by Caro LaFever
Lust roared its insatiable demand. Still, it didn’t wash away the ugly memories churning inside him. He was not so lucky. The lust mixed and punched and heightened his agitation. Heightened his aggravation at this woman and her endless demands. She demanded he stay with his family, forcing him to confront the fact he couldn’t be what they wanted. She demanded he follow her through Athens to arrive here to this hell, forcing him to experience the ugliness of his childhood. She demanded he eat—eat his memories, his past.
Aetos leaned over and something on his face made the witch lean back.
Kalós. Good.
He wanted her to know he hated her. He wanted her to stay away. He wanted to destroy her. Instead, he managed to rip off a piece of psomi rather than a piece of her. Dipping it in the tzatziki, he forced himself to bite. The smooth savor of the yogurt soaked into his mouth with blinding agony. Garlic and cucumber bloomed on his taste buds, bringing back everything, everything he didn’t want. He chewed, mechanically. The bread’s yeasty tang flavored his tongue with all the yesterdays of his youth. The ache inside him billowed until he felt nauseated.
“See?” She smiled encouragingly. “Doesn’t it taste great?”
The woman tracked his movements, yet had no idea what was going on inside him.
Her infernal smile faded at the look he gave her.
The waiter glided over with the wine. The bitter wine of his wretched homeland. The female would not like this wine. Instead of humming her pleasure and causing him endless torture she would purse her lips and pout her displeasure. Releasing him from this cursed lust coursing through him.
The waiter poured and waited for him to taste it.
Aetos noticed his hand shook as he grasped the glass globe and drank.
Pine resin mixed with the Savatiano grapes he was deeply familiar with. The tang cut through the yogurt and yeast but brought with it just as much pain, just as many memories.
He waved at the waiter.
The witch got her portion.
Her long, elegant fingers wrapped around the wine glass and she gave it a tentative sip. Then another. As he expected, she made one of her faces. Her delicate blonde brows frowned, her eyes squinted, and her mouth pouted. Yet instead of dampening his lust, her reaction made it soar. A blind craving cut through his memories and his agony and threw him into another place. A place he’d never been.
A place of pure need. Pure desire. For a woman. This woman and this woman only.
“Hmm.” The woman took another sip, her lips forming over the lip of the glass when what he wanted was her lips forming over his own. “This is really…”
She scrunched her face again as the wine went down her throat.
A laugh escaped him. And with it, he let himself escape from the demons surrounding him, escape into pure want and lust. His focus landed firmly on this witch of a woman who he finally admitted he wanted with a desire inside he thought had died a brutal death when he’d been fifteen.
“Wow.” Her startled gaze met his. “You should do that more often.”
Chapter 14
The beauty of a male, this male, took her breath away.
This laugh was nothing like the ugly sounds he’d made earlier when it had been clear he’d been suffering some terrible agony. This laugh lit his eyes like his grins did. His cheeks creased and his teeth flashed white in the sun.
And the sound.
The masculine sound of amusement rumbled from him and across the table and into her like a rolling wall of mutual connection. Natalie sucked in a breath and realized her determination to keep this man away from her and her tempted soul was in vain. The laugh rolled right through her and settled deep within her heart.
The heart he didn’t want but might already hold in his grasp. God help her.
His laughter ebbed, but a smile stayed. One of those gut-wrenching smiles of his. “It’s bitter isn’t it?”
Yes, yes. Very bitter. The bitter knowledge she’d fallen for this man. The bitter reality that she hurt when he hurt. The bitter awareness that she wanted desperately to make him laugh and smile every day instead of torture himself with his past… Yes, yes. It was very bitter.
She stared at him. With fear and want and terrible love.
He stared right back. With a wisp of laughter continuing to light those chestnut eyes, and something else, something calling to her female body. To her female passion.
With a wrench, as if he’d been suddenly released from his bonds, he leaned forward and slipped a blunt finger across the skin of her cheek. The soft, gentle touch contrasted with the expression on his face.
One of purpose and intent. One of masculine pursuit.
Nat trembled. Everything inside her trembled. With fear and want and impossible love.
His finger slid across to her mouth, slowly slipped between her lips. Touching her wetness, touching her soul. Rocking her from her center, her certainty that she had no use for men. That she didn’t want a man who couldn’t be trusted, who couldn’t love.
“Mágissa.” The nickname, whatever it meant, no longer sounded like a curse. She watched his lips form the word and it whispered out like a caress, zipping down her spine. Helplessly, she stared at his mouth, the firm upper lip and the contrasting lush lower one. The memory of his kiss, the passion and the pain, came to her. The agonized groan he’d made that had called to every one of her female instincts. To soothe this wounded man, to heal him, and make him whole with her love.
Her terrible, impossible love.
“Mágissa,” he said again. Calling to her, winding around her. He leaned forward, those male lips coming closer and closer. Nat found nothing inside her she could use to pull away.
“Eínai óla entáxei? Thélete káti?” The waiter’s voice jarred her and saved her.
Aetos jerked back in his seat and scowled at the young man standing by their table. A few sharp Greek words made the waiter flush and leave in a hurry.
Those eagle eyes flew to meet hers again.
“What did he want?” she croaked.
“He wanted to know if we were all right.”
She was as far from all right as a woman could possibly be.
“Also.” He leaned forward once more. “He wanted to know if we needed anything.”
A shiver of need ran through her.
“Do you need anything, Natalie?” A faint smile edged his lips.
Yes, she needed. She needed to see him naked and feel his skin on hers. She needed his kiss, the essence of him in her mouth. Yes, she needed.
The shivers of need twisted inside her. Twisted and turned her brain.
What she had to remember was this man was deadly. To her heart and to her soul. What she had to remember was who this man really was. A ruthless, controlling liar. A man she could not tame. She didn’t have the talent and she didn’t have the will. She absolutely didn’t have the heart.
“No.” She stood, her legs trembling under her, her hands fisted at her side. “No. I don’t need anything. I’m done.”
He blinked and his long, supple body froze. “Done?”
“Yes. Done.” Completely finished with even thinking for one minute she could love this man. Or heal him. Or even want to love and heal. “I’m ready to return to the hospital.”
Zenos glanced at the table loaded with food. “We haven’t finished.”
“I have.” She couldn’t stay one more moment and look at his golden hair shining in the sun or his impossibly beautiful face or contemplate the artistry of the way he moved. “I’ll wait outside.”
She strode out of the café, past the laughing tourists and the puzzled waiter. Through the entryway and onto the dusty path leading to the ancient church. Without any lucid thought of what she would do next, she crossed over to the white-washed wall of the building and leaned back, taking in a sharp breath.
The physical ache deep inside was utterly new. An ache she’d never experienced, certainly not with her one college boyfriend, her one attempt at sex. S
he’d liked it, enjoyed it, but never craved it. When the boyfriend had objected to her time and care of her mother, she hadn’t been very sad to see him go. Or see the sex go.
This was different. This ache blooming at the core of her for one man.
She ached to have him inside her with a womanly want that caused a deep well of fear to spring up, washing a wave of panic over the want. Not quenching it, only making the want turn into gut-wrenching torture. Because she couldn’t have him. Not if she wanted to survive whole. He would take her love and her body and eventually, inevitably, he would destroy her. She knew this with a female instinct as old as this land she’d fallen in love with, too.
She couldn’t have him.
“What’s going on?” His voice came from her left, harsh and frustrated. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
Everything was wrong.
Nat abruptly, desperately, wanted to go home to New York City. She didn’t care about the thugs who surely continued to wait for her and her non-existent money. She only wanted to escape this man and his pain and his beloved homeland. She wanted to run away from his loving family, so like her own had once been. Because she couldn’t have him or his home or his family. The knowledge pounded into her heart like a battering drum.
She couldn’t have him.
“Natalie.” He paced right to her side, almost touching, almost claiming. The warmth of him came right beside her, calling to her. “What is it?”
Yanking away from his pull, she headed for the track down, down to reality and reason. “It’s time to return to the hospital. Time to check on your grandfather.”
He said nothing as he followed her down the snaking path, back into the heart of Athens. Yet she sensed the beat of his blood behind her. She sensed the heat of his gaze, the buzzing of his brain, the burn of his lust. Thankfully, he gave her no words.
His presence was enough to crush her with the reality of what could never be.
He gave her one piercing look as they climbed into the waiting limo, the one he’d summoned with a terse call when they’d come to the bottom of the hill. The look shook her resolve. To keep herself intact, she pinned her gaze on the teeming Athens streets and tried her best to ignore him all the way back to the hospital. She would ignore him for these last two days before his grandfather was released. She would ignore him on the long return trip to New York City. At that point, she would be free of him. She’d atoned for her deception and he’d let her go.
He would let her go.
Because she couldn’t have him.
The lobby of the private hospital buzzed with incoming patients and waiting family. A trio of nurses hurried by with a clanging tray of medicine rolling in front of them. An orderly rushed past, his hands filled with a pile of towels.
Aetos stopped short by her side as they got to the center of the room. When she glanced over at him, she caught a quick grin before his face returned to its usual intensity. The grin wiped out all her thoughts about ignoring him and being free of him.
But the grin wasn’t for her.
“Rafe.” He stepped forward, his arm outstretched. “You didn’t have to come.”
A man strode out of the crowd, a quick smile of his own crossing his face.
A face made for the angels. His black hair gleamed with luxurious health, cut short and yet hinting of a curl. His dark eyes matched his long eyelashes. The angle of his jaw, the slash of his cheekbones, the classic arch of his brows, all made her think a council of gods had convened to create this perfection of a male.
“Of course, I’d come.” The man took Aetos’s hand and shook it in a strong grip. “This is your grandfather we’re talking about.”
He spoke in crisp, correct English, but the accent told of his Greek heritage.
“Sas eucharistṓ.” Aetos’s voice was filled with sincerity. “The doctor said the new drug has already worked wonders in his recovery.”
Nat stared at him. Thank you? Said with sincerity?
Her gaze caught his own, and his mouth tightened into a firm line before gesturing her way like she was some piece of refuse he’d picked up from the nearest dump. “Rafe, this is Natalie… Zenos.”
“Nai, nai.” The black focus swung to her and the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen on a man dazzled her irritation into silence. “I have just been up to see the family and have heard all about your new wife.”
Aetos grunted at her side.
Her hand was swept into a light grip and lifted to a mouth so exquisite, and yet at the same time so male, Nat thought she might take on painting if given a chance to sketch this man. “Kyría mou. I am Raphael Vounó, at your service.”
Who would be surprised that a man like this would be named after an angel? He blazed like a brilliant sun, shedding his glory over the lesser beings surrounding him. Every woman in the busy lobby had their concentration fastened on his splendor. Every man kept back, knowing they stood no chance at competing.
Except for the man beside her who grunted again, a clear sound of disapproval.
She pinned her adoring gaze on the angel and gave him a smile of her own. “What a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vounó.”
His eyes lit—with amusement and delight. “The pleasure is returned—”
“Rafe owns a pharmaceutical company.” Her surly companion’s words were dry. “He’s extremely rich.”
“Is he?” Why not play this farcical game and the role he’d assigned her? “How wonderful.”
The angel’s black eyes widened and then turned intense with immediate distrust.
The change shocked her still. “I…I…” She gulped, wanting the angel back. “I was kidding.”
Rafael Vounó’s gaze went opaque. “Is that right.”
It wasn’t a question, which gave her a hint of hope. “Yes.” She threw a look of dislike at the silent, stupid man beside her. “He just doesn’t have a sense of humor.”
Tension eased off the angel’s face and he finally laughed. “I see. Then you won’t draw me into this.”
“Whatever this is,” Aetos snarled.
“A quarrel.” The crisp English words were filled with amusement. “A lover’s spat.”
“There’s no—”
A refined hand, a hand that should grace some cathedral’s ceiling touching the hand of God, slapped Aetos on the shoulder, stopping his scornful words. “She is beautiful, phílos mou. And smart enough to keep up with you too.”
She loved this man. Beaming at him, she wondered if she could wander off into the heavens, leaving this grumpy jerk behind her once and for all. But before she could throw herself into his arms, he laughed again as he stared at Aetos. “Well, well. I’d never thought I’d see the day.”
“Rafe, it was good to see you and thanks again for stepping in.” The jerk grasped her elbow and propelled her forward towards the bank of elevators. “I’ll give you a call soon so we can meet for dinner.”
“Don’t forget to bring your loving wife.” The angel chortled before walking toward the front doors.
“That was rude,” she said as the elevator doors closed.
“No ruder than flirting with another man when your husband is standing right beside you.” He slouched on the steel wall, his gaze pinned to the numbers above.
“Fake husband.”
He shot her a look. “Rafe lives in Athens. Far away from any of your wiles.”
Before she could dream up a suitable shot back, the doors opened.
Two men stepped forward to meet them.
Actually, meet him.
“Aetos.” One of the men stepped forward. There were tears in his eyes.
The man behind her stilled. She felt his body freeze. She felt his heart freeze.
The two men were astonishing copies of Zenos himself. Tall, well-built. Golden-blond hair and the same rugged profile. Clearly, these were relatives of some sort. They had to be. Yet not of his mother’s family. These two would stick out in the dark-haired, short family she’d
come to love as much as Aetos Zenos did. They must be part of his—
“Aetos.” The other golden god reached his hand out, a look of pleading in his eyes. “Eínai kaló na vlépeis.”
“It is not good to see you, Stavros.” His English was acid with anger, a fierce, horrible anger.
She glanced around to stare at him in spite of herself. He no longer was focused on her, which should have filled her with relief. Instead, she gulped in a breath of distress. His eagle-eyed gaze was filled with such blatant hatred she wondered for a moment if blood would be spilled in the near future.
Stavros’s hand dropped, unacknowledged.
“Eíste akóma thymo̱ménos.” The other god grimaced in pain.
Zenos’ short bark of laughter sounded as wretched and ugly as it had at the top of the hill. When they’d been talking about his father. Were these men part of his father’s—
“Nai, I am still angry, Nikolas.” The bite of each English word cut the air with fetid rancor. “I will always be angry.”
Both of the men stepped back, anguish on their faces. “Skeftí̱kame…” one of them trailed off before taking another deep breath. “I̱ giagiá sou epikoinó̱ni̱se mazí mas , opóte skeftí̱kame...elpízame...”
He stiffened beside her. The pulse of his rage filled the space around them. “My grandmother?” The words spit out of his rigid mouth. “Contacted you?”
“Nai.” One of them, Stavros, sighed. “Skeftí̱kame—”
“You thought what?” Zenos vibrated with fury. “You hoped what?”
The two men stood silent. The expression on their faces, a deep, sorrowful regret, nearly brought Natalie to her own tears. Why couldn’t Zenos see this? What could have possibly happened between these men to cause such a deep, abiding anger in this impossible-to-love man?
“Come on.” His hand grabbed her elbow and yanked her past the two men.
The hallway was cluttered with nurses, doctors, and relatives. The silence between the two of them seemed even more pronounced in contrast to all the noise. Nat struggled with her emotions, and her thoughts, and her words. She wanted to yell at him, and yet, she wanted to console him. An anger that deep, that wide; something awful had to have happened to him.