The Greek's Virgin Captive_She was wrong for him in every way but one...

by Clare Connelly

  She wrenched her door open and moved silently through the apartment, avoiding instinctively the three floorboards that creaked. In the bathroom, she reached for a pair of sharp scissors, and with the same rashness of deed that had driven her to ameliorate the cheque she grabbed a fistful of the hair Apollo loved so much and wedged the scissors around it. It was too much hair and didn’t cut properly so she started again, slower but with the same wrenching intensity. As though by cutting the hair that Apollo had so adored, she could somehow cut him from her mind as well. She avoided looking at her face, knowing that her eyes must show how mad she’d become.

  She cut her hair to shoulder length, bluntly, unevenly, and uncaring.

  And then she placed the scissors up high, out of Joshua’s reach, and went back to bed. She didn’t tidy her clothes, she simply pushed them aside to make space for herself, and then she fell asleep.

  *

  “Holy moly, Nell.” Elizabeth pushed the bedroom door open, Joshua on one hip, a clutch of Eleanor’s hair in one hand. “What happened?”

  Eleanor didn’t bother to get up. She stared at the wall opposite, and then she shook her head. Words were beyond her.

  “Nellie,” Elizabeth came into the room and sat down beside her sister, a frown on her face. “You need to tell me.”

  “I can’t.” The words were muffled.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s happened.”

  “I know.” Eleanor shook her head.

  “Your hair is gone,” Josh said, reaching his fingers out at touching Eleanor’s shorter style.

  “Yes, darling, it is.” Elizabeth said with a wan smile, then turned back to her sister. “But I need to fix it a bit. Will you let me at least do that?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t care.”

  “Well, you don’t care now, but if you see the triangle-head you’ve turned yourself into, you’ll probably feel differently.”

  It was a weak attempt at humour, but it worked. Eleanor’s lips formed a tight smile, and then she sobbed. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll just be a second.”

  When she was alone, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a shirt then made her way to the bathroom.

  “Not that way. I don’t want you looking in a mirror until I’ve worked my magic.”

  Eleanor grimaced. “At least take a photo to show me later, when I’m capable of laughing at all this.”

  “Trust me, you’ll never laugh at this monstrosity.” Elizabeth muttered. “Sit down, while Josh is distracted.”

  Eleanor looked towards the kitchen, where Josh was busy with one of his favourite games: banging pots to pans.

  Elizabeth had loved hairdressing as a child and the flair for it had never really left her. What she lacked in training she made up for in confidence and natural skill, so that she was waving the scissors through Eleanor’s hair minutes later.

  “I’m guessing this is about a man?” Elizabeth asked after a few moments.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because I’ve only ever seen you this upset once before. No, you’ve never been this bad. But one other time, you were miserable. And that was because of a man, right?”

  Eleanor shrugged. “I don’t remember.” It was a lie and they both knew it.

  Elizabeth sighed, coming around to stand in front of Eleanor to measure the front pieces. She made a tsking noise of disapproval before launching into the bangs.

  “Come on, Nell. Take it from someone who knows. Keeping hold of this kind of secret will only hurt you.”

  Eleanor reached up, stilling her sister’s hand, meeting her eyes. “So tell me.” She looked toward Josh thoughtfully. “Tell me what happened with you and Josh’s dad.”

  Elizabeth’s smile was brittle. How had Eleanor never recognized that before? Because she’d never known that degree of heartbreak. It was only with this hurt that she could see Elizabeth’s pain clearly.

  “There’s no point,” Elizabeth said finally, with utter desolation. She went back to cutting, and Elizabeth blinked up at her sister, and she understood. Some things were just too painful to talk about.

  *

  A month after she left the island, Apollo had come to London.

  Not to see Eleanor.

  No. He’d come to test his reserve. To prove to himself that he could be in the same city as her and not see her. That he could know she was within reach and not extend his fingers and grasp her.

  To know that he was stronger than her, and this.

  Only he wasn’t. He cradled the scotch in his hands, staring at the London eye from his corner office, and then he threw the drink back, his hands slightly unsteady. When had he last eaten? God only knew.

  He spun around, looking at his desk, a frown on his face. What had he been doing?

  To hell with it. He poured himself another measure of scotch then picked up his desk phone.

  “Rhiannon?” He called through to one of his executive assistants. “Cancel my meeting this afternoon.”

  “Sir? You have the prime minister scheduled…”

  “I said cancel it.” He disconnected the call, and focused his attention back on the view. Summer was still holding on, though barely; soon it would be autumn. And then winter. And the season would finally mock the bleakness of his mood. For now, the sunshine mocked him.

  And he was glad for that.

  He sat down in one of the leather armchairs, his scowl belligerent, and he drank more of his scotch, and continued to stare, until finally his eyes closed and his head lolled backwards and he had the relief and obliteration of sleep.

  But there was no obliteration in sleep; only immersion. He closed his eyes and he saw her. He slept and she was there. He saw her laughing, the sun glancing across her long, dark hair, hair that endlessly fascinated him. He saw her face as she crested over a wave of passion, he felt her kisses on his body, and dark desperation speared through him, even in his dreams.

  He saw her as she’d been on the yacht, the betrayal that had been writ across her features, as he’d taken her and cursed her at the same time. As his body had drawn her in while his heart had pushed her away.

  It was evening when he woke, with a start, the sun just sinking beneath the city.

  He had the mother of all hangovers and he knew the only way to cure it. He poured another glass of scotch and winced as it burned its way down.

  It cured nothing. No drink and no time could do that.

  Eleanor.

  She was the only answer – why had it taken him so long to realise that?

  He stood, and threw on his suit jacket, then stalked out of his office, moving swiftly towards the lift.

  He was in a hurry. If he gave himself time to think, he might change his mind. And he didn’t want to do that.

  *

  “It’s not a date,” Elizabeth promised solicitously, her smile so huge that Eleanor couldn’t quite bring herself to disappoint her sister. Not after everything she’d put Elizabeth through since returning from Greece.

  “That’s good, because I expressly remember telling you I don’t want to date anyone.”

  I will replace you as soon as this is over. The words had the power to make her crumble even then, a month after they’d been hurled at her.

  “Which is why it’s most definitely not a date,” Eleanor insisted, but the look on her face made a lie of this assertion.

  “So then why have you got me dressed like this?” Eleanor pulled herself back into the moment, gesturing to the red dress Elizabeth had insisted she wear, and the way she’d curled her still too-short hair into loose waves, so that, when paired with the scarlet red lipstick, Eleanor looked like a dancer from a swanky nineteen-twenties bar.

  “Because you look nice.”

  Eleanor grunted. “I need a wine.”

  “Well, it just so happens,” Eleanor said, weaving her way into the kitchen. “That I have a lovely bottle of prosecco.”

  Eleanor watched as Elizabeth popped the cork, her brow furr
owed. “So who are these guys again?”

  “Ash and Axel.”

  “Wait a second,” Eleanor said, shaking her head. “No. We can’t do it.”

  “What? You don’t know anything about them,” Elizabeth pointed out, pouring ice-cold prosecco into a flute and then filling a second. “Don’t be a kill-joy.”

  “I’m not,” Eleanor said, with a roll of her eyes. “But seriously? Eleanor, Elizabeth, Ash and Axel? That’s tragic.”

  Elizabeth tilted her head to one side. “I’d never thought of that.” She lifted a glass of prosecco and handed it to Eleanor, then brought her own to her lips.

  “Ellie,” Eleanor sighed.

  “It’s just dinner. Here. Casual.”

  “That’s because I’m your only babysitter,” Elizabeth pointed out.

  “Yeah, so? Also, it means we can eat a delicious saffron risotto and caramel panna cotta without officious waitstaff getting in the way.”

  Eleanor smiled and nodded but she was being sucked back to Greece, remembering dinners with Apollo and the impatience both had felt when his servants had interrupted, even if only to bring food.

  “Seriously, they’re just friends. You know I’m not seeing anyone. I thought we could have fun.”

  Eleanor looked unconvinced.

  The doorbell rang and Elizabeth reached over, pressing her fingers to Eleanor’s shoulder. “Relax. A few hours. It will be good for you.”

  Eleanor pulled a face, far from convinced. “For you. And you owe me.”

  Elizabeth shrugged as she moved to the door and yanked it inwards, while Eleanor put some low-key music on. She wasn’t nervous. She sure as heck wasn’t excited. She just wanted this over.

  The two men Elizabeth had enticed to dinner walked into the lounge room, and she had to admit, they were both very good looking. Just the kind of men that might have turned her head had her heart not been stolen by someone else. Ash was tall and blond, with a deep tan and very white teeth. His eyes were green, so Eleanor found it hard to look into them. They weren’t the same green as Apollo’s, but it was enough of a similarity to make Eleanor’s pulse throb.

  Axel was handsome in a different way. Less conventionally good looking, yet there was still something striking in him. He had long hair which he wore pulled up into a kind of loose bun, very fashionable, and he had a dark beard. He looked like he could have walked off the set of Game of Thrones, particularly wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans.

  They ate dinner, and Eleanor found, as the evening went on, that she wasn’t having a terrible time. She wasn’t enjoying herself either, but at least she was managing to speak. And it had been a long time she and Elizabeth had done this – had eaten dinner together without Joshua there. Or dressed up. Or socialized with anyone other than themselves.

  “I’ll just take these through to the kitchen,” Elizabeth said with a wink at Axel, who stood at the same time, helping her to clear the plates.

  Eleanor felt the stitch up and sighed into her prosecco, which was still full.

  “So, you’re a journalist?”

  Eleanor nodded. Alone with him, the pleasure of the evening had evaporated. Now she felt anxious again.

  “Yes.” She sipped her drink and wiped her palms on the bottom of her skirt.

  “That must be interesting. Any stories that you’ve loved writing?”

  Eleanor’s smile was forced. “Um,” she bit down on her lip. “All of them, I suppose. That’s the joy of free-lancing.”

  The knock on the door was heavy, and came right before Eleanor could ask Ash anything about himself in return.

  “I’ll get it,” Elizabeth called. “Axel, why don’t you check on Josh?”

  Axel obliged and Eleanor turned her attention back to Ash. “And you? A teacher, I think Elizabeth said?”

  “Well, isn’t this cosy?”

  The hairs on the back of Eleanor’s neck stood on end and she turned, slowly. Slowly so that she could find her breath, slowly so she could be sure what she was seeing was real, slowly so that she could brace herself for the fact that it might not be.

  But there he was: Apollo Heranedes, standing in the entrance to the apartment as though he belonged. His eyes were coldly calculating as they swept from Eleanor to Ash, and she felt his animosity hit her like a wave. Elizabeth stood behind him, obviously uncertain how to act.

  “I explained you were busy,” Elizabeth said softly. “But he insisted on seeing you.”

  He looked different. And not good different. Eleanor stood, but didn’t move closer to him. She simply needed to catalogue the changes that had taken place. The facial hair. The weight he’d lost. The pallor of his skin. He looked worse than she did – worse than she had before Elizabeth had waved her makeover wand, in any event.

  “You are busy,” he said, with a nod, and the words were slightly drawled.

  “You’re… are you drunk?” She asked, frowning.

  “Is this guy giving you a problem?” Axel asked, emerging from Joshua’s room and pulling the door shut behind himself. He eyed Apollo up and Eleanor felt a frisson of alarm. On any other day, she’d have no fear for Apollo.

  But he must have lost half his body weight, and he’d obviously been drinking. Heavily.

  “No, it’s fine,” Eleanor said calmly. “Apollo? Is your driver downstairs?”

  “Driver?” He frowned. “I caught a cab.”

  Eleanor swept her eyes shut. “Why didn’t you use your car service?”

  He shrugged. “Apparently I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  Eleanor suppressed a breath of frustration. “You shouldn’t be here.” She looked back to the others and grimaced. “I’m sorry. I’ll just walk him out.”

  “You’re not going to invite me to join you?”

  Eleanor’s expression must have shown clear panic, because Elizabeth came to stand beside her. “No, we’re not. It’s time you left.”

  He looked from Elizabeth to Eleanor and he blanched. “What did you do to your hair?” He reached out, as if to touch her, but Eleanor flinched away from him and Elizabeth moved in front, placing herself in between them like a very slight human shield.

  “You can speak to my sister tomorrow, but now you need to leave.”

  “I don’t want to see her tomorrow. I want to see her now.”

  Eleanor expelled an angry breath. “It’s fine,” she said to Elizabeth. “I’ll drive him home.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Elizabeth said softly.

  “He’ll never get a cab at this hour. I’d rather drive him than have him sleep it off on our sofa.” She turned to Ash and Axel, her smile apologetic. “I’m very sorry about this.”

  “Hey, it’s not your fault,” Ash said, moving towards her. “I was having a really good time tonight, until…”

  Eleanor could feel Apollo’s eyes burning into the back of her head. “Me too.” She nodded curtly and went to move away, but Ash caught her hands and then leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips.

  She heard Apollo’s muttered curse, and she felt the waves of his anger crash across the room, hitting her head on.

  Eleanor sent Elizabeth one last look before reaching for the keys to the small Fiat they shared. “Can you walk down the stairs?” She asked Apollo icily, waiting at the door for him.

  “I walked up them, didn’t I?”

  “I have no idea.” She waited for him to precede her. Once he was out of the apartment, she pulled the door shut and pressed her back against it for a moment, needing the support.

  Contrary to what she’d thought, he walked confidently down the stairwell, but at the bottom, he did exactly the same thing she had moments earlier – bracing himself on the wall. Only he dropped his head forward as well and caught his face in his hands.

  “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing here.”

  “Nor do I.” She refused to feel sympathy for him. “It’s been a month since I saw you. A month.”

  “Believe me when I tell yo
u, I know how long it’s been.”

  She ignored the pain in his voice – he had no right to feel anything like it. Not when this had all been on his terms, the whole way along.

  “I’m parked over here.” She spoke sternly and nodded at their little red car, unlocking it and giving him a wide berth as she went to the driver’s side door.

  It was a small car and he groaned and cursed as he bent his large frame into it, but he wisely didn’t otherwise complain.

  She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her emotions were overpowering her, and she had no idea how to put them into words – nor what she wanted to say.

  His penthouse was twenty minutes’ drive from her flat, and ten minutes into the trip, he’d fallen asleep.

  She was tempted to roll him out of the car at the traffic lights and let the police deal with the problem, but she couldn’t do it. She’d never known Apollo to drink more than a glass of wine, certainly never to be drunk.

  And whatever she wished she felt, there was love there.

  Too much love.

  She brought the old car to a stop downstairs from his building, eyeing the huge, hulking man asleep beside her. Then, she jabbed his arm, hard, with her fingertips. “Wake up.”

  To his credit, he jerked awake immediately. “Was I asleep?”

  “Yes.” Her lips compressed in a line of disapproval. “You’re home. Can you get inside on your own?”

  He turned to face her, his eyes bloodshot, and she swore.

  “For God’s sake. I’ll help you in, but then I’m going home. And you don’t deserve this, just FYI.”

  She got out of her seat, slamming the door shut behind her in a maneuver that was childish and, given the age of the car, ill-advised. When she got to his side, he was out but he looked wobbly on his feet.

  Worry surged through her, unwelcome though it was. She bleeped the car locked and then moved to the front of his building. It was a different security guard to Jason, who had worked the door when Eleanor had been dating Apollo years earlier.

  This new officer recognized Apollo and opened the door with a polite nod.