They walked back to the car in silence. Lucilla turned to him as he reached for her door, stopping him with a palm on his chest. “What’s the matter, Christos?”
He hated that she could read him so well. “Nothing is the matter.”
“I don’t believe you.” Her voice was soft and sweet and he despised himself for craving her. This was not his way. This was not how he did things. He’d brought her here to save himself—and even to punish her for digging into his life—but he’d not intended to need her so much. Since that moment in the cemetery, he’d been thinking that she made him feel less alone in the world.
But it was dangerous to feel that way because he knew how easily things could change. He’d had a mother and then he hadn’t. He’d been a kid and then he’d been a prisoner. He only knew extremes.
And it was time to get back to his life the way he understood it. He had to put an end to this, swiftly and ruthlessly. The same as he did everything. There was no sense in prolonging their stay.
“We’ve been here for a few days, Lucilla. It’s time to move on. I have a company to run and you have a job to do, as well.”
It was out there now, the assumption that he was still the CEO of the Chatsfield empire. He’d thrown it at her like a challenge and he waited to see what she would do. If she threatened him, then he would know, wouldn’t he? He could forget this inconvenient attraction and move on with a clear mind. He almost wished she would.
“Yes, I realize. We are meant to be on a tour of the other locations.”
“We are. But I think we should go back to London. I’ll need you to run things there while I continue the tour as planned.”
He didn’t miss the hurt in her eyes. He hadn’t planned to say that, but it suddenly occurred to him that he needed time away from her if he was to renew his focus on what his life was supposed to be.
Her gaze dropped away from his and she swallowed. He had a sudden urge to fall to his knees and beg her to forgive him. Which meant that he wouldn’t do it, of course. He stiffened his spine and waited for her reaction.
“All right.”
Suddenly, the emotions churning inside him reached a boiling point. She’d violated his privacy—violated his solitude, damn her—and now she was going to just take whatever he dished out as if she hadn’t gone to extraordinary lengths to topple him? It was her fault he was feeling like he’d been turned inside out. Her fault he couldn’t find his footing in this emotional quicksand.
“That’s it, Lucilla? You’re prepared to accept my leadership now? No more threats or tantrums?”
She looked stunned. And then she looked angry. “Tantrums? Are you kidding me? Because I’ve disagreed with you in the past, I’m throwing tantrums?”
He almost rejoiced at seeing fiery Lucilla make her reappearance. And yet he had to be strong and firm with her if he were to get the Chatsfield—and his life—back on track. “I don’t care what you call them, but I prefer we not disagree in front of the staff.”
Her eyes flashed. “I will disagree with you whenever I feel like it. And no, I’m not going to threaten you.”
She sucked in a breath then and he thought she might be dangerously close to crying. He wanted to drag her into his arms and apologize—but he was frozen by conflicting feelings. Why was it so hard to do what he knew needed to be done? It was kinder to them both if he let her go now. If he didn’t string her along with false hopes for the future.
Her chin lifted in that way he’d come to realize meant she was determined. “You’re the Chatsfield CEO, Christos. Because my father chose you, and while I don’t agree, I have to accept his decision. But I will not blindly follow your orders just because you’ve made me feel ashamed of myself for trying to use your past against you. I won’t do that. Ever. But I damn well will tell you when you’re being a stupid ass.”
She grabbed the handle and yanked the car door open. Then she got inside and shot him a look as she reached for the door. “Oh, yeah,” she said. “You are currently being a stupid ass.”
And then she slammed the door.
When they reached the house perched on its lonely cliff, Lucilla went to the room she’d woken up in on the first day. She hadn’t slept in that bed since, having spent the past few nights with Christos, but she was far too angry to go to bed with him now. He didn’t stop her, and that only added to her misery as she stomped up the stairs.
Her heart hurt and her eyes stung with unshed tears. She’d been having so much fun tonight, enjoying the food and music and being with him. Just being with him. She loved it when he smiled—which hadn’t been often tonight—when he ordered for her in Greek and even when he opened her car door and set her inside with a kiss on her hand as they were leaving the house earlier.
She went over to the double doors that opened onto the balcony, wrenching them open and going out into the warm Greek night. Oh, God, what had she been thinking? Why had she told him she wanted him that night when he’d taken her to the cemetery? If she’d just kept her emotions in check, she could have walked out of this time in Greece with her heart intact.
No, you couldn’t.
She shoved the evil voice deep and sucked in a breath, and then another and another as she tried not to cry. Damn him, and damn her for being so needy. He’d made her feel things she never had with another man, and she’d let her heart run wild and free.
Now look at her. Christos only cared about the job, about making sure she wouldn’t use the information she’d found against him, while she cared about him. About his happiness.
She clenched her fists on the railing. Oh, it hurt to love. She’d never been in love with anyone before. She’d loved her family, but she’d sacrificed so damn much for them. She’d sacrificed all her youthful dreams, her hopes, even her thoughts of love and happiness and children with a man. She’d never allowed herself to fall before—or maybe she hadn’t been capable of it.
But she was now, and she had, and for the worst man possible. Christos did not love her. If he did, he wouldn’t have been so cold and unemotional just now. He only cared about the job—and she thought too much of herself to beg him for even a crumb of affection.
She would not do that. Not ever. He clearly wanted it to be over. He wanted her to return to London and run the company while he toured the locations alone. She hadn’t expected that. She put her hands to her hot cheeks and vowed not to cry.
Dammit, what had she expected? That everything would go back to normal, with the exception of their relationship? That they’d need one room while they toured rather than two?
What an idiot she was. Christos was the ultimate manipulator, bringing her here and forcing her to confront the circumstances of his youth. He’d known how she would react, she had no doubt. Because that’s what he did. He observed and cataloged and calculated. And he’d made himself into a spectacular businessman because of it.
No, she would not expose him now. She couldn’t. What was there to expose? That he’d been another person? That his father beat him so badly he still bore the scars? That he’d gone to juvenile detention for nearly killing a man who would have killed him and his mother eventually?
Only a cruel person would do that. And she was not cruel. Perhaps that was her downfall. Perhaps she wasn’t willing to do whatever it took to succeed. She sniffed. At least she could live with herself.
But she could not stay here. Not for another moment. She went back inside and changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable silky shirt. Then she grabbed a sweater, picked up her purse and briefcase and headed downstairs.
The doors were open to the terrace and she went outside, found Christos standing beside the pool with a glass in one hand. He looked lost and alone, but she hardened her heart and swore she would not try to soothe him. He did not want her comfort. He did not want her.
He turned as he heard her feet falling on the stone. She did not give him a chance to speak.
“I want to leave now.” Her heart hammered and her pulse be
at wildly in her ears. She thought she probably sounded a touch desperate, a touch insane, but she couldn’t spend another night in this house, not with him in another room and her knowing that she would never spend a night in his arms again. That it was over and she was the fool for falling.
“Now? It’s after eleven at night.”
“So? You said I could go when I was ready. I’m ready. Call a helicopter, Christos. Call a damn speedboat. I don’t care, but I want to leave.”
“Lucillitsa—”
“Don’t you dare,” she bit out. Her chest heaved with emotion. “Don’t you dare call me anything other than Lucilla or Ms. Chatsfield ever again. You’ve made it very clear that we are done, so no more cutesy names. No more intimacy. It’s over, Christos, and I want to leave.”
“You are overreacting.” He sounded cool, emotionless. Mechanical.
“Am I?” She felt wild inside, crazy with emotion. She wanted to slap him again, and that was an awful thing to feel. And she wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and beg him to love her. That was perhaps a worse thing to feel. She’d been at low points in her life, at points where she felt no one cared or understood, but none of those moments compared to this one.
To standing here in front of the man she loved and knowing he didn’t feel the same for her. To trying to hold herself together while simultaneously knowing she had to get off this island before she exploded.
“Morning is soon enough,” he began.
“No. Now, Christos. You brought me here against my will and now I want to go. Right now.”
He stared at her for a long minute. For one wild moment, she hoped he would relent, that his stony facade would crumble and he would drag her into his arms and kiss her. That he would tell her he was a fool and beg her forgiveness.
Those things did not happen.
“Very well,” he said, fishing into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll make it happen.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LUCILLA COULD HARDLY believe she was back in London. She’d been home for a week, and she’d been battling a sense of unreality ever since. It was as if her life could be divided into two halves: before Greece and after Greece. As if it were that simple. As if it came down to a single moment where everything had changed when in fact it was a vortex of change that spun her apart and then put her back together again.
Though not the same as before.
The world was sharper now, crueler, and she was battered and bruised. But she was still here, dammit, and she would survive. No one knew how her life had been ripped apart at the seams and she had no intentions of letting them know.
Just like always, she was Lucilla Chatsfield, the rock upon which her entire family could rely. She had met up with Cara recently at the Demarche event, but seeing Cara hadn’t grounded her in the way it used to. That her siblings no longer seemed to need her as much as they once had was not a problem for her. She would be available, like always. For a brief time, Christos had made her think of herself—her wants and needs and desires—but she was over that now.
It hurt too much to put herself first, so she would bury herself in work again and hope the sharpness of her agony would settle into a dull roar.
Lucilla sniffed as she scrolled through the morning reports. Since Christos was off gallivanting around the world, she’d taken over his office. It was a nice office. It had almost been hers, until she’d been foolish enough to accept his offer. Lucilla pinched the bridge of her nose. Dammit.
She could still see him standing in front of the ossuary, still hear the trauma in his voice as he told her about his mother. If only she was as heartless as he was. If only she could have walked out of his house that morning and told him to hell with it, that she’d pay him his severance package and be glad of it.
But she hadn’t. She’d stayed and she’d listened. Strangely, she was happy she had. Because she wasn’t the sort of person who could ignore anyone’s pain. Maybe that meant she wasn’t as hard or cold as she needed to be, but she’d made her peace with that. If being ruthless meant she couldn’t sleep at night, then she didn’t want it.
She continued with the reports, then sent out some orders to the department heads and turned to look out at the park across the street. A smiling man and woman played with a toddler, and Lucilla’s stomach ached with the knot of pain that had lodged inside it. Why did it hurt so much to watch others be happy? She was accustomed to it, wasn’t she?
The door swung inward and she turned, ready to ask Jessie why she was barging in without knocking—Lucilla had learned that lesson, after all—but it wasn’t Jessie standing in the doorway.
Lucilla’s heart squeezed tight in her chest. Christos looked as handsome and remote as always, dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a crisp white shirt with gray pinstripes. His hair was mussed and his eyes were bloodshot. Her first instinct was to go to him, but she forced herself to remain seated as she let her gaze roll over him.
“We did not expect you back so soon,” she said coolly, her heart thrumming an impossible rhythm. “In fact, I thought you were in Moscow today.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “I was.” He tossed his briefcase on a chair and stalked toward the desk. Lucilla swallowed hard. He stopped in front of her and she realized that he hadn’t shaved this morning. Or, apparently, slept.
Lucilla got up, her heart lodging in her throat. “What’s wrong, Christos? Has something happened?”
There had been no drama that she was aware of.
“I don’t know,” he said. He passed a hand over his face and then his eyes were hot on hers. “I miss you, Lucilla. That’s not supposed to happen.”
Myriad emotions washed over her then. Hope. Love. Anger. Fear. Despair.
“I don’t know what that means, Christos. You’re the one who decided we were finished.”
“Perhaps I made a mistake.”
Her pulse skipped. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her skin. It was what she wanted, and yet …
It wasn’t enough. This past week had been torture for her, knowing she’d been so bloody stupid as to fall for him when he wasn’t very likely to fall in return. She knew what he was, what he did. Christos was a lover of women—many women. And she couldn’t take just a piece of him when she wanted everything.
She deserved everything, damn him.
“What do you propose? That we take up where we left off? That I fall into your arms and be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you deign to give me?”
His brows drew together. “I did not say that.”
“Then what are you saying?” She sounded shrill, and she did not like it. She modulated her tone. “Because I’m afraid I don’t understand what you want.”
He looked as if he were in pain. And then, just like that, he wiped away the look of uncertainty and became once more the cool, efficient Greek tycoon. “Isn’t it obvious? I want you in my bed, Lucilla. I want more of what we had together in Greece.”
“What did we have? Because I’m not sure.”
He looked puzzled. “Sex. Heat. Companionship.”
She was trembling. “I think you can get that anywhere. You don’t need me for sex when you have a legion of women willing to provide it for you.”
His jaw worked. “But I don’t want them. I want you.”
Lucilla’s stomach went into free fall. It was what she wanted to hear. And yet … not. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Do you love me, Christos?”
He looked puzzled. And then he looked stunned, and her heart fell to the bottom of the chasm in her soul, where it shattered into a million shards of cut glass. Well, what did you expect?
“I am … fond of you.” The words seemed to be dragged from him and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or angered.
She came around the desk and stopped in front of him. She could feel his heat, smell his skin, and she wanted to melt into him the way she had countless times in Greece. But she had to be strong.
“Fond? I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” She tried not to get teary, but she could feel tears welling up behind her eyes. She lifted her hand to his jaw, smoothed it against his stubble-roughened skin. He turned his cheek into her palm and her heart throbbed painfully.
“I need more from you.” She had to push the words past the tightness in her throat.
He looked wary. “More?”
She put her other palm on his cheek, cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, more.” She sucked in a breath and plunged onward. “I can’t be your temporary mistress. I can’t be a hot office romance that’s convenient for now. I can’t be with you and wonder when it’ll be over the next time, when you’ll close yourself off from me and tell me you have to take a trip somewhere while I stay behind. I can’t watch you arrive at a Chatsfield event with another woman on your arm. I won’t do any of those things, Christos. So unless you can give me more, I think it’s best we keep things the way they are.”
His jaw worked. His eyes glittered. And then he tugged her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers. Her body dissolved as his beloved lips moved over hers. His tongue slid into her mouth and she moaned as she clung to him.
But that voice in the back of her head wouldn’t let her enjoy the moment. It kept telling her she had to stand up for herself, that he was trying to kiss her into compliance without really giving her a thing. That he was imposing his will on her and trying to make her bend to it.
She pushed her palms against his chest—once, hard—and he let her go.
“Lucillitsa …” He swallowed. “I can’t be what you want. I can’t promise you anything. I can only be what I am, and I can only give you what is in my heart right this minute. I want you. I’ve tried not to, but I do. And that’s more than I’ve given any woman.”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not enough.” Her throat ached. Hadn’t she been here before? In so many different ways than this one, she’d accepted less than she deserved because others claimed it was all they were capable of. “I’m tired of doing the best I can and it not being good enough. I’m tired of giving my all and having others give me a portion in return.” She shook her head back and forth almost violently. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t accept it. It’s all or nothing, Christos.”
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