Heiress's Defiance (10 page)

“I am glad to hear it.”

She shrugged as she came out to join him. “I didn’t think I had much choice, really. It costs me nothing to let you show me what you wish to show me. But you
are
still leaving the Chatsfield, Christos.”

“As you wish.”

She stepped up to him then, and before he could determine what she intended, she lashed out and slapped him across the face. Hard.

His head snapped back, his cheek stinging.
He clenched his fists at his sides. The one thing he would never do was hit a woman, no matter the inducement. And yet no one had hit him in many years now. It was shocking to feel the weight of a blow on his flesh once more.

“That’s for drugging me.” Her eyes flashed hot, the golden flecks in them deepening to amber. “How dare you think that was okay?”

He reacted to the emotions boiling from her—and inside him, if he were to admit it—and yanked her into his arms. Then he crushed her mouth beneath his, punishing her with his kiss. Except who was he really punishing, he wondered, as the feel of her mouth against his sent a lightning bolt of longing straight down his spine and into his cock.

He held her tightly and kissed her hard, so hard his heart hammered in his chest and his brain began to beat the refrain that he had to stop or lose control. She wasn’t pushing him away, surprisingly—her fists wrapped into his shirt and pulled him closer, as if she, too, couldn’t get enough of this melding of mouths.

Somehow he found the strength to end the kiss, before he went beyond the boundaries of control. Before he shoved her down on the floor and took her hard and fast.

He shoved her away and she let him go as if burned. Her color was high, her lips bruised and reddened and slick. Her eyes flashed with desire and confusion. And then she brought the back of her hand up and very deliberately wiped her mouth, as if she were wiping away any trace of their kiss. As if it had been repellant to her.

“That,” he said, his voice hard and low, “was for slapping me.”

She stood there breathing hard for a moment. And then she stepped away from him as if nothing had happened.

“Well, now that we’ve got that out of the way.” Her voice was light, breezy, but there was also a tremor in it and a red-hot bolt of possessiveness shot through him to know she was not unaffected. She walked over to the edge of the infinity pool and gazed beyond it to the sea and harbor below. “Thank you for the clothing,” she said over her shoulder. “I’m no longer surprised that you seem to know my tastes in anything. Or, apparently, my size.”

“I pay attention to details, Lucilla. Nothing more.”

She spun to look at him, her eyes flashing with something other than anger this time. Hurt, maybe? Confusion? She masked it,
however. “Well, you are very good indeed. I couldn’t say what you like to eat or drink, or what size shoe you wear, if my life depended on it.”

“Then you don’t pay much attention to details, do you? You had dinner with me once. You must know what I ate that night.”

Her cheeks glowed and he knew she was remembering more than the food. “Yes, I know that much. One meal, at least.”

“Tonight you will know another. And if you wish to know my shoe size, you only need ask.”

“I can’t see why I need to know.”

He shrugged. “You brought it up, not I.”

“I was trying to prove a point.”

“You do know things about me, Lucilla. Far more personal things than shoe size.” He watched her chin lift, watched as the breeze off the sea blew a lock of hair across her face. She raked it back, but she didn’t look at him.

“As you are so fond of saying, I had no choice. I will do whatever it takes to protect my legacy, Christos.”

He almost laughed. “And I was not talking about the report.”

S
HE WAS ACUTELY
aware of how her heart thumped against her chest, of the inexorable slide of her blood through her veins and of the throbbing response in her sex as his voice stroked over her nerve endings. Yes, she knew personal things about him that had nothing to do with the report.

His taste. His touch. The sounds he made when she took him in her mouth and pleasured him. The way he gasped her name in her ear, his breath hot and moist, as he pumped his seed into her. She knew his scents, his texture, his taste—and she could think of nothing else now that he’d reminded her.

“That was a mistake,” she said, her throat tight. She couldn’t forget that he’d nearly killed a man. And that he’d drugged her and hauled her to Greece while she couldn’t protest. He’d taken away her choice, and she was furious with him.

“Perhaps, but nevertheless. It was a mistake you felt no compunction in repeating several times that night.” His gaze stripped her bare in a way that she was learning only he could. “You know what it feels like to have me inside you, to scream my name when you come and to beg me for more. You enjoyed it,
glykia mou.
Do not pretend otherwise.”

“It was just sex,” she said. “It means nothing.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Of this I am aware. But I will not let you lie to yourself about what happened. Sex, yes. But repeatedly, and with as much heat and ecstasy as I promised you that first night in your office.”

She swallowed. Oh, yes, there had been heat and ecstasy aplenty. And, dammit, she would kill for more of the same. Even now her body was languid from his kiss. Aching, wanting. Her lips stung with the force of that kiss, but she knew his did, too. It would be impossible not to. She’d never kissed anyone with that much anger and violence boiling beneath the surface before. It almost frightened her. It most certainly intrigued her.

She wanted more.
No.

Before she could frame a suitably nonchalant reply, he walked past her and into the house. She watched him go over to a desk,
open it and pull something out. Then he came back and held it out to her.

“Your phone.”

She took it, starting when his fingers brushed over hers. She hadn’t really thought he would give it back so easily and she clutched the phone in her fingers as another feeling moved through her: confusion.

“I’m surprised you trust me enough to return it.”

“I trust no one, Lucilla. But you will not go back on your word.”

“And what if I lied just to get my phone back? I could call for help.”

His eyes gleamed. “You could. But I think you’re smarter than that. You care too much about your empire to risk any of its capital when you have a far easier way out. Though it may rankle you to stay, you will do so.”

She didn’t want to respect that brain of his, or to agree with his assessment. But she did. She usually did, damn him.

“I will,” she said. “Now what am I here for?”

Because she wanted it done and over before these chaotic feelings roiling inside her spilled out.

His gaze was enigmatic. “Tonight, we will have dinner in the village.”

“You didn’t bring me all the way to Greece for dinner, Christos.”

He reached out, almost as if he couldn’t help it, and dragged a finger over her cheek. She did not recoil, though a part of her knew she should. It was a triumph simply to stand there and not lean into his touch when she so desperately wanted to do so.

“Patience, Lucillitsa. You must learn patience.”

More than that, she realized, she needed to learn how to stop this flame that writhed in her soul at the simplest of his touches.

Lucilla went to her room—a very spacious and well-appointed room—and worked on her computer, which Christos had also returned. The emails about the aborted shareholders’ meeting were fast and furious, but mostly everyone accepted the delay and got on with their business. She had a few emails from Antonio, asking if she’d uncovered anything useful, and a couple of reports on events happening in the coming week. Perhaps the most surprising thing was the announcement that Sophie, Christos’s assistant, needed to take extended leave for personal reasons. Jessie had assured her in an email, cc’ing Christos, that she was happy to cover in Sophie’s
absence, until the situation could be firmly resolved.

Lucilla had set everything up so that it should run smoothly without her, even when her absence was unexpected. It chafed to be here when she hadn’t expected to be—and yet the beauty of the land outside the windows also called to her. She hadn’t taken a vacation in so long, and the lemon-scented air was driving her crazy. She found a bikini in among the things Christos had bought for her and thought about putting it on and heading out to the pool.

Before she could do so, she heard a splash and she went out on the balcony and looked at the pool below. Christos cut through the water so gracefully that she found herself mesmerized. He reached one end, did a flip turn and then propelled himself back to the other side. He kept swimming, back and forth, back and forth, until she wondered how much longer he could last. Eventually, he swam over to the infinity edge and propped his elbows on it, gazing out at the landscape and sea beyond. He didn’t seem to realize she was watching, and she let herself look at him as long as she wanted.

His back was to her. He was dark-skinned, his muscles well defined and glistening with
water. His jet hair was slicked to his head, and she found herself studying the lines of his skull. When he turned to the side, his profile was even more striking than usual. He swam to the end and lifted himself out. He was breathing hard, water running down his body, and she felt that little flutter in her belly that always happened when he was near.

Lucilla ducked back inside, her heart hammering. Then she heard him almost beneath her window, speaking to someone in Greek. She crept back out to look down. He’d toweled off and now stood there with his back to her, his phone to his ear.

They’d slept together but it had been so dark that she hadn’t really seen him. Looking at his body now was almost too much. He was beautiful, but she hadn’t expected anything less. Her eyes drifted down over his back, his firm butt, his legs. He stepped out into the sunshine again and she nearly gasped.

The skin of his back was crisscrossed by fine, silvery scars. They weren’t noticeable at first, kind of like an impressionist painting where the strokes weren’t distinguishable from the complete picture until you looked hard enough. Or until the light hit them just right.

Her heart squeezed into a tight knot in her
chest. Why hadn’t she felt them that night? How could she have been so intimate with him and not known the marks he bore? Was she truly that oblivious?

He spun around and Lucilla ducked back inside again. Her chest was tight and her stomach hurt as she tried to process what she’d seen. How did anyone get those kinds of marks and not suffer an incredible amount of pain?

And she had slapped him earlier. It did not feel so good now as it had then. In fact, it made her stomach churn that she’d assaulted him, no matter the inducement.

She went back to her computer and tried to work. But she couldn’t stop thinking about Christos and how he’d gotten those scars. When it was finally time for dinner, she dressed in a vibrant tangerine chiffon dress she found in the closet and paired it with jeweled low-heeled sandals. She was shorter than she liked when she walked into the foyer to meet Christos, who stood there so tall and proud and remote.

She already felt small next to him, but the low heels made her feel more so. Christos was dressed in a pair of khaki trousers and a black shirt and her mouth watered at the slice of his tanned skin visible in the open neck. Her
eyes searched his, but he said nothing that indicated he knew she’d seen his back today. He’d had many lovers, naturally, which meant he probably didn’t go around hiding his scars.

But she wanted to know where they’d come from. How did a person get so many? Did he have others? What else had she missed?

“You look beautiful, Lucillitsa.”

Her ears grew hot. She didn’t want to crave his compliments. “Thank you. And what is with this new name, Christos? What does this one mean?”

It was the second time he’d called her that, and she wondered. Not only that, but she secretly loved the way he said the word, his accent rolling over the sounds in such a way that she felt as if he were stroking her skin.

“It means ‘little Lucilla.’”

For some reason, that made her palms sweat. “All right, baby,” she said softly, though her pulse hummed dangerously fast.

He only grinned at her. Then he ushered her out the door and into a sleek Mercedes coupe. He put the top up with the press of a button and then they zoomed out the driveway and onto a narrow stretch of road that zipped between rocky cliffs before giving way to a long stretch where she could see
the ocean spread out on one side and the island on the other.

It took them about fifteen minutes to arrive at the village. Christos parked and then came around to help her out. The sun was still in the sky, but it was setting quickly. The village, it turned out, was not so small as she’d thought. She’d only been able to see a small part of it from the villa on the hill, but the village was more of a small city, fanning outward from the harbor. The buildings were a mixture of white ones and colored ones like salmon and pale ocher. Christos strolled down the streets slowly so that she could take in the sights.

They walked past a street where children played and Christos stopped, his shoulders stiff as he stared down the alley. The buildings were a little shabbier here. Washing hung high above the street, stretched between the buildings, and women sat in the doorways, peeling vegetables and chatting back and forth. The children were small and dirty, but that was no shock since they were children. She’d often had to threaten her smaller siblings when they were younger if she’d wanted them to wash up for dinner.

Lucilla moved closer to Christos. She wasn’t certain why, but she had an urge to slip her
hand into his and tug him away. She did not, however.

“I had forgotten,” he said.

“Forgotten what?”

He shook himself as he looked down at her. His expression was taut. “It’s nothing. Come, I’ve promised you dinner.”

He took her arm and tucked it in his and started down the street again. She didn’t try to pull away. She could feel the tension in him, but she didn’t know what to say. They arrived at a taverna set alongside the picturesque square and Christos procured them a table near the edge. A band sat in the square, playing bouzoukis, tambourines and mandolins among other instruments. It was beautiful music, different than what she was used to, and she felt a lightness that she should not feel considering the circumstances of her presence in Greece.

The waiter came by and Christos ordered in Greek without asking her what she wanted. It annoyed her—but then she got over it, because the night was too pretty and the music too lovely and she actually felt relaxed, which was insane. But it was a feeling she wanted to hold on to as long as possible.

The wine arrived and Lucilla sipped hers. It was crisp and lovely and went down easily.

“You are enjoying the music?”

“Yes.” And she was, truly. A small breeze wafted over her, coming in from the harbor that lay not too far away. She took another sip of wine and frowned. She had to remember that this was not a vacation. That she’d been brought here to see something he considered important enough to trade his severance package for. The atmosphere lured her to forget, but she couldn’t let that happen.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why I’m here, Christos. I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

And wondering if it had anything to do with those scars. She shivered inside, wanting to reach for his hand and just squeeze it in hers.

“I grew up here,” he said after a long while, his eyes far away. “And not in the house where we are staying, as you may well have imagined.” He turned the full force of his gaze on her then and she tried not to reach for him. She did not quite succeed. Her fingers brushed his. And then she pulled her hand away and tucked it in her lap while the other clutched her wineglass.

He sucked in a breath. “That street … We lived on that street. My father was a fisherman and my mother was a housewife. I was their only child.”

She had read the report about domestic disturbances at his house, but she’d never really considered what that might mean. Yes, she’d pictured violent arguments and maybe a few slaps. That was not okay, but what he’d done …

“I know your father was violent,” she said, trying to give him a way into it.

His laugh was bitter. “Everyone knew that,
glykia mou.
And yet it still did not save my mother. Or me.”

Tears pressed against her eyelids. She sucked them back, but then the food arrived and she was able to concentrate on that instead. Christos said no more about his family. Indeed, he seemed to relax a bit.

But though she didn’t cry, she was on edge in a way she hadn’t expected. She wanted to know what he had to tell her, and she felt simultaneously like she was intruding on his privacy. She knew things she wished she didn’t. And there were still those scars.

They were silent so long that his voice came as a surprise. “You lost your mother when you were young, yes?”

She looked up from the moussaka, her stomach suddenly cold. “Yes.”

“What happened?”

She wanted to tell him it was none of his business, to say she didn’t talk about it—but
how could she say such things when she already knew so much about him, and not because he’d told her himself? It was business, she told herself.
Business.
And yet she felt more and more as if she’d violated his privacy with her investigation.

Lucilla swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. “She walked out one day and never came back. We haven’t heard from her in about twenty years now.”

“I’m sorry.”

She took a sip of the wine to cover her discomfort. “She suffered from postnatal depression. And after she had Cara, I don’t think she ever recovered. It just got to be too much for her. So she left.”