He couldn’t take any more.
She jumped as he stepped into the honeyed light. ‘I thought you’d already left.’
He didn’t miss the curl of her hand, closing over her wax-covered palm, as he strolled round the table towards her.
‘I’m going soon,’ he said, keeping his voice calm.
She stood like a cornered animal. Eyes wide, body stiff. He didn’t want that. He wanted her soft and pliant and pleading to be sated.
‘What were you doing?’
‘Putting out the candles.’
Thea was the expert at never really answering a question. Why had she mastered that skill? He could ask, but chose not to. He didn’t think she’d tell him even if he did.
‘You’ll burn yourself.’
‘I never have before.’
And there was the tiny truth he’d longed for—though he wasn’t sure what it meant. He searched her face for any hint. Her expression gave him nothing, but she looked pale. Like a Technicolor picture fading to sepia, all the vibrancy leached from her. Unlike when they’d kissed this morning. Then, she’d glowed.
‘I wanted to thank you for tonight,’ he said.
She had an innate sense for the role of gracious hostess, charming men and women alike. For that he was indebted to her.
‘There’s no need. I had a job to do.’
How selfish he’d been. He should have rescheduled the party, as he’d offered. A splinter of concern pricked at him. She’d only toyed with her dinner tonight, and he noticed her dress hung loosely on her curves.
‘You aren’t well. Don’t think I haven’t appreciated your efforts.’
‘I’m used to it. It’s little different from my father’s demands.’
He hated the comparison to her father. Just as he hated the dull, dead tone to her voice and the lack of light in her eyes. Where had all her flash and fire gone?
‘I thought you might like to share a coffee with me before I leave.’
Perhaps he could forgo his obligations for one night. Instead coax Thea to indulge in the pleasure of burning together once more.
She cocked her head, narrowed her gaze. In that moment she made him feel like a schoolboy, asking out his first date. He had an insane desire to peer down at his shoes and scuff them on the carpet.
‘Where are you headed?’ she asked, her face bland and unreadable.
Another request from him left unanswered.
‘We’re meeting at someone’s club.’
Somewhere that was by invitation only. Discreet. Where morals could be compromised or forgotten. The sort of place he despised.
The prospect of spending time there exhausted him. At least being newly married he could reject the menu he’d be offered there without anyone questioning it. Tonight would cost him only money, not his soul. All he had to do was keep his father’s associates happy and try to recover what Hector had wrecked—ensure the upcoming celebration of Atlas Shipping’s seventy-fifth year didn’t become a wake instead.
‘Ah. More business.’
He didn’t miss the raised eyebrow, her loaded tone. He could show her again how they combusted together. Then she’d ask him to stay.
Christo took a step forward. Thea stepped back, eyes wary. He hesitated. She didn’t desire this like he did. So he couldn’t ignore his gentlemen guests’ request to take tonight’s party elsewhere.
‘Sadly,’ he said, and meant it. But he knew too well when he wasn’t wanted.
‘I won’t keep you from your fun.’ She gave a wan smile. ‘I’m tired. I want to go to bed.’
Thea blew out the last candle, plunging the room into darkness. He watched as she walked down the hall, slender fingers still clenched over her wax-encrusted palm.
Thea sat up with a jolt, heart pounding, a slick ache between her thighs. She pushed her palms into her eyes and rubbed till bright flashes burst behind her lids.
She was trying and failing, to scrub away a dream of she and Christo entwined. Touching. Tasting. Indulging in her sleep, what she wouldn’t take for herself when awake. The vestiges of desire clung, making her nipples hard knots, abrading even under the soft fabric of her top.
She could ease the ache herself. It wouldn’t take much—not the way she felt...
No. Christo would remain off-limits in both fantasy and reality. It was safer that way.
She picked up her phone to check the time, noticed the message alert flashing bright. Two in the morning, meaning it was about eight in the morning at home in Athens. A message. Alexis. Could it be?
Thea grappled with the handset. Fumbled her password twice before succeeding.
Her heart leapt for a moment, then her shoulders dropped as she saw the name. Not Alexis. Demetri.
You’re taking your time.
He was referring to the information her father had demanded about Christo’s business. She wanted no part of this, or their shady schemes. Whatever information her father and Demetri requested, it wasn’t for honest reasons.
Thea typed her reply. Damn her clumsy, trembling fingers.
Go to hell.
A response pinged back.
Will see Alexis there first if you don’t get what we want.
She swallowed the tight ball closing her throat. There it was. The threat. The reason they’d reported him to the police. Her fault—again.
She tossed her phone onto the bed. Choked back a sob. She had no way of easing the emotional pain threatening to crack her. The crushing pressure that made her want to scratch at her skin, to flay it from her body till she bled.
Not even the bright burn of that candle wax had diminished the relentless ache. Thea rubbed at her palm, still tingling after all these hours. What a foolish move that had been—especially with Christo witnessing her weakness. She recognised that moment earlier for what it had evidenced. Desperation. Where was all her caution, her control?
She curled into a ball on the bed for a few moments and then rose, refusing to lie there and feel sorry for herself. She needed to do something—anything to keep moving, give herself time to think.
Her stomach griped with the twin agony of nerves and hunger pangs, punishing her for not having eaten enough. That was as good a motivation as any.
She
