by Jane Porter
“He was male,” she agreed carefully.
“And Greek?”
“And Greek.”
He laughed softly, and yet there was tension in the sound, a hint that not all was well. “Greek men are sexual as well as possessive. I imagine your Greek friend wanted more from you than just friendship?”
Elizabeth blushed hotly. “It was a long time ago.”
“It ended badly?”
Her head dipped. Her face burned. “I don’t know.” She swallowed, wondered why she was protecting Nico. “Yes,” she corrected. “It did.”
“Did this prejudice you against Greek men?”
“No.” But she sounded uncertain.
“Against me?”
She blushed, and then laughed. “Maybe.”
“So that is why I got the fleet of battleaxe nurses.”
She laughed again. He amused her. And intrigued her. And if he wasn’t her patient she’d even admit she found him very, very attractive. “Are you telling me you didn’t deserve the battleaxe nurses?”
“I’m telling you I’m not like other Greek men.”
Her breath suddenly caught in her throat, and her eyes grew wide. Somehow, with those words, he’d changed everything—the mood, the night, the meal itself. He’d charged the room with an almost unbearable electricity, a hot tension that made her fiercely aware of him. And herself. And the fact that they were alone together.
“You can’t judge all wine based on one vintner or one bottle. And you can’t judge Greek men based on one unhappy memory.”
She felt as though she could barely breathe, and she struggled to find safer topics, ones that would allow her more personal distance. “What kind of wine do you like?”
“It’s all about personal preference.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “I like many wines. I have bottles in my cellar that are under ten euros which I think are infinitely more drinkable than some eighty-euro bottles.”
“So it’s not about the money?”
“Too many people get hung up on labels and names, and hope to impress each other with their spending power or their knowledge.”
“We are talking about wine?” she murmured.
“Do you doubt it?” he asked, his head lifting as though to see her, study her, drink her in.
She bit into her lower lip, her cheeks so warm she felt desperate for a frozen drink or a sweet icy treat. Something to cool her off. Something to take her mind off Kristian’s formidable physical appeal.
And, sitting there, she could see how someone like Calista, someone young and impressionable, might be attracted to Kristian. But to threaten him? Attempt to blackmail him? Impossible. Even blinded, with shattered bones and scarred features, he was too strong, too overpowering. Calista was a fool.
And, thinking of the girl’s foolishness, Elizabeth began to giggle, and then her giggle turned into full blown laughter. “What was Calista thinking?” she wheezed, touching her hand to her mouth to try and stifle the sound. “How could someone like Calista think she could get away with blackmailing you?”
Kristian sat across the table from Elizabeth and listened to her laugh. It had been so long since he’d heard a laugh like that, so open and warm and real. Elizabeth in one day had made him realize how much he’d been missing in life. He hadn’t even known he’d become so angry and shut down until she’d arrived and begun insisting on immediate changes.
He’d at first resented her bossy manner, but it had worked. He’d realized he didn’t want or need someone else giving him orders, or attempting to dictate to him. There was absolutely no reason he couldn’t motivate himself.
Although he was still incredibly suspicious of Cosima, and mistrusted her desire to have him walking and returning to Athens, he was also grateful for her interference. Cosima had brought Elizabeth here, and, as it turned out, Elizabeth was the right person at the right time.
He needed someone like her.
Maybe he even needed her.
Sitting across the table from her, he focused on where he pictured her to be sitting. He hoped she knew that even if he couldn’t see, he was listening. Paying attention.
He’d never been known for his sensitivity. But it wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings. He just wasn’t very good at expressing them.
He liked this room, and he was enjoying the meal. Even if he couldn’t see, he appreciated the small touches made by Pano and Atta, his housekeeper—like the low warm heat from the candles, which smelled faintly of vanilla.
He knew they were eating off his favorite plates. He could tell by the size and shape that they were the glazed ceramic dinnerware he’d bought several years ago at a shop on Santorini.
The weave and weight of the table linens made him suspect they were also artisan handicrafts—purchased impulsively on one of his trips somewhere.
Despite his tremendous wealth, Kristian preferred simplicity, and appreciated the talent of local artists, supporting them whenever he could.
“Now you’ve grown quiet,” Elizabeth said, as Atta began clearing their dishes.
“I’m just relaxed,” he said, and he was. It had been so long since he’d felt this way. Months and months since he’d experienced anything so peaceful or calm. He’d forgotten what it was like to share a meal with someone, had forgotten how food always tasted better with good conversation, good wine and some laughter.
“I’m glad.”
The warm sincerity in her voice went all the way through him. He’d liked her voice even in the beginning, when she had insisted on calling him Mr. Koumantaros every other time she opened her mouth.
He also liked the scent she wore. He still didn’t know what it was, although he could name all the other battleaxes’ favorite fragrances: chlorine, antiseptic, spearmint, tobacco and, what was probably the worst of all, an annoyingly cloying rose-scented hand lotion.
Elizabeth also walked differently than the battleaxes. Her step was firm, precise, confident. He could almost imagine her sallying forth through a crowded store, decisive and determined as she marched through Fortnum and Mason’s aisles.
He smiled a little, amused by this idea of her in London. That was where she lived. His smile faded as the silence stretched. He wished he could see her. He suddenly wondered if she was bored. Perhaps she wanted to escape, return to her room. She had passed on coffee.
As the seconds ticked by, Kristian’s tension grew.
He heard Elizabeth’s chair scrape back, heard her linen napkin being returned to the table. She was leaving.
Grinding his teeth, Kristian struggled to get to his feet. It was the second time in one day, and required a considerable effort, but Elizabeth was about to go and he wanted to say something—to ask her to stay and join him in the library. It was very possible she was tired, but for him the nights were long, sometimes endless. There was no difference between night and day anymore.
He was on his feet, gripping the table’s edge with his fingers. “Are you tired?” he said, his voice suddenly too loud and hard. He hadn’t meant to sound so brusque. It was uncertainty and the inability to read her mood that was making him harsh.
“A little,” she confessed.
He inclined his head. “Goodnight, then.”
She hesitated, and he wondered what she was thinking, wished he could see her face to know if there was pity or resentment or something else in her eyes. That was the thing about not being able to see. He couldn’t read people the way he’d used to, and that had been his gift. He wasn’t verbally expressive, but he’d always been intuitive. He didn’t trust his intuition anymore, nor his instinct. He didn’t know how to rely on either without his eyes.
“Goodnight,” she said softly.
He dug his fingers into the linen-covered table. Nodded. Prayed she couldn’t see his disappointment.
After another moment’s hesitation he heard her footsteps go.
Slowly he sat back down in his wheelchair, and as he sat down something cracked in him. A second later
he felt a lance of unbelievable pain.
How had he become so alone?
Gritting his teeth, he tried to bite back the loss and loneliness, but they played in his mind.
He missed Andreas. Andreas had been his brother, the last of his family. Their parents had died a number of years earlier—unrelated deaths, but they had come close together—and their deaths had brought he and Andreas, already close, even closer.
He should have saved Andreas first. He should have gone to his brother’s aid first.
If only he could go back. If only he could undo that one decision.
In life there were so many decisions one took for granted—so many decisions one made under pressure—and nearly all were good decisions, nearly all were soon forgotten. It was the one bad decision that couldn’t be erased. The one bad decision that stayed with you night and day.
Slowly he pushed away from the table, and even more slowly he rolled down the hall toward the library—the room he spent nearly all his waking hours in.
Maybe Pano could find something on the radio for him? Or perhaps there was an audio book he could listen to. Kristian just wanted something to occupy his mind.
But once in the library he stopped pushing and just sat near his table, with his papers and books. He didn’t want the radio, and he didn’t want to listen to a book on tape. He just wanted to be himself again. He missed who he was. He hated who he’d become.
“Kristian?” Elizabeth said timidly.
He straightened, sat taller. “Yes?”
“You’re in here, then?”
“Yes. I’m right here.”
“Oh.” There was the faintest hitch in her voice. “It’s dark. Do you mind if I turn the lights on?”
“No. Please. I’m sorry. I don’t know—”
“Of course you don’t know.”
He heard her footsteps cross to the wall, heard her flip the switch and then approach. “I’m not really that sleepy, and I wondered if maybe you have something I could read to you. The newspaper, or mail? Maybe you even have a favorite book?”
Kristian felt some of the tension and darkness recede. “Yes,” he said, exhaling gratefully. “I’m sure there is.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THAT NIGHT BEGAN a pattern they’d follow for the next two weeks. During the day Kristian would follow a prescribed workout regimen, and then in the evening he and Elizabeth would have a leisurely dinner, followed by an hour or two in the library, where she’d read to him from a book, newspaper or business periodical of his choice.
Kristian’s progress astounded her. If she hadn’t been there to witness the transformation, she wouldn’t have believed it possible. But being here, observing the day-to-day change in Kristian, had proved once and for all that attitude was everything.
Every day, twice a day, for the past two weeks, Kristian had headed to the spacious dining room which had been converted into a rehabilitation room. Months ago the dining room’s luxurious carpets had been rolled back, the furniture cleared out, and serious equipment had been hauled up the mountain face to dominate the space.
Bright blue mats covered the floor, and support bars had been built in a far corner to aid Kristian as he practiced walking. The nine windows overlooking the garden and valley below were always open, and Kristian spent hours at a time in that room.
The sports trainer Kristian had hired arrived two days after Elizabeth did. Kristian had found Pirro in Sparta, and he had agreed to come and work with Kristian for the next four weeks, as long as he could return to Sparta on the weekends to be with his wife and children.
During the week, when Pirro was in residence, Kristian drove himself relentlessly. A trainer for the last Greek Olympic team, Pirro had helped rehabilitate and train some of the world’s most elite athletes, and he treated Kristian as if he were the same.
The first few days Kristian did lots of stretching and developing core strength, with rubber balls and colored bands. By end of the first week he was increasing his distance in the pool and adding free weights to his routine. At the end of the second week Kristian was on cardio machines, alternating walking with short runs.
From the very beginning Elizabeth had known Kristian would get on his feet again. She hadn’t expected it would only take him fifteen days.
Elizabeth stopped by the training room on Friday, early in the afternoon, to see if Pirro had any instructions for her for the two days while he returned to Sparta for the weekend.
She was shocked to see Kristian running slowly on a steep incline on the treadmill.
Pirro saw her enter and stepped over to speak with her. “Ti Kanis?” he asked. “How are you?”
“Kalo.” Good. She smiled briefly before pointing to Kristian on the treadmill. “Isn’t that a bit extreme?” she asked worriedly. “He could hardly stand two weeks ago. Won’t the running injure him?”
“He’s barely running,” Pirro answered, glancing over his shoulder to watch Kristian’s progress. “Notice the extreme incline? This is really a cross training exercise. Yes, we’re working on increasing his cardio, but it’s really to strengthen and develop the leg muscles.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice the incline. Nor Kristian’s intense concentration. He was running slowly, but without support, with his shoulders squared, his head lifted, his gaze fixed straight ahead. And even though sweat poured off him, and his cheeks glowed ruddy red, she didn’t think he’d ever looked better—or stronger. Yes, he was breathing hard, but it was deep, regular, steady.
She walked closer to the machine, glanced at the screen monitoring his heart-rate. His heart-rate was low. She returned to Pirro’s side. “So it’s really not too much?” she persisted, torn between pride and anxiety. She wanted him better, but couldn’t help fearing he’d burn out before he got to where he wanted to be.
“Too much?” Pirro grinned. “You don’t know Kirie Kristian, do you? He’s not a man. He’s a monster.”
Monster.
Pirro’s word lingered in her mind as she turned to leave Kristian to finish his training. It was the same word Kristian had used when she’d first met him—the day he’d torn the bandages from his head to expose his face. Monster. Frankenstein.
Yet in the past two weeks he’d demonstrated that he was so far from either…
And so much more heroic than he even knew.
Soon he’d be returning to Athens. To the woman and the life that waited for him there. He’d eventually marry Cosima—apparently his family had known her forever—and with luck he’d have many children and a long, happy life.
But thinking of him returning to Athens put a heaviness in her heart. Thinking of him marrying Cosima made the heaviness even worse.
But that was why she was here, she reminded herself, swallowing hard around the painful lump in her throat, that lump that never went away. She’d come to prepare Kristian for the life he’d left behind.
And he was ready to go back. She could see it even if he couldn’t.
The lump grew, thickening, almost drawing tears to her eyes.
Kristian, the Greek tycoon, had done this to her, too. She hadn’t expected to feel this way about him, but he’d amazed her, impressed her, touched her heart with his courage, his sensitivity, as well as those rare glimpses of uncertainty. He made her feel so many emotions. But most of all he made her feel tender, good, hopeful, new. New.
“Shall I give him a message for you?” Pirro asked, his attention returning to Kristian.
And Elizabeth looked over at Kristian, this giant of a man who had surprised her at every level, her heart doing another one of those stunning free falls. He was so handsome it always touched a nerve, and that violent scar of his just made him more real, more beautiful. “No,” she murmured. “There’s no message. I’ll just see him at dinner.”
But as Elizabeth turned away, heading outside to take a walk through the gardens, she wondered when she’d find the courage to leave.
She had to leave. She’d already bec
ome too attached on him.
Putting a hand to her chest, she tried to stop the surge of pain that came with thinking of leaving.
Don’t think of yourself, she reminded herself. Think of him. Think of his needs and how remarkable it is that he can do so much again. Think about his drive, his assertiveness, his ability to someday soon live independently.
And, thinking this way, she felt some of her own sadness lifted. He and his confidence were truly amazing. You wouldn’t know he couldn’t see from the way he entered a room, or the way he handled himself. In the past couple of weeks he’d become more relaxed and comfortable in his own skin, and the more comfortable he felt, the more powerful his physical presence became.
She’d always known he was tall—easily over six feet two—but she’d never felt the impact of his height until he’d begun walking with a cane. Instead of stumbling, or hesitating, he walked with the assurance of a man who knew his world and fully intended to dominate that world once more.
Her lips curved in a rueful smile as she walked through the garden, with its low, fragrant hedges and rows of magnificent trees. No wonder a monastery had been built here hundreds of years ago. The setting was so green, the views breathtaking, the air pure and clean.
Pausing at one of the stone walls that overlooked the valley below, Elizabeth breathed in the scent of pine and lemon blossoms and gazed off into the distance, where the Messenian plain stretched.
Kristian had told her that the Messenian plain was extraordinarily fertile and produced nearly every crop imaginable, including the delicious Kalamata olive. Beyond the agricultural plain was the sea, with what had to be more beautiful beaches and picturesque bays. Although Elizabeth had never planned on returning to Greece, now that she was here she was anxious to spend a day at the water. There was nothing like a day spent enjoying the beautiful Greek sun and sea.
“Elizabeth?”
Hearing her name called, she turned to discover Kristian heading toward her, walking through the gardens with his long narrow cane. He hadn’t liked the cane initially, had said it emphasized his blindness, but once he’d realized the cane gave freedom as he learned to walk again, he had adapted to it with remarkable speed.