“But, since we are going around in circles as to who was at fault,” she carried on, narrowing her eyes at him briefly before resuming what he could only think of as her queenly face, “I suggest we think of the next problem. Sleeping arrangements. As the guest, I think it is only fair I take the bedroom this time. Remember—”
“Don’t tell me, Odysseus?”
“It was in your bookshelf, not mine.”
“And as much as that is my favourite book, as is The Iliad, you do know that they are purely fiction.” He rolled his eyes. At this rate, she would be quoting Socrates at him too.
“You were the one who said that we are Odysseus. That was your analogy, and there are some lessons in there—some very good lessons, in fact.”
“Yeah, like ‘don’t go to war and leave your house open to men who want to steal your wife’ kind of lessons,” he muttered.
“I was referring to the ‘looking after your guests’ kind of lessons.”
“They are the same thing.”
“Actually, no, they are not. Those guests took advantage of Penelope’s kindness and the rule of the gods,” she bit back.
Taking advantage, that was a thought. His lips pulled into a smile as he imagined what it would look like if she took advantage of him. Would she—
He rubbed his fingers over his eyes quickly. Nope, he was not going there. It was too dangerous. Caffeine, that’s what he needed, and lots of it.
“I need a coffee. Milk and sugar?” He stood up quickly, and the chair squeaked as it scraped against the tiles.
Her mouth opened, then closed, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled softly. She had a cute nose, especially when it flared, which was, in his experience, mostly when she got annoyed—at him. “Just black, thank you.” Her lips lifted into a small smile. His heart thumped heavily against his chest, and he rubbed it slowly. Damn, but she knew how to turn a complete 180.
He flicked the kettle to life and grabbed cups, popping open the coffee and inhaling deeply. Its rich, smoky scent wafted up his nose and wrapped itself around his senses before he spooned it in the cups and filled in the water. He trod carefully back to the table, pushing the cup towards her. Her fingers brushed against his, and his skin tingled at the touch. He moved quickly to the other side of the table, wincing as his butt hit the seat with more force than necessary.
Lesson learned. Do not touch Tia—ever. That was, unless he wanted to get an injury.
Her fingers wrapped around the handle and she pulled the cup to her face, her nose wrinkling as she inhaled its scent as deeply as he had. Her eyes closed briefly before popping back open and holding his gaze from over the cup. He had never seen that colour before. Anna had said she looked like the princess of Kephelai, but the princess was half English. Was Tia?
He lowered his head and blew the steam from the top of the cup, deliberately keeping his voice low and calm. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
She slurped quickly before flicking her head up, and he cringed as her eyes filled with tears and her hand flew furiously in front of her mouth.
Thee mou! “Are you okay? Do you want some water?” Didn’t she just watch him make it?
She waved her hand across the table, shaking her head as small coughing puffs escaped from her lips. “What . . . what makes you say that?”
First the car and now this. He was beginning to have second thoughts. Maybe she was just unlucky and he had caught it—like a bug!
Damon pushed his cup down with a gentle clunk against the table and linked his fingers. “You speak Greek like a fellow Kephelainian, but your”—he paused, rubbing a finger along his nose—“eye colour, that is, your real eye colour this time, I am assuming, makes me think you’re not from around these parts.”
His eyes searched her face for confirmation or denial, and she sat up straighter, her fingers dancing around the rim of her cup. He would be nervous too after glugging scalding hot liquid.
“Nice work, Detective Damon. However, you have forgotten your history, I think. The Danes were an ancient invader of the island, hence a lot of their descendants having light-coloured eyes. Genetics are strange like that, and one generation shows it more than another. Besides, a lot of Kephelainians have eyes that aren’t brown, yours included.”
Her statement was like a kick in the gut, and he twisted his fingers into each other, making a fist. He hated his hair colour, and he hated his eye colour. His mother had warm brown eyes the colour of the rich earth of Kephelai. His father, that man, his eyes were Damon’s colour.
“Yes. Like you said, genetics are strange.” He unwound his fingers and lifted his cup to his lips, eyeing her over the rim. Had she met Phillipe and knew that her comment would strike a home run? He could not tell, and he could not ask—yet. The knowledge of who he really was had been eating away at him for the past year. His every waking thought and nightmare had been about Phillipe. Now was too far from the elections, and he wanted to deliver the message at just the right time.
The time that would hurt the old man the most.
Her fingers were moving slowly over the rim of her cup again, and he sat back as she looked up. “So about the bedroom issue . . . ” Her voice trailed off as pink, like the bright pinks of the flowers that grew on Aphrodite’s Mountain, bled steadily into her cheeks.
He bit his tongue. He really shouldn’t. In the vein of being chivalrous, he really shouldn’t but . . . “Issue? I didn’t realise we had any bedroom issues?” He smiled widely as the pink deepened to red. He would add that colouring to the list that included the nose wrinkling.
“I did not mean . . . whatever you are thinking! I meant sleeping arrangements, mine and yours,” she blurted out, her cheeks still flame red. It made her eyes sparkle. Even if he did not trust who she was, the sparkling of her eyes when teased was brighter than when she was annoyed. He would have to remember that.
Why? The word popped unbidden into his brain. He should not have to remember. After tomorrow, he was never going to see her again so why should he remember how she looked when teased, when annoyed, when . . . kissed.
• • •
“Hello, Damon.” Tia dropped her hand from her cup and waved it in front of his face, snapping her fingers loudly. He jerked back and blinked slowly as if waking from a dream.
“Yes, right. The bed. No, you should have it. I will take the couch.”
“There is only one bedroom?”
“That and the box room that is filled with junk but no bed. You sound surprised. How many bedrooms and beds does your place have?”
Which residence? “A few more.” Like double-digit more, she added mentally. “But I did not know you only had one bed!” One bed. Tia gulped heavily. They could not . . .
“Since we are in keeping with the Odysseus scenario, it is only right I should take the lion’s share of the suffering. It is the chivalrous thing to do,” he added.
Phew! “Excuse me while I just pop into my bag and get my violin. And actually, from what I remember of the story, it was Odysseus’s crew that suffered the most. They all died. He, on the other hand, lay languid in the company of goddesses. He was to blame for anything he suffered.” Was that breathless, excited voice still her? It was a sound she had heard only in the past two days, days when she had been with Damon. Two days! It felt much longer and not in the negative ways she felt when she was made to smile and stand upright at balls for hours on end. Now, her heart raced and the tips of her ears burned. She felt light, as if she could do or say anything and it would not matter. Tomorrow it would have to end, but for now, she could be . . . free.
“Actually, he would not have been on that voyage if it was not for a certain someone.”
She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her. “Oh and that would be?”
“Paris and Helen of Troy. Oh, and Hector, Paris’s older brother. He stood up for Paris, although he knew what he did was wrong. He was one of the strongest warriors of the age, and so Odysseus, being an
other strong fighter, had to step in. And then we circle back to square one.”
“What makes you think that just because Hector was older, he was the strongest? Maybe Paris, if given the chance, could have been stronger but ended up making his name another way. He was never given the chance to be stronger, never given the chance to be anything other than just the younger sibling!” Her ribs hurt and she inhaled quickly. What was wrong with her? Was she having some kind of panic attack? Was that what these pains were?
Georgios’s golden-blond hair and solemn brown eyes flashed before her eyes. His face still had its sun-kissed hue and rosy cheeks from the same ride that had also ended his life. The doctors had said his neck had snapped and he had died instantly. The whole island had been in mourning. Her parents, she knew, still were.
You will be Queen Christiana the First.
The lead minister had been so solemn, and her legs had turned to jelly at his words. If she had not been sitting down in the royal chambers, she would have fainted. She was not prepared, like Paris. She had never been given the chance.
She swallowed heavily and lowered her gaze to her cup, pulling it to her and draining it quickly. One more day. That was all she had to get through.
Standing up, she pushed back the chair. “If you do not mind, I think I will retire. It has been quite a day.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes holding hers before dropping to the cup still in her hand. She slid it onto the table.
“The bedroom is the first on the right. The room at the end is the bathroom. The other is the box room.” He shrugged.
Tia dropped her head into her best regal nod and made her feet move to the door and the stairs. She had to get ahold of her emotions. What must he think of her? She had never been hysterical. Not even after the accident, though with the amount of pain and pain relief she was given, she could not remember feeling much, let alone hysterical.
“I take it that Paris was your favourite character in the story?”
Her feet froze at his words and she turned silently, shaking her head. “Actually, no, it was not. It was Hector. He did not want the war and the responsibility, and yet he did not shirk from his duty. Dare I ask who was your favourite? The mighty Achilles perhaps?” She forced her lips into a smile. It forced her body to ignore the pain running through her heart at the memory of another older brother who did not shirk his responsibility and leave his twin siblings to their dangerous shenanigans alone.
He shook his head slowly, his fingers still wound around his cup. “No, it was always Hector, for his die-hard loyalty to his family despite the odds being stacked against him.” A wry smile pulled at his lips. “Who would have thought, that makes something else we have in common?”
“Yes, who knew? I should leave before I discover you can tell me all the constellations in the zodiac.” Tia held her breath. It was her one secret passion she had never told anyone about. Something she had found after her world had come crumbling down around her and she could not run, or even walk away.
“No you’re safe on that score, Princess Tia. I keep my feet and my eyes firmly on solid ground.”
Princess. For the first time, she was beginning to like how that sounded. Funny. She had been Princess Christiana all her life, or just Tia to her family, but never Princess Tia. It sounded—just right.
“In that case, I will not bore you or try to engage you in some more spirited discussions on the topic. Good night, Damon.”
His words floated through the air after her, “Sweet dreams.” Had he said those words, or had she been imagining it? She should have taken the couch. After all, he had been doing all the driving and she was a lot, okay, maybe not that much smaller than he was, and . . .
Her feet were as heavy as cement, and she forced them up the stairs towards the room he had said. His bedroom. She peered inside and slid her hand across the wall, pulling on a string and blinking as lights flickered to life along the wall. She ran her gaze over the wall mirror and wardrobe, her eyes alighting on the bed and widening.
It was huge, like her bed in the palace, except more somber and dark in black and navy. Her nose twitched at the familiar smell of sandalwood, and she tiptoed farther in, letting the door swing shut with a small click. Finally, she was alone. And where was she? Trapped in his bedroom where she was surrounded by his things and his smell and pah! So much for sweet dreams.
She dropped to the bed and pulled off the wig, combing her long golden hair with her fingers. Boy did that feel good! She flicked her head up, watching in the long mirror as her hair fanned out in a golden arch over her head before spilling like a waterfall down her back. Then she ran her fingers quickly through the wig.
You’re not from around here, are you?
She shuddered at the memory of Damon’s question and twisted her hair back into a top knot, sliding the wig firmly back on and tucking in the last few yellow strands. Explaining away her contacts had been difficult enough. How would she ever explain the use of a wig?
Rolling onto the bed, she tucked her hands under her head, pushing the wig under her nose. It was one thing to sleep on the same pillow he had, and it was another to do it knowingly and imagine that her face was pressed to the same spot his had been. The first was bad enough; the second was a nightmare waiting to happen. Not that it mattered. In a few hours, she would be back to her plan. And this time, it would go accordingly. Till then, she was safe enough to catch a few hours of sleep.
Chapter 10
Someone was screaming, and she wanted to help but she couldn’t. Her legs were weighted down, and something was pressing on her chest, crushing her lungs.
Seagulls circled around her, screeching her name, but they sounded strange, like men. No. A man. One man who . . .
“Tia!”
Pain shot through her, and her eyelids jolted open at the sudden, loud sharpness of her name.
“What . . . what happened?” Her lips were as dry as sawdust, and she pushed her tongue over them quickly, scanning the room.
Her heart hammered against her chest as Damon materialised beside her. The bed dipped under his weight. And this close, she could see beads of water or sweat, she couldn’t tell which, clinging to his forehead and . . . Her eyes widened. He was naked. Okay, well not totally naked thanks to the white towel around his waist, but pretty much on that grey scale.
Her eyes darted across him. His shoulders were broader than they had looked in the T-shirts and more sun kissed than she had imagined. Oh hell, she was staring. Where to look? Where to look? Why was he in her room anyway?
“I think you had a nightmare.” His voice was soft and his hands hovered above her shoulders before dropping onto his knee.
“A nightmare?” She coughed away the uncomfortable soreness in her throat. Okay, so it would stand to reason the screaming would make her throat sore, but what was wrong with her legs? Why could she not move them? She looked down, and her head felt light at the sight of the blanket wrapped around them. Phew!
“Yes. I was going to come in and grab some clothes, but then I heard you screaming and I couldn’t wake you.”
His chest gleamed in the morning sun, and the sawdust dryness returned to her lips. Her gaze found his, and the small black orbs in his eyes widened, sucking her in like a black hole. Her whole body tingled, and she rolled her nails into her palms as alien sensations rushed through her. Arms she had seen so close up in the car flexed lightly as he pushed himself up and away suddenly.
She skimmed her tongue over her lips and moved her gaze to the large mirror behind him. Hells bells! She looked horrendous. Thankfully the wig had not moved during her nightmare, but as for the rest of her . . . It was not exactly the way she had imagined her first time waking up with a man.
Heat reignited through her. She didn’t wake up with him. He woke her up.
“Erm, are you okay? Do you need anything?” His gaze was still locked on to her as if he were expecting her to begin screaming again. She shook her head.
“N
o, I am okay really. Thank you for, um, waking me.”
Heat radiated off him. Her head swam at his nearness, and she scooted to the other side of the bed. The room’s dimensions were deceptive. It had seemed huge yesterday, and now it seemed positively box sized.
“Cool. Well I’ll just grab some clothes and . . . ” His voice trailed off as he turned and grabbed a pile of clothes from on top of the dresser and disappeared quickly out of the door.
Particles of dust danced like ballerinas in the shafts of sun cutting through the windows, and Tia leaned back against the pillow, inhaling sharply. She blew out a breath slowly, making the dust dance away from her.
Geez! What was wrong with her? She was acting like a sheltered little girl who had been locked in a castle. Rapunzel looked like she had more of a life. Sure she had been in a castle, but she had also been on beaches with lots of guys who were model material.
Except . . . she dropped her head to her chin. Except, none of them conjured up these kind of reactions in her. Hell, she should not even like him, let alone find herself attracted to him. Yet despite the odds, she found herself doing both.
Sitting up, she swung her legs out of bed and pushed her fingers under the damp wig. She cringed at the clammy feeling of her scalp against her fingers. Yuck. She stood quickly and tiptoed to the door. Where were the locks on this thing? Did the man have no use for privacy? Apparently not, judging from what his state of dress, or undress, was like that morning. She flattened her back against the door and pulled the wig off, letting her head rest against the cool, solid wood behind her. Utter bliss! Next time, she would think twice about all those tight updo hairstyles she had favoured. They were practical, but she would try the more relaxed styles favoured by her mother, which required her hair to be down.
She dragged her hand through her hair as her eyes alighted on the bed. He said it was a nightmare. Icy panic twisted itself around her heart. Had she said anything that could enable him to put two and two together? What had she even been thinking about? Geo again or her ability to rule well? There were so many she could pick from.
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