Talos Claims His Virgin

by Michelle Smart

  He sucked in a breath and swallowed. ‘I must also apologise for the way I spoke to you the other night. I lashed out at you, which is also unforgivable.’

  ‘You were in pain.’ She closed the gap he’d created between them and placed her hand on his arm. ‘I should never have forced the issue with you.’

  How could she keep forgiving him and making excuses? He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve her.

  ‘You were right to force it. You were right that what we shared was more than sex. But I was in denial. I lashed out because I find it hard to talk about how I feel, and at the time I was struggling to understand how I felt.’

  Those compassionate green eyes held steady on his. ‘And how do you feel now?’

  How to put into words what was in his heart? He didn’t know—knew only that he must.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘All my life I have tried to protect those I...I feel deeply for. I wanted to protect my mother from my father. The night they died I heard them argue. My mother had discovered he was having another affair. She begged him to end it.’

  He took another breath.

  ‘My father was an only child and very spoiled. He was never denied anything he wanted. Their marriage was arranged and he wanted it to be one of duty, not love and to be able to continue having his needs met by whatever woman took his eye. But my mother loved him despite all his faults and couldn’t accept that. Whenever she found evidence of his affairs her jealousy would get the better of her. That night their argument escalated and he turned on her with his fists—just as I had heard him do before. This time I summoned up the courage to try and protect her, but I was too small and clumsy. I made a vow to myself that from that moment I would do everything I could to protect her, but I never got the chance.’

  Talos stared at the woman he knew he had to open himself to if he had any chance of winning her love. Her eyes were tugged down into crinkles at the corners, her teeth gnawing at her lips, but she kept her silence, letting him speak of the demons in his heart.

  ‘You’re the only woman I’ve met who brings that same compulsion out in me. I wanted to protect you—no, I want to protect you. Always.’

  ‘Is that why you released me from the contract?’ she asked softly.

  ‘Yes.’

  Remembering how magnificently she’d played made him shake his head in awe. Never mind that she’d played as if she were a Mousai, a Muse, one of those beautiful goddesses of music and song—she’d displayed the greatest act of bravery he’d ever witnessed in his life.

  ‘I knew you could do it—believe that—but I couldn’t put you through the emotional damage it would bring. Your distress...it cuts me.’ He shook his head again. ‘How did you get up on that stage?’

  ‘I got Melina to come to the palace and put me through the workout of my life. With all those endorphins racing through my blood I imagined I was an Agonite—a born warrior. I imagined your voice in my head, telling me to fight.’

  ‘But why? I gave you a free pass to leave.’

  ‘And it was that freedom which gave me the choice. Do you remember what you said to me? You told me to loosen my hold and fly, and you were right—and the only person who could cut that hold was me. I wanted to fly. I wanted to throw off the past, stand on that stage and play that beautiful score. And I wanted to do it for you and your grandfather as much as I wanted to do it for me.’

  ‘You wanted to do it for me?’ How he had hoped...

  ‘I knew how much it meant to you and how much you love your grandmother.’

  A painful lump formed in his throat. ‘My grandmother died without ever hearing me say those words. When my parents died I became lost, out of control. I didn’t want to let people get close to me—not on an emotional level. I have friends...I’ve had lovers...but I kept them all at an emotional distance. And then you...’

  ‘Me?’ she prompted gently, her fingers digging into his arms.

  ‘You...’ He swallowed. ‘I let you in. I had no choice in it. You crept into my heart.’

  Something sparked in her eyes. ‘Say it,’ she urged. ‘Please. Even if you only say it once I won’t care, once will be enough. Say it.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Shall I say it first?’ Reaching up to palm his face with her hand, she stepped flush against him. ‘I love you. You’re ferocious and loyal and you’ve taught me to fly. I will love you until I take my dying breath.’

  All the air rushed from his lungs.

  ‘Say it,’ she beseeched.

  ‘I love you.’ And as he said the words more tumbled out with them. ‘I love you and I want to protect and honour you until I take my dying breath.’ He kissed her hard. ‘I love you.’

  Raining kisses all over her face and neck, he kept repeating those words, letting them sink into every part of him until he was enveloped in the love that bound them so tightly he knew it would never let them go.

  ‘Will you let me love and worship you for ever?’ he asked, his hands buried in her silky hair.

  ‘Only if you let me love and worship you for ever too.’

  ‘If we marry you’ll have no choice. Divorce is forbidden for me, remember...?’ He pulled back to look deep into her eyes. ‘Will you marry me?’

  ‘It’s only a piece of paper, but I’ll sign my heart on it because it belongs to you now. I’m trusting you to take care of it for me.’

  ‘I’ll protect it with my life.’

  And with those words his hungry mouth moulded to hers.

  He felt cleansed. Whole. Loved.

  He loved her. And she loved him.

  He would say the words to her every day for the rest of his life.

  EPILOGUE

  AMALIE STEPPED ONTO the sunny balcony of the New York hotel in time to catch Talos hastily turning the page of the newspaper he was reading.

  ‘Stop reading my reviews,’ she chided him, settling herself gently onto his lap and nuzzling his neck. Even after two years of marriage she liked nothing more than to bury herself into him and smell his gorgeous, woody scent.

  He laughed. ‘Do you want me to tell you what it says?’

  ‘No.’

  It was a standing joke between them.

  Talos trawled the media for any review and snippet about her career he could find, getting any paper versions couriered to wherever they happened to be in the world. Although his pride in her touched her deeply, she preferred to live in blissful ignorance of the critics’ voices.

  The past couple of years had been a whirl. It made her dizzy to think back on it. After the gala she’d been inundated with offers to perform and record all over the world. Talos had encouraged her to follow her dreams, had been by her side every step of the way. It had been hard—especially the live performing side, which she chose selectively—but the nerves she’d lived with for so long had almost been banished. Almost.

  He placed a hand to her swollen belly. ‘Did you manage to get any sleep?’

  ‘Some.’ She kissed his neck. ‘Junior gave up playing football in my belly when the sun came up.’

  Seven months pregnant with their first child, she already resembled a watermelon. It was a look Talos assured her suited her. She was so excited about the pregnancy she wouldn’t have cared if she looked like a bus.

  ‘And how are you feeling about tonight?’

  ‘Sick! But excited too,’ she hastened to add.

  Being so heavily pregnant meant that she couldn’t do the vigorous kickboxing workout that usually served her so well before a performance. And tonight would be the performance she’d spent her whole life waiting for.

  Tonight she and her father would be performing onstage together at Carnegie Hall.

  ‘As long as you’re there I’ll be fine.’

  He rubbe
d a big hand over her back. ‘I want you to be more than fine—I want you to enjoy it.’

  ‘Seeing as this is likely my last performance for a very long time, I intend to make the most of every moment.’

  He’d started to say something—no doubt about to offer more reassurance—when the suite’s buzzer went off.

  Talos groaned. ‘I bet that’s your mother.’

  Amalie’s parents, who had remarried to great fanfare six months after Amalie and Talos’s own nuptials, were staying in the same hotel. Her mother was enjoying the trip enormously, dragging her husband here, there and everywhere as she threw her weight around.

  ‘Let’s pretend we’re not in,’ Amalie murmured.

  ‘She has unnatural senses.’

  ‘We’ll pretend to be asleep.’

  Grinning, she slipped a hand down to the waistband of his shorts and undid the button.

  ‘Come on, my Prince, take me to bed.’

  Brown eyes gleaming, he pressed a kiss to her neck. ‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

  Smothering their laughter, in case Colette had her ear to the door, they tiptoed into the master bedroom of their suite, sneaked under the bedcovers and pretended to be asleep for a very long time.

  * * ***

  If you enjoyed this book, look out for the next instalment of THE KALLIAKIS CROWN trilogy:

  THESEUS DISCOVERS HIS HEIR

  Coming next month.

  And look out for the concluding story:

  HELIOS CROWNS HIS MISTRESS

  Coming in February.

  Keep reading for an excerpt from THE INNOCENT’S SINFUL CRAVING by Sara Craven.

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  The Innocent’s Sinful Craving

  by Sara Craven

  CHAPTER ONE

  AT THE TOP of the hill, she stopped the car on the verge and got out, stretching gratefully after the drive from London.

  The house lay below her in its secluded green valley, a sprawl of stones like some ancient dragon sleeping in the sunlight.

  Dana drew a long, satisfied breath, her taut mouth relaxing into a smile of pure pleasure.

  ‘I’ve come back,’ she whispered. ‘And this time I’m going to stay. Nothing—and no one—is going to drive me away again. You’re going to be mine. Do you hear me?’

  And after one final, lingering look, she returned to the car and drove down the hill towards Mannion.

  It would not—could not be the same. For one thing, there would be no Serafina Latimer with her kindness and smiling grace that could so suddenly change to severity. She was back in her beloved Italy, and Aunt Joss, of course, had gone with her.

  But I’ve changed too, she thought.

  She was a long way from the confused seventeen-year-old who’d left here seven years earlier, physically, emotionally and—yes, she supposed, even financially.

  No longer the housekeeper’s niece, there on sufferance, for ever on the outside looking in, but a successful and well-paid negotiator with a top London estate agency.

  And the past years of fighting her way up the ladder, reinventing herself into a force to be reckoned with, had taught her a lot.

  I’ve helped a lot of people make their dream come true, she thought. Now, it’s my turn.

  Except that Mannion wasn’t simply a dream. It was her birthright, whatever the law might say. There was such a thing as natural justice, and she would lay hold to it, no matter what means she had to employ. Or what the consequences might be.

  She’d decided that a long time ago, and the passage of time had only deepened her resolve.

  She drove through the tall wrought-iron gates and up the long drive through the sweeping lawns and formal gardens to the house. There were already cars parked on either side of the main entrance and she slotted her Peugeot into the nearest available space.

  Climbing out, she stood for a moment, scanning the other vehicles, steadying the sudden flurry of her breathing, and smoothing any creases from her khaki linen skirt before collecting her weekend case from the boot.

  As she turned she saw that the heavily studded front door had opened and a plump woman in a neat dark dress was waiting there.

  ‘Miss Grantham?’ Her voice was quietly civil. ‘I’m Janet Harris. Let me take your case and show you to your room.’

  I probably know the way better than you do, Dana thought, amused, as she followed the housekeeper. How many times have I trotted round after Aunt Joss, making sure everything was ready for arriving guests? Sometimes even being allowed to put the flowers in the bedrooms.

  I wonder if anyone’s done that for me?

  The answer to that, she soon discovered was ‘no’, along with the fact that she’d been allocated the smallest of the guest rooms in the remotest part of the house, looking over the shrubbery to the slope of the valley where the summer house still stood.

  The one thing she had no wish to see. That she’d hoped would no longer exist, although the memories it evoked were still potent. Bitterly and disturbingly so.

  However the choice of view was probably not deliberate, she thought, turning from the window. Unlike the selection of the room with its faded decor and elderly carpet, seemingly intended to put her firmly in her place.

  That’s fine, she thought. When the game’s over, let’s see who’s won.

  ‘The bathroom is just down the corridor, Miss Grantham.’ Mrs Harris sounded almost apologetic. ‘But you’ll have it to yourself. If there’s anything else you need, please let me know.’ She paused. ‘Miss Latimer asked me to say there is tea in the drawing room.’

  How very formal, Dana thought with faint amusement as the housekeeper withdrew. And how very unlike Nicola. But perhaps she was finding it was rough going being a hostess.

  She hadn’t much to unpack apart from her dresses for this evening and tomorrow night’s party which she hung in a wardrobe as narrow as the single bed.

  The bathroom was basic but well supplied with towels, a tub with a hand shower and a full-length mirror.

  So, having combed her hair, replenished her lipstick and freshened her scent, Dana inspected herself with the same critical intensity she expected to encounter downstairs.

  Her light brown hair, well-cut and highlighted so that it glowed with auburn lights, hung, smooth and shining, to her shoulders, and the subtle use of cosmetics had emphasised the green of her hazel eyes and lengthened her curling lashes.

  Her body, rounded in all the right places, was slim and toned thanks to the exercise and dance classes she attended with zealous regularity. Not cheap, but the end would justify the means.

  And Nicola’s unstudied greeting of ten days ago had also been reassuring. ‘Dana, it’s wonderful to see you again. And you look amazing.’

  A total exaggeration, but gratifying just the same, she thought as she started on her way downstairs.

  Now that she had time to look around her, she realised it wasn’t only her bedroom that needed refurbishment. The whole house looked tired and shabby and it was all too evident that the high standards of cleanliness observed in Aunt Joss’s day had slipped badly.

  Surfaces no longer g
lowed as they once had. There was no beguiling mixture of lavender and beeswax in the air, and in places there were even cobwebs.

  It all looked—unloved, but perhaps that was what happened when the mistress of the house was no longer in residence.

  Not that Serafina Latimer had enjoyed much choice in the matter. Once she’d decided to avoid Inheritance Tax by gifting Mannion to Nicola’s older brother Adam, she was allowed only casual and infrequent visits to her former home in the seven-year period it took for the gift to become legal and Adam to become Mannion’s full owner.

  Aunt Joss had explained it all to Dana in some detail, brushing aside all attempts at questions or protests, before adding with chill emphasis, ‘So, once and for all, let that be an end to this nonsense.’

  Yet, how could it be, when Dana knew, as surely as the sun rose in the east, that she had been passed over?

  Her rightful inheritance given away like some free bar of soap?

  Knew too that her aunt was wrong, and the fight was far from over.

  Poor Mannion, she thought, as she reached the foot of the stairs. But when you’re mine, you won’t be passed from hand to hand again.

  And this time there’ll be no one around to stop me.

  There was none of the expected buzz of conversation as she approached the dining room, and she found herself hesitating briefly before entering.

  For a moment, as she took in the old-fashioned chintzes that covered the deep sofas and armchairs, and saw the long brocade curtains moving gently in the faint breeze from the open French windows, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time.

  Then, in the same instant, she realised that she’d totally misread the housekeeper’s message, because it was quite another Miss Latimer waiting for her behind the tea table. A much older version, her plump girth squeezed into unbecoming floral silk, her bleached hair like a metal helmet, her lips pursed.

  Nicola’s Aunt Mimi, she thought with a silent groan. Oh, God, I should have known.