The Greek Tycoon's Achilles Heel

She sighed theatrically. ‘I don’t know. Some men are all talk.’

Before he could think of an answer, she rose and darted away.

‘Hey, where are you going?’

‘Where do you think?’ she called back over her shoulder from halfway up the stairs.

He managed to pass her on the stairs and reach the bedroom first.

‘Come here,’ he said, yanking her close and holding her tightly, without gentleness. ‘Come here.’

It was less a kiss than an act of desperation. She knew that as soon as his lips touched hers, not tenderly but with a ferocity that mirrored her own. They had shared kisses before, but this was a step further. In the past she’d been struggling with her own reaction, and doubtful of his. But the previous two times they’d made love had told each of them something about the other, and where they were going together.

Now there were no doubts on either side, no room for thoughts or even emotions. They wanted each other as a simple physical act, free of everything but the need for satisfaction.

His mouth seemed to burn hers while his tongue invaded her, demanding, asking no quarter and giving none. His urgency thrilled her for it matched her own, but she wouldn’t let him know that just yet. She had another plan in mind.

‘Mmm, just as I hoped,’ she murmured.

He ground his teeth. ‘You pulled my strings and I jumped, didn’t I?’

‘’Fraid so. And you have another problem now.’

‘Surprise me.’

‘I’m a horrible person. In fact I’m just horrible enough to get up and walk away right now.’

His hands tightened on her in a grip of steel. ‘Don’t even think about it.’

She began to laugh with delight, revelling in the ruthless determination with which he held her, threw her onto her back and invaded her like a conqueror. She was still laughing when her explosion of pleasure sent the world into a spin.

Afterwards he looked down at her, gasping and frenzied.

‘You little-it’s not funny!’

‘But it is funny. Oh, my darling, you’re so easily fooled.’

He began to move inside her again, slowly, making her wait but leaving her in no doubt that he had the strength and control to prolong the moment.

‘Were you expecting this too?’ he whispered.

‘Not exactly expecting, but I was hoping-oh, yes, I was hoping you’d do just what you’re doing now-and again- and again-oh, darling, don’t stop!’

She ceased to be aware of time, losing track of how often he brought her to climax. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he’d transported her to another world, while giving her the vital feeling that she too had transported him. Whatever happened to them happened together, and she cared about nothing else.

When he finally managed to speak it was with ironic humour.

‘I did it again, didn’t I? Danced to your tune. Is there any way I can get one step ahead of you?’

She seemed to consider this. ‘Probably not. But I’d hate you to stop trying.’

Now it was his turn to laugh. She felt it against her before she heard it, and her soul rejoiced because it was through laughter that she could reach him.

The next few days were hazy. They spent much of the time out, wandering the island or lazing on the beach, their evenings indoors, talking with a freedom which once would have been impossible. They spent the nights in each other’s arms.

She knew it couldn’t last for ever. For now they were living in a world apart, where each of them could yield to the new personality the other could evoke. He could doff his harsh exterior, emerge from the prison cell where his heart normally lived, and let her see the side of him that was charming and outgoing.

But it was unreal. Such perfect happiness could never last unchallenged. Sooner or later she must face the part of him that remained hidden from her, or retire in defeat because he wouldn’t allow her in.

She’d never told him of the night she’d followed him to the distant room. Once she slipped upstairs to try the door and, as she’d expected, found it locked. In her mind it came to symbolise the fact that she still hadn’t gained entry into the deepest heart of him. Despite their happiness, she wondered if she ever would.

One night she awoke to find herself alone again. The door was open and from a distance she thought she could hear sounds. Quickly she scrambled out into the corridor and was just in time to see Lysandros turning the corner. He walked in a slow, dazed manner, as though he was sleepwalking.

When she reached the little staircase he was just standing at the top. He approached the door slowly, then, before her horrified eyes, he began to ram his head against it again and again, as though by seeking pain he could blot out unbearable memories.

Suddenly she was back on the roof all those years ago and he was in her arms, banging his head against her, seeking oblivion from misery too great to be borne. And she knew that fifteen years had changed nothing. In his heart he was the same young man now as then.

She would have run to him, but he stopped suddenly and turned, leaning back against the door. Through the window the moonlight fell on his face, showing her a depth of agony that shocked her.

He didn’t move. His eyes were closed, his head pressed back against the door, his face raised as though something hovered in the darkness above him. As she watched, he lifted his hands and laid them over his face, pressing them close as though he could use them as a shield against the Furies that pursued him. But the Furies were inside him. There was no escape.

Wisdom told her to retreat and never let him know that she’d seen him like this, but she couldn’t be wise now. He might try to reject her, but she must at least offer him her comfort.

She moved the rest of the way quickly and quietly, then reached up to draw his hands away. He started, gazing at her with haggard eyes that saw a stranger.

‘It’s all right; it’s only me,’ she whispered.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I came because you need me-yes, you do,’ she added quickly before he could speak. ‘You think you don’t need anyone, but you need me because I understand. I know things that no one else knows, because you shared them with me long ago.’

‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he whispered.

‘Then tell me. What’s in that room, Lysandros? What draws you here? What do you see when you go inside?’

His reply startled her. ‘I never go inside.’

‘But…then why…?’

‘I don’t go in because I can’t bear to. Each time I come here, hoping to find the courage to enter, but that never happens.’ He gave a mirthless snort of laughter. ‘Now you know. I’m a coward.’

‘Don’t-’

‘I’m a coward because I can’t face her again.’

‘Is she in there?’ Petra asked.

‘She always will be. You think I’m mad? Well, perhaps. Let’s see.’

He opened his hand, revealing the key, allowing her to take it and put it in the lock. Turning it slowly, she pushed on the door. It stuck as though protesting after being closed for so long, but then a nudge opened it and she stood on the threshold, holding her breath, wondering fearfully what she would find.

At first she could see very little. Outside the dawn was breaking, but the shutters were still closed and only thin slivers of light managed to creep in. By their faint glow she realised that this room had been designed as a celebration of love.

The walls were covered in paintings depicting gods, goddesses and various Greek legends. Incredibly, Petra thought she recognised some of them.

‘These pictures are famous,’ she murmured. ‘Botticelli, Titian-’

‘Don’t worry, we didn’t steal them,’ Lysandros said. ‘They’re all copies. One of my mother’s ancestors wanted to “make a figure” in the world. So he hired forgers to go all over Europe and copy the works of great artists-