by Kali Anthony
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHRISTO SLID INTO consciousness as the hazy veil of slumber lifted, to find his body curled around a luscious female form. The sun had barely begun to rise. Faint birdsong twittered in the garden. The room lay dusky and still, apart from her steady breaths.
Thea...
He buried his face in the warm silk of her hair. The honeyed smell of her wrapped seductively around him. Every part of him ached to ease into her warm, soft body again.
He wouldn’t wake her. But the need clutched at his throat and threatened to cut off his breath. He had no rights here. He shouldn’t have touched her. Even worse, he’d taken her virginity. The guilt of it scraped inside him.
He’d been fooled by those photographs in Raul’s dossier. She’d been right from the beginning. He was no better than the rest of them. He’d seen only what he’d wanted to and taken selfishly. No matter how much she claimed to desire him, he’d used her in the crudest fashion.
It made him sick to his gut. Even though his body screamed for her, rigid with desire.
They were married. He could take her and what would it matter?
But it did. He’d said he’d protect her. From her father and brother, sure. But from himself too. He was just another man wanting to use her for his own aims. No matter how he tried to dress it up in some cloak of honour.
He dragged his reluctant body away from hers, putting some space between them. She stirred, sighed and sank back into the pillows. He watched her sleep. Stared at the dip and curve of her waist. The flare of her hip. Her hair like spilled coffee on the pillow.
Then there were the tattoos. When he’d first seen them, in his arrogance he’d thought they marred her. Not now. He reached out, his hand tracing the serpentine flock that swooped across her spine, each one a tribute to her strength in the face of deprivation.
He stroked his finger across the last bird. His. Acid burned his throat. His mark on her. He could never forget.
Thea stretched, lean limbs tightening. Then she turned, her eyes heavy with sleep. A soft smile played on her plush, plum-coloured mouth. She looked wanton. Well kissed.
He bunched his hands by his sides, but there was no hiding the arousal which had plagued him since he’d woken. Her eyes flicked to it, and back to him. She licked her lips. He had to do something—because he wasn’t going to take any more from her. Even if she thought she wanted to give it freely.
‘When are you going to add another bird?’ His voice was rough with lust. He cleared his throat.
Her brows knitted. Confusion flitted over her face. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I hurt you.’
The simple truth. One she couldn’t deny.
Thea put her hand to his cheek. It rested there. Soft and cool against his burning skin.
‘You gave me wings.’
She’d misunderstood him. He’d taken from her. Taken something he’d had no right to.
‘You were in pain.’
Her thumb stroked gently back and forth across his cheek. Her eyes locked onto his, dark and serious.
‘A few nerves. It was nothing.’
He took her hand in his and squeezed. ‘I’ve marked you. Worse than your brother. Worse than your father.’
She sat up, filling his vision with her unique glow. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders to skim her rosy pink nipples. He wanted to drag her down, let her light spill into him. Flood the dark corners of his soul.
‘No, Christo.’ Her eyes were wide with horror. ‘Never compare yourself to them. It was perfect.’
He should turn away, but the view of her luscious body filled him. His gaze raked over her. She looked down at him, grasped the sheet in front of her and dragged it to her chest. Her cheeks flushed. That picture of innocence made her look even more beautiful, and it was a reminder.
‘Your virginity isn’t something you should have given me. Anyone else—’
‘I’ve never met anyone I thought worthy.’
Her words sliced through him. Her eyes were wide and soulful. They tore at his heart.
‘You’re worthy of me,’ she whispered.
How could he tell her he was not that person?
He wasn’t good enough. Not even his parents wanted him. But he craved to be a better man—one who’d never hurt her.
That bereft, lost look in her eyes haunted him. Christo hauled her close and she fell into his arms. He threaded his hands through her hair, dropping his lips to hers. He lost himself in her sweet intoxication. He couldn’t give her much, but he could give her this.
He rolled away from her and she whimpered in protest, smiling as he returned, sheathed, protected and ready. He eased her leg over his hip, bringing her close. She arched towards him. He was hard. Desperate to be inside her. Each breathy sigh pleaded with him to thrust into her body. But he held back. There’d be no clumsy attempt this morning. He wanted it slow and aching. So he could watch her tremble and fall apart as he filled her with consuming pleasure.
He reached his hands around to her perfect buttocks, drawing her close. She sighed as her eyes drifted shut. He slid his hands between her legs, teasing between her thighs till she begged—‘Please...’—and he slid one finger inside. Another circled her clitoris till she trembled in his arms.
She lifted her head and looked at him. Eyes glassy, breaths short and panting. He angled his hips towards her and entered her with a slow slide that almost undid him. She moaned—a deep, satisfying thing that punched low and hard. He kept his hand between them, teasing as he pulled her leg higher over his hip and maintained the aching rhythm between her thighs.
He looked into her glazed, desire-drugged face. He wanted her. More than life. The curl of need at his every move into her body twisted tight and threatened to snap him. He was close. So close. But he’d ensure her pleasure first. Her nipples had tightened and her breathing had become ragged. Every part of her was taut, as if she were hanging by a gossamer thread. Like she needed permission to let go.
‘Come for me, Thea.’
A final thrust and she gasped, as if starved for air. He lost all restraint as Thea threw her head back and sobbed out his name like some prayer to the heavens. Then the brittle seam holding him together ripped wide and he tore apart with her.
They lay for a while, his forehead against hers. Their panting breaths filled the room. Then he scooped her into his arms, showering her with soft kisses. He made a silent promise. He’d keep Thea safe for as long as he had her.
She raised her head. Her eyes were unfocused, her mouth red and soft.
‘Christo...?’
She wanted answers he couldn’t give.
He stroked a tendril of damp hair from her cheek. The birds outside sang louder now, but the dawn hadn’t broken fully. They had a few more hours to rest. A few more hours and then she’d leave his bed and he must never do this again. How could he, when he had nothing to offer her? Until then he had time to revel in her touch.
The grief of how little was left stabbed at the heart of him. He cradled her to his chest. ‘Sleep, koukla mou.’ He closed his eyes as she softened in his arms.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I’LL BE GONE a week—perhaps more.’
And so he’d left her. Alone.
Thea had offered to travel with him, but Christo had refused. For the few days before he’d left there’d been no breakfasts together. Even at night he’d turned her away. Said there was no longer any need for the charade, that everyone accepted their marriage as a proper one.
The rejection twisted her inside, but it didn’t quell her desire. Nothing doused the fever he’d awakened. She dreamed of hard, entwined bodies, only to wake exhausted. Filled her days with thoughts only of him.
What had he done to her? This was like some illness. She couldn’t escape the memory of pleasure, of the fire he’d lit. It consu
med her.
Thea wanted more. Much more. She understood their arrangement, but surely both of them could be adults and enjoy the time they had together?
It will burn you to ashes.
She didn’t care. The only thing that would soothe her was Christo. His body was like cool water on the flames.
‘When are you going to add another bird?’
Such a strange thing to say. Surely he couldn’t believe he’d hurt her after she’d cried out his name and lain sated in his arms? But he did—she was convinced of it. The way he’d avoided her before he left... Treated her with such care and reverence... Arranged full use of his yacht, warning the staff on his island that she may come...
But all she wanted to do was follow him around the world. Surprise him with some of the more exotic lingerie she still hadn’t worn.
He wouldn’t be able to resist. Because she had seen the fire in him too. The hazel eyes which darkened to jade whenever she was near. The kiss goodbye that had pretended to be a chaste brush on the cheek but had ended in his low groan. Still he had denied himself.
And yet she recognised that Christo was gripped by some strange sense of honour. She had to prove to him that she understood.
Sure, Christo had promised he would soon have enough information about her father’s illegal activities. Inviting him and her brother to the party had been a success. But she needed to repay Christo for the care he’d shown her, no matter what he said.
Which was why she was taking a risk.
She’d come up with a plan to go to her former home and look for more proof of her father’s link with Ramona Carvallo. The problem was, she didn’t know what to look for. All she could be certain of was that the house held answers, somewhere.
A dark shiver ran through her at the thought of crossing that threshold again, but she ignored it. She had to be strong for Christo. It was the only way.
Thea walked to the front of the house, where Sergei waited with the car. She slid into the back seat, her heart pounding in a sickening rhythm.
There was no need for fear. Her father wouldn’t be there—she’d checked. And the staff still had some loyalty to her. She’d been the one to buy them Christmas gifts and to care when their children were ill. In turn they’d cared for her as her father never had. Tito Lambros might pay them, but they didn’t like him.
Still, she needed a ruse in case he returned unexpectedly. It was a slim prospect, but she wanted to protect the people who’d been her only real family in that house as much as she protected herself. Everyone would believe her if she said she was looking for the necklace her mother had given her. She unclasped it from around her neck and dropped it into the pocket of her handbag.
The drive wasn’t a long one, but as Sergei pulled up at the golden gates and high white walls she was reminded how much she loathed the crass opulence of the place.
‘I’ll get out here. Wait for me around the corner in the side street. You’ll see a small wooden door.’
Sergei narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you sure, Mrs Callas?’
No, she wasn’t sure about this. The old, dark fears had begun to cloud her vision, chatter in her head. But she looked Sergei straight in the eye.
‘Yes. I won’t be long.’
She got out of the car. The heat of the day assaulted her, threatening to choke the air from her lungs. Thea pressed the buzzer and the gate opened. She stopped, took a deep breath and walked through, up the long, sloping drive. Each footfall took her closer to the house which held all her grief and tears.
When her mother had left, her world ended. Her father knew judges, lawyers. He’d fought to keep Thea not because he loved her, but because he’d wanted revenge. And still Maria had made her way back. Through the side door where Sergei now waited. Secreted in the servants’ quarters so they could snatch a few minutes of happiness before she had to leave again.
Demetri had been lost even then. And one day her mother had become lost to her as well.
She forced away the memories as she made her way to the massive doors of the house. They cracked open as she arrived, and she was welcomed like a lost child. A few of the older staff remembered her mother’s death. She’d never forgotten their kindness that had made the harsh, cruel days a little softer.
They ushered her inside. No, she wouldn’t take coffee today, she said. She was only looking for her mother’s necklace, which she thought she’d tucked away safely in her room. Yes, it was a shame her father wasn’t here to see her. They all nodded, as if they understood. Though none of them could know the true extent of her suffering here.
Thea hurried up the stairs, her stomach cramping as she moved deeper into the house. Her nerves eased a little as she went into her room to fulfil the story she’d concocted. This space had been her one place of respite in the whole home, but still it oppressed her.
She fingered the necklace in her bag for reassurance. There was no time to dwell on the past. She had to move quickly to get out of this place.
Thea opened a few drawers and cupboards, to ensure the room looked searched, then set off down the hall for her father’s study. On the way she passed Demetri’s suite. The door was closed, but still a wave of nausea crippled her.
She stopped and leaned on the wall for a moment, regaining her composure. She was safe. He didn’t live here anymore. But the memories had never left. The hair-pulling and tripping as a child, which had escalated to far worse. Her father never caring.
She swallowed and kept walking. She reached her father’s study and slipped into the room. During those times he’d cut her off from the world she’d managed to sneak in and access the computer here. A poorly guarded thing, because her father thought himself impenetrable. She’d never looked for anything incriminating, only interested in getting messages to Elena and having some meagre contact with the outside world, but she felt sure there was something here that would help Christo.
Thea wiped clammy palms on her dress. She sat in the hard leather chair and fished a USB from her handbag. Switching on the computer, she waited until the lock screen appeared, asking for the password. Her father rarely changed it. When he did, in all his arrogance, he made it the name of his latest acquisition.
Her fingers trembled on the keyboard as she tried the last password—the name of his yacht, Siren. It failed. What could it be now? She took a few breaths to steady herself. There was time. His new mistress Athena? That might be it. Nothing. The date of her wedding? No. Her heartbeat spiked in panic. Atlas Shipping? Because she was sure her father coveted that too.
Nothing worked.
She pressed her palms to her eyes. She’d failed. Failed Christo. The realisation sat like a leaden weight in her stomach. What to do now?
She looked up, feeling small and ill. Like the little girl her father and Demetri had tried to defeat. Well, they wouldn’t beat her. She cast her eyes around the room. Looked at all the treasures—those old, mouldering things Tito loved more than his living, breathing daughter. A new statue stood in the corner. Some bronzed sculpture of a Hindu god. She’d never seen it before. What if it hadn’t been honestly purchased?
Thea shut down the computer, grabbed her phone from her bag and took a picture. Artefacts. She left the study and ran from room to room, snapping photographs of antiquities. It was a long shot, but the house was huge and there were rooms she hadn’t explored since she was a child, many of them closed off. Now she opened every door, taking photos of what she could.
Finally she entered a small room she’d never seen before. It contained a desk and a bank of monitors, showing views from all areas of the house. A security room. She stared at the screens as if they might disclose some secrets. Show her a place she hadn’t searched. They all flicked scratchily between different views except for one. It was fixed on the front door and drive.
And then she saw it. The sleek black car. A man getting out. Sto
pping briefly at the entrance. Looking up at the security camera for a second.
Demetri.
Thea froze. Then she ran.
* * *
Christo bounded up the stairs two at a time. Even in his jet it had been a gruelling flight after his tour of South East Asia’s ports. Still, entering through the door of his home he felt seized with a burst of energy. He had news about Alexis.
Christo walked past his suite towards Thea’s room, tearing at his tie and jacket on the way. He knocked on the door and opened it before there was any answer. Her scent permeated the air. Spice and honey. His heartbeat accelerated a notch. She hadn’t made the space her own. It still looked like the guest suite she’d taken over. Clearly to her it was a temporary residence, one she’d leave soon enough.
He rubbed at the strange burning in his chest. He shouldn’t be here. Not after giving the silent promise that he’d never touch her again. Though, to his shame, the horror of hurting her had subsided and his dreams were now plagued with visions of her golden skin and liquid amber eyes.
The memory of her perfume had sustained him through every smog-soaked city he’d visited. And on those lonely nights when he’d lain naked between expensive hotel sheets he’d burned to have her with him, head thrown back, gasping for breath as pleasure overwhelmed her.
He wouldn’t act on any of it. But seeing her again—seeing her smile when he gave her the news about her brother—that was all the reward he needed.
Christo stalked downstairs, searching. Thea wasn’t by the pool, lazing in the sunshine, showing off the slick honey-bronze skin he’d fantasised about too many times to count. Nor was she in her favourite place, at the table under a gnarled olive tree overhanging one of the more secluded terrace areas.
He’d joked that she hid from him there, and yet more often than not they’d both migrate to the dappled shade and drink coffee, whilst Thea tried to embarrass him in front of the staff with increasingly fanciful untruths.
He laughed—then stopped. Lies. Their whole liaison was built on them.
