“Life,” she said flatly. “That’s where it’s coming from. Life.”
He lifted a brow.
“And what were all the men about? Choosing the most unavailable ones who’d never commit so you’d never know the hurt your mother did?”
She blinked. “Which men are you referring to?”
“The captain of the English national football squad—the most notorious womanizer in Europe—the South African mining magnate with his third divorce behind him, the American rancher with two women on the go...”
She could tell by his face he thought she’d slept with them all. That he believed the tabloids when, in fact, most of them had been lies. It made her blood heat. He, of all people, should know better.
She lifted her chin. “What’s wrong with having some fun? You have surely had your share. You’re the poster child of no-strings-attached, meaningless relationships.”
“I am not you. You wanted more. You told me you wanted more. What happened to the Stella I knew?”
Her blood fizzled hotter. “What do you want to know about them, Kostas? Why I was with them? Why I slept with them?” She put her fingers to her mouth. “Well, let’s see, I gave my virginity to Tony Morris after you turned me down. It was after his big game in Prague and can I tell you what a long, hot ride that was? Maybe I should be thanking you for that one. Then I dated Angelo Adamidis, whose ego was even bigger than Tony’s, which didn’t really appeal to me, followed by—”
“Stamata.” He put his wineglass down, liquid sloshing up the sides. “That’s enough.”
“What’s the matter?” She directed a defiant look at him, heart pounding at his flared nostrils, the sizzling heat in those whiskey-colored eyes. “You asked for the details... Does it antagonize you to hear that about your future wife? Or perhaps you’re miffed because you missed out? That you misjudged me... That all I wanted was a hot roll between the sheets and some other male enjoyed the privilege?”
A silence passed, so long, so extended, she had to fight the urge not to fidget, to look away from the intensity of his laser-like expression as it branded her skin. “If I’d known all along that was what you were after,” he finally said quietly, “I would have taken you up on your offer. But I don’t think that’s what it was, was it?”
Her gaze fell away from his. Her initiation into sex with Tony had been awful, his ego rendering him utterly insensitive to a woman’s pleasure. She had stumbled away from that horrific experience vowing never to do it again and almost hadn’t. There had always been something missing for her in the sexual act—an emotional bond, something beyond the physical.
She lifted a shoulder, deflecting the need to go more than surface-deep because that was where she liked to stay these days. “What does it matter?”
“It matters. Look at me, Stella.”
She did, then wished she hadn’t because he saw right through her. Always had.
“That kiss,” he stated, “was the truth of us. You know it and I know it. You vibrate every time we’re within ten feet of each other, yet you refuse to admit it. You fight me at every turn because you don’t know how to handle this thing we have. But at some point it’s going to have to stop. You are going to need to learn that I am not your father. I will not hurt you like he hurt your mother. I am the man who has always respected you enough to treat you the way you deserve.”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, fighting for impassivity. “So now that I’ve agreed to become your wife, now that you’re about to bestow upon me the lauded title of Mrs. Kostas Laskos, I should fall into your bed and count my lucky stars I’m the chosen one? I don’t think so, Kostas. I’ve given you the agreed-upon parameters of this relationship. That’s how it’s going to work.”
“I’m not disputing that. What needs to end is this standoff, this mistrust you have of me, the tension between us. We need to have a relationship if this partnership is going to work.”
She considered him over her glass. “What exactly is it you’re suggesting? Sex as intimacy? A mutual understanding based on our pheromones so we can produce that heir you need? Because the last time I checked, you were still the most emotionally unavailable man I know, Kostas. That little boy you talked about? He grew up into a big, life-size version of himself. You let people in so far, then you shut them down.”
His olive skin stretched taut across his aristocratic face. “We will have to find a way to work through our failings. There is no other option.”
Because his children were a task he had to tick off his list, as was she. He would fix his personal life as he was fixing the legacy that had been left on his doorstep. All he knew was to eye the end goal and attack the obstacles in between.
She set her jaw. “We’ll make this work. We both have too much at stake for any other outcome. As for the rest, the trust, it’s earned. You can’t snap your fingers and order it to be so.”
The glitter in his eyes said he thought he could. “We have a mutual respect for each other, we appreciate one other. We can have something good, we can be different than the relationships we’ve experienced in the past, if you will stop throwing every advance I make in my face.”
She put down her wineglass. The wine was making her head too hazy, too unclear. She needed to put some distance between herself and this man who stirred far too much emotion in her, who liked to push every wish of his through like a steamroller, running over everything in between.
She knew they couldn’t sustain this tension between them. Knew they had to make this work. But investing herself in something with Kostas that was halfway between hate and love—the gray area he was asking for? Was that even possible while keeping her emotions under wraps?
“I need some sleep.”
“I have more work to do. I’ll walk you up.”
She thought that was a bad idea, but she couldn’t refuse given his study was down the hall from her room. Silently she climbed the massive staircase beside him to the third floor, where the royal wing was located. Defenses not as solid as they should be, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared up at him as they stopped outside her bedroom door.
“Thank you for dinner.”
His mouth twisted. “We almost remained civilized.”
Almost being the operative word. She wasn’t sure she and Kostas were ever going to get to civilized.
He bent toward her, his delicious, dark scent invading her senses. Heart hammering in her chest, she froze, debating whether to accept or reject his kiss. His mouth landed on her cheek instead. Firm and undeniably male, his lips made a slow, sensual journey up to her ear, her skin firing beneath his touch.
“Kalinihxta, Stella.” His low voice raked across her insides. “Sweet dreams.”
Straightening away from her, he walked toward his study. She let herself into her suite and leaned back against the door, her insides a mass of confusion.
Only Kostas could ever make her shake over a non-kiss.
* * *
Kostas worked for another couple of hours, then gave up, his head too cloudy to accomplish anything. In the master suite, dominated by the dark colors and fabrics Stella hated, but which had great bones with its exposed stone walls, he stripped off his clothes and immersed himself in the steam shower, one of the few modern amenities his father had added in deference to his bad lower back.
Sitting down on the bench, he let the water pour over him and eat away at the tension bunching his muscles. Negotiating foreign investment with a dozen different countries, spearheading the country’s first elections and dealing with a recalcitrant executive council seemed like child’s play compared to understanding the woman Stella had become. She wasn’t the innocent, vulnerable girl he’d once known, wasn’t the rebel she’d spent years as, but was something else entirely.
Philanthropist, cynic, hardened veteran of life at twenty-seven. Moving out of the hot, hard spray, he sat back against the tile, sluicing the water out of his face. He’d always known Stella’s life had scar
red her badly, but tonight he’d gotten a glimpse at how wounded she really was.
Closing his eyes, he recalled their conversation. Trust is earned. His fiancée’s rebuttal to his request they develop some sort of manageable, doable relationship between them. He would do it, had to do it, but Stella was right—his ability to be in a relationship, to be emotionally available, had always been in question.
He had been conditioned to never show emotion, never feel it, or allow himself that luxury. Designed to be impenetrable. Other than his grandmother’s affection, he’d never had love, didn’t know what it was, nor did he want it. Maybe it had been watching his father fall down a rabbit hole when his mother had died, one from which he hadn’t emerged whole. He just knew it wasn’t for him, wouldn’t ever be.
Which, he thought, wiping a layer of perspiration from his brow, shouldn’t be an issue given Stella’s pronouncement she wasn’t interested in love, wanted to make herself as impenetrable as he was. It was just that he wasn’t sure she had meant it, wasn’t sure a lot of the Stella he’d seen today wasn’t just tough packaging over the real thing and that woman was exceedingly vulnerable, had always wanted more.
And therein lay the problem. He couldn’t ever offer her that, even if she decided she did want it. Not only was he incapable of it, but he also couldn’t allow his relationship with Stella to ever become any more than the partnership he’d promised her because there were parts of him she didn’t know. Deep, flawed parts of him he would never admit to anyone—pieces of him that would destroy Stella if she knew.
He pushed aside the guilt that knotted in his chest. He had forgiven himself that particular sin because he and his country needed Stella. It was necessary. Which meant he had to earn that trust his fiancée was demanding, prove to her they could make this work, while never making promises he couldn’t keep.
Considering the fact that in three weeks the eyes of the world would be upon this country as he and Stella cemented ties between Akathinia and Carnelia, he had his work cut out for him.
CHAPTER SIX
KOSTAS STOOD LEANING against the blacked-out windows of the Bentley, jacket discarded, a dusk-driven breeze stealing across his skin. His oxygen-deprived brain had craved fresh air as he waited for Stella to appear for their dinner engagement, too many weeks of conference rooms and endless bickering about election minutiae clouding his brain. That and the seemingly endless pushback he was receiving on the hotel developments he was negotiating for the east coast of Carnelia.
It was enough to make a man question his sanity for attempting to take on this almost impossible job.
Tonight, however, would be enjoyable. With his wedding just a week away, he and Stella were joining Tassos Andropoulos, his best friend and best man, for dinner at a tiny, low-key restaurant in the city to discuss last-minute details. It was an establishment he knew well, whose proprietor would keep their presence hush-hush, a necessity considering the anticipation for his nuptials had reached a fever pitch. The madness descending over Carnelia was something he would be happy to see the back of.
The foreign media, scheduled to arrive this week to cover the lead-up to the wedding, were salivating over the celebrity-packed guest list, as were the people of Carnelia, who hadn’t seen such an influx of famous visitors since the wedding of his grandmother Queen Cliantha. Their enthusiasm was heightened by the weeklong festivities scheduled around the ceremony, which included two days of national holidays to celebrate. He thanked the high heavens the only thing he had to do was show up.
Pulling in another deep breath of the clean, quiet air, he focused his attention on the entrance to the castle and his fiancée’s imminent appearance, rather than the insanity to come. Punctuality was not one of Stella’s virtues, but since she had so many others, he was willing to overlook it.
She had been picture-perfect in an appearance at the annual fig festival, winning over the farmers with her wit and charm as they served as the judges of the cake-baking competition featuring the star fruit, then doing the same at an official state dinner for the Italian prime minister as Carnelia officially reopened relations with that country.
Unfortunately, for his goal of creating a manageable stasis for his own relationship, the cool, composed Stella who had presented herself on those public occasions had been the same one to greet him every morning in the two weeks since their confrontation in the conservatory. He seemed to be an object of suspicion, to be avoided, while she wrapped her head around their relationship. He hoped the tiny but noticeable thawing in her manner toward him meant they were headed in the right direction.
His introspection came to a halt as Stella exited the front doors and came down the stairs in a cloud of exotic, sophisticated perfume. He was a fan of the scent as well as the dress she wore—a formfitting, knee-length cocktail number embroidered with some type of flower he couldn’t identify.
“Sorry,” she murmured, coming to a halt in front of him, the careful smile that seemed to be her de facto response to him of late pasted on her lips.
“No, you aren’t,” he said easily, shifting away from the car, “or you’d be on time.”
Oh. Those blue eyes sharpened. It’s going to be that kind of night?
It’s been that kind of fortnight.
Her lashes lowered in that reining in of emotion he was coming to hate.
“We should go,” he murmured, sliding his fingers around the handle of the car door and opening it. She walked past him, sinking her bottom into the seat, then swinging those incredible legs of hers inside. His palm grazed the curve of her hip as he bent to tuck her in, the brief touch of his fingertips to her firm, delectable bottom eliciting the full stare of its owner.
He shut the door on her pensive face because there were some things a man simply couldn’t resist and that had been one of them. Nodding at the driver, who was perched by the front of the car along with Darius and his own bodyguard, he walked around to the other side and slid in.
She eyed him from a safe distance away. “You are exhausted. You need sleep.”
He rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. “Clone me. That would help.”
“At least you’ll be able to relax this evening with Tassos. I like him.”
“All woman like Tassos. He’s good-looking and he flies fast, dangerous planes.”
“His occupation certainly doesn’t hurt.” Amusement laced her voice. “How did you two meet?”
“In military training. First here, then in England and California. We were on the same path and we clicked. Then we were deployed together in the navy.”
“He’s the light to your dark,” she said. “You are good foils for one another.”
“Perhaps.”
A silence. “You’re upset about the editorial.”
“Frustrated is a better description.” The scathing piece by the business editor of the Carnelian daily newspaper this morning had felt like a betrayal. He’d unleashed the stranglehold his father had kept on the media as one of his first actions as king.
The editor had paid him back by describing him as an “unyielding force determined to push through modernization plans the people weren’t ready for.” “The new king,” the piece had gone on to say, “is showing shades of his father.”
“Why don’t you meet with him?” Stella suggested. “It would be good to establish that relationship. Another key influencer.”
He opened his eyes. “What’s the point? He clearly doesn’t comprehend or care about the facts.”
“Kostas.” She shook her head. “There’s been significant pushback on your plans from more than one group. You need to educate, but more than that, you need to listen. The more you push forward without doing that, the angrier they are going to become. If you don’t want to lose the goodwill you’ve built up, you need to create some bridges.”
He trained his gaze on her. “He accused me of having my father’s dictatorial tendencies.”
“Then prove him wrong.” She
shook her head. “He is not entirely incorrect in that portrayal. You are dogmatic. You see the world in black-and-white. You need to acknowledge the gray, find a middle ground.”
Antagonism stiffened his shoulders. “It’s the people who need to wake up. They all want the gain and no pain. I am trying to give them a future. If they are too shortsighted to recognize it, that’s not my problem, it’s theirs.”
“It will be yours if they turn their backs on you.”
Blood throbbed against his temples. Pushing his head back against the seat, he stared straight ahead. “I’m getting enough on all sides, Stella. I don’t need it from you.”
“Then why marry me? You said you wanted a partner, so here I am, telling you what you need to hear rather than what you want to hear.”
His lashes fluttered closed. He had asked for that, yes. He just didn’t need it right now. Nor did he need his fiancée agreeing with that damn editor. He couldn’t believe she’d gone there, knowing who he was. What he was.
* * *
Stella considered her combustible fiancé as the car pulled up in front of the restaurant. Darius and Kostas’s bodyguard got out first to scan the area. So much for her stress-free, enjoyable evening getting to know Tassos better. He was the one person, it seemed, who knew the king beyond a superficial level.
Kostas was like an explosive device, primed and ready to go off. Clearly the insane amount of pressure he was under was taking a toll, and how could it not? Still, she knew her role was to help guide him and she wasn’t about to pull any punches for both their sakes. Not with General Houlis continuing to amass support behind the scenes, the frustrated public a perfect target for his efforts.
She let him cool off as their security declared the area secure and they were welcomed into the cozy little restaurant off a main avenue by the proprietor, who led them to an out-of-the-way table at the back, where the handsome, dark-haired, green-eyed Tassos sat waiting for them. He was, of course, busily engaged with their beautiful blonde waitress.
“Attempting to find a suitable bottle of wine,” he informed them as he stood and gave Kostas a clap on the shoulder and Stella a kiss on both cheeks. “Any preferences?”
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