by Caro LaFever
And him.
She grimaced into the dregs of her coffee.
It had been a sharp, ugly confrontation. A battle she’d won, yet not without being made to understand there would be retribution. His mouth had been like a slicing wound in his white face. His words had been low and cutting, a slash of a stinging talon. His eyes—
Well, best not to think of those burning eyes. Not when she was almost cheerful.
Nat glanced down the long, ornate table to the end.
To him.
The swaths of ornate burgundy-and-blue curtains behind him highlighted and showcased his powerful presence. The gleam of the gold-framed oil paintings on the walls to his side flashed their radiant tones on his hair, making the strands glow in godly beauty. The sun danced on his broad shoulders, his olive skin, his long lashes, burnishing him in an unworldly brilliance.
His laptop was open.
As it had been since the moment he’d arrived from the hospital an hour ago to meet his relatives and give them news of the patriarch’s continually improving condition. She’d watched his grandmother urge him to sit, to eat, to be with the family. Noticed his reluctance as he sat down to the sumptuous feast everyone was sampling. She hadn’t been surprised when he’d pulled his sleek computer out of its case and flipped it open.
Hiding.
He was hiding from his family.
Work consumed him, but not for the money or the power or the fame. At least not here, not now. Rather, it was used as a barrier, a wall of protection.
Protection against what? This loving family?
She stared down the table at him, the family’s chatter dimming while she kept her scrutiny on him. On his barriers and his barricades. His hopeless distance and despair.
She felt it once more. Felt him.
There were shadows under his eyes. A tense set in his shoulders. A tight tic in his jaw. His fingers flew across the keyboard and his focused gaze scanned the documents and words whizzing past. Still, it was fake, a mask.
His entire attention was really on his family. His loving, laughing family.
The family he didn’t fit into.
A yawning well of grief surged inside.
He glanced up as if he’d detected her emotion. His dark eyes flared, then flattened.
The fragile connection she’d sensed for a second was washed away by the flood of his returning anger.
“When are we going to go to the hospital?” Rhea’s cheerful voice broke through. “Aetos said pappoús should be awake by now and giagiá will want to see him.”
“We’ll all want to see him,” Doris chimed in, lifting her baby out of the highchair and patting the small back with one loving hand.
An older uncle leaned over and spoke to Zenos. The dark gaze left her and she shivered in relief. She didn’t know what kind of retribution there would be, but his look had told her there would be a price to pay for forcing Aetos Zenos to endure his family’s company.
The family eased away from the table, stood, and started sorting the children out, wiping hands and mouths, putting on sweaters for the cool December morning. Gathering purses and babies, knitting and books and backgammon boards. Readying themselves for a long day in the hospital waiting room.
Where she’d happily wait by their side.
If she had a chance.
Looking down the table at him as he managed a slight smile at something his uncle said, she wondered. How much longer would he stand this? When would Aetos Zenos decide to put this to an end and leave with her in tow? How much more of his family could he take before he bolted? Before he walked away again?
He switched his focus away from his relative and stared at his cufflinks while he adjusted them.
Not much longer. She sensed it. Sensed how he was at the very edge of his patience.
The well of grief inside her seeped into her stomach, making her feel slightly ill when it mixed with her breakfast. She didn’t want to leave yet. Not until she was sure the old man would be okay. Not until she was positive everyone would be okay.
She didn’t want to leave this family.
The knowledge slammed into her with punishing force. Running right behind it was the thought she was being utterly nuts.
This wasn’t her family.
To get away from the thoughts burning a hole in her head, she stood and gave a bright smile to Rhea before turning to go into her bedroom. Where she might weep for a moment or two before getting it together.
“A moment, ómorfi̱ gynaíka mou.” His voice curled around her, stopping her in her tracks against her will.
“She is lovely, isn’t she?” Doris said with approval. Her baby gurgled her agreement as she bounced in her mama’s arms.
The look he gave Natalie told her he found nothing lovely about her at all.
The family members each smiled and patted her as they left the room. She desperately wanted to be swallowed into the middle of them so she could escape. Instinct told her, though, it was useless. He’d merely track her down and be even angrier because he’d had to exert the effort.
She wasn’t afraid of him. She wasn’t.
She turned back to meet his dark gaze with a disdainful one of her own. “Yes?”
He didn’t respond, still seated, still with the laptop open, until they were alone. As soon as the thump of the door closing came, a sneer of contempt crossed his face.
Nat grabbed the hard wooden scroll at the top of her chair.
And waited for the sword to fall.
* * *
“Ah, étsi. Your aptitude for blackmail and crime comes naturally,” he said.
Her elegant fingers tightened on the chair.
The background check had surprised him. Stunned him, if truth be told.
Aetos swore at himself silently.
Why should he have been surprised? Why did his expert eye for people and their motives, schemes and plans, somehow come to nothing with this female? From the first moment they’d met, she’d been conniving, cunning, and costly. He needed to remember, remind himself of this every moment he spent in her presence.
She’d wheedled her way into his home.
She’d entranced his unsuspecting family with her charm.
She’d angled her way into a sweet spot in this five-star hotel.
Plus, she wasn’t done yet. He’d bet everything this woman, like all women, was scheming for further wins. Further wins over him.
Look what she’d accomplished last night. She’d blackmailed him and he’d caved.
The doctor’s suggestions about what would work best for Leonidas Kourkoulos’s recovery had to be discarded. He’d decided this within minutes of having the conversation. His giagiá worried him; she looked like she herself might occupy a hospital bed soon. The rest of the family had lives and jobs and school. There could be no good outcome with swarms of relatives invading the hospital and bothering its most important patient.
It was best for everyone to go home.
It was best for him.
But the witch had other ideas and he’d found himself spending his time arranging for hotels and luggage instead of focusing on making sure his pappoús had the finest care money could buy. Because of the witch standing in front of him, he’d had to endure a morning breakfast with his relatives.
Stop. Or I’ll tell them the truth about us.
A wild fury surged in his blood when he remembered the moment. The moment he’d calculated the risk was too great. The possible damage to his family too severe. Last night, he’d handed over power to her without realizing who he’d been dealing with.
A criminal from a long line of criminals.
Natalie Globenko. The daughter of one of the major players in a mob he’d dealt with on several occasions while building a huge construction project in lower Manhattan. The sister of one of the up-and-coming hoodlums until he’d been taken out—Aetos flicked his gaze down at his computer screen—just three months ago.
The fruit didn’t fall far from t
he tree.
And he’d let this woman, this creature, into the heart of his family. Where she’d managed to attach herself like a barnacle. A parasite sucking on his family’s emotions. On his wealth and power. A leech who now thought it was her right to dictate his actions.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her words were stilted.
Aetos almost laughed. She knew. He could tell by the rigid slant of her chin, the shift in her expression. She knew what he was talking about, knew what this background check would reveal.
She was smart, this female enemy. Another strike against her. Most women he’d found easy to manipulate with dangled diamonds and beautiful baubles. When he looked into their eyes, all he saw was blank denseness or the blindness induced by avarice. This one, though, this one he sensed would not be so easily bought. She wanted more. More than his wealth. More than the perks.
She wanted to rule him. She’d done exactly that last night.
No more. At whatever cost to his family, he could not allow this to continue.
He stood, slapping shut his laptop. Pleasure rolled through him when the sound made her jump. “I have been very foolish, very forgiving.”
She snorted.
“Very naïve.”
“That’s the last word I’d pick to describe you.”
His gaze traveled across her long, lean body. Over the tense set of her elegant shoulders, to the slender slip of her waist. His attention was caught by the slight lift of her delicate breasts as she breathed in and out. Switching his attention to her face, he caught the faint blush on her cheeks. But when he met her eyes, he saw the glint of outrage at his perusal. A hint of defiance at being judged.
She challenged him with her attitude. Challenged him once more.
Lifting a brow in studied arrogance, satisfaction surged as he noted her outrage growing by the flush of heat on her pale cheeks. “Something is bothering you, agápi̱ mou?”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “I am not your love. The thought is ridiculous.”
“You’ve become proficient in my native language?” He should be focusing on getting her out of his family’s sphere, yet suddenly what he wanted to do was provoke, spar with, spear this female demon who’d invaded his life. “Mia tétoia éxypni̱, kánei ta stravá mátia i̱ gynaíka mou.”
“I understand a few words, but I’m certainly not proficient. So whatever you just called me flies right over my head and doesn’t hurt me.”
“Smart.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. “Well, wow. From you, that’s amazing.”
“Conniving.”
Her lush lips slammed shut and pursed in annoyance. “I figured a compliment from you was too good to be true.”
“My wife.”
“Your pretend wife.” She took her hands off the chair and stuffed them into the pockets of her tight jeans. The movement stretched the cotton of her simple top across those breasts. Those breasts that constantly, inevitably drew his attention.
Gamó̱to ti̱s. Damn her.
Why? Why this woman and her lean body and barely-there breasts? Why did she ignite in him this bonfire of sexual heat he’d never, ever had to deal with before? He’d never gazed at any woman across a long breakfast table with a dozen other people in the room and found himself hardening into arousal. Never. He never argued with a female, an enemy, and let his focus be distracted by the way her jeans highlighted the length of her long legs. Never. And he’d assuredly never conceived of standing in front of a woman who he intended to get rid of and instead found his head filling with images of her naked.
Never. Never. Never.
“You’ll no longer have to play the role of my wife.”
She cocked her head and frowned. “What?”
He tapped his laptop. “Your background check came in.”
Another blush washed her pale cheeks. “Yeah?”
“I can’t have someone like you around my family.”
“Someone like me?” Her chin lifted. “What do you mean by that?”
“Mágissa.” He wanted to stride down the length of the room and shake her, but an instinct deep inside told him it was perilous. She was perilous. “Your father? Your brother?”
“What did you call me?” The chin rose another notch. “And what about them?”
He said nothing. Over the years, he’d learned silence often crushed an enemy better than a mountain of words. They soon crumbled, babbled their guilt, admitted their folly.
Gave him the win.
The silence hung, taut and tense, in the room. The sun abruptly seemed hotter, the bright beams lighting the table burning his skin. A line of sweat broke out along his spine and along the neck of his shirt. His family called their good-byes in the other room, his computer pinged with a new message, his phone buzzed in his pocket, and yet none of it penetrated the cloud of heat blistering his brain.
She said nothing.
Her eyes blazed, velvet turning to violence. The look torched something inside him, something he’d held on to for a long time because it was safe and secure. It was something he had no intention of letting go, of losing. Not to this mágissa, this witch. Not to this woman. Not to any woman.
The heat rose in him. Boiling his blood, searing his intentions.
“Criminals.” He threw the accusation at her, an incendiary weapon aimed right at her soul.
Her expression went flat, yet not with pain or defeat or guilt. She dared to stare at him with scorn, as if he and his accusation were nothing.
He gritted his teeth. Tried to struggle past this flaming rage to the words he needed to drive her away. Before he could find them, though, voice them—
“So?” Her nonchalant shrug threw gasoline on the fire. “That has nothing to do with me.”
The fire exploded, tore through the cold and ice anchoring his entire being, blinding him with its intense flames of anger and lust and cutting confusion. Without a thought or a plan, he paced down the length of the table and grabbed her.
She yelped and her hands slammed on his chest, pushing him away.
Still, he was too big for her, too powerful. The witch might try and weave her spells around and in him, but in this instance, in this physical area, he held control. “Nothing to do with you?”
“Let me go right now.” Her long fingers dug into his skin, creating hot circles of heat.
Aetos leaned in closer, wanting to roar and rage at what she did to him. Her amethyst eyes widened, and Theós, a wild image flew through him. Of him falling and falling into her wicked wine, becoming drunk and delirious forever. He needed to remember, remember for his own safety. “You are exactly like them. A criminal.”
“I am not.” Her gaze turned fierce. “I am nothing like them.”
He shook her. Tightened his hands around her shoulders. The realization came, with a sudden shot of panic and pain, that she was fragile. Her bones were fine, her skin soft, the curve of her arms dainty. Tall and lean, yet all woman. All delectable, delicate woman.
Let her go. You’re hurting her.
Let her go. Before she hurts you.
He couldn’t. Somehow, he’d lost control of his hands, his brain, his breath. The fire inside him torched his insides and now ate into his body, an unquenchable storm of hot heat. He searched to find words yet found none on his tongue.
“I’m nothing like them,” she snapped again.
His tortured gaze fell on her lips. Those lush, ruby lips. He tried, how he tried to pull himself out of her witchy grasp. With every atom in his body, he strained to yank his focus from her temptation.
It was no use. Her sorcery was too much for a man. A mere man.
His mouth slammed onto hers. Taking those lips, the challenge of her, and answering it with one of his own. He might be a mere man confronting a goddess witch, but he’d face this and find some way to have her, conquer her, win this battle raging between them.
Inside him.
She gasped and he didn’
t hesitate to use it to his advantage.
His tongue leapt into her mouth, slicing into her soft flesh and tasting, gorging on her essence. Her flavor was like no other woman he’d ever kissed. Pure woman, pure salt and sweet and savory. He couldn’t get enough of the wet, winsome mouth. His hands moved from her shoulders to her cheeks, tilting her head so he could ravish her like a warrior ready to win the battle in any way he could.
Somehow, somewhere he found himself sliding, slipping down and down into her rule.
Did it start when her gorgeous lips finally softened and sipped on his? Or did it happen when her soft fingers slid across his shoulders to his sweating neck? Had there been even one moment where he had time to come to his senses, when the female wound her long leg around his own and entrapped him in her snare?
This wasn’t a kiss. This wasn’t like the kisses he’d placed on pouty painted lips as a means to get a woman to give him some sexual release. This wasn’t like any of those kisses.
This was a taking. A branding.
Of him.
His gut roared the knowledge, yet his brain was fogged with lust so deep and dark and delicious he lost his way, lost his mind. If he’d been able to find a way out of her enchantment, he would have taken it.
There was no hope, though. No hope for a mere man in the grip of a siren.
“Ŏmorfi̱,” he groaned into her mouth as she sucked on his lower lip.
He opened his eyes, trying to regain some control. But the only thing he saw before him were hers, swirling with magic and mystery. A velveteen wash of pure enthrallment circling around him and through him and in him until he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t merged with this woman into a new being. A new creature of sex and fire. Of heat and life.
“Aetos.” She said his name. For the first time. Soft and whispery and seductive.
Memory chimed in him. An ancient bell of long-ago hope or dreams or need. Desires he’d lost and forgotten and thought he’d been well rid of.
To dream. To hope. To need another person with desperation.
He took her mouth once more. Even though he yearned to pull back, he found himself unable to stop kissing her and touching her. His hands cupped her plush butt and the memory of her walking before him at the airport—the sway, the strut, the sashay—zipped through his mind, causing his cock to harden to pain.