He stopped in front of a mannequin wearing a retro fifties-style dress. ‘What do you think? Is it not perfect for you?’
The dress consisted of a strapless black bodice that met a flaring white skirt with black leaf prints at the waist that fell to below the knee. It was elegant and pretty and exactly the kind of dress she would buy if she could afford it. The chances of her being able to afford it were nil. This was a boutique without price tags.
Suddenly she realised Theo was still holding her hand. Not just holding it—at some point their fingers had become entwined.
They were holding hands as they’d used to do. And it felt every bit as necessary and right as it had all those years ago.
Clearing her throat, Helena tugged her hand free and gently ran her trembling fingers over the silk skirt of the dress. Her heart sighed with pleasure. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘I knew you’d like it,’ he said smugly.
‘It’s beautiful, but I’m not buying it,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve spent enough money for one day and now I need coffee.’ She needed to get out into the air and clear her lungs of the woody scent filling her senses before she threw herself into Theo’s arms, buried her face in his neck and inhaled his scent right from the source.
To her relief, Theo didn’t argue. ‘There’s a coffee shop around the corner that sells amazing baklava.’
Their eyes locked. Her swollen heart pulsed painfully against her ribs.
Baklava was her absolute favourite sweet food. He remembered...
He remembered the style of clothes she liked to wear. He remembered the food she liked. He remembered everything. Just as she did.
Helena hurried out of the boutique.
The shade of the narrow street saved her from the worst of the afternoon heat. Waiting for Theo to catch her up, she pressed her hand to her aching chest and took some long breaths.
It would be too easy to trick her mind that what they were sharing that lazy day was a repeat of a scene that had once filled her with so much joy she’d struggled to breathe.
She’d experienced more happiness in her three months with Theo than she had the rest of her life combined.
She smelt his cologne before she felt the nudge on her arm and was immediately thrown back to the passionate insanity of the kiss they had shared and the preceding fear that had coiled inside her at his lateness, which had twisted into a jealous rage when she’d smelt Savina’s perfume on him.
This was what he did. He set the impulsive, hedonistic side of her free and all the heady, terrifying emotions that came with it until her entire being, every thought, every breath, and every emotion had been consumed by Theo and she’d lost all sight of herself.
But just because she’d been a slave for him before did not mean she had to be a slave to him now, did it? She was older and wiser.
She liked Theo, she realised. Liked him as a person. Were it not for their history she would be thrilled to spend time in his company. She’d enjoyed shopping with him; enjoyed winding him up, enjoyed putting him in his place when needed, enjoyed his irreverence, even enjoyed the battle of wills.
She had the tools to stand up to him now. She had the tools to separate her emotions from the hedonism that he wanted to unleash in her.
Theo had been honest from the start. He saw her as unfinished business. He wanted to bed her, not marry her.
And she wanted...oh, how she wanted...to make love to him too. Just once. Just to see if it was everything she had dreamed it would be. One night spent as if tomorrow didn’t exist.
Where was the harm?
Maybe if she let him take her to bed she could put behind her the ghost of her past and move on with her life in more than a professional capacity. Maybe then she’d be able to go on a date and not cringe merely at the thought of kissing someone else.
For the first time since Theo had exploded back into her life, Helena looked at him and openly stared at the gorgeous, devilish face.
His eyes narrowed slightly under her scrutiny.
She smiled lazily. ‘Shall we get that coffee now?’
Theo watched Helena bite into her baklava slice and suppressed a groan.
Theos, he loved to watch her eat. Helena loathed cooking but she was an enthusiastic eater. He’d never known her turn her nose up at anything; the perfect dinner guest.
The perfect woman...
He blinked sharply at the stray thought and took a drink of his melon mojito. He’d ordered a jug of it with their coffees and been mildly surprised to find Helena drinking the glass he’d poured for her with enthusiasm. She’d read the surprise on his face and smiled. ‘If I’m going to have a day off work, I might as well make the most of it.’
Had he misinterpreted the suggestiveness behind that smile? Was it mere wishful thinking that detected a marked change in Helena’s attitude towards him?
A passing waiter asked how the baklava was. A small crease appeared on Helena’s brow before comprehension shone in her eyes and she stuck her thumb up in the affirmative.
‘Why has your Greek become so rusty?’ Theo asked. Although not as fluent as a native speaker, Helena had never needed to think before translating in her head.
She shrugged and popped the final piece of baklava into her mouth. Lucky baklava.
He waited patiently for her to swallow it.
‘Well?’ he queried.
She shrugged again and, eyes holding his, sucked on the cocktail straw.
There was no mistaking the suggestiveness behind that action.
‘I haven’t spoken it in years,’ she said, placing her glass back on the table.
He dragged his thoughts away from her provocative gesture to the conversation in hand. ‘But I thought that’s all
