by Jane Porter
“But I can, and then you and Mrs. Pateras could relax a little. Unwind before your parents arrive.”
Christos shot Alysia a speculative look. “We’ll relax, don’t you worry about us.”
The moment Mrs. Avery was gone Christos ordered Alysia upstairs.
Her eyebrows shot up. Her stomach a bundle of nerves. “Pardon me?”
“Can you walk, or shall I carry you again?”
“You want me to go upstairs now, just before your parents come?”
He smiled coldly, no warmth in his dark eyes. “We’ve a good solid hour.”
“You’ve got to be joking.”
“Sweetheart, I never joke about sex.”
I never joke about sex. How much cruder could one be? Her eyes smarted. Her throat closed, bottling the air in her lungs. “I’m sorry, but I’m not exactly in the mood.”
He tossed back his drink, and shrugged. “Then get in the mood, because we made a deal. Business, right, sweetheart? You wanted to be a part of my world, well, I’m going to be a part of yours. I want you. Now.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Why not? You treat me with as much contempt.” He made a rough sound in his throat, reaching forward to run his finger across her cheek. “Ah, there it is, the anger. The hatred. It’s all there, just for me.” Christos turned, began climbing the stairs. “Now come. Business is business.”
She wanted to hate him, wanted to shout something at him, but her voice failed her and her heart ached, craving something else from him than this.
As he took the stairs, she watched the length of his back, the powerful legs, and despite the anger and anguish burning within her, she felt another emotion, one awakened by the caress on her cheek.
She wanted him. She wanted to feel him over her, against her, the warm, hard planes of his body, her own warm acceptance. And slowly she followed him up the stairs.
They made love the first time with savage intent, nails raking, teeth nipping, kisses fierce and bruising. But after the first shattering orgasm, after the anger abated, Christos turned to her again, his touch softer, his expression almost gentle. He made love to her once more, this time giving rather than taking, kissing her through her second climax, holding her while she shuddered against him, murmuring assurances in her ear.
She nearly fell asleep in his arms but Christos stirred, and drawing back the covers reminded her that his parents would arrive in the next half hour.
He’d left the room and she bathed, but instead of dressing, she’d returned to the bed, curled on the foot in her towel.
She wanted more from Christos than skin. More than his mouth and fingers, his incredible satin and steel body. She wanted his heart, too.
But this marriage, their marriage, was paper and money, ships and inheritance. It wasn’t love, would never be love. It was just business. Business and vengeance.
Her eyes burned, her throat sealed closed, and digging her nails into her palms she felt like the poor little rich girl again, the young Greek heiress whose fortune couldn’t even protect her infant son.
God, how she hated her inheritance, hated the pampered world of nothingness.
The door to her room opened. Christos stood in the doorway, buttoning the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, the tail of it already tucked into dark wool trousers. “Alysia, you can’t afford to dawdle. My parents will be here very soon. And trust me, you won’t endear yourself to my mother if she finds you undressed.”
She couldn’t move, couldn’t tear her gaze from him. He looked so cool and calm, so perfectly controlled, while she felt like a ball of warm wax, soft and changing, helpless in his hands.
She still felt him everywhere in her, on her, near her. She felt his mouth and hands, felt her body respond, and the dull pain in her heart.
Covering her heartache, she gave him a defiant glare. “Why not? You undressed me.”
“Fine. I’ll dress you. So much for independence, Mrs. Pateras.” He stalked to her closet, plucking a silk skirt and cropped jacket from hangers.
“Wear these,” he said, tossing them at her before digging through her drawers for appropriate lingerie. “My father loves lavender and my mother dislikes trousers. Wear your hair down but not too much makeup. I expect to see you downstairs in fifteen minutes tops. Am I clear?”
“Christos—”
“Am I clear?”
“Yes.” She swallowed, gathering courage. “Your father, he must hate me very much.”
He stopped at the door, but didn’t turn around. “My father has no vendetta against you. My father is a compassionate man. A man far more tolerant than I.”
He glanced back at her, his hard, handsome features without expression, his dark eyes intent, focused on her, observing the sudden tension at her mouth. “My father will be kind to you. Do not worry about him.”
“And your mother?”
“She answers to my father.”
Like a good woman should.
He didn’t say the last part, but it hung there, unspoken between them. She smiled painfully. “I’ll try not to embarrass you tonight.”
“Just don’t run away.”
Downstairs she found Christos uncorking a bottle of red wine. Headlights gleamed in the driveway, reflecting through the dining-room window.
“They’re here,” he announced unnecessarily.
She stiffened, frightened at coming face-to-face with people her father had hurt so deeply. “Tell me what to say to your mother. Tell me how to act.”
“Just be yourself,” he said quietly. Her head jerked up. Her eyes met his. “My mother will be happy when I’m happy,” he added more gently.
But I won’t ever make you happy, she silently answered him, her heart aching, emotions so raw and new that she struggled to keep them in check. “Christos, it’s not all business, is it?”
“You mean between us?”
Silence stretched, a humiliation of its own. Car doors slammed outside. Footsteps on the brick steps.
Bands of color burned her cheekbones. “Yes. Between us.”
More silence. The shockingly loud ring of the doorbell. The knowledge that his parents were there, waiting, just on the other side of the door.
He didn’t even glance at the door. “No. It’s not just business.”
She felt a bubble of emotion rise, higher, fuller, hope and pain, tenderness, too.
He crossed to the door but didn’t open it, his gaze still on her, as if able to read her chaotic emotions. “I didn’t marry Maria just because your father offered me money, and I didn’t marry you to punish your family. I married you because I wanted you.” And then, just like that, he swung the front door open, inviting his parents in.
Dinner with his parents was less of a disaster than she’d expected. With his father present, Christos’s mother was subdued, silently following the conversation while Christos’s father discussed business and matters of the church with Christos.
The elder Mr. Pateras made efforts to include Alysia, listening thoughtfully to her point of view, and treating her with what seemed to be genuine warmth and respect.
Following dinner they shared a sweet liqueur, a drink Christos said was made locally by a Greek family. Then his parents left after Christos and Alysia saw them to the door.
They stood together in the entry, neither moving from the door. After a long moment Christos leaned forward to tuck a tendril of golden hair behind her ear. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said
“No. Your father is lovely.”
“I don’t know if lovely is the right word, but it’s obvious he likes you. I’m glad. I’d hoped he would.”
“But your mother…”
“My mother is notoriously hard to please. With babies, grandchildren, I promise you, she’ll have a change of heart.”
Her own heart twisted, feeling like a traitor. She should talk to Christos, really talk to him, but how? What would she say? How could she tell him the truth? In some ways he was modern, open-minded, strong. But in other
ways, when it came to women and family, he was impossibly protective. Almost chauvinistic. If she confessed to him, she knew she’d lose him.
Christos lifted her face in his hands, his expression somber. Then his head dipped and he kissed her with heart-shattering tenderness, savoring her lips, promising a warmth and a tangible hunger.
She clung to him, needing him, and as she kissed him, tears slid from beneath her closed lashes, spilling onto her cheeks.
Christos drew back, forehead furrowing. “What’s wrong?”
She couldn’t tell him. Words would only destroy the tentative bonds between them. Instead she drew his head down to hers again, covering his mouth with her own.
His lips felt damp and tasted salty from her tears, and a primitive emotion compelled her to kiss him deeply, sampling the trace of her tears on his skin. She tasted herself, and him, and it stirred dormant emotions, deep-rooted emotions of love and longing. She wanted him, to belong to him, not just now, but always.
The intensity of their lovemaking that night affected them both, but for Alysia, it was life-changing. She knew she’d never want any man, or love any man, the way she loved Christos. He was a perfect combination of strength and passion, pride and tenderness.
They made love again and his hands, body and mouth drove her to a shattering climax. Afterward, he kissed her on the damp brow before returning to her lips.
“You might not know it, but you need me, Alysia, just as much as I need you.”
She lay on the crook of her arm, gazing at him in the dark. She could see his eyes and the flash of white teeth, and she leaned forward to kiss his mouth, closing the distance between them. “I know, at least the part about me needing you.”
She felt him tense, his breath catching, holding. At last he exhaled, his hand rising to her face, stroking her cheek, her skin still glowing with the heat of passion.
“I want to have a baby with you. I want to make a family with you.”
Fear gripped her heart and she pressed her fingertips to his mouth to keep him from saying more.
“But you know that,” he said. “You know it’s what I want more than anything.”
“I’m not mother-material,” she answered hoarsely.
“That’s not true. You’re just afraid you can’t conceive, but I’m sure with the right doctors, with new treatments—”
“Christos, you don’t know!”
“What don’t I know?”
The truth… You don’t know anything.
“Alysia, you’re my wife. I want you. I want a family with you.”
Her eyes scalded, hot and gritty, and she tipped her forehead against his, hiding her face from him, hiding her past. If he knew the truth, he’d hate her, despise her.
“Talk to me,” he whispered, drawing away and rolling her over onto her back. Lifting a strand of hair from the hollow of her neck, he pressed it to his mouth and then kissed her collarbone before kissing her mouth. “Trust me.”
“I do.” And she did, as much as she could trust anyone. But what about the birth control pills? A little voice whispered inside her head, stirring fresh panic. He should know you’re taking contraception.
But another voice inside her protested. He doesn’t need to know now. You’ll tell him someday, someday when he’ll understand…
“I’d do anything for you.”
“Shh, you can’t say such things.”
“I can, because I love you.”
She lay still, frozen, not daring to breathe. He couldn’t have just said what she thought he said. It was her imagination, her need for acceptance, and forgiveness. Because he couldn’t love her, not the real Alysia. The real Alysia destroyed those she loved.
“Look at me,” Christos urged, his voice husky, firm fingers on her chin, turning her face to his, not understanding the tears in her eyes or the pain snaking through her heart. “We’ll make a baby, and we’ll be happy. I promise.”
The weeks passed quickly; Christos was attentive, his desire something tangible and real. They slept together, woke together, took their meals together, and still neither could get enough of the other, seeking each other’s company, wanting more touch, more passion, more pleasure.
After that stormy first week they’d managed to become friends, developing a relationship out of the artifice.
Christos invited Alysia to join him once or twice a week at his office, making a point of including her in big meetings, and other times, bringing home business reports and financial statements to discuss with her.
She found Christos’s perspective on business fascinating, yet was bored by the myriad of details. While she liked understanding why he made certain decisions, she didn’t want to pore over numbers or challenge his economic predictions. The fact was, his business bored her. What’s worse, the endless columns of numbers looked meaningless after a while, just number after number, like little ants marching across the page.
“I hate this,” she muttered, slamming the proposal closed and tossing it at the foot of the couch. “I can’t stand it. There’s nothing about this business that I enjoy.”
Christos turned from the window where he’d been admiring the sunset, his mouth twisting. “I wondered how long it’d take for you to confess.” He plucked the spiral-bound booklet from the couch and flipped through it, briefly scanning the charts and graphs. “Why don’t you paint again?”
His tone was deceptively mild. She glanced at him, frowned. “You know I don’t paint anymore.”
“We could build a studio for you here—”
“I don’t want a studio,” she interrupted, jumping from the couch to confront him. “I don’t paint. I’ll never paint again.”
“I thought you trusted me.”
“I do.”
“Then perhaps you can explain these,” he said flatly. Something had changed in his voice, his quiet tone taking an edge. “I found these in your bathroom drawer.” He drew a small plastic case from his pocket, lifted them high and tapped the plastic case with a finger. “These pills aren’t iron tablets, are they?”
She went hot, then cold. “No.” They were her pills. Her birth control pills. He knew, too, what her bottle of iron tablets looked like.
“Where did you get them? When did you get them?”
“In Athens.” She swallowed hard. “From the doctor that visited me at your house, after I fainted.”
“You’ve been on birth control pills for the last month?” His voice echoed hard, brittle, just like his features.
“Yes.” She lifted her head, flinched when she met his gaze, fury blazing in his dark eyes.
“You lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You weren’t honest.”
No, she hadn’t been honest, and it was all going to come out. She saw that now. The skeletons, the nightmare, the terror. The bones were stacked too high against the closet door and the door had been opened, just a crack, but a crack was more than enough to destroy her fragile control.
She turned, opened the door to his study and began walking away, quickly, heading for the stairs and the sanctuary of her room.
Christos followed her to the stairs, and she ran up the steps, flying as fast as she could.
He covered the stairs in half the time, able to climb three steps to her one. Grasping her by her shoulders, he spun her to face him. “What the hell is going on?”
“You don’t know, and you don’t want to know.”
“Damn it, Alysia, I’ve had it with your secrets and your cryptic answers.” His fingers held her fast, no escaping him now. “No more riddles. I want answers. Truthful answers. Why didn’t you tell me you were on the pill?”
“Because you’d have taken them away, or tried to talk me out of them—”
“Yes!”
“That’s why.”
“But you knew I wanted children.”
“And you knew I couldn’t give them to you!”
She yanked away, stepping blindly backward. She tee
tered on the top step, losing her balance. Christos caught her, pulling her roughly after him to the relative safety of her bedroom.
“No more pills, no more protection,” he said, shutting the door behind them. “Do you understand?”
“I understand what you’re saying, but I can’t do what you’re asking me to do.”
“You mean you won’t?”
She saw the hurt flicker in his dark eyes before being replaced by anger. “Please, Christos, trust me—”
“Like you’ve trusted me?” He turned away, covered his face with one hand. “God, I am a fool.” He shook his head, dropping his hand. “Your father warned me you’d run away. He warned me you weren’t very stable. But I didn’t believe him. If only I had!”
“It would have saved us both a lot of trouble,” she answered quietly, finding her pride, and her backbone.
She’d known from the beginning their marriage wouldn’t last. She knew he’d discover the truth sooner or later and the relationship would end, as swiftly, as painfully, as it had begun. Only she hadn’t expected to lose her heart to him. She’d never meant to fall so madly in love.
He stared at her as if he’d never seen her before, his dark eyes stripping her to the bone. “You were never going to have my child, were you?”
“No.”
“How long would you have let me wait?”
Forever, she heard the answer whisper inside herself, forever, if it meant I could be with you. Instead she shook her head. “I don’t know. Until you pushed for the truth.”
“So you would have continued taking the pills, getting your period, letting me believe we couldn’t conceive.”
“Yes.”
“God, I hate you.”
She shriveled on the inside, dying. “I know.”
“You can’t. You have no idea how much you disgust me.”
“I have a faint idea,” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t break what was already broken, and her heart had been shattered years ago. But still he was digging a fresh hole, dirt for her grave.
He closed the distance between them, lifted his hand as if to strike her and instead caught her face in his hands, kissing her hard on the mouth. “Why?” he demanded against her trembling lips. “Just tell me why. Let me understand.”