Anna returned to the room, eyes wide. ‘You’re going to take everyone’s breath away.’
Thea walked to the full-length mirror. Lace of blood-coloured perfection slid across her body. A dress meant to display a woman’s shape. It flared at the bottom, so when she walked the lower half swished, beads glittering with every footstep. She turned and cast an eye over her shoulder. The back plunged tantalisingly low, but not indecently, framing the birds which soared over her spine.
Why had he chosen this? She couldn’t wear it. Even though the fabric sang against her skin.
Thea walked back to her wardrobe with Anna trailing behind. She’d wear the dress she’d picked earlier. It wasn’t showy, like this one, which allowed all her private wounds to be displayed.
‘What beautiful tattoos,’ Anna said quietly. ‘So real...like they’re ready to fly away.’
‘Thank you.’ Thea flicked through the hangers, looking for her black gown. Where had Anna hidden it? ‘But I usually keep them covered. I can’t wear this dress.’
‘Why hide them?’ Anna looked bemused. ‘Mr Callas knows you have them, and he chose this dress for you—so he doesn’t care.’
‘No, he doesn’t. It’s perfect.’
Christo’s voice behind them was as smooth and sleek against her skin as the silk lining of the dress.
Anna excused herself and slid from the room.
‘You’re lurking again.’ Thea turned to face him. ‘You know my thoughts on that.’
‘That I’m untrustworthy?’ His hands clenched and released, his fingers flexing restlessly.
Right now he most definitely did not look like a man who could be trusted. A shadow of stubble shaded his jaw. His hair looked as if he’d raked his hands through it one too many times. And all the while his hooded eyes devoured her in a dark, gleaming sweep from her neck to her feet and back again.
His charcoal three-piece suit was the only thing giving him any air of respectability. The rest of him looked irretrievably disreputable. A liquid heat bloomed deep and low inside.
‘Yes. And I’m not wearing the dress.’
‘Don’t you like it?’
She ran her hands down the exquisite fabric. Too many emotions were coursing through her. ‘No... Yes. It’s beautiful.’
‘Then why are you afraid?’ The corners of his lips tipped in a knowing smile.
‘I’m not afraid. I just want to wear the dress I picked for myself.’
He cocked his head to the side, looking at her as if she was some curious bejewelled butterfly. ‘Let me guess. Plain? Black? One you can hide behind?’
‘Stop saying those things!’
‘Wear the gown I chose for you.’
He pointed to the mirror behind her. She turned.
‘One that shows the magnificent woman you are.’
As she looked at her reflection Christo closed in behind her, his warmth solid at her back. The scent of him was intoxicating. Crisp. Wild. Pure male.
He reached out and placed his hands on the tops of her arms. She absorbed the quiet intimacy as his thumbs began to make slow circles. A shiver of pleasure at that beguiling touch began at the base of her neck and sparkled down her arms. There was a rightness in this picture. Something settling about them standing together like this.
‘Your father and Demetri...’
He caught her reflected gaze, his hands continuing that gentle stroking. It was as if he was trying to delve into the soul of her.
‘I’m sorry they have to be here. It can’t be avoided.’
Thea looked to the floor. At the glittering perfection of her dress. Her twinkling shoes. He didn’t need to see the vulnerability his decision had wrought in her.
‘You won’t tell me the reason?’ she asked.
‘I want more information before saying anything else.’ Christo hesitated. ‘You’ve been hurt enough by them. I won’t add to your pain. If there was any other way...’
‘You’ve said that before.’ She shrugged. ‘Yet here we are.’
He bent down, whispered in her ear. The breath caressing her throat.
‘Courage, Thea.’
His voice rushed over her, hot and thick, with the same jolt as her morning coffee. Then he released her and stepped back. She mourned the loss of his hands on her skin.
‘I’ll see you downstairs in an hour.’
Thea’s heart thundered as she walked down the curving staircase. She steadied herself on the balustrade. One moment she thought Christo understood her. The next...?
‘Courage, Thea.’
What did he know of courage? Living his life of privilege. Not knowing fear. The dress didn’t frighten her. Mere scraps of fabric couldn’t hurt you. She knew where the real monsters hid—and tonight they’d be here, in this house.
She took a few breaths to calm herself and walked towards the ballroom. As she rounded a huge potted palm there Christo stood, towering in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, greeting his guests. The superfine wool moulded to the slim taper of his waist. His hands in the pockets of his trousers pulled them tight over his backside.
She stopped, hesitated, smoothed damp palms over the beaded fabric she wore. All the people terrified her. All this pretence. But she still had time; he hadn’t seen her. She should change.
Instead she froze, her chest tightening. Where had all the air gone? Perspiration pricked the back of her neck as her hands curled into tight fists. She needed to walk backwards, walk somewhere, yet she couldn’t take another step.
Thea knew the moment Christo realised she was there. His imposing shoulders straightened. His hands slid from his pockets and he turned.
‘Thea.’
His low velvet voice penetrated the tension corseting her chest. He strode towards her, arm outstretched. She played the game. Placed her hand in his, felt it engulfed. He lifted it to his mouth, kissing the palm where seconds earlier her nails had bitten into her soft flesh. And in that act he stole her breath, caused a burn to heat her cheeks.
He looked down at her, his gaze all-seeing. And for a moment she lost herself in the calm ocean of his eyes. Her
