“I didn’t want you to change your mind,” she admitted. “I thought if I told you the truth, you’d run a mile.”
His smile was cynical. “I probably would have.” His eyes found hers and his expression shifted. “I was so rough,” he lifted his hand to her cheek, cupping it, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her flesh while his eyes remained glued to hers. “I was so focused on wanting you; I needed you so bad. Damn it, I should have been more gentle. Did I hurt you?”
He seemed to hold his breath, as though the survival of every cell in his body was contingent on the answer to that question. “No,” she lied. He’d hurt her alright, but not in the way he was worried about.
He seemed to understand that. Their connectivity wounded her most of all – they’d always been in sync.
“I’ll be fine, truly.” It was a brittle statement.
“We’ll have dinner tonight,” he said autocratically, with a firm nod of determination. “And afterwards --,”
He left the sentence hanging and her heart throbbed hard in her chest. “Afterwards?” She prompted.
And he kissed her. Slowly, sensually, and her blood pounded and her breath burned her lungs. “Afterwards,” he said, when he pulled away. “I’ll show you everything you’ve been missing…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
SO FAR AS PROMISES went, it was hardly candy and flowers, but all afternoon, holed up in the safety of her room, she thought about his words and they began to lick nothing but pleasure into her body.
What had she been missing out on?
She’d never really understood the allure of sex. With Apollo, she’d wanted everything he could give her, but when they’d broken up, she’d been glad they hadn’t slept together.
She’d been glad she could lie to herself, that she could say it hadn’t really even been serious. After all, Apollo Heranedes was a complete bachelor. They hadn’t slept together and that had to mean he wasn’t sure about their relationship either. It had to mean something.
Other than Apollo, she’d never wanted anyone physically.
And now? She wanted him with a desire that threatened to strip her raw.
When it drew closer to seven o’clock, her anticipation reached fever pitch. She changed into a different dress and pulled her hair up into a loose bun, low at her nape. She pinched her cheeks for colour and then stepped out of her room before she could change her mind.
Everything felt different.
She couldn’t have said why but knowing what they’d done, what was to come, flooded her system with tremulous anticipation.
He was on the terrace. The table was set like a five-star restaurant and candles were everywhere.
So much for a lack of romance.
She stood on the threshold, staring at the setting for a minute, and then lifting her eyes helplessly to his. He was watching her and oh, God, he was so handsome, in a pair of black jeans and a grey t-shirt that showed every ridge and undulation of his broad chest.
“Eleanor.” The way he said her name was, in and of itself, a caress. His accent danced across her skin, spreading goosebumps and delight.
She nodded – for no reason in particular – and stepped out. The night was balmy, a breeze from the ocean rushed to greet her, light and salt-tanged. The waves crashed with a steady, insistent rhythm, and in each lash of theirs to the shore, she heard music. A steady, pulsing beat that was organic and stirred the makings of her soul.
“You’ve gone to so much trouble,” she murmured, impossibly shy given what they’d agree to.
“Not me,” he said with a shrug. “Carlotta and her staff.” He moved to one of the chairs and pulled it out. Her heart swooped at his deflection of her praise, but when she seated herself, he pressed a faint kiss against the top of her head and her heart soared once more, high into the heavens.
“Well, it’s lovely,” she said softly, turning on a sigh to regard the view of the ocean. The sun was still dropping towards it, and the sky had turned mauve and pale pink. “This island is incredible. Have you owned it long?”
He took the seat opposite her, kicking his long legs beneath the table, so their ankles brushed and she straightened, impossibly aware of every miniscule contact.
A servant appeared then with a bottle of champagne so ice-cold the sides were frosted. “I’ll do it,” Apollo murmured, taking the bottle without so much as a smile, and curving his palm over the foil top. She watched as he dealt with the cork, pushing it out skillfully and silently, and then poured two glasses.
“My grandfather bought the island,” he answered, finally, settling back into his chair with the appearance of relaxation. “I spent a lot of time here, during my youth.”
“During your parents’ divorce?” She pushed gently, remembering what a tough time of life that had been for him.
His expression shifted, slamming shut with as much force as a bag of rocks being dropped onto the ground. “Something like that.” He sipped his champagne, his eyes holding hers.
“So you live with Elizabeth and her son?”
Eleanor frowned, just for a fraction of a second. “Yes.”
“In London?”
She nodded. “In Camden.” She sipped her own champagne. “Do you… get to London often?” Her voice broke a little on the question.
“No.”
“No? What does that mean? Once a week? A month? Every six months?” She replaced her champagne carefully. “I seem to remember you spent quite a bit of time there while we were dating.”
He nodded. “I had someone to keep me there.” His smile was flippant. “Now I split my time between the island and Athens. Paris from time to time, New York when I can’t avoid it.”
Her heart was hammering and she knew why. He was avoiding London. Avoiding her?
“I thought you had an office in the UK?”
His shrug was pure nonchalance. “I have an office in Tokyo, Hong Kong, Sydney, Milan, Lisbon… shall I go on?”
“I get your point,” she said, dipping her head forward.
He softened his tone. “My London office runs like a well-oiled machine. Any problems can be dealt with via teleconference.”
“I see,” she murmured, still suspecting there was more to his determination to stay away than he was admitting. “So you spent a lot of time here on this island when you were a child. When did you start living here?”
“I don’t live here.”
“Splitting your time between it and Athens, then,” she persisted.
“Around the time my father died,” he said, his eyes lifting to hers and holding them, so the full force of his silent accusation shivered down her spine.
She bit back her apology – he’d heard it a dozen times and had routinely discarded it with impatience. He didn’t want to hear her say how sorry she was.
Silence fell upon the table, heavy and laced with recriminations. Eleanor didn’t know how to break it. She was powerless somehow.
“The piece you were writing,” he said finally. “How much would it have earned for you?”
Eleanor blinked at him. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m not going to write it, Apollo. I give you my word…”
“That’s not what I asked,” he said, with a hauteur that caused her to wonder if this was how he was in business meetings.
The same servant who’d brought their champagne appeared with a tray and he stood at the edge of the table, placing a plate of calamari between them, then another with fried cheese, and a third with olives and breads. Finally, some fresh tomatoes and another kind of fish.
Once he’d disappeared inside, Eleanor met Apollo’s eyes once more. “It varies,” she said quietly. “A little over fifteen hundred pounds, but I have to cover my own travel expenses,” she added.
“And going undercover as a servant? Who organized that?”
Her cheeks flamed. “Apollo? I understand that you don’t approve of my job, but I really feel a need to point out that undercover journalism is a far from new concept. I’m certainly not
the first person to gain access to certain situations under false pretenses, all for the sake of research.”
His expression tightened. “I only asked so that I might know how much to compensate you.”
“Compensate me?” She responded, almost dropping her fork in alarm. “What are you talking about?”
“You need the money.” His expression was inscrutable. “For Elizabeth and Joshua. I have no interest in depriving you of your livelihood, nor in seeing a single mother and her young son go hungry. I simply want to make sure your livelihood isn’t garnered by exploiting my family.”
She bit down on her lip and turned her attention back on the ocean. “I get it. I’ve promised you I won’t write it…”
“Yes, you have, and I’m going to keep you here to make sure of it. But I’ll make sure you’re not financially disadvantaged. Deal?”
“No! That’s not a deal. I’ve already got another piece I’m working on instead. I don’t need your money.”
Alarm spread over his face at her mention of another article.
“Relax,” she snapped. “It’s about an Ethiopian charity.”
That had surprised him. He lifted a brow, scanning her face thoughtfully. “So is a trip to Africa on the horizon?”
“No,” she said, forcing herself to relax as they moved onto more neutral conversational ground. “I have a local contact who’s been sending through notes. We’ve worked together before, I trust him. He’s a good researcher. Meticulous and diligent. The story will be interesting. I just have no idea who’ll buy it,” she said with a slight tightening of her expression.
“So you write a story then try to sell it?”
“Sometimes. I have an agent – he approaches me with some opportunities. Like the piece on Ras el Kida. There’s a lot of interest, you know, because your sister is American, and with Malik’s passing, and the baby…”
He held a hand up, his expression wry. “I am well aware of the interest they generate.”
“Sorry,” she said with a soft shake of her head. “I was just explaining how it worked. You did ask.”
He expelled a sigh, and his nostrils flared with the breath. “I did.”
“Do you see them often?”
His smile was more of a grimace, and it certainly didn’t reach his eyes. “Not really.” He sipped his champagne. “Is Elizabeth your only sister?”
“Yes.”
“No brothers?”
“No.”
“And you don’t speak to your parents?”
She shook her head.
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes. Every day.”
His frown showed this was not the answer he’d expected. “So why not call them?”
“How can I?” She implored. “They threw Elizabeth out when she was pregnant. They haven’t even acknowledged Joshua. I’d be the worst kind of hypocrite if I condoned that behavior.”
“You can’t broker some kind of truce?”
“No.” She sipped her champagne, turning to watch the sun dip down, nearer to the ocean.
“Were you not close to them?”
“We were all very close,” she contradicted. “We had the perfect family growing up. They adored us. But they’re incredibly old-fashioned, traditional to a fault. They couldn’t accept the fact Elizabeth was in a sexual relationship at all, let alone couldn’t contact the man who’d got her pregnant.” Eleanor pulled a face. “I know that does sound bad but, at the end of the day, she’s their daughter. We were only twenty years old. She had to give up her studies – we both still lived at home. It was… traumatic, to say the least.”
“And so you picked up the pieces.”
“What else could I do?”
He shifted his shoulders, and was silent. Eleanor tried to read his expression, but he kept it carefully guarded from her, and she hated that. She hated that he was withdrawn, watchful. But she didn’t push it. The night was young and her patience long.
“This food looks delicious,” she said, helping herself to a small serve of each meal and trying the squid first. It was exquisite. Salty, crunchy on the outside and tender on the inside. She moaned as she lifted another piece to her lips, and then she tried a little of the fried cheese. It had been drizzled in lemon and sprinkled with salt and dried herbs.
Another perfect flavor.
They ate mostly in silence, and eventually, the sun slid into the ocean, casting the terrace in darkness and netting them with stars.
The servant came and cleared their plates, topped up their champagnes, and then, with a look of apparent relaxation, Apollo stood. It was easy to forget how big he was – ridiculous, too – but when he stood, her breath snagged in her throat. He was sheer masculine perfection. He extended a hand to her.
“Let’s go for a walk.”
Her throat was dry and her heart was pounding but she stood as if pulled by some kind of ancient magnetic force, placing her hand in his. A million lightbulbs flashed in her mind; memories engulfed her.
Holding hands was such a simple act – she’d never even taken note of it before. A dozen times a day, he’d reached for her hand and she’d slid hers into it, and he’d curled his fingers through hers, as he was doing now, and she’d smiled, because it had felt so right. But she hadn’t known just how right. Now, walking beside him, she felt all the old myths about love and hands and veins that led to the heart come to life. For surely this was more than just a physical connection? They touched and her essence seemed to clarify.
They walked towards the beach, and once upon it, she looked left, idly, for no real reason, but her eyes were caught by a warm glow.
“What’s that?” she murmured, stepping towards it.
He said nothing, but walked beside her, so that after only a minute, she was able to pick out an elaborate and perfect setting. More romance.
Her tummy squeezed. A huge, colourful rug had been laid on the sand, and large pillows were scattered across it. Candles formed a barrier on three sides, casting just enough light to be able to see reasonably well – but not so much as to be jarring. It was a warm night but, perhaps as a precaution, some blankets had been placed down, folded neatly on top of each other.
“Apollo,” she said, his name hoarse on her lips. She stopped walking and stared up at him. The moon cast a bright beam of light across his face, highlighting all the planes and angles. “I thought this was just supposed to be…meaningless sex?”
“Your first time should always mean something, agape. For tonight, let’s just pretend.”
It was a sentiment that turned the blood in her veins to ice, but only for a moment, because then, he was squeezing her hand, smiling at her, and pulling her towards the carpet, and it was impossible not to be caught in the beauty of the night.
“Carlotta’s handiwork?” She asked, as she sat down on the carpet and then reclined, propping herself on one elbow. He came to lie beside her.
“This was me.”
He caught her hand once more and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to her fingertips before bringing it to fill the small wedge of space between them.
Eleanor had no idea what to say. She hadn’t expected any of this, least of all that he would have gone to the trouble himself.
“I think my staff would have felt I’d lost the plot if I’d ask them to set up something like this,” he said with a laugh that was bordering on self-conscious.
“So you don’t make a habit of candle-lit seductions?”
“No,” he shook his head, and she was immeasurably glad. He lifted a hand, catching her hair, brushing it back behind her ear. “Did I hurt you today?”
He meant physically, she reminded herself. “No.” Her smile was over-bright, and then, she wriggled closer, removing any gap between them. He dropped his hand to her hip, staring at her through the dress she wore. “I’m not made of glass.”
He nodded, lifting his eyes to hers. So much between them went unsaid and yet it was a moment of perfect clarity. When he kisse
d her, it was so different to the way they’d kissed in the orchard. This kiss was gentle yet hungry, a slow kiss of exploration and understanding, a kiss in which he tasted all of her, and she tasted him. She fell back on the blanket and then he was straddling her, a blanket of stars overhead, the ocean whispering its ancient secrets at their feet, candles flickering their heated encouragement.
It was a kiss of perfection.
She tasted like heaven. Apollo ground his hips, hating the fabric that stood between them, keeping them apart, knowing that he should be grateful for it. She was so innocent and inexperienced; she deserved better than to have him act like some kind of sex-starved teenager. Even if it’s exactly what he felt like.
He glided his fingers over her shoulders, taking his time, teasing her with his slowness, guiding her straps lower before dropping lines of delicate kisses over her shoulders and décolletage. When he stripped the dress down, to reveal her rounded breasts, he groaned, worshipping her flesh with his lips, his fingers, his breath – enjoying her in every way he could.
Her beauty had first drawn him to her, but it had been more than that. Her smile. Her laugh. Her quick wit. God, he’d been addicted to everything about her, and kissing her now, he could forget the last three years, the reason they’d been apart. He could forget the article, her notes, the betrayal, his father’s death: everything.
Let’s just pretend. He’d said that, and now, he did as he’d suggested, losing himself and his hesitations completely to that moment. He stripped her dress, revealing her body, naked except for a delicate white thong.
He felt like he’d been slammed in the solar plexus at the very sight of her. She hadn’t come to him expecting that they’d sleep together. She’d been on an assignment in Ras el Kida – all of this was the result of chance. She hadn’t prepared herself for this, and yet her body, all of her, was the most beautiful sight he’d ever beheld. There was no artifice nor vanity about her appearance. She was – simply – naturally stunning.
He removed his own clothes without taking his eyes from her, and she watched, devouring him hungrily, dragging her gaze from his head to his shoulders, over his chest and then, finally, to the arousal he’d been trying to contain all day.
The Greek's Virgin Captive: She was wrong for him in every way but one... (Evermore Book 2) Page 9