by Julia Devlin
“You’re still fretting.” It wasn’t a question. He moved from my neck to rest his palm over my thigh, entirely too high for comfort.
“I can’t help it.” I looked back at him and just kind of stared dumbly at him for a moment in amazement. Was I really having this conversation with him? How had I gotten here? A month ago he’d been my mortal enemy. Today, he sat across from me, touching me as though he owned me, looking gorgeous and composed and not the slightest bit anxious.
Irrationally, I wanted to smack him. “Seriously, why do you have to be like this?”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “Like what?”
“All this calm is grating, you should be nervous.”
“Why?” His hand draped over the steering wheel, dark sunglasses hiding his green eyes. In all black, he looked wicked, like sex and sin, completely unaware of his overwhelming appeal.
With a frustrated snarl, I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear and smoothed over my white sleeveless blouse.
“Would you worry if I came home with you?” He grasped my hand and brought it to his lips.
The thought of Christos Constantine sitting in my beat-up childhood kitchen back in my parents’ small Ohio home was almost enough to make me break out in hives. “You’re kidding, right?”
The car crawled a couple of feet forward before coming a stop. He smiled at me. “So, you’re intent on worrying, is that it?”
I shrugged, resisting the childish “duh” that sprang to my lips.
See, this is what I hated. I had no composure around him, no sense of control that infused my interactions with other people. I couldn’t trust that some scathing remark wouldn’t pop out of my mouth and embarrass me in front of his parents. Who knew what he’d say that might irritate me to rash behavior?
“I should have remembered who I was talking to.” The muscle of his thigh flexed under his dark pants as he pressed on the gas and the car once again began to move. “Since I’m such a great guy, I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”
Sensing a trap, I narrowed my gaze. “I don’t like the sound of this.”
He squeezed my thigh and grinned at me so devilishly all my nerves started to tingle. He made a right turn down a one-way side street. “Clearly you need a distraction, something else to worry about.”
“Ha!” Unable to come up with a better response as his fingers moved higher up my leg so my clit swelled and started the now familiar pulsing that seemed to beat out the rhythm—Touch me, touch me, touch me. I went to push his hand away, but he caught it in his strong grasp.
He made another right and pulled into a spot that magically appeared as though the gods had saved it just for him.
“We’re here.” He pointed to converted brick brownstone before taking off his sunglasses and tossing them into the console.
I glanced up at it, my heart sinking down into my stomach, and I was suddenly thankful for the comfort of his hand on mine. This was it.
“Look at me, Juliet.” I did, and he squeezed my fingers. “I promise you this will be fine. They will adore you.”
My pulse thudded in my neck and all I could do was nod.
He pulled me closer to him and leaned to meet me halfway, kissing me softly on the lips. “Now about that distraction I promised.”
Not really paying attention, I closed my eyes, placing my free hand over his heart. The combination of his breath and the steady beat calmed me.
“Tonight, I’m going to take you back to your house.” His voice stroked over my skin, soothing me with his deep timbre. “I’m going to spread you out on your bed and strip you naked.”
Excitement seeped through my blood, washing away some of my nervousness. He was right. This did help. The corners of my mouth twitched up when the rise and fall of his chest quickened. “Do you want to know what I’m going to do next?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I’m going to tie you to that fantastic headboard and make you beg for me.”
My lids flew open and I shook my head. “No. No way.”
He nodded. “Yes, Juliet.”
I didn’t know which was stronger, my desire or my fear, but they mixed inside me and created a lethal cocktail. I couldn’t do that. I’d be completely vulnerable to him, unable to get away. It was one thing to feel his power and control over me, quite another to experience it. Once again I shook my head.
“Yes.” He kissed my mouth, slow and deep. I wanted to melt under him, but I couldn’t because I knew he was serious. This was his plan, to have me bound and helpless under him. “I’m going to tie your hands together over your head, clasped on either side of that metal scroll.”
His gaze searched my face, gauging my reaction, but all I could do was blink back at him like a deer in the headlights. “But your legs, I’m going to tie them apart so your thighs are spread open to me. So your cunt is exposed and I can see how wet you are.”
Unbearable excitement rushed through my veins. Did I want this? No, I couldn’t. It was too much. “No, I don’t want that.” Saying the words out loud as though it would make them true.
“But you do.” He looked into my eyes and his hand went to my neck, his fingers pressing into my pounding pulse. “I can feel your need. I can feel how you crave it. And how much it scares you.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the press of his thumb on my throat, I was flooded with heat. Why had I ever told him how this affected me? Now I was at his mercy.
“You’re wet for me right now. Thinking about how it’s going to feel, what I’m going to do to you.” He kissed me again, and I could feel his control slipping away. “I could fuck you right here in this car. On another day, I will, and you’ll let me, but now I’m going to make us both wait because it will make your total surrender that much sweeter.”
* * * * *
He was right, the jerk. As we walked up the front steps of his parents’ house, our hands clasped tightly together, I wasn’t worried about meeting them anymore.
Well, I was, but not with the same single-minded obsession I had been, because as he’d promised, I had something new to worry about. How could I possibly survive being tied up and helpless? I was sure I didn’t want it but couldn’t deny how my stomach jumped every time the image of me spread out before him came unbidden into my mind.
Christos twisted the knob of the front door and flung it open into a wide, spacious foyer. I held my breath as I stepped over the threshold, praying I would survive this party and this night.
He squeezed my fingers, and let go, sliding his arm around my waist to pull me close. “You’ll do fine,” he whispered in my ear as a beautiful little girl in a pink-and-white-flowered party dress flew into the room.
“Uncle Christy,” she said excitedly, black curls bouncing as she danced around him.
Uncle Christy? I raised a brow at him, and he shrugged.
Suddenly the little girl stopped on a dime, planted her hands on tiny nonexistent hips and tapped the toe of her white shoe. “Where’s my present?”
He laughed, bending down to smooth his hand over her glossy hair. “And why would I bring you presents, little one?”
“It’s my birthday.” She glared up at him with dark eyes. “I’m six!”
“It is?” He frowned, looking concerned and utterly serious. “Are you sure?”
Thoroughly charmed at the sight of him with the little girl, I couldn’t help but smile. Bit by bit, Christos was becoming human to me—no longer the enemy, the adversary. No longer the Greek god cast upon us mere mortals. He was simply a man, and his realness continued to chip away at my barriers.
She blew out a puff of air, sending her dark bangs flying. “Yes!”
“Have you been a good girl?” he asked her.
“Yes.” She nodded vigorously. “Very good.”
“I don’t know,” he said with exaggerated suspicion, but his affection for her was written all over his face. “That’s not what your mama says.”
Dark brown eyes with thick lon
g lashes narrowed. “I know you brought me something. You never forget.”
Christos pointed at me. “And where are your manners, Nicolette? Say hello to my Juliet.”
The little girl turned up to look at me and my heart filled my throat when she grasped handfuls of her dress and curtsied. “It’s a nice to meet you, Ms. Juliet.”
Christos laughed and rubbed a palm over her gleaming black hair. “She’s a princess in training.”
A whisper tried to sneak into my mind, but I slammed the door shut, refusing to let it enter. Those are the not the kind of fantasies I allowed myself about the man next to me.
I leaned down and held out my hand to the little girl. “Happy birthday, Nicolette.”
That tiny hand slipped into mine. “Do you know where my present is?” she asked with a six-year-old’s single-minded focus.
“Nicolette,” a woman spoke in accented English before continuing on in what I assumed was Greek.
The little girl turned and beamed a brilliant smile at the older woman, responding in the foreign language before waving to us and trotting down a hallway.
I straightened and smoothed my pants, my palms turning clammy in an instant. I hadn’t thought I’d had any expectations about what Christos’ parents would be like, but I was wrong. Somewhere along the way I’d begun to picture a caricature of an old immigrant.
Nothing like the stunning woman standing before me.
Although I knew she was in her sixties, she looked far younger as she glided toward us in a flowing red sundress. Glossy black hair fell to her shoulders, setting off clear green eyes that reminded me of a cat with the sharp bite of intelligence shining in them.
“Mama,” Christos said, his fingers tightening on my waist as though reassuring me. “This is Juliet Russo.”
She beamed a smile that transformed her face into something so indescribably radiant I wanted to take her picture. If I’d held my camera, it would have been impossible to resist capturing her. “Ah, this is the Juliet I’ve heard so much about.”
I cast a startled glance at Christos, who merely shrugged and grinned.
Unable to think about what he might have said about me on top of all the other thoughts swirling in my mind, I put on my most sincere smile and outstretched my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Constantine.”
She ignored my hand and enveloped me in a warm hug where she whispered a few words in Greek, squeezing me tight before pulling back and grasping my face in her hands. “You’re right, Christos,” she said rolling his name over her tongue. “She’s lovely.”
Caught off guard by her warm openness, I fought the instinct to pull away and step out of her embrace. Off kilter, I longed for the safety of politeness but was able to murmur, “Thank you.”
“And I insist you call me Amara.” She dropped her hands from my face and tucked her hand around my arm. “Come, we’ll get acquainted in the kitchen.” She waved a hand at Christos. “Everyone is out back, go.”
Panic rolled through my belly, and I cast him a silent Help me plea. I wasn’t ready to be alone with her.
“Mama,” Christos said, trailing after us despite his mother’s order. “Let me introduce Juliet before you steal her away from me.”
“Oh very well,” she said, and smiled at me warmly. “He’s scared of what secrets I’ll reveal once we’re alone.”
The idea of Christos being scared of anything was foreign enough to me to probe deeper. “Like what?”
Amara cast an evil smirk back at her son. “Perhaps I’ll bring out the baby pictures.”
“Oh sweet Jesus,” Christos said, making me laugh so I relaxed fractionally.
She led me down a narrow hallway, and I was thankful for the steady sound of Christos’ steps behind me. At the end of the corridor, she opened a door that led out onto a veranda. Stepping onto the terrace was like stepping onto a Greek isle.
White furniture, blue and white stone and tile accented with lush pink flowers and high hedges. A sitting area overlooked a small pond, and in the center of the space a large teak table sat under a billowy canopy. Transported to another time and place, it was impossible to believe an entire city sat on the other side of this haven. “Oh,” I breathed out in a hushed voice. “This is beautiful.”
Christos came beside me and slid his hand on my waist, placing a soft kiss at my temple while his mother let me go and her son drew me close. “I knew you’d love it.”
A sea of faces stared back at me, curious but welcoming. Christos walked me forward to the group and introduced me. Two sisters, their husbands and children surrounded me with warm smiles. My head swam as I tried to remember names and faces as they enveloped me like a long-lost friend. The warmth and causal acceptance soothed over my frayed nerves like a salve.
Suddenly I stood in front of an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and black compelling eyes, so handsome I could only stare. The man could only be Christos’ father, so similar in looks and build it was like staring at Christos twenty years in the future.
What would it be like to grow old with him?
As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I pushed it away. Why were these thoughts creeping in? I didn’t want them. I didn’t want any expectations. I’d made up my mind to enjoy the moment, the time I had with him, and spinning fantasy about our future would only ruin that.
“Juliet, this is my father Nickolas,” Christos said, presenting his father as if he were a gift.
“So this is the lovely Juliet,” The older man grasped my shoulders and pulled me close, kissing me on each cheek. “Come, sit with me.” He gestured me over to a sitting area overlooking the quiet little pond.
Christos pulled me onto the white loveseat while his father settled into a chair across from us, his mother joining us next to her husband so we formed a circle while the rest of the party went on behind us. Children laughed. The low buzz of conversation flitted behind us like a bumble bee.
Unable to relax after being wound so tight for so long, I sat rigid.
Christos draped his arm over the back of the couch, gently brushing the curve of my neck. I grasped my hands tightly in my lap and resisted the urge to brush him away like a pesky fly. It wasn’t that his touch didn’t comfort me, it did, but his parents sat across from us with hope and interest bright on their faces, and I didn’t want to give them the wrong impression.
For all I knew, I’d never see them again.
I attempted a smile that got lost somewhere around the middle and died on my lips. Remembering what Christos had said, I forced myself to respond to the situation the way I would a business lunch. I straightened my shoulders and Christos’ fingers stroked over my skin. “Thank you so much for inviting me, Mr. and Mrs. Constantine. Your home,” I swept my hand over the oasis terrace, “this garden, it’s beautiful. It’s hard to believe we’re in the middle of the city.”
Amara smiled, glancing over her yard. “Yes, a little bit of home to keep us company. But please call us Amara and Nickolas, we might be strangers, but I am confident it is a temporary arrangement.”
Beside me, Christos chuckled and ran a palm down my bare arm. “She’s very subtle.”
I nodded, wishing he’d stop touching me. With a forced smile, I said, “Thank you, I’ll try to remember.”
“I understand you and Christos are in the same business?” Nickolas asked.
“Yes,” I said, wondering when Christos had spoken of me. We’d been in each other’s constant company since he’d shown up in my office Friday afternoon, so when could he have discussed me with his family? “We’re competitors actually.”
Nickolas’ dark eyes gleamed while his face lit with delight. “Ah yes, that’s bound to make things very interesting.”
Latching on to this safe subject, I scowled up at Christos, momentarily taken aback by the intensity in his eyes as he looked down at me. My mind flashed to an image of me bound on my bed, spread and open to him while he hovered over me with that very expression. Heat stole over m
y skin.
Wicked and evil, he grinned. He knew what I was thinking. He could see it in my eyes.
Clearing my throat, I shifted my attention back to Nickolas, whose lips quirked as though trying to contain his amusement. I refused to become flustered. “Not very interesting, really, he always wins, so it’s not much of a challenge for him.”
“Oh, I have a feeling you’re plenty of challenge for my son,” Nickolas said with a teasing lilt to his tone.
“Yes, she is.” Christos ran his palm down my bare arm, pulling me close and kissing my temple.
I wanted to stomp my foot and tell him to stop. Why did he have to be so familiar with me? He was increasing my discomfort, he had to know he was, but didn’t seem to care. I dug my elbow into his ribs but he didn’t even budge. “Besides, Juliet would hate it if I let her win.”
Nickolas raised his brow. “A strong-willed, competitive woman is always a good thing. It will keep you on your toes.”
Unable to resist the need to defend myself, I blurted, “I’m not competitive, he’s just annoyingly smug, and I feel compelled to put him in his place. I consider it my gift to the female population.” Horror flashed through me. Why in heaven had I said that?
To my shock, before I could start spinning apologies, all three of them laughed.
“Oh, I like you,” Amara said, a huge smile on her face. “You will be good for him.”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”
Christos squeezed my shoulder. “You can’t help yourself.”
Amara leaned over as though making me her conspirator. She cast a fond look at her husband. “My husband and son are cut from the same cloth so to speak. Believe me, dear one, I understand. I too consider it my personal duty not to give my husband his way too often.”
Nickolas cast a hooded glance at his wife before saying something in Greek.
I glanced up at Christos with a silent question.
He smiled. “He told her she’d pay for her comments.”