“Do you want me to tell you I’ve missed you? That these three years have been an agony of regrets? That I’ve wished I could go back in time and let you lie to me, whisper your apologies all the while passing your detailed notes of our private conversations to your boss?”
She spun around, her eyes sparking with his. “Stop it!” She demanded fiercely. “I don’t need to hear any of that. I get it! You don’t need to keep hammering me over the head with how little you think of me! I made a monumental mistake, okay? I get it! I wish, more than anything, that I hadn’t taken those stupid notes!”
He took a step forward, effectively trapping her between the car and his hard, angular body. “But you did, and the damage is done. I’m trying to save you from doing any more damage. Can’t you see that? You say you wish you could go back and change the past? I’m doing that for you now. I’m saving you from your future self.”
She blinked in frustration, having to crane her head to stare at him, for how close he was and because of their height difference.
“People will write about your sister,” Eleanor said after a moment. “You can’t seriously intend to kidnap every journalist who wants to write about high-profile political figures – even ones you happen to be related to?”
“Just the journalists who’ve already wreaked havoc,” he concluded with a grim nod.
Eleanor swept her eyes closed because she could hardly argue with him. On this point, he would always be in the right, and she would be forever wrong – wrong beyond redemption.
She wouldn’t win this fight – and she was here now, trapped on this stunning island with the only man she’d ever loved. The feeling that she was walking right into a lion’s den made her heart pound heavily in her chest, but when she spoke it was with ice-cold resignation.
“Where’s the front door?”
“This way.” He stepped back, giving her more room to move away from the car, and then led the way towards the house. Behind the wall that was providing support to the geraniums there was a large glass door. It opened as they approached, giving way to a wide corridor lined with polished concrete. A table stood at its centre, and a huge flower arrangement was on top.
“My staff,” he said with a wave of his hand, “keep the house ready for whenever I might arrive.”
“How many staff are on the island?” She asked, following him deeper into the house. They passed several rooms that she made a mental note to explore another time, pausing only when they reached a large, open-plan kitchen that had a whole wall of glass, overlooking the ocean.
“About forty, give or take. More when I’m entertaining and require the yacht, and more elaborate catering.”
“Do you entertain here often?” She asked, wondering at the bitter acidity that overtook her mouth.
“From time to time,” he shrugged. “It’s a good venue for top-level meetings, though I prefer to keep the island for my private use. I don’t like the idea of having strangers here, if I’m honest.”
She bristled, all too aware that she was being encompassed in his summation.
She wanted to rail against that – to point out that for several weeks, three years earlier, they had been each other’s sunshine and moonlight; that they had been their air and water, fire and future.
But she didn’t. That was a lifetime ago – they were both different people now.
He’d undoubtedly been with many women in the intervening years – replacing her easily and completely.
Her heart throbbed at the very thought and she turned away from him on the pretense of studying the view. It wasn’t difficult to appear absorbed in the vista – it was truly stunning. The ocean stretched as far as her eyes could see, pristine blue, but so pale that it could almost have been an illusion.
It was summer, and some point in the afternoon, and though the temperature on this island was nothing to the searing heat of Ras el Kida, it was still warm enough for the water to appear unspeakably tempting, like an oasis in the midst of their angst.
If she had bathers, Eleanor would have excused herself, pulled them on, and walked straight out into the ocean. Maybe a swim would clear her head?
She didn’t, however, have anything suitable to swim in, and with this man around, going in her underwear or – worse – no clothes at all, simply wasn’t an option.
“I don’t have any clothes,” she said, as the reality of her situation occurred to her. “All of my things are still in the palace.”
“You have the clothes you’re wearing,” he pointed out with a mocking smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“This isn’t funny.” And suddenly, the enormity of what had happened – of what was happening – barreled towards her. She was with Apollo Heranedes, the only man she’d ever loved, the man who’d filled her dreams for years. The man she’d told herself she was over even when she knew she never really would be.
“I’m not laughing.”
“You’re trying not to,” she snapped. “I’m serious, Apollo. I have nothing to wear and my suitcase and clothes are all over in Ras el Kida. My phone is in my room!”
“Then you won’t be able to call anyone, will you?”
“You’re actually enjoying this,” she said crossly, thinking of Elizabeth, and how worried she’d be if she didn’t hear from Eleanor.
“Enjoying what?”
“Having me here as your prisoner, completely dependent on you. Is this your way of punishing me?”
“Punishing you?” He responded with a growl, instantly sobering. “You think I want to punish you?”
“I think you’re angry with me and you don’t hate that I’m stuck here at your whim.”
“I’m angry at you, yes. But the necessity of having you here isn’t something I welcome. What was I supposed to do, Eleanor? Leave you in the palace, knowing what you’re capable of? Knowing you have no moral compass, no ethics? Knowing that you could write something that would destroy my sister’s happiness?” He prowled closer, and pressed his palms to the bench, one each on either side of her.
“Or leave you there to be discovered by security? And they would have discovered you, Eleanor, and believe me when I tell you that Raffa would have done everything within his power to act, to make sure you could never write anything about his wife or child.”
A shiver ran down Eleanor’s spine.
“You think I brought you here because I want to punish you? If I’d wanted to punish you, I would have left you there to get exactly what you deserve.”
“So why did you bring me here then?” She demanded, tilting her chin defiantly then wishing she hadn’t when their eyes met and their lips were parted by only inches.
The air hummed with the weight of his silence.
“How could I leave you there? I hate you for what you did, Eleanor, but even now, after everything, I can’t bear the thought of you being hurt.”
She drew in a harsh breath, a sound of utter shock.
“You brought me here to … save me?”
He swore softly in his own tongue, his eyes locking to hers. “I brought you here to make sure you wouldn’t write the damned article –,”
“But also to protect me,” she marveled, the revelation completely unexpected. What the hell did that mean? Was it possible that there was a part of him that still cared for her? She dared not allow herself to feel that hope.
“You shouldn’t have gone to Ras el Kida. You were playing with fire and you know it.” He took a step back then, as if just realizing how proximate they were standing, how close their lips and their bodies were. “What were you thinking, walking into the palace as though there wasn’t inherent danger to you in discovery?”
“I didn’t expect to be discovered,” she said with a shake of her head, her mouth as dry as sawdust when she tried to swallow.
“And what about the first time,” he said.
“The first time?”
“In London. When we were dating. Your notes go from our first date to our last
. Surely at some point you must have realized that the truth would come out?”
She shook her head. “I quit so it wouldn’t.”
His eyes held hers, the question in them loaded, and she hoped she answered it. She hoped he believed her.
But he seemed to withdraw into himself, a mask pulling over his features, locking himself away from her. “Dinner’s served around eight. Feel free to explore – try to resist the temptation to pry, though. You won’t find anything worth putting in an article here, anyway.”
She winced. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Yes, you would. Don’t make me regret saving you, Eleanor. Mind your own business, stay out of my way, and when the dust settles and your deadline’s passed, my plane will be ready to take you the hell off this island and out of my life.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SAVING ME? SAVING ME! She fumed, all afternoon, his parting epithet a difficult pill to swallow. How dared he be so… so… unbearable!?
At eight o’clock, the sun was just beginning its descent towards the ocean, the air was still warm and Eleanor was in an ill-humour indeed. The restrictive servant’s uniform did little to improve her temper, so that, by the time she went in search of the dinner he’d mentioned, she was already at breaking point.
The sight of Apollo, when she stalked through the kitchen, did very little to improve her spirits. Wearing only a pair of shorts and wet all over, he was so breath-takingly masculine that Eleanor had to spin away again, to turn her back on him just to regain her composure. How could he look so good?
She concentrated on breathing in, then out, in, then out, waiting for the sparks of desire to subside before resuming her course to the terrace that extended from the kitchen.
A table had been set for two – a table that would have been worthy of any exclusive dining establishment in the world. White tablecloth, a candle nestled into the top of a fat-bottomed wine bottle, champagne flutes and the beautiful backdrop of the Mediterranean.
And now, Apollo, obviously straight from the ocean like some kind of Greek god.
“Been swimming?” She asked crisply, simply so she could say something.
His eyes held hers for a second too long. “I went for a run,” he said, reminding her of that habit of his, and the strength he possessed. The endurance. “And then a swim.”
Images of him pounding the beach, his powerful legs striding across the sand, before dipping into the ocean, covering himself in this ancient, salt-filled water, made her throat dry and her body weak. She sank into her chair very gratefully.
“You didn’t save me you know,” she blurted out, her eyes latched to his. “I don’t want you rewriting this as anything other than a hostage situation.”
His laugh surprised her – for it was a genuine sound of amusement, and so like what they’d shared in London that her heart spun through her, frantically twisting and turning.
“That’s not funny!”
“I’m sorry, it’s just… to be a hostage, isn’t a ransom technically involved?”
“Kidnapping then!”
“You chose to come with me, Eleanor. I gave you the option –,”
“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her big, expressive brown eyes. “The option of being locked up in middle eastern prison for the rest of my life or flying off into the sunset with you. At least my cage here is rather gilded.”
“There. So it’s not so bad, is it?”
She glowered at him, but for no reason in particular, a smile of her own was tickling the corners of her mouth, so she had to work even harder to keep a look of disapproval on her features.
“I just don’t want you to think I’m grateful to you or anything,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for you, I would have been able to fly under the radar, do my research, and leave before anyone even knew who I was and what I was doing there.”
It changed the mood between them completely, for it was a reminder of the covert nature of her job.
But he didn’t pull away from her this time, even if he sobered noticeably. He reached for the champagne bottle and poured her a glass, then one for himself.
“Do you always work undercover?”
She wrapped her fingers around the stem of her glass, watching the bubbles in their merry dance. “Mostly.” Then, defensively, she added, “It’s the best way to get to the truth of a situation.”
“Yes,” he drawled, his cynicism obvious. “You sure as hell proved that with me.”
“That was different,” she said softly.
“So you don’t make a habit of seducing your subjects?”
“You weren’t the subject of the article,” she pointed out.
“Just your means to investigating it.”
“And I didn’t seduce you,” she added softly.
“No.” His eyes met hers and there was a jolt of electricity that shocked Eleanor all the way to the base of her spine. He sipped his champagne without dropping his eyes. “That was all me.”
Her mouth was drier than sawdust as memories of their first encounter slammed into her. The fatefulness of it all.
“I was just going to watch you,” she said wistfully. “And possibly ask for an interview with you – which I fully expected you to decline.”
“But then you spilled coffee down my pants and I saw it as the perfect opportunity to ask you out on a date…”
“You spilled coffee on me, as well,” she pointed out with a lift of her brows.
“When you ran into me, yes.”
“Do you wish I hadn’t?” She asked softly, knowing the answer but needing him to say it.
“What do you expect me to say to that, Eleanor?” The words were tormented in a way that made her own stomach twist. “Do you know how often I wish I’d never met you? That I’d met you and seen beyond your gorgeous smile and listened to my instincts? Do you know how often I wish I’d just slept with you on that first night instead of deciding to do the honourable thing and date you? Maybe if I’d got you out of my system sooner, none of this would have happened.”
Her chest was being split in two. Eleanor was very beautiful, with curves in all the right places and a mane of long, waving dark hair. She’d been on the receiving end of rapturous male attention for a long time; she was used to men falling at her feet, trying to take her to bed.
It had been so different with Apollo. He had wanted her in a way that had set her soul on fire and yet she’d never felt like his interest was in her body. At least, not solely her body.
“I liked that you didn’t,” she said, dropping her eyes to the table. “I’d never really … dated… before.”
She toyed with an olive, pressing it between her forefinger and thumb before lifting it to her mouth and popping it inside. It was salty and oily, plump and warm, but she hardly noticed any of those things. She was sinking into the past.
“We weren’t dating,” he said, with a soft finality. “You were interviewing me. I just didn’t know it.”
“Don’t say that,” she whispered. “I told you as much about myself as you did me –,”
“I didn’t keep notes though.” The words were cutting.
She’d never be able to argue with that, so she didn’t try. “You were nothing like I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
Her lips twisted in a half-smile. “You have a reputation for being somewhat…”
“Yes?” he prompted.
“Somewhat of a … manwhore.”
He laughed then. “Manwhore?”
“Bachelor, if you prefer. A cad.”
“I’m fine with manwhore.”
Her frown was just a quick pull of her lips. “But you weren’t. At least, not with me.”
“No.” He sipped his champagne once more and then reached for the servers, lifting some fish and salad onto her plate before doing the same to his.
“Why not?” The question took more courage than she conveyed. Her eyes held his despite her desire to blink aw
ay.
“You were different.” The answer apparently surprised them both, but he didn’t retract it.
“Yeah,” she said after a moment, trying not to take his words to heart – trying not to see any hope in them. “Compared to the women you usually date, I’m hardly ‘rip her clothes off and get her into bed material’.”
“Don’t.” The single word resonated with rejection. “Don’t put yourself down like that. And don’t expect me to defend you.”
She bit down on her lip. “I’m just saying…”
“You’re asking me to compliment you and I can’t. You’re a ruthlessly smart woman – you know I meant ‘different’ in a good way. You know that I didn’t not sleep with you because I didn’t want you. But I can’t go down this path. No matter what I felt for you then, it’s ancient history. What I wanted then feels like a lifetime ago.”
It was like being given the most precious gift in the world and having it drop into a thousand shards beneath you, all at once.
She reached a hand out impulsively, curving her fingers over his, drawing his gaze to hers. “I would say sorry a thousand times if I thought it would help.”
They stared at one another for a long time before he looked away, out to the ocean, his expression grim. “It won’t. Some things are impossible to forgive, Eleanor.”
Grief welled inside of her.
“It’s better if we don’t speak about the past,” he said, after a moment, his face neutral and his voice calm, despite the pounding of her heart.
“But I –,”
“Trust me,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m barely managing to hold onto my temper. If you knew the things I felt, the things I said after I discovered what you’d been doing… I can’t rehash that. I don’t want to be that man, and believe it or not, I don’t want that to be the footnote to our relationship. So just leave it.”
God, her heart was breaking. She’d loved him three years ago but here in this idyllic setting, she saw him for who he was for the first time, and he was a good man – a better man than she’d even realized.
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