Talos Claims His Virgin

by Michelle Smart

Her considered answer?

  He was threatening to destroy her career, and the careers of her friends and colleagues, and he wanted her considered answer?

  The cauldron toppled, sending a surge of fire pulsing through her, bringing her to her feet and to his side. Even with him seated and Amalie on her feet the physical imbalance between them was all too apparent. Fear and anger collided in her and she grabbed his arm, as if the force of her will could drag him to his feet and out of her home.

  ‘I said get out of my house!’ she shouted, pulling at him, uncaring that holding his arm was akin to holding a steel boulder. ‘I don’t care if you’re a stupid prince or about your stupid diplomatic immunity—get out!’

  With reflexes that would put a cat to shame, Talos yanked her wrists together and pinned the pair of them inside one of his giant hands.

  ‘So you do have fire under that pale skin,’ he murmured. ‘I did wonder.’

  ‘Let go of me right now,’ she demanded, panic pulsing through her which only increased when he twisted—pirouetted—her around to sit on his lap, keeping a firm hold on her wrists.

  Instinct made her lift her leg and kick back at him. The heel of her bare foot connected with his shin, the pain lancing through her immediate.

  For Talos, she might as well have been a toddler doing their worst. He gave absolutely no reaction to her kick other than to wrap his free arm around her waist to secure her to him, ensnaring her even more effectively.

  ‘I feel that hurt you more than it did me,’ he said, holding her trapped hands up to examine them. ‘Such elegant fingers... Now, are you going to be a good girl and behave yourself if I let you go?’

  ‘If you call me a good girl again I’ll...’

  ‘What? Kick me again?’

  She bucked, but it was a futile gesture. It was like being trapped in steel.

  Except it wasn’t steel. It was solid man. And his fingers were digging not unpleasantly into the side of her waist.

  ‘You’re scaring me.’ It was part truth. Something was scaring her. Terrifying her.

  ‘I know, and I apologise. I will let you go when you assure me that you have your emotions under control and will not lash out at me again.’

  Strangely, the deep, rough timbre of his voice had the desired effect, calming her enough to stop her struggling against him.

  Clamping her lips together, she forced herself to breathe, and as she did so she inhaled a darkly masculine scent. His scent.

  She swallowed the moisture that filled her mouth, suddenly aware of his breath, hot in her hair. Every one of her senses was heightened.

  She couldn’t choke another breath in. Her heart was beating so hard she could hear it echo in her ears. And in the silence that ensued she felt Talos’s huge form stiffen too, from the strong thighs she was sat upon to the giant hands holding her in their snare.

  She could no longer hear or feel his breath.

  The only sound in her ears was the thrumming of her blood.

  And then he released her hands and pushed her to her feet.

  On legs that trembled, she shot to the other side of the kitchen.

  Now she could breathe, but her breaths were ragged, her chest hurting with the exertion.

  For his part, Talos calmly shrugged his muscular arms into his trench coat, wrapped his navy scarf around his neck and clasped his briefcase.

  ‘Six hours, despinis. I will respect your decision—but know that should your answer continue to be negative the consequences will be real and immediate.’

  * * *

  Amalie’s phone vibrated.

  She pounced on it. ‘Maman?’

  ‘Chérie, I have found out some things.’

  That was typical of her mother—getting straight to the point. There didn’t exist a sliver of silence that her mother’s voice couldn’t fill.

  ‘I could not reach Pierre directly.’

  She sounded put out—as if Pierre Gaskin should have been holding on to his phone on the remote chance that Colette Barthez, the most famous classical singer in the world, deigned to call him.

  ‘But I spoke to his charming assistant, who told me he arrived late to the office this morning, gave every employee five hundred euros and said he was taking the next three months off. He was last seen setting his satnav to take him to Charles de Gaulle,’ she added, referring to France’s largest airport.

  ‘So it looks as if he has sold it, then,’ Amalie murmured.

  Only two weeks ago Pierre Gaskin—the owner or, as she now firmly believed, the former owner of the Théâtre de la Musique—had been struggling to pay the heating bill for the place.

  ‘It looks that way, chérie. So tell me,’ her mother went on, ‘why has Prince Talos brought the theatre? I didn’t know he was a patron of the arts.’

  ‘No idea,’ she answered, her skin prickling at the mention of his name. She kneaded her brow, aware that this must be something like her tenth lie of the weekend.

  What a mess.

  She hadn’t told her mother anything of what had happened that weekend—she didn’t have the strength to handle her reaction on top of everything else—had only asked her to use her contacts to see if there was any truth that the theatre had been sold to Talos Kalliakis.

  Now she had the answer.

  Talos hadn’t been bluffing. But then she hadn’t really thought he had been, had turned to her mother only out of a futile sense of having to do something rather than any real hope.

  ‘I knew his father, Prince Lelantos...’

  Her mother’s voice took on a dreamlike quality. It was a sound Amalie recognised, having been her mother’s confidante of the heart since the age of twelve.

  ‘I sang for him once. He was such a...’ she scrambled for the right word ‘...man!’

  ‘Maman, I need to go now.’

  ‘Of course, chérie. If you meet Prince Talos again, send him my regards.’

  ‘I will.’

  Turning her phone off and placing it on the table, Amalie drew her hands down her face.

  There was only one thing left that she could do. She was going to have to tell Talos Kalliakis the truth.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN TALOS PUNCHED his finger to the bell of Amalie’s front door he knew she must have been waiting for him. She pulled the door open before his hand was back by his side.

  She stared at him impassively, as if what had occurred between them earlier had never happened. As if she hadn’t lost her calm veneer.

  Without a word being exchanged, he followed her into the kitchen.

  On the table lay a tray of pastries and two plates. A pot of coffee had just finished percolating. Amalie was dressed for her part, having donned a pair of black jeans that hugged her slender frame and a silver scoop-necked top. Her straight dark hair had been brushed back into a loose bun at the nape of her slender neck. She wore no make-up, and the freckles across her nose were vivid in the harsh light beaming from above them.

  It was clear to him that she had seen reason. And why on earth would she not? She was a professional musician. He shouldn’t have to resort to blackmail.

  Time was running out. For the gala. For his grandfather. The chemotherapy he was undergoing had weakened him badly. There were days when he couldn’t leave his bed—barely had the strength to retch into a bucket. Other days Talos found him in good spirits, happy to sit outside and enjoy the Agon sunshine in the sprawling palace gardens.

  Talos remembered again that he had planned to return home after the auditions on Saturday and spend the rest of the weekend with his grandfather. Instead he’d been compelled to force through—and quickly—the purchase of that awful Parisian building. And for what? Because the only professional violinist he’d found capable of doing justice to his grandmother�
��s final composition was playing hardball.

  No one played hardball with Talos Kalliakis. No one. To find this slender thing standing up to him...

  But she had seen reason. That was all that mattered now.

  He allowed himself a smile at his victory, and sat in the chair he’d vacated only six hours before.

  Defeat had never crossed his mind. It was regrettable that he’d had to resort to blackmail to get his own way but time was of the essence. The Jubilee was only a month away. There was still time for her to learn the piece to performance standard and for her orchestra to learn the accompanying music. He wanted them note-perfect before they took to the palace stage.

  Amalie’s arm brushed against his as she placed a mug in front of him. He found his attention caught by her fingers, as it had been earlier, when he’d had them trapped in his hand. It was the nails at the end of those long, elegant fingers that had really struck him. The nails of her left hand were short and blunt. The nails of her right hand were much longer and shapely. He’d puzzled over those nails all day...over what they reminded him of.

  He’d also puzzled over the reaction that had swept through him when he’d pinned her to his lap after her anger had rushed to the surface.

  Talos was a man who enjoyed the company of beautiful women. And beautiful women liked him. Women he didn’t know would catch his eye and hold it for a beat too long. When they learned who he was their gazes would stay fixed, suggestion and invitation ringing from them.

  Never had he met a woman who so obviously disliked him. Never had he met anyone—man or woman—outside his immediate family who would deny him anything he wanted.

  Amalie Cartwright was a pretty woman in her own unique way. The defiant attitude she’d displayed towards him infuriated and intrigued him in equal measure.

  What, he wondered, would it be like to light the fire he’d glimpsed that morning in a more intimate setting?

  What would it take to twist that fire and anger into passion?

  He had felt the shift in her when her whole body had stilled and her breath had shortened and then stopped. The same time his own breath had stopped. One moment he’d been staring at her fingers with bemusement, the next his body had been filled with an awareness so strong it had knocked the air out of him.

  He’d never experienced a reaction like it.

  And now, watching her take the same seat as she had that morning, he could feel that awareness stirring within him again.

  The following month held infinite possibilities...

  ‘Monsieur,’ she said once she had settled herself down and placed her green gaze on him, ‘earlier you appealed to my better nature—’

  ‘Which you disregarded,’ he interjected.

  She bowed her head in acknowledgement. ‘I had my reasons, which I am going to share with you in the hope of appealing to your better nature.’

  He regarded her carefully but kept silent, waiting for her to speak her mind. Surely she wasn’t trying another angle to turn the solo down?

  ‘I’m sorry but I lied to you—I do not have a prior engagement on the gala weekend.’ She gnawed on her bottom lip before continuing. ‘I suffer from stage fright.’

  The idea was so ludicrous Talos shook his head in disbelief and laughed.

  ‘You?’ he said, not bothering to hide his incredulity. ‘You—the daughter of Colette Barthez and Julian Cartwright—suffer from stage fright?’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  ‘I know exactly who you are.’ He folded his arms, his brief, incredulous mirth evaporating. ‘I made it my business to know.’

  He caught a flash of truculence in those green eyes, the first sign that the calm façade she wore was nothing but a front.

  ‘Your French mother is the most successful mezzo-soprano in the world. I admit I hadn’t heard of your father before today, but I understand he is a famous English violinist. I also learned that your father once played at Carnegie Hall with my grandmother, when he was first establishing himself.’

  He leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands.

  ‘You were a noted child prodigy until the age of twelve, when your parents removed you from the spotlight so you could concentrate on your education. You became a professional musician at the age of twenty, when you joined the ranks of the Orchestre National de Paris as a second violin—a position you still hold five years on.’

  She shrugged, but her face remained taut. ‘What you have described is something any person with access to the internet could find out in thirty seconds. My parents didn’t remove me from the spotlight because of my education—that is what my mother told the press, because she couldn’t bear the shame of having a daughter unable to perform in public.’

  ‘If you are “unable to perform in public”, how do you explain the fact that you perform in public at least once a week with your orchestra?’

  ‘I’m a second violin. I sit at the back of the orchestra. We have an average of eighty musicians playing at any given performance. The audience’s eyes are not on me but on the collective orchestra. It’s two different things. If I play at your grandfather’s gala everyone’s eyes will be on me and I will freeze. It will bring humiliation to me, to my mother—and to your grandfather. Is that what you want? To have the world’s eyes witness your star performer frozen on stage, unable to play a note?’

  The only person who wouldn’t be ashamed of her was her father. She might have referred to it as a joint decision by her parents, but in truth it had been her father who’d gone against her mother’s wishes and pulled her out of the spotlight. He’d been the one to assure her that it was okay to play just for the love of the music, even if it was only in the privacy of her own bedroom.

  Talos’s eyes narrowed, a shrewd expression emanating from them. ‘How do I know you aren’t lying to me right now?’

  ‘I...’

  ‘By your own admission you lied about being busy on the gala weekend.’

  ‘It was a lie of necessity.’

  ‘No lie is necessary. If you can’t handle eyes on you when you play, how were you able to join the orchestra in the first place?’

  ‘It was a blind audition. Everyone who applied had to play behind a screen so there could be no bias. And, before you ask, of course I practise and rehearse amongst my colleagues, But that is a world away from standing up on a stage and feeling hundreds of eyes staring at you.’

  He shook his head slowly, his light brown eyes unreadable. ‘I am in two minds here. Either you are speaking the truth or you are telling another lie.’

  ‘I am speaking the truth. You need to find another soloist.’

  ‘I think not. Nerves and stage fright are things that can be overcome, but finding another soloist who can do justice to my grandmother’s final composition is a different matter.’

  Never mind that time had almost run out. He could spend the rest of his life searching and not find anyone whose playing touched him the way Amalie’s had in those few minutes he had listened to her.

  Talos had never settled for second best in his life and he wasn’t about to start now.

  ‘What do you know about my island?’ he asked her.

  She looked confused at the change of direction. ‘Not much. It’s near Crete, isn’t it?’

  ‘Crete is our nearest neighbour. Like the Cretans, we are descended from the Minoans. Throughout the centuries Agon has been attacked by the Romans, the Ottomans and the Venetians—to name a few. We repelled them all. Only the Venetians managed to occupy us, and just for a short period. My people, under the leadership of the warrior Ares Patakis, of whom I am a direct descendent, rose against the occupiers and expelled them from our land. No other nation has occupied our shores since. History tells our story. Agonites will not be oppressed or repressed. We will fight until our last breath for our free
dom.’

  He paused to take a sip of his coffee. He had to hand it to her: she had excellent taste.

  ‘You are probably wondering why I am telling you all this,’ he said.

  ‘I am trying to understand the relevance,’ she admitted thoughtfully.

  ‘It is to give you an awareness of the stock that I, my family and our people come from. We are fighters. There isn’t an Agonite alive who would back down in the face of adversity. Stage fright? Nerves? Those are issues to be fought and conquered. And with my help you will conquer them.’

  Amalie could imagine it only too well. Talos Kalliakis ready for battle, stripped to nothing but iron battle gear, spear in hand. He would be at the front of any fight.

  It was her bad fortune that he had chosen to fight her.

  But her stage fright wasn’t a fight. It was just a part of her, something she had long ago accepted.

  Her life was nice and cosy. Simple. No drama, no histrionics. She refused to allow the tempestuousness of her childhood seep its way into her adult life.

  ‘I have arranged with your directors for you to come to Agon in a couple of days and to stay until the gala. Your orchestra will start rehearsals immediately and fly out a week before the gala so you can rehearse with them.’

  Her pledge to be amiable evaporated. ‘Excuse me, but you’ve done what?’

  ‘It will give you a month in Agon to acclimatise...’

  ‘I don’t need to acclimatise. Agon is hardly the middle of a desert.’

  ‘It will also give you a month to prepare yourself perfectly for the solo,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption, although his eyes flashed another warning at her. ‘No distractions.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Your stage fright is something that will be overcome,’ he said, with all the assurance of a man who had never been struck with anything as weak as nerves. ‘I will see to it personally.’

  He stopped speaking, leaving a pause she knew she was supposed to fill, but all she could think was how badly she wanted to throw something at him, to curse this hateful man who was attempting to destroy the comfortable, quiet life she had made for herself away from the spotlight.