by Sun Chara
“Mmm, she is.” Michalis reached for the glass of champagne and bringing it to his lips, looked at her over the rim. The crease between her brows cueing of an inner struggle she tried to knock off with her witty repartee…and provoking him. Of course, that irked him the more. He downed half the drink in one go, set the glass back on the table, his jaw iron-hard. Julia Armstrong Leonadis owed him, big time. And so, a lesson she’d learn this night in his arms.
Sure it’s not you, Mr. Hotshot who’ll learn? His mind niggled. It could backfire. But he demolished the darts with his next words. “What’s it to be, Julia?”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” She cast him a coy glance beneath her lashes, and that had him tightening his abs.
“There’s a lot to sample.” He picked up the serving spatula and plunged it in the dish of roast lamb. “What’s your pleasure, Julia?” A wicked grin played on his mouth. “We’re bound to be here all night.”
“Well then, serve up, Michalis.” She smiled, dimpling her cheek, and that booted him smack center of his gut. “I’m ready to eat.”
“All in good time,” he said, his voice deepening. “Slow ’n easy, is how it’s going to be.”
Chapter 12
“Well, then—” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, underscoring his innuendos with her own…just to aggravate him. “—hadn’t we better warm-up with the first course?”
“You think we’ll need a warm-up session?” He forked a slice of roast lamb and placed it on her plate, nixing her provocative words with his wisecrack.
“Not we…you.” Overly sweetly, she batted it out of the park, and had him crunching nails beneath his molars. “Thought you might be a little rusty.” She picked up her glass, her eyes steady on his face, then a downward sweep of her lashes, and she took a sip of the bubbly.
Control, Leonadis…and charm, man.
He winked. “You’ll have to show me the moves then, won’t you?”
The wine spurted from her mouth.
“It’s okay.” He held out his napkin to her. “I’m a quick study.”
“I can just imagine.”
“Sounds like a yes to me.” A pause and, “Salad?” He offered her the bowl of Greek salad, and when she didn’t answer, scooped some on her plate. “But it’ll be on my time and my call, fantasy girl.”
“That’s no surprise, Michalis.” Snatching up her knife and fork, she decimated the food on her plate, and then realizing what she’d done, stopped, the knife and fork hovering in midair. The disbelieving look on her face made the amusement humming in his throat morph into a full-fledged laugh.
“You going to eat that mush, now?”
“Maybe, maybe not.” She twirled the food around on the plate with her fork and cleared her throat. “Why don’t we just call” –she waved a hand around at the romantic setup— “all this off?” Then, she softened her voice to a purr, sexy as all heck. “You have nothing to prove…to me.”
“But perhaps you have something to prove to me,” he said, batting a homerun, but his gut hitched.
She laughed; the sound soft and clear activated his senses.
“I do not.”
“Time will tell the tale, no?”
“Can we be adults about this, Michalis?”
“We’re not?”
“We know where we stand—”
“Do we?”
“Surely, there’s no need for the seduction scene,” she murmured, ignoring his question. “This dinner, the music—”
“Not my idea, but—” He shrugged, inclining his head toward the kitchen. “Don’t want to disappoint them, do we?”
She reluctantly shook her head.
“Good.” He pierced an olive with a toothpick and held it to her mouth. “Open up, they might be watching.”
She did. He placed the olive on her tongue, and she snapped her teeth, barely missing his fingers.
“Easy now.” He shook his fingers, watching her pulverize the olive in her mouth. “Has a bite to it, mmm?” The pun sounded from deep in his throat, and with it a shift closer to the inevitable.
For his trouble, he got caught in the crossfire of the green sparks shooting from her eyes, but just for a second. He ducked, pouncing on the food in his plate and then pointed his fork at her plate. “Now, eat up, you’ll need your strength.”
She seemed to pale, but that could be an illusion of the lamplight shining on her face. Without another word, she set the utensils down, picked up the linen napkin and dropped it on her lap.
Leonadis you’re pushing the caveman tactics, the warning nicked his mind, but he doused it by chowing down on a lamb chop.
She shot him a look that would frazzle a lesser man, and he eclipsed it by raising his glass.
“A toast.”
A long pause, a tilt of her head, and circling the stem with her fingers, she lifted the flute, her mouth a straight line. She waited, and that irritated the heck out of him. She wasn’t helping. Not giving an inch, or a word.
He clinked her glass with his and cleared his throat. “To an unforgettable evening.”
“New beginnings…” she murmured, the words trailing away.
He brought the glass to his mouth, paused, his steady gaze on her face for any hint that she was thawing. A sound close to a growl from his throat, then he tipped the glass, gulping the golden liquid in one go. He smacked his lips. “A good vintage.”
Julia took a sip, the effervescence tickling her nose, and the wine sliding down her throat, warmed her insides. Their earlier banter had her hoping he’d see sense, but determined to collect his due, he left her no choice but to do her utmost to thwart his agenda.
A tug-o-war would surely ensue between them…had already begun.
Setting the glass down, she picked up her fork and went through the motions of eating, frustrating his attempt at conversation with one word replies. Finally, except for the clink of cutlery on the china and the romantic tunes still floating about, silence enveloped them.
Time crawled by, and she barely remembered what she’d tasted, for certainly she hadn’t eaten much. She set her fork down, annoyance zinging through her; she both anticipated and dreaded what was on the evening’s agenda. What was the matter with her?
“You’ve barely touched your food.”
Well, he’d noticed, and that was something in her favor, she smirked.
He set his cutlery down, picked up the napkin and blotted his mouth. “Something wrong?”
A beat, and he snapped his fingers, preempting her tart reply before she could voice it. Mario stepped from the shadows, a white napkin over his forearm and a flaming dish in his hands.
She rolled her eyes. “What’s this?”
“Cherries Jubilee.” Maria stepped out carrying a tray with two demitasses of Greek coffee and walking ahead of Mario, put the cups on the table. Stacking the used dishes on the tray, she cleared space and Mario set the decadent dessert between them. “So out-of-this-world good.”
“Impeccable service, Mario … Maria,” Michalis murmured.
Maria scurried back inside, and a second later Mario followed her.
“My compliments,” Michalis said, handing her a spoon.
Was this intimate overture…sharing this delectable dessert with him the shift in the program for the night? While she thought it out, he’d scooped up a spoonful and brought it to her mouth.
“Thanks.” She took the offering, the tangy-sweet concoction sliding over her tongue and stimulating her taste buds.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He reached out and flicked the drip of syrup from the corner of her mouth, then licked his thumb. “Mmm, good.”
“It is.” She chewed and swallowed. “Aren’t you going to have any?”
“I did.” He picked up his cup, took a gulp of the brew, his eyes level on her face…her mouth…his meaning unmistakable.
Julia snatched up her napkin, blotted her lip and picking up the demitasse, took a sip of the bittersweet brew.
/> A reflection of her life.
“Julia…”
“Michalis…”
They spoke in unison, and then his chuckle and her giggle merged, diffusing the coiled tension.
He put his cup down, took hers from her hand and setting it down next to his, pushed his chair back and stood. “Come.” Pulling her up into his arms, he waltzed her into the living room, halted at the coffee table and with her still in his embrace, swept up a velvet case on top of the manila envelope.
“Wha-at’s this?” she murmured, her voice breaking.
“Shh.” He placed two fingers on her lips. “This evening’s a fantasy, remember?”
Yes, and fantasies end when you wake up in the morning, the thought battered her brain and scoured her heart raw.
He clicked the case open. She sucked in her breath, and her hand fluttered to her mouth. Turning her around, he lifted the necklace and encircling her throat with the diamonds, secured the clasp, his fingers feathering her nape.
A sting of heat shot into her, and she fingered a diamond nestling at her cleavage. Ice-cold yet hot as hellfire.
“I can’t accept—”
“You can and you will, agape mou.” He curled his mouth in a cynical line. “For tonight.”
“Michalis…” She reached out to him, to touch his arm, to put a stop to this madness, for surely that’s all it could be.
He reached out for the silver-lamine stole on the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders and just for a second felt the pressure of his fingers on her skin. “And to complete the fairytale, this.” Seizing a matching evening bag, he plunked it in her hands, a tick at his temple.
“I-I,” she began, but his set face stifled her words.
“Open it, Julia.”
“This is silly.” But she did open it and tottered back a step, the ring sparkling in the scarlet folds of the purse.
“Your wedding ring,” he bit out, his mouth a hard line. “You’d left it behind, as you’d abandoned everything else.”
“I-I ca-an’t.” She shook her head. “Please…”
“A prop for tonight’s fantasy,” he muttered, his sub-zero words icing her flesh. “Afterward, you can pawn it.”
Before she could slam him with a response, he’d pulled out the gold circle, slid it on her finger and pressed his lips to the spot. His feather-light kiss had her insides swirling and a stake stabbing her heart, cutting off her air supply.
Tension vibrated, the silence seeming endless…even the music had stopped. Desire, anger, resentment, regret amalgamated in that minuscule slice of time, fueling the emotional time bomb ticking between them.
“Shall we go?” he said, his tone more a demand than a request … but his words caused the dynamics to shift, and she filled her lungs with oxygen.
“No.” She exhaled the word, took a step back and rubbed her moist palms together. “I think this has gone far enough, Michalis.”
A nerve ticked at the corner of his mouth, and his eyes shadowed.
“You’ve…made your point.”
“And that is?”
“You can show a girl a good time?” About to buckle, she shot from the hip in an attempt to diffuse the high voltage crackling between them.
Bittersweet sensation lathered her insides, and she nearly did double over then, but gripped the back of the sofa, retaining her upright stance. “When will you stop—?”
He held up an imperious hand, nixing the words ‘—punishing me?’ on the tip of her tongue. “I’ve not yet begun to show you the fairytale, princess.”
“You don’t have to—”
“Oh, but I do.” He stepped closer, cupping her chin, his thumb stroking the corner of her mouth, and sending a jolt of sensation smack into her center.
Had she not been so quick to condemn, she’d have known the family she so craved, she already had with him; her husband, her baby and her sister-in-law. A void gaped open inside her. He was still hell bent on revenge.
Was he flaunting it all before her, just to take it all away…including Amy? She pinched the crease between her brows…but Michalis wasn’t the flamboyant type.
A hint of a smile curved her mouth, and he narrowed his gaze, his jaw taut.
On the contrary, he was direct to a fault, and unyielding when it suited him. Obviously, getting retribution for what she’d done to him suited him. Punish her? He’d never hurt her of course, but Michalis Leonadis would score his way.
She brushed the back of her hand across her brow, and licked her lips.
A grunt sounded from his side of the room, but she dismissed it.
“This is so unreal,” she murmured beneath her breath, but he cocked his head, having heard.
She supposed it was no use dragging this vendetta out. The sooner the evening wrapped, the sooner she could get away from Michalis and mend her broken heart. Wry amusement scratched her throat at the trite sentiment, but she had to piece her life together again, if for no one else, then for Amy.
“True.” He trailed his hand over her shoulder, down her arm to her palm and gripped her fingertips. “Come.”
“Where?”
“A surprise.”
“I-I don’t know if I can handle any more of those.”
A twitch at the corner of his mouth, but it went no further. “You’ll like this one.”
He escorted her into the suite’s private elevator and they ascended to the rooftop helipad. The helicopter’s rotor whipped the air, and he wedged her close to his side before making a dash against the current. He ushered her into the luxurious interior but not before she caught the ML insignia emblazoned across the door.
Speechless, Julia strapped herself into the passenger seat with Michalis next to her, so close his jacket sleeve brushed her elbow and sent tingles up her arm. She shifted in her seat and wrapped the stole closer about her shoulders.
“Ready for lift-off, Mr. Leonadis?”
Julia laughed, recognizing the voice. “Let me guess…”
The pilot turned and grinned.
“Mario.”
“At your service.” He tapped two fingers to his cap, and resumed flicking switches on the control panel.
“A cocktail before we’re airborne?” Another familiar voice sailed from behind them and Julia twisted around, blinking at Maria playing hostess onboard. “There’s designer water, designer water and designer water.” A giggle. “Various flavors and brands.”
“No, thank y—” Nothing should surprise her where her husband was concerned. Her hand flew to her mouth. Husband? She’d elicited the word from somewhere in her subconscious, and a warmth curled up inside her. Silently she echoed the word in her head. Somehow it sounded, no, felt right. She pursed her lips, and rejected the thought. Don’t be a ninny. Her pulse skittered, and she gripped the chair, her fingers pressing into the expensive upholstery.
Tonight was a detour on the road to the divorce court.
“Perrier on ice.” Michalis placed his order, winked at Maria, and ignored Julia.
*
It was well past one in the morning when they returned from the Paris Opera House, and Michalis inserted the key-tab in the door of the penthouse suite. He shoved it open, and Julia made to pass him.
“Oh ho, no you don’t.” He scooped her up in his arms and crossed the threshold, the door slamming shut behind him.
Julia stilled in his arms. His breath caressed her cheek, his warmth seeping into her and stimulating every nerve ending. The subtle scent of his cologne filled her senses, and she wanted to snuggle closer, nuzzle his neck. Of course she did neither. Instead, she wiggled in his embrace, hiding her vulnerability, her words sounding shrewish even to her own ears. “Put me down.”
“Sure thing.” He dropped her on her feet so fast that she staggered a step, her hands spanning the wall for support. Sidestepping her, he flicked on a muted light, took off his jacket, tossed it on the sofa and loosened his tie. A pause, and he cupped her shoulders possessively, but a second later, he slid
the wrap from her shoulders, placing it on the couch next to his jacket. “A nightcap?”
“What?” she asked, tongue-in-cheek. “No, Mario? Maria?”
He chuckled, heading to the bar. “Just me.”
Chapter 13
Julia clutched the evening bag he’d given her and twisting the ring on her finger, she closed her eyes for a second, a bemused smile brushing her mouth.
It was a mirage, like the evening’s entertainment, and yet, a sense of magic enfolded her.
Once they’d lifted off in the Leonadis helicopter, it had indeed been a fairyland ride with Paris all a-glitter below them. The enchanted evening continued with The Magic Flute, an opera tugging at the heart and flailing the emotions. And for a little while, lost in the storyline, Julia had forgotten her woes. But now she was back, and for some reason, the spell wrapped around her not letting go. Cloistered in the suite with Michalis, it could be dangerous to her psyche…her heart.
“Nice of Maria and Mario to take over from Mrs. Knightley and babysit Amy,” she chit-chatted.
Michalis inclined his head. “Sherry?” he asked, setting two goblets and a decanter on the counter.
“Tea please.” That would give her a semblance of reality, she thought, rubbing her arms with her hands.
“Tea?”
“If it’s too much trouble—”
“No trouble.” He led the way to the kitchen, and paused center floor, glancing this way and that. “Hmm, teabags…where—”
“Can you boil water?”
“Of course.” But he didn’t move, a pained look on his features.
She laughed, and the tension inside her eased. Bypassing the micro-oven, she grabbed the kettle from the counter, filled it with water from the faucet—high tech stuff, she didn’t even have to turn it on, just wave her hand beneath it—set it on the stove and pressed the on button to heat the element. When the water began to steam, she folded her arms across her bosom and tapped her toe on the tile, waiting for him to deliver.
“Uh…right.” He played along and hopped to it, rifling through drawers for the elusive teabags. Finally, he pulled his hand out of a drawer, clutching several teabags. “Got ’em!”
