A Deal Sealed by Passion

by Louise Fuller

  But now he saw that his certainty had been based solely on optimism. Not on statistical probability. After all, on a planet of six billion people, what were the odds of him finding her?

  Truthfully, she could be anywhere.

  And after the way he’d treated her the chances of her ever stepping through those kitchen doors again were minimal. Less than zero, in fact.

  He poured another glass of wine. This was definitely the one place on earth she’d never want to set eyes on again. Hell! He shouldn’t even be here. Only he couldn’t seem to leave.

  He glanced round the garden, his skin tightening. Or rather he didn’t want to leave. Here, he could let his imagination drift. He could almost see her disappearing under an archway at the end of the garden, hear her laughter from inside the kitchen.

  Sitting up straighter, he shook his head. If he was chasing shadows...phantoms, it must be time to move. Standing up unsteadily, he picked the bottle off the table and began to walk slowly across the lawn. Beneath his bare feet the grass felt hot and parched, and he could feel the wine working its way through his blood.

  Softly he began to hum under his breath. He couldn’t quite place the tune, but he knew he remembered it from somewhere.

  And then he heard it.

  Someone was singing—singing the words to the song he was humming.

  His heart started to pound. It was a woman’s voice. Soft, husky, familiar.

  Squinting up into the sun, he let the alcohol and the heat mingle with his memories. It wasn’t her. He knew that, of course. It was just his imagination. But he didn’t care.

  Slowly, as though mesmerised, he followed the voice across the lawn. But as he stepped through the arch that led into the water garden the singing stopped. Hesitating, he stared through the foliage, his heart pounding painfully in his chest, hope twitching in every muscle.

  But of course she wasn’t there.

  For a moment he stood, swaying slightly, and then carefully he walked towards the large rectangular ornamental pond that gave the garden its name. The surface was dotted with water lilies, their waxy white petals splaying up towards the sun, and he stared at them in fascination. And then suddenly he jerked backwards, grabbing the arm of a beautiful marble statue to keep his balance, as a naked woman broke the surface of the water, rising up slowly.

  She had her back to him.

  But he would know the curve of that spine anywhere—even in the darkness. It was Flora.

  His head was spinning; his breath was hot and dry in his throat.

  It couldn’t be her.

  He must be imagining it. Or it was some kind of optical illusion. Any moment now the sun would go behind a cloud and she would disappear for ever.

  Holding his breath, he watched as with effortless grace she pulled herself onto one of the marble slabs edging the pond, smoothing her hair back over the contours of her head.

  He took a deep breath. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t real. He was happy just to stand there and watch her. He frowned. Maybe he could even get a little closer.

  Letting go of the statue’s arm, he put the bottle down on the ground and stepped forward just as she turned around.

  She stopped, one foot slightly raised like a deer at the edge of a meadow. And then slowly she frowned and folded her arms. ‘I know you’re the landlord, but tenants have rights too. Including privacy while bathing. It’s in my contract.’

  Massimo gazed at her dazedly. ‘Flora?’

  She stared at him impatiently. ‘Is that the best you can do? Pretend you don’t know who I am?’

  ‘I— No— I do know who you are. Of course. I thought you were...’ He hesitated. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  He watched, transfixed, as she picked her way across the stones and came towards him, his eyes following the droplets of water trickling down over her naked breasts and stomach.

  She was real. What was more, she was there, standing in front of him.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he murmured.

  She glowered at him. ‘I live here, remember? This is my home.’

  His eyes met hers and she almost flinched. She’d forgotten how it felt to be the object of that gaze. How tight and hot and restless it made her feel.

  But she hadn’t come back for that gaze.

  This time it wasn’t enough.

  This time she wanted more.

  But he had to want it too.

  ‘Never mind about me,’ she said hoarsely. ‘What about you?’ She glanced slowly round the garden. ‘I thought you’d be long gone and all this razed to the ground.’

  They stared at one another in silence.

  Finally, he shrugged. ‘Things have changed.’

  He watched her lip curl, his heart beating in his throat. How had he ever imagined she was a figment of his imagination? She was so clear and vital. Beside her everything else seemed smudged and dull and imprecise.

  ‘What things?’ she snapped.

  He smiled then, that same sweet smile that made her feel hot and dizzy and restless, and suddenly she felt more naked than when she’d climbed out of the pond.

  Abruptly, she turned and picked up a faded blue shirt. Tugging it over her head, she breathed out slowly, grateful for a chance to break free of that dark, disturbing gaze. Being so close to Massimo was playing havoc with her body temperature. But she wasn’t going to give in to the heat rising inside of her.

  He shrugged, his gaze never leaving her face.

  ‘It’s complicated but in all probability the resort won’t happen, cara.’

  She stared at him suspiciously. ‘Have you got that in writing?’

  He laughed out loud. ‘You know, you sound exactly like your brother. Thankfully, you don’t look like him.’

  Her face twisted. ‘How do you know what my brother looks like?’

  The air around them twitched. Her heart gave a jolt as he stepped towards her, his face tightening.

  ‘I met him. Your father too.’

  Suddenly she could hardly breathe. ‘When?’ she said woodenly. ‘Where?’

  ‘A couple of days ago. In England. You have the same colour eyes.’ Gently, he reached out and touched her cheek, and her heart began to pound so loudly she thought her chest would burst.

  ‘Why were you there?’ she said hoarsely.

  His eyes were soft and blue and loving. ‘Why do you think?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. You say it, Massimo. But only if you mean it.’

  He stepped closer...so close that she could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt.

  ‘I went to find you so I could tell you that I love you. And that I need you. Now. And tomorrow. And for ever.’

  Her eyes filled with tears. He pulled her closer but she pushed hard against his chest. ‘Why should I trust you? You hurt me.’

  ‘I know. And I’m sorry. Sorrier than you’ll ever know.’

  Her heart quivered. Massimo was apologising. In some strange way she knew that was as big a step as his declaration of love.

  But still she needed more. ‘I told you I loved you and you told me to keep my love for someone who wanted it.’

  ‘I do want it. I love you, cara.’ His face was pale and taut, but his gaze was clear and unwavering. ‘More than I ever believed I could love anyone. And it was you that made me believe. It was you who made me whole and strong. Strong enough to let the past go and fight for my future. Fight for what I want.’

  ‘What about this place? You wanted that?’

  He nodded. ‘I did. But not any more. In fact, as of yesterday, I don’t even own it.’

  Seeing the confusion and fear in her eyes, he shook his head. ‘Don’t worry. The new owner wants it left just as it is.’

  ‘How do you know?’ she said s
hakily. He smiled.

  ‘Because she told me she wouldn’t let me turn it into some “ghastly boutique hotel for loud, sweaty, tourists”!’ Flora gasped.

  ‘What have you done?’ she whispered.

  ‘I’ve signed this place over to you—’

  ‘But— Is that why you’re here?’ Her hands gripped the front of his shirt. He shook his head, his eyes suddenly too bright.

  ‘No. I came back to wait for you. And to do what I should have done when you told me you loved me.’

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small square box and, opening it, he held it out to her. It was a beautiful diamond ring, edged with sapphires.

  ‘I want you to be my wife, Flora. And I want this to be our home. Some of the time, anyway.’

  Searching his face, Flora felt her heart contract. There was no anger or bitterness or doubt. He looked happy and utterly assured.

  ‘Will you marry me?’ he said softly, taking her hand in his.

  She stared at the ring fiercely. For so long marriage had represented everything she feared most.

  But now, looking into his unguarded face, she was no longer afraid to hope or to believe in love.

  Smiling up at him, she nodded, and he slid the ring smoothly onto her finger. And then his mouth came down on hers and he kissed her with a passion that was hotter and fiercer than the Sardinian sun.

  Finally, they broke apart. Looking up, she knew that the expression on his face exactly matched the way she was feeling and then, loosening his grip, he glanced down at her and frowned.

  ‘Is that my shirt?’

  She shrugged ‘I might have found it in your wardrobe.’

  She watched his eyes glitter with amusement, and something dark and warm that sent shivers of longing dancing down her spine.

  ‘I think the word you’re looking for, cara, is stole!’

  Her insides quivered as with slow deliberation he slid his hand beneath the shirt.

  ‘I found it. So now it’s mine. Possession is nine-tenths of the law!’

  Suddenly the intensity in his eyes matched the probing pressure of his touch.

  ‘I wouldn’t argue with that!’

  She stared at him, her skin prickling. ‘You wouldn’t?’

  He shook his head, his hand curling possessively around her hipbone. ‘No. You see, I found you in my garden. Which is now your garden. That means I’m yours. And you’re mine. All mine.’

  ‘What about the other tenth?’ she whispered.

  He smiled that slow, sweet smile again and her pulse began to race as she felt the soft, probing progress of his fingers over her bare skin.

  ‘I rounded it up to make things easier.’

  And, lowering his mouth, he kissed her slowly and hungrily.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from HELIOS CROWNS HIS MISTRESS by Michelle Smart.

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  Helios Crowns His Mistress

  by Michelle Smart

  CHAPTER ONE

  ‘DO YOU REALLY have to shave it off?’ Amy Green, busy admiring Helios’s rear view, slipped a cajoling tone into her plea.

  Helios met her eye in the reflection of the bathroom mirror and winked. ‘It will grow back.’

  She pouted. Carefully. The clay mask she’d applied to her face had dried, making it hard for her to move her features without cracking it. Another ten minutes and she would be able to rinse it off. ‘But you’re so sexy with a beard.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m not sexy without it?’

  She made a harrumphing sound. ‘You’re always sexy.’

  Too sexy for his own good. Even without a beard. Even his voice was sexy: a rich, low-pitched tone that sang to her ears, with the Agon accent which made it dance.

  Impossibly tall and rangy, and incredibly strong, with dark olive colouring and ebony hair, currently tousled after a snatched hour in bed with her, Helios had a piratical appearance. The dangerous look was exaggerated by the slight curve of his strong nose and the faint scar running over its bridge: the mark of a fight with his brother Theseus when they were teenagers. Utterly without vanity, Helios wore the scar with pride. He was the sexiest man she’d ever met.

  Soon the hair would be tamed and as smooth as his face would be, yet his innate masculinity would still vibrate through him. His rugged body would be hidden by a formal black evening suit, but his strength and vitality would permeate the expensive fabric. The playful expression emanating from his liquid dark brown eyes would still offer sin.

  He would turn into Prince Helios Kalliakis, heir to the throne of Agon. But he would still be a flesh and blood man.

  He lifted the cut-throat blade. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to do it?’

  Amy shook her head. ‘Can you imagine if I were to cut you? I would be arrested for treason.’

  He grinned, then gave the mirror a quick wipe to clear away the condensation produced from the steam of her bath.

  Smothering a snigger, she stretched out her right leg until her foot reached the taps, and used her toes to pour a little more hot water in.

  ‘I’m sure deliberately steaming up the bathroom so I can’t see properly is also treasonous,’ he said with a playful shake of his head, striding lithely to the extractor fan and switching it on.

  As with everything in his fabulous palace apartment it worked instantly, clearing the enormous bathroom of steam.

  He crouched beside the bath and placed his gorgeous face close to hers. ‘Any more treasonous behaviour, matakia mou, and I will be forced to punish you.’

  His breath, hot and laced with a faint trace of their earlier shared pot of coffee, danced against her skin.

  ‘And what form of punishment will you be forced to give me?’ she asked, the desire she’d thought spent bubbling back up inside her, her breaths shortening.

  Those liquid eyes flashed and a smirk played on the bowed lips that had kissed her everywhere. It was a mouth a woman could happily kiss for ever.

  ‘A punishment you will never forget.’ He snapped his teeth together for effect and growled, before throwing her a look full of promise and striding back to the mirror. Half watching her in the reflection, Helios dipped his shaving brush into the pot and began covering his black beard with a rich, foamy lather.

  Amy had to admit watching him shave as if he were the leading man in a medieval film fascinated her. It also scared her. The blade he used was sharp enough to slice through flesh. One twitch of the hand...

  All the same, she couldn’t drag her eyes away as he scraped the cut-throat razor down his cheek. In its own way it had an eroticism to it, transporting her to a bygone time when men had been men. And Helios was all man.

  If he wanted he could snap his fingers and an army of courtiers would be there to do the job for him. But that wasn’t his style. The Kalliakis family were direct descendants of Ares Patakis, the warrior whose uprising had freed Agon from its Venetian invaders over eight hundred years ago. Agon princes were taught how to wield weapons with the same dedication with which they were taught the art of royal protocol. To her lover, a cut-throat razor was but one of many weap
ons he’d mastered.

  She waited until he’d wiped the blade on a towel to clean it before speaking again. ‘Do I take it that despite all my little hints you haven’t put a space aside for me tonight?’

  Her ‘little hints’ had taken the form of mentioning at every available opportunity how much she would love to attend the Royal Ball that was the talk of the entire island, but she hadn’t seriously expected to get an invitation. She was but a mere employee of the palace museum, and a temporary employee at that.

  And it wasn’t as if they would be together for ever, she thought with a strange stab of wistfulness. Their relationship had never been a secret, but it hadn’t been flaunted either. She was his lover, not his girlfriend, something she had known from the very start. She had no official place in his life and never would.

  He placed the blade back to his cheek and swiped, revealing another line of smooth olive skin. ‘However much I adore your company, it wouldn’t be appropriate for you to attend.’

  She pulled a face, inadvertently cracking the mask around her mouth. ‘Yes, I know. I am a commoner, and those attending your ball are the crème de la crème of high society.’

  ‘Nothing would please me more than to see you there, dressed in the finest haute couture money can buy. But it would be inappropriate for my lover to attend the ball where I’m to select my future wife.’

  The deliciously warm bath turned cold in the beat of a moment.

  She sat up.

  ‘Your future wife? What are you talking about?’

  His reflected eyes met hers again. ‘The underlying reason for this ball is so that I can choose a wife.’

  She paused before asking, ‘Like in Cinderella?’

  ‘Exactly.’ He worked on his chin, then wiped the blade on the towel again. ‘You know all of this.’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, her blood freezing to match the chills rippling over her skin. ‘I was under the impression this ball was a pre-Gala do.’