‘Thank you.’ Her heart was rabbiting hard against her ribcage but she kept walking until she reached the tap, then switched it on, slowly cleaning her feet of all sand and sucking in air before she lifted to standing and spun to face him once more. He’d been angry the night before, rude and hostile.
Remember that, she cautioned herself, even as her body was already responding to his.
‘I didn’t know anyone else was up,’ she explained a little caustically. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
He turned to face her, pinning her with the full force of his crystal-clear ice blue eyes. ‘Didn’t you?’
She pressed her teeth into her lower lip. ‘Of course not.’
His response was a small shift of his mouth—she might have called it a sneer, except it lacked acerbity—and then lifted a coffee cup. ‘Join me. The pot is still warm.’ In truth, she was desperate for a coffee, but with Santos?
Perhaps her uncertainty expressed itself because he made a small sound of impatience. ‘It’s just coffee.’
Her eyes flared wide, clashing with his, and her stomach rolled in response. ‘Fine. Thank you.’ Her smile was strained. ‘I can’t function without the stuff.’
He nodded in agreement, moved inside for a moment to retrieve another cup then returned, filling it and handing it to her. She was careful not to allow even a hint of contact between their fingers when she took it from him, and at close proximity didn’t quite meet his eyes.
She took a drink and then pulled a face, looking at him to see mirth in his eyes.
‘It’s very strong,’ she said unnecessarily.
‘It’s Greek.’
‘And all Greek things are strong?’ She’d intended it to come out as a joke, but the close proximity to Santos had robbed her of the ability to sound anything but breathy. What was happening to her? Amelia had lectured at Ivy League schools when she’d been fifteen years old. Why did the presence of this man turn her into someone who could barely speak?
‘And irresistible.’ His words were teasing but there was an undercurrent to them that pulled at her belly, making it impossible to smile in response. She took another sip of the coffee, grateful for having something to do with her hands, anything that might make it look as though she wasn’t affected by being this close to him; as though she didn’t wish she’d stayed in his office that night rather than high-tailing it out of there as quickly as she could.
For goodness’ sake! They hadn’t even kissed that night! He’d moved close to her and he’d looked at her as though he’d wanted to. But for Santos Anastakos, famed playboy bachelor, that was probably just how he was wired. The kind of encounter that happened to him often. It was highly likely he’d put her from his mind as soon as she’d left his office—why in the world would she expect otherwise? Just because he’d become a constant figment of her thoughts and fantasies ever since was no indication of how he’d been affected by...by what? Standing close to one another in his office? She felt completely juvenile to have invested such a simple thing with so much importance.
He’d had a beautiful woman waiting for him—Amelia had had to scurry past her to vacate his home. Had she spent the night with him? The thought eroded the lining of Amelia’s stomach, filling it with a hint of acid, and now her eyes did lift to his, staying there for several seconds. Of course she had! This was Santos Anastakos. The man was rumoured to live and breathe affairs.
‘Who was that woman?’
Had he moved closer? She felt as though he was pressing to her, but he wasn’t. It was just an atmospheric compression—not physically possible, given their matter states, but she could have sworn it was happening. ‘Which woman?’
‘Maria,’ she supplied, conjuring a mental image of the stunning creature, all long legs and glossy hair.
A small frown pulled at his lips. ‘A friend.’
Something a lot like relief burst through Amelia. It spelled trouble and disaster and a thousand other portents of ill that she knew she should pay attention to. Standing here with him like this was madness—nothing good could come from indulging a desire to be close to him. She was fighting with fire, but found she couldn’t step away.
‘Just a friend?’ she asked, wondering what he must think of her, seeking reassurance over something like this.
Another small frown brushed over his features. ‘Yes.’
She bit down on her lip, wishing that revelation didn’t affect her.
‘We were seeing each other for a time. We catch up occasionally, when it suits us both.’
Amelia had barely any experience with men, and precisely zero with men like Santos, but she gathered ‘seeing each other’ and ‘catch up’ were euphemistic terms hinting at a physical relationship.
Amelia’s face was unknowingly expressive, her features contorting to show her discomfort. Only someone completely lacking in intuitive skills would have failed to understand the direction of her thoughts.
‘I had my driver take her back to London after dinner,’ he said quietly, and now she knew she wasn’t imagining it. He moved closer, his legs brushing hers, the small cup filled with thick Greek coffee the only barrier between them. ‘And dinner was somewhat rushed.’ A smile that was hard to analyse. Self-deprecating? Annoyed?
She shook her head, needing to put an end to this. It had taken all her strength in his office; if she wasn’t careful, she’d lose herself completely to this sense of madness. ‘It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘But you did.’
She nodded, searching for an excuse.
‘Because that night in my office, if you hadn’t moved away from me, I would have kissed you.’
She was drowning all over again, trying to draw in air and failing. She had no idea how to respond to that.
‘And I don’t think we would have stopped at a kiss, Miss Ashford.’ Her name was a slow, sensual seduction on his lips. It shimmied through her, threatening to mould her into something new and unrecognisable. Her skin was covered in goose bumps, her blood rushing in anticipation and hope—she needed him to touch her. She needed him to kiss her, just as he’d said he’d wanted to. God help her, she was losing herself to him, to the ocean, the endless sea, of possibilities.
She angled her face to his, her lips parted in an unspoken invitation, her eyes wide. ‘What would have happened, Santos?’ She liked using his name. It was a leveller of sorts, making her feel like his equal instead of a woefully inexperienced child.
Something flared in his gaze, a heat that pooled lava in the pit of her abdomen. His hands curled around her coffee cup, lifting it to her lips so she could take a sip, then placing it on the table behind them without moving away from her at all. ‘I would have made love to you.’
So simple, so erotic.
Her eyes swept shut on the imagery it conveyed, on the very idea of that! Where she should have been glad she’d broken the strange tension that had imprisoned them both, she felt only remorse now. What would it have been like to experience that?
‘I would have stripped your clothes from your body until you were naked and trembling.’ His fingers brushed her thighs, just beneath the hem of her dress. ‘And I would have kissed you everywhere, tasting you, driving you to the brink of insanity before making you mine in every way.’ He dropped his head and his lips brushed hers so briefly she thought she’d imagined it; but, no, there was an explosive feeling against her flesh that showed it had been real. A pulse ran the length of her spine.
He moved his mouth towards her ear, speaking low and soft. ‘The first time would have been fast. I needed you too much to take it slowly. But afterwards, I would have carried you upstairs to my room, laid you naked in my bed and spent the night devouring you, not letting you sleep, not letting you breathe except to scream my name.’
‘Santos.’ The word was a hopeless surrender, thready and soft. She wa
sn’t sure if she was imploring him to stop speaking that way or to speak less and do more but she whispered his name beseechingly.
She needed to regain her sanity, to keep hold of what she knew to be the facts. ‘And then what?’ The words were still soft, her voice box bowled over by sensual needs, but there was strength in the words too, courage and willingness.
‘And then what?’ he repeated, the hands on her thighs moving the fabric a little, so his fingertips brushed the flesh at the top of her legs. She trembled in response, a thousand waves rocking through her.
Thought became a distant possibility, an island far out at sea. But she had to cling to it—every instinct she possessed was telling her she’d drown if she didn’t. This was Santos Anastakos—a playboy! Way out of her league in every way and used to women falling at his feet. Did she really want to become just another notch on his bedpost? ‘And then you’d have made me coffee the next morning, sent me away?’ She couldn’t quite summon a smile. ‘And forgotten my name?’
His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. Looking at him properly, she could see the rough hewing in and out of his chest as he dragged in breaths—he was as affected by this as she was, as completely at risk of drowning, despite his considerable experience.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You think I didn’t look you up on the internet?’ She was trembling all over. Her body had never been at war with her mind before and now they were poles apart. She was having a visceral reaction to the idea of stepping backward, but mentally she was already distancing herself from him and the tension that pulled at her belly when they were near each other.
His eyes became guarded, his features an impenetrable mask. ‘And what did the Internet have to say about me?’
Heat flushed her entire body. ‘That you make love to a lot of women.’ She dropped her gaze. ‘That you have a habit of breaking hearts.’
‘Breaking hearts?’ He repeated the words with an emotional resonance that wasn’t exactly amusement; if anything, it was more like shock. ‘Amelia, believe me, I don’t break anyone’s heart. No one’s heart—’ he said the word with disdain ‘—is involved. The women I’m with know exactly what I want from them before anything happens.’ His eyes scrutinised her face. ‘Do you think I would have broken your heart?’
‘No, of course not,’ she denied immediately. ‘But I’m nothing like you think. I’m nothing like Maria.’
‘I know that,’ he conceded swiftly, a frown furrowing his brow.
‘I’m not someone who just sleeps with men.’ She wished the words didn’t sound so prudish! So disapproving! She wasn’t. If anything, she was jealous of all the normal sexual exploration teens engaged in, the comfortable getting to know one’s body—and other people’s bodies—all the while learning what incites pleasure and enjoyment. She wished she’d had that experience, but nothing about her life had been normal. Her academic abillity had been endlessly isolating, then her parents cutting her from their life had further isolated her—she was, and had been for a long time, all alone.
‘And you’ve had your heart broken before,’ he guessed bitterly.
She had, but not in a romantic sense. No, it had been her parents, again and again; it had been the realisation as a teenager that their love for her was intrinsically tied to her academic achievements, her rare brilliance the only quality of hers they cared for, and particularly how it benefited them. She would never forget how they’d reacted on the day she’d told them she was leaving the International Agency of Space Exploration to become a teacher.
She pushed those thoughts aside. Even in that moment the things her parents had said to her, their threats and anger, had the power to hurt. It had been a valuable lesson, one Amelia would always remember: even people who claimed to love you could turn on a dime. No one was safe—love was fickle.
Santos was looking at her as though waiting for an answer. She considered his question and finally shook her head. He was asking about romantic pain, and with that she was a stranger.
‘Never.’ Awkwardness made her want to run from this but something ancient and almost magical stirred between them, pulling a semblance of truth from her. ‘I don’t have enough experience with men to have been hurt by them.’ Her smile was a little haunted by the direction of her thoughts.
She felt him grow still, his eyes roaming her face, but he didn’t say anything. Silence stretched between them, speculative and analytical. ‘Let me guess: you’re a romantic.’ He said the words like an accusation, as though being romantically inclined was the worst thing in the world.
‘I’m careful where I invest my energy,’ she corrected. ‘I can’t be bothered to spend time with men who don’t interest me. I don’t like pretence. And I don’t particularly like the risks that come from indiscriminate sex.’
‘Risks?’ The word was said with rich disbelief.
‘Risks.’ She nodded. ‘Like getting pregnant and being left to raise a child completely on one’s own. Like Cynthia,’ she added, though it wasn’t necessary. It was obvious from his features that her words had hit their mark. ‘Is that what you meant by saying you’ve never broken anyone’s heart? Because I think Cameron is an exception to that.’
Amelia wished she hadn’t said the words as soon as they’d left her mouth. They were totally harsh and unreasonable, words that had come from a place of fear and uncertainty, words her brain had issued to put her body on notice. She closed her eyes, pain lancing her, regret making her face crumple.
‘I didn’t know about Cameron,’ he said, but the words showed his own pain, his own hurt, and that made everything worse. ‘If I had...’
‘You didn’t stay in touch with her?’ Amelia prompted more gently, but nothing could remove the sting from the question.
‘No. It wasn’t like that.’ When he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moved and her eyes were drawn to that motion. ‘We spent a few nights together. We used protection. Neither of us wanted...ramifications. We discussed it enough to know that.’
‘It’s none of my business,’ Amelia said stiffly, wishing she hadn’t opened this can of worms. She forced her legs to obey her mental commands now, taking a small step backward, just as she had in his office. ‘I only meant...’ The words tapered off into nothing, but he nodded brusquely.
‘I understood your meaning.’ He spoke as though they were in the midst of negotiating a business deal. ‘You think I go around screwing whoever I want and that secret love children are a likely result of my irresponsible life choices? You think there are a dozen Cynthias out there, a dozen Camerons, and that I’m wilfully ignoring my parental responsibilities in pursuit of the next night of hot sex?’ He moved his face a little closer to hers so she saw the specks of silver in his ocean-grey eyes. ‘You think I wouldn’t have given everything I owned ten times over to know I had fathered a son? You think there’s any version of reality in which I wouldn’t have chosen to be a part of Cameron’s life?’
Hot tears stung Amelia’s eyes. ‘I didn’t mean...’
He lifted a finger to her lips, silencing her. ‘Yes, you did. You’re wrong about me, but it’s what you think. Have the courage of your convictions, Amelia.’
‘I don’t... I just...’ She was babbling. She shook her head and now she did what she’d wanted to do earlier, lifting a hand to his chest, pressing her fingers there urgently.
‘You think if we’d had sex you might have ended up pregnant and that I would have abandoned you? You think that’s what happened to Cynthia? I am shocked that she didn’t even try to tell me I was a father. At no point—that I know of—did she so much as pick up her phone to tell me about our son. Not when she learned of her pregnancy, not when she had the boy, never. He’d never even heard of me.’
‘Perhaps she thought you were already onto your next conquest?’
‘And so what if I was?’ The words were said softly but there was a de
athly darkness to them. ‘We weren’t romantically involved. We had sex. If I was with someone else after her, that does nothing to alter the fact that I’d fathered a child. I would have supported her, supported him.’ The words swirled around them, laced with regret. ‘And if she hadn’t died, Amelia? Do you think I would ever have learned the truth about him?’
Amelia’s heart splintered at that question, because he was right—while Cynthia had done the responsible thing and put Santos’s name in her will, it was clear that she’d had no intention of involving Cameron’s father in their lives for as long as she lived.
‘I have no idea how she conceived Cameron. It never occurred to me that she might have. I was younger, stupid in some ways, arrogant—but even then I always took measures to prevent unplanned consequences. She knew who I was and how to contact me. She should have told me about him.’
‘Yes,’ Amelia whispered. On that, they were in total agreement.
‘I don’t take risks. I don’t get women pregnant and go into hiding.’ He drew himself to his full height, stepping back from her, and his eyes glittered with such a cold ruthlessness that she shivered. ‘And I would never have taken that risk with you.’
She swept her eyes shut because his words were completely unnecessary. She felt the truth in his soul. For a scientist, it was the least scientific thought she’d ever had. Then again, her education hadn’t been limited to physics. She’d studied the Classics too, ancient Greek philosophers, Shakespeare and Jonson; she’d studied words that had helped her make sense of feelings and right now that education was pushing to the fore.
Desire was sweeping through her, refusing to be silenced. She’d fought it from the moment she’d met him, but now she wondered why she was bothering. She hadn’t chosen to keep hold of her virginity. It wasn’t as if she attached any special significance to it. She’d just never met a man who inspired her interest—until now. So what was she hesitating for? It wasn’t as though Santos was offering any kind of complicated affair. He’d made it abundantly clear he wasn’t into relationships. This was almost too good to be true—a chance to sleep with someone sophisticated and experienced who wouldn’t want anything more from her. It was just the kind of no-strings arrangement that would rid her of her virginity, and introduce her to the world of sex without the necessity of emotional expectations.
Hired by the Impossible Greek Page 6