirely approved of her choices, but she was still my mother.” Her lips twisted thoughtfully. “And I wish, every day, that she hadn’t died.”
“I’m sure,” he agreed. “What decisions didn’t you approve of?”
Elle blinked, knocked off-kilter by his perceptions. “Too many to enumerate.”
“We have time.”
“Oh.” She shook her head. “She was just … her lifestyle was just … it’s too hard to talk about. Do you m
ind?”
He lifted his wine and sipped it thoughtfully. “If I did, would you feel a sense of obligation to confide in me?”
“Aren’t you paying me to feel a sense of obligation?”
“Touche.”
She dipped her head forward, screening her expressive eyes from him. “My mother was an entirely, absolutely, unequivocally selfish being. I don’t mean selfish in the normal way. I mean a bonafide narcissist. As a child, I used to wonder what I could do to make her love me. How could I make her proud of me?”
“She wasn’t?”
“God, no. I don’t think she even realised I was there half the time. When I was young, I was an inconvenience. And then, somewhere around my twelfth birthday, I became a threat to her. Or at least she perceived me as one.”
He lifted a brow and Elle laughed uneasily, casting a gaze down at her cleavage. “I was an early developer and my mother definitely hadn’t counted on her daughter becoming a woman.”
His dislike of the dead woman was growing by the minute. “That must have been hard for you.”
He was an excellent conversationalist and somehow Elle found herself relaxing as they spoke, despite the unpalatable subject matter. “My friend Hannah –,” her eyes met his guiltily, “The one who texted me?”
He nodded curtly.
“Her mum was screwed up too. In different ways. She used to drink herself into oblivion most nights of the week, leaving Chip – that’s Hannah’s twin – and Hannah to fend for themselves. They had all these checklists around the house. Make sure mom’s turned the stove off. Make sure mom’s not asleep in the bath. Make sure mom’s home and locked the doors. Make sure mom’s got money in her purse for a cab.” Her smile was uneasy. “You probably can’t imagine what that’s like, to grow up with those sorts of worries and fears. As an adult, I look back and I judge our mothers so harshly. But we still loved them silly and the thought of anything happening to them … Anyway. Hannah and I are like sisters. She gets me and I get her.”
He nodded slowly. “So two women who were the byproducts of average parenting hatch a plan to blackmail a man they’ve never met? Are you using a psychological defence?”