“That must be worrisome. But like you yourself said, you can only control what’s within your power.”
His mouth twisted. “A little difficult to tell yourself that when you have a half a billion dollars riding on a casino. But I’ll give it my best shot, Princess.”
She gave him a long look. Sat back on her elbows, mirroring his pose. “It should start soon. It said nine thirty on the web.”
A silence fell between them. He studied the push and pull of the sea as it ate up the sand, inching its way forward in a steady, ancient rhythm. Inescapable, unrelenting.
Alex was right. He had shored up every weak link within his power. Dimitri was a wild card who played outside the usual rules—he’d known that from the start.
“It’s so quiet here,” she said after a while.
His gaze flicked to her. “Your village must be quiet. How many people live there?”
“A couple hundred, many of them my mother’s family. And yes,” she said, a wry note to her voice, “it’s sleepy, caught in a past generation. Important announcements are still posted on the platias in the village, the fish truck still delivers the catch of the day and the farmers bring the milk to our door.”
“How quaint.”
“I like it. It’s the best way to start my day. Sam, the farmer’s son, and I always have the most interesting conversations.”
He smiled. He’d bet it was the highlight of Sam’s day, too.
“On Sundays we work a half day, let our weekend manager handle things. We have a big dinner with family, family being a loose term that usually encompasses everyone—neighbors, anyone who’s around from the neighboring village. It’s a big gossip fest, a chance to catch up. Someone handles the grill, someone’s playing music, there are kids, dogs everywhere...all a little maniacal. When it’s over, my head is usually buzzing so much I’ll escape to my favorite little cove to read, center myself, before the week starts.”
“It sounds wonderful.” A hollow feeling invaded him. His cynical wasteland of an existence couldn’t be more different from the reality Alex had lived, from the warmth and community she had been surrounded with. It would be like setting Alice in Wonderland down in the middle of Dante’s Inferno...or perhaps Purgatory, he conceded, although he wasn’t sure he’d rid himself of all his vices before he’d climbed out.
A throb unfurled low in his gut, wrapping itself around him and squeezing hard. It had never bothered him before, the emptiness of his existence, the connections he’d severed, the absence of affection he’d grown up with. But tonight it did.
A bitter regret assailed him, a sorrow that lingered just beyond the edges—for what he hadn’t had, for the things he’d craved so deeply he’d had to let them go before they destroyed him. Guilt. Guilt for what he’d done. Guilt for what he hadn’t done. Guilt for all of it.
He pinned his gaze on the sea. Fought against the emotion that seemed ever so close to the surface. Alex sat quietly beside him, giving him space in that intuitive way of hers she had. In that way she had of knowing him.
If he was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to connect with people—if he’d ever understood the concept—he’d never had that problem with this woman. Their connection had been real from that first night at the ball. Powerful. It had prompted him to reveal parts of himself he’d sworn he never would. If that wasn’t enough to make him run, he wasn’t sure what would.
* * *
Alex absorbed the turbulence of the man sitting beside her. He was clearly working through something in this dark mood he’d announced upon sitting down, as if he wanted to be here and didn’t all at the same time.
“You were right,” she said quietly, when she’d decided his brooding had gone on long enough. “What you said in the gardens at the palace. I told myself it was enough, my life in Stygos, and it was wonderful, I am blessed to have had it. But it was too safe. I needed to leave to find out who I am. I needed to step outside my comfort zone.”
His mouth curved. “You’ve done that, all right. Still feel like it’s the right decision?”
“Yes.” She pressed her palms to her cheeks, marveling at everything that had happened since that night. “Identifying where I want to put my energy, planning this party, I feel like myself again, only better. Because I know I have all these amazing experiences out there waiting for me.”
He blinked, his dark lashes shading his cheeks. “You will be a force to be reckoned with. I have no doubt about it, Princess.”
Something unfolded inside her, a warmth, a yearning that was shocking in its intensity. Pressing her lips together, she lowered her gaze, attempting to wrestle her feelings under control. Her eyes slid over the dark purple tattoo half hidden by the sleeve of his T-shirt. Reaching up, she traced it with her fingertips. “What’s this? I’ve seen some of the guards with it.”
He pushed his T-shirt higher. “It’s a man-of-war. It’s the marking my gang members and I carried.”
“You brought some of them with you here to Larikos?”
He nodded. “I knew I needed the best in protection for the clientele we would host. Knew I could trust them. Their allegiance is unquestionable, as is their ability to keep a man alive.”
A shiver went through her. She traced the intricate detailing of the beautiful design. Done in varying shades of purple and black, it perfectly represented the dangerous creature that had inhabited the seas she’d grown up in, an animal she’d been warned away from as a child. Fascinating, but to be avoided if you knew what was good for you. Like Aristos himself.
She absorbed the corded, impressive muscle beneath her fingertips. It was intoxicating to touch him, to give herself permission to explore his beautiful body for a purely innocent reason. Except she wasn’t sure it was so innocent, touching him, not when she lifted her gaze to his and found a banked heat there that made her insides simmer.
She let her fingers fall away from his skin. “What is the significance of the man-of-war?’
“They are deceptively beautiful. Deadly in numbers.”
Her lashes arced over her cheeks. “Were you? Deadly?”
He eyed her. “What are you asking me, Princess? If I’ve ever killed a man?”
“Yes.”
“No. My organization, the Men of War as we were known, thought of ourselves as revolutionaries. We were soldiers, taking from the haves to give to the have-nots, reclaiming what society had taken from us. There was a sense of justice to it. It was mostly petty thievery, some armed robberies. There were a few instances where things got out of hand, yes, people got hurt, but those were the hard-core personalities, not the majority.”
She stared at him, fascinated. “What was the background of the members? What led them into it?”
“Poverty, violence at home, single-parent families in which the mother was left to cope. The gang provided the bonds we didn’t have at home, leadership figures, brother figures...”
“And you?” she asked quietly, her heart in her throat. “What kind of a home did you come from?”
“A broken one. A poor one. My father was a mechanic, an alcoholic, chronically unfaithful to my mother, often out of work. They fought constantly.”
“Was that what drove you out of the house?”
“Partially. I got older, stronger. My father and I would go head-to-head. It was either that or let my rage get the better of me.”
“How did they react, your parents, about you joining a gang?”
“My father was furious. He gave me an ultimatum—quit, get back in school or stay away.”
“So you chose to stay away?”
“Yes.”
“How old were you?”
“Fourteen.”
Her chest tightened. So young. Cast out of his home for reasons that should never have been in the first place.
“What about your mother? Your brothers and sisters? It must have been difficult to leave them behind.”
A silence followed, so long, so pronounced, it made her fear she’d c
rossed the line, gone too far in her need to know. His reply when it came was low, tight. “My anger was tearing me up. I was afraid of what would happen if I stayed, afraid of what would happen if I left.”
The band around her chest tightened. “An impossible decision,” she said softly.
“Yes.”
“Do you know how they’re doing, your family?”
“My mother kicked my father out the year after I joined the gang. She’d had enough. When I sold my first hotel, I went home and bought her a house, made sure she never had to work again. Beyond that, we’ve had very little contact with each other.”
And therein lay the key to so much about this man. Alienated from the family he’d loved, damned if he did, damned if he didn’t, he’d cut himself off from feeling, from allowing himself to feel because, she suspected, it hurt too much.
She bit the inside of her mouth. “Family is everything, Aristos. Family is the thing you have when everything else is gone. I know you said those ties have been severed, but surely nothing is irreparable?”
“This is.”
“But—”
“Angel.” The warning in his voice was clear, the glitter in his dark eyes sending a shiver down her spine. “I know you love where you come from. I know you like to idealize that paradise on earth you think it is, but not everyone gets to have that. Sometimes you get hell on earth instead. Sometimes wishing for things you’ll never have is too expensive a proposition to keep.”
She digested that stunning proclamation, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. She knew the feeling well. She’d spent her life wishing for a father who loved her, only to be served up with reality instead. But Aristos was talking about his life. About the love and care he’d never had, not until David Tennyson had picked him up off the street at sixteen, perhaps too late to ever heal the wounds inside him.
If she’d been living her life on the pages of a book, Aristos had been living his in a bitter existence no one should ever have to experience. Making choices no one should ever have to make.
Her head was still spinning when Aristos pointed at the sky. “There’s one.”
She looked up, watching a bright ball shoot horizontally across the inky black sky, a trail of light flaring behind it. Not far behind was another, then another, until the heavens were a stunning display of bursts, streams and flutters of light.
Spellbound, she drank it in. On and on it went in a symphony of color. When a particularly jaw-dropping explosion scorched the sky, she reached for Aristos’s arm to point it out to him, but her hand landed on his thigh instead.
Tight, hard muscle coiled beneath her palm; his heat bleeding into her. An electrical current vibrated from where she touched him up through her arm to encompass her entire body. It tore her gaze from the sky and planted it solidly on that of the man beside her. If her heart hadn’t been firmly secured in her chest, it would surely have jumped right out of it at the look on his face.
Jaw set, expression predatory, the fire in his eyes made the blood pound in her veins.
The world could have exploded around her in that moment and it wouldn’t have stopped her from drifting toward him, toward the imminent collision she knew would be as explosive as the ones happening in the sky above. Eyes darkening with an emotion she couldn’t read, Aristos pressed a palm to her chest, stopping her before she got there.
“No, angel.”
Her brain didn’t immediately compute. She stared at him, confused. He dropped his hands to her waist and rose, lifting her along with him and setting her down on her feet in the sand. Retrieving the blanket, he shook it out, threw it over his arm and propelled her toward the Great House, a hand at the small of her back.
Up the stairs they went, the silence surrounding them deafening. Humiliation heated her cheeks, dragged her every step. When they reached the door to her bedroom, she turned to look at him, leaning back against the frame. “Aristos—”
“Alex.” He cut her off with a clipped voice. “That would not have been wise, and you know it.”
She brought her back teeth together, corralling her emotions. “You’re right,” she bit out. “There I go again, throwing myself at you. My deepest apologies...”
Turning, she reached for the door handle. Aristos’s fingers clamped around her biceps and spun her to face him. “Alex—”
“Forget it,” she snapped furiously. “Let me go.”
He backed her up against the wall instead, his palms flattening on either side of her. “Princess,” he murmured huskily, pressing his forehead against hers, “I am not rejecting you, I am choosing sanity.”
Wasn’t it the same thing? She sucked in air, attempting to find some of that particular attribute because he was right. Perfectly right. This shouldn’t be happening. Except wrong, because she didn’t give a flip about sanity. She wanted this.
A second passed, two, three maybe, their heat spilling into each other. His mouth was a fraction from hers, so close she was breathing his air. His hard thighs, pressed against hers, broadcasted his arousal.
The oath he uttered then as he levered himself back to stare at her made her stomach clench. “I don’t know what I’m doing with you anymore,” he rasped, his gaze raking hers. “And tonight is not the night to figure it out. Trust me.”
Cool air drifted over her as he stepped back, turned and walked down the hall to his room. Pulse racing, blood pounding in her ears, she watched him go, waiting for her knees to assure her they would function before she pivoted, reached for the doorknob and let herself in the room.
Would her mistakes with that man never end?
CHAPTER NINE
A PICTURE-PERFECT LARIKOS night had presented itself for Galina Smirnov’s birthday party, at which the jazz legend Nina Karvelas would sing in public for the first time in over five years.
A blood-orange sky streaked with fingers of yellow marked the occasion, drawing a dressed and ready-to-go Alex out onto the terrace to drink it in as the day sank slowly into night as only a Mediterranean evening could, with its intoxicating blend of vivid colors that stoked the senses.
A flock of butterflies traced a looping path through her stomach. She’d double-, triple-checked that every detail was in place, and still she felt nervous. She wanted it to be perfect for Aristos. Perfect for Nina, with whom she’d met earlier in the day to discuss her charity, another reason for the overabundance of adrenaline running through her veins. It seemed a perfect fit. If Nik approved the choice, she would be off and running.
The butterflies in her stomach intensified. Now if only the tension between her and Aristos could be resolved. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d left her at her door two days before with that cryptic line.
I don’t know what I’m doing with you anymore.
What did that even mean? He was conflicted, to be sure. About her, about his feelings for her. He was charged with protecting her, yes, but she suspected his walking away had more to do with how much he’d revealed to her...the intimate conversation they’d shared...the connection between them neither could seem to control.
What he’d shared with her on the beach that night had been heartbreaking, had followed her around ever since. Had changed everything. She could no longer label him a heartless philanderer. Instead she had discovered a complex, wounded man behind those walls he liked to build, a man who’d never been given the tools to connect or love.
She felt empathy for him, yes, but also something far more dangerous: the belief that whatever was happening between them was real, different. That she was different to him.
What she’d felt that night when he’d stood there outside her door fighting his emotions hadn’t changed. She wanted to be with him, to know that kind of passion. Of all the jumps she’d taken, this might be the biggest, most dangerous, because it involved her heart. Because if they explored what they had, Aristos might break it.
But wasn’t that what her new life was all about? Taking the risks she’d always avoided?
Her watch told her it was time to make her way down to the beach. Stepping her feet into crystal-studded flip-flops, a prerequisite for the sandy white beach, she joined the staff as the first guests began to arrive.
The hiss and crackle of the roaring bonfire that licked almost six feet into the air was the star attraction, surrounded by the sultry sounds of Nina’s jazz band. Sleek-looking serving staff handed out vibrantly hued cosmopolitans, Galina’s favorite cocktail, to inspire a celebratory mood.
She stood surveying the scene as the beach filled up, a satisfied smile curving her lips. Not only were the Smirnovs and their guests here, but every single one of Aristos’s poker players was, too, clearly anticipating the show. As long as nothing went wrong with the acoustics, which weren’t a given with the tricky winds of late, the evening would be a smash success.
Her gaze shifted to Aristos, who stood speaking to the guests of honor, Dimitri Smirnov and his wife, Galina. Galina was as lovely as her superior hostess reputation had suggested; her husband, on the other hand, was another story. His reputation preceded him; first impressions hadn’t improved it. He struck her as cocky, not entirely transparent and full of himself.
Aristos, meanwhile, had a very different impact on her. Elegant in a silver-gray shirt and black pants, his short-cropped dark hair pushed back from his face in a ruffled, spiky look, he oozed intensity. He reminded her of the fire dancing and crackling behind him: beautiful, imminently combustible, undeniably dangerous, a dozen layers deep, each one a darker, more complex version than the last.
Her stomach dipped, a wave of heat shimmering through her. What would it be like to have that single-minded intensity focused on you and you alone? She’d had a taste of it. It had been enough to convince her it would be worth every heart-stopping second.
He looked at her then, before she had a chance to wipe the evidence from her face. Moved that intense gaze over the sophisticated French twist she’d engineered, down over her face, where ebony eyes tangled with blue for a long, suspended moment, then over the sleek black dress that skimmed her curves, cataloging every inch, every centimeter as he went.
Claiming the Royal Innocent (Kingdoms & Crowns) Page 10
