by Maisey Yates
“You’re still helping me with Victoria?”
“It’s my job, Stavros. And nothing changes that. Because nothing changes what has to happen.”
“True enough.” She was right. No matter what, he had to marry. And really, given her qualifications, Victoria was the woman he needed to marry. “I have to work early.”
He knew what she was doing. Getting them both some distance. And they desperately needed it. They’d been in each other’s pockets during their time in Greece, and she was staying in his home now. They needed space.
She nodded. “I’ll probably be gone when you get home.” She took a deep breath. “And I should probably sleep in my own room tonight.”
He shook his head. “No. Sleep with me.” Because even if they needed that kind of distance he wasn’t sure he could stand it. “Please.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Tomorrow they would take a break. He could clear his head.
He could set his focus back on what had to be done, and not on the insidious little fantasy that had burrowed beneath his skin over the past few weeks.
A fantasy that was simply impossible, no matter how badly he might want it.
Jessica felt like something that had washed up on the beach back at their Grecian villa by the time she got back from India a few days later. Definitely more bedraggled seagull than mermaid.
Their Grecian villa. What a silly way to think of it. It was Stavros’s Grecian villa. She had simply shared his bed there for a while.
And now the idea was for her to share his penthouse for the next few weeks. She sighed. She’d done a lot of thinking on her out-of-town days, about whether or not what they were doing was a good idea.
The conclusion she’d come to was that it was a very bad idea, but then, she’d known it was a bad idea from moment one. They both had. They just hadn’t been stronger than the desire.
She closed her eyes as she lifted her hand to the fingerprint reader on his elevator, one he’d programmed to accept her touch, and she knew that no amount of realization about the badness of their arrangement had made her any stronger.
She had a feeling Stavros was just as aware of the folly of it as she was. And that he was just as unlikely to stop.
She stepped inside and leaned her head against the metal wall as the doors slid closed and the lift carried her up the penthouse.
She’d strongly considered staying over in India for a while longer, if only to miss the ball. She didn’t want to see Stavros with Victoria. She couldn’t play disinterested party anymore. She couldn’t separate Stavros her lover from Stavros her client. It was impossible.
Everything inside of her seemed to be tangled around him, and he seemed to be completely tangled up in her life.
The doors to the lift opened and she stepped out into his immaculate living room. She knew the housekeeper had been in, because if there was one thing she’d learned about Stavros, it was that his neat-as-a-pin modern-looking homes weren’t kept in that fashion by him.
He left his clothes on the floor. And very often he left dishes in the sink.
He’s not perfect.
No, he very much wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t sure she cared about that, either. The reminder meant nothing, because if anything, being so aware that he wasn’t perfect only gave validity to the feelings that were eating her from the inside out.
She stalked over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of milk. It was nearly empty. She could add that to his list of sins. Putting a nearly empty milk bottle back into the fridge. And he’d probably forgotten to tell his housekeeper that he needed milk.
She padded down the hall and pushed open the door to his office. It was empty. He wasn’t here.
It was easy to pretend, standing in his house, walking around as thought she belonged. Like they belonged together. But she’d had a lot of time to think while she’d been away. Even if she could have him, if he gave it all up for her … she couldn’t let him.
Because she’d been the broken dreams of one man already. Stavros would only grow to resent her, too, as she tried, once again, to fit into a position she simply wasn’t made for.
She took her phone out of her pocket and saw that she had three new text messages. She’d put it on silent and forgotten about it.
She opened the first one.
Will you be back in time for dinner?
It was long past dinner so the answer to that was no.
She opened the next message.
Call me when you land so I know you’re safe.
A smile curved her lips and she ran her fingers over the screen of her phone. Why did he have to do things like that?
She scrolled to the next one.
Jess, I miss you.
A tear slid down her cheek. Had she really mourned how hard it was for her to cry only a few weeks ago? Now it seemed so easy. What had he done to her?
She curled her fingers around her phone and thought about calling. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea. In fact, she was almost certain it was a bad idea. She would probably cry all over him. Maybe blurt out things she had no business thinking, much less saying to him.
She hit the reply button and typed in: I miss you, too.
She deleted it. And took a breath.
I’m here. Where are you?
Her phone pinged a second later.
Can I send a car for you in an hour? I want to show you something.
She’d wanted to rest for a while, but that didn’t seem important anymore for some reason. The only thing that mattered was seeing him.
Sure. Give me time to get the travel grime off.
His return message came quickly. I’ll be waiting for you.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE car stopped in front of a lighthouse. The tower was dark, no signs of life anywhere in the small stone house. Jessica gathered up the skirt of her white, flowing gown, the one she’d purchased in Greece with Stavros in mind, and stepped out into the warm evening.
She looked up and saw Stavros, standing in front of the whitewashed building, his hands in his pockets, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked different. And so wonderfully the same. She had the strangest sense of being home. A feeling she hadn’t had in so long she hadn’t realized the absence of it.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A place I’d almost forgotten about. The palace is there,” he said, pointing to glimmering lights on a hill. “Technically, this is part of the grounds. It hasn’t been used for years. I used to come here whenever I could sneak away. I wanted to see it again and then, when I did … I wanted to show it to you.”
“Why?” she asked, the tightness in her chest spreading, climbing into her throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Because you … Come with me, maybe then I can explain.” He held his hand out and she took it, his fingers warm and strong as they closed around hers. He led her into the house. It was cool inside, the thick stone walls providing protection from the heat that still lingered in the air.
There was no furniture in the house. Not even a chair. “No one lives here?” she asked. “Well, that’s actually obvious.”
“No one has lived here in years. It’s been vacant since I was a kid. Come with me.” He led her through to the back of the house, to a small, rounded doorway with a steep set of stairs. She followed him up the curving staircase, her fingers laced with his.
They ended at the top of the tower, a small, clean room with a lantern at the center. Here there was a chair. And blankets laid across the floor.
“I used to come here and watch the ships,” he said. “Imagine where they had been. Where they were going. Dream I was here, keeping them from hitting the rocks. Keeping watch.”
“You’ve always been protecting people, haven’t you?” she whispered.
He walked over to the lantern, pressing his hand against the glass case. “It was different. It wasn’t real, first of all. And second … I remember caring more then for imaginary ship
s and dangers, feeling more for created peril, than I’ve cared about anything since. It was a child’s game. Silly. But I had a passion for it. I felt something. I … I lost that. I lost it very purposefully. I … I wanted to show you, because I thought you might understand.”
“If I ask what I’m supposed to understand does that mean I fail?” she asked, her heart pounding, her stomach weighted down. With desire. Fear. Longing.
“I want to feel again, Jess. For the first time since I was a child … I want it back. I want to care. You brought it back to me. Passion. I hadn’t felt a passion for anything in so long ….”
“Sure you have. I know you’ve had a lot of lovers besides me,” she said, trying to steer the conversation away from where she feared it was going.
“Lust isn’t the same as passion. It’s not the same as … It’s not the same as this. I used to think … I have thought for so long … that emotion was weakness. That caring for something, for someone, made you weak. And then I kept thinking of this place. Of how much I cared. Of how seriously I took even an imagined responsibility … because of love, really.”
“Stavros …”
He moved to her, his eyes locked with hers. “You look like a goddess,” he said, reverting to the physical. And she was so very glad he had.
“I had a layover in Greece and I remembered you saying … I remembered you saying I should wear a pallas. It’s really vintage,” she said, trying to force a smile. “Nearly a hundred years old, or so I was told.”
He closed his eyes and leaned in, pressing his forehead to hers. She thought her heart might burst. “I need … I need you. Now.”
His body was shaking with desire and that was something she could handle. This was what they both needed. The physical. To remember that this was about desire, mutual lust that they were both trying to satisfy.
It had been the reclamation of her sexuality. Of her body. A release of the things in her past, letting go of any remaining desire to be the person she had been. And she could never regret that. She wouldn’t let herself.
She also wouldn’t let it be more. There were so many things Stavros needed. So many responsibilities he needed a wife to help him fulfill. Things she couldn’t possibly do.
“Are we … No one will come up here, right?”
“I told your driver he could leave. I drove myself.” He moved his hand to her hip, then slid it around to her lower back, to the curve of her bottom. “This dress is not fit for public. It’s far too erotic.”
“There isn’t a single button on this dress to fuel your fantasies.”
A strange expression crossed his face. “No. But I don’t think it was ever the buttons.” There was a heavy undertone to the statement, a meaning she didn’t want to search for. Because there was no point. “I think it’s been you all along.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, ignoring the pain that lodge in her chest. This had to be about sex. Only sex.
If she let it be more … she just couldn’t let it be more. Because it had to end.
“You have buttons, on the other hand.” She put her hands on his chest and started working at the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing teasing hints of his perfect chest. She parted the fabric and slid her hands over his bronzed skin. “Oh, Stavros, I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.” The words were far too candid, far too honest, but she couldn’t have held them back if she’d tried.
They were true. She could never tire of him. Not of his body, not of his humor, or his drive. Not of that spark of rebellion in him. That glorious bit of himself that could never be fully tamed.
She swallowed and pushed his shirt and jacket from his shoulders, leaving him nothing more than a pair of dark slacks.
He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, his hand searching for where her dress was held together, at the waistband, taking the end of the fabric and tugging it from its secure place. He let it fall and she felt the top of the dress loosen.
He stepped back, his eyes appraising.
She put her hand on her shoulder and pushed the large swath of fabric that crossed her body down, exposing her breasts to him. She watched his face as she slowly unwrapped herself, memorized the agony and ecstasy she saw there. No one had ever looked at her like that before. No one had ever made her feel so vulnerable and so powerful at the same time.
Stavros did it as effortlessly as most people drew breath.
He removed his pants and underwear quickly and shoved them to the side, naked and aroused for her enjoyment. And she did enjoy him. He was a sensual feast, amazing for all of her senses. To touch, to taste, to see. Stavros never disappointed.
She was about to go to him, to wrap her hand around his erection, but he moved first, dropping to his knees before her. He kissed her stomach, pushed her panties down and slid his finger through her slick folds, drawing the moisture from her body over her clitoris.
“You’re so very good at that,” she said, holding tightly to his shoulders. It was so much more than sexual skill, and she knew it.
Because her response to him went well beyond a basic physical reaction. It grabbed her, low and deep, and held her in thrall, no matter what was happening. Whether they were naked, alone on a beach, or fully clothed in a crowded ballroom, Stavros held her. All of her.
“The pleasure is mine,” he said, rising back to his feet and kissing her mouth. “You have no idea.”
He walked her backward to the blankets that had been spread on the floor, and held her tightly as he lowered them both to the soft surface.
“I’ve been expertly seduced,” she said. “You planned this.”
“I very much did,” he said, not a hint of apology in his tone.
“One of the things I …” She stopped herself before she could say the words that were ringing inside of her head, her heart. “You and I think alike,” she said. No feelings. No love. Oh, please not that.
He cupped her face and kissed her again while his other hand teased her breasts.
“You don’t get to have all the fun,” she said, sliding her hand down so that she could cup his erection.
He closed his eyes, the expression on his face one of a man completely given over to pleasure, completely lost in it. She memorized that, too. Watched him until her own pleasure became so intense she had to close her eyes.
She clung to the image of his face. Made sure it stayed in the forefront of her mind.
She clung to his shoulders, wrapped her leg around his hips, and he angled himself so that he slid inside of her. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. To keep from crying period.
He rolled her to her back and she parted her legs. He pushed in deeper and she arched into him, rocking her body in time with each of his thrusts.
There was no sound in the room beyond fractured gasps and short breaths, echoing from the stone walls. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, trying to find something solid to keep her on earth. To keep her from losing herself completely.
If it wasn’t already too late.
A sob climbed in her throat and burst from her as she fell over the edge, her orgasm stealing control of everything, drowning her in pleasure. She couldn’t think, she could only cling to Stavros as wave after wave of bliss crashed down over her.
“Stavros,” she said, tears spilling from her eyes.
He shuddered his own release, his muscles tight, her name on his lips.
After he pulled her against him, pressed kisses to her cheeks, her forehead, her mouth. His hands, hands that had been demanding in their pursuit and deliverance of pleasure, were gentle as he smoothed them over her curves.
She rested her head on his chest, tears drying on her cheeks, her eyes getting heavy in the aftermath of her release.
“I love you, Jess.”
The words hit like a blow. She closed her eyes against the pain. Against the regret. Against the desire to turn and say them back to him. She couldn’t. And he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He had responsibilit
ies, responsibilities that far surpassed getting imaginary ships to the shore, and she knew that fulfilling those obligations meant the world to him.
And if he tried to put her in that position of being the one to fulfill them with … she could do nothing but fail. Could do nothing but watch the sweet tenderness in his eyes flatten into a cold, bitter hatred.
You’re such a selfish bitch, Jessica. The words were always there. So easy to hear. So easy to remember.
She wouldn’t be. Not now. No matter how much she wished she could. Tonight, though … she had to let herself have tonight.
She curled tighter into Stavros’s embrace and hoped he wouldn’t notice the tears that fell onto his chest.
Stavros knew the revelation should terrify him. But it didn’t. Not even hours later, after he drove them back to his penthouse. After he laid her down in his bed and made love with her again. And now, as he lay in bed with Jessica curled up at his side.
He loved her.
He waited for something in him to crumble, for it to break and reveal his weakness. But it didn’t. He felt reinforced. As though everything in Jessica, as though loving her, was shoring up his strength. Fueling it.
Love was different than he’d imagined. But then, Jessica was a different woman than he ever could have imagined.
He stroked her silky blond hair and watched her sleep, her cheek pillowed on his chest, and he wondered how he would ever face a future without her.
And he knew that if he was truly going to be the king, the man, he was meant to be, he needed her to be the one at his side.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
IT WAS the coward’s way out. To sneak out while he was sleeping. While the first edges of light were peeking over the mountains. But men did it all the time, didn’t they? And wasn’t it supposed to save everyone from a big emotional scene? She certainly needed to be saved from it.
Because he’d said he loved her. Loving her, being with her, would stop him from finding everything he’d said he wanted. She would never, ever allow herself to be blamed for a man’s ruined life and broken dreams.