He might not have hand-selected the lingerie, but would he hand-remove it?
She swept her eyes shut and he was there. As he’d been in the kitchen, so close, and so brutally honest, and her pulse speeded up and her mouth went dry. When she blinked her eyes open, she could still see him. She would always see him.
With a groan, she grabbed one of the dresses off the bed, selecting an outfit at random and pulling it over her head. It was cream in colour with little flowers all over it, sleeveless and low cut enough to show a hint of her cleavage. It fell to the ground, loose and flowy. No shoes had been included, so she left her feet bare rather than replace the sensible black lace-ups she’d been wearing since arriving in the desert kingdom. Her hair she finger-combed and pulled over one shoulder.
Well, that was an improvement! At least, dressed like this, she felt more like herself. No, not like herself – she had nothing as beautiful as this in her own wardrobe, which was rather utilitarian, and tended to be sourced from affordable high-street fashion chains. But in this? She felt equal to meeting Apollo, equal to sparing with him.
And though she knew the sensible thing to do was to stay in her own room, to keep reading her book, she wanted, more than anything, to see him. And have him see her.
Besides, wouldn’t it be rude not to at least thank him for the clothes?
Thank him? Thank him? Her inner-feminist caught fire. He kidnapped you! If it weren’t for his heavy-handed techniques, she’d be back home with her own clothes, her sister and her beautiful little nephew. In her own flat.
Her eyes shifted to the view and a smile crept over her face. It was disloyal but so what? She’d never admit it to him, but how could she not be at least a little bit pleased to have found herself in this situation?
If she could push all thoughts of the past from her mind, and all thoughts of the future, then they were just two people with an insane sexual chemistry spending time together in one of the most beautiful places on earth.
I want you with the force of a thousand suns. What kind of fool does that make me?
She pressed her back against the door, sucking in a breath, faint suddenly, and weak with longing. He’d said it would be a purely physical relationship – and she couldn’t think about that. She didn’t want to see the limitations he was forcing into place; she didn’t want to imagine what it would be like to be welcomed into his bed but not his life.
Maybe he’d change his mind?
No. She couldn’t cherish that hope – it was a surefire recipe for disaster.
This was madness! Eleanor wasn’t the kind of woman who simply slept with handsome men, no matter how much she’d once loved them. No matter how much, deep down, she still loved them.
And Apollo wasn’t the kind of man to get involved with such inexperienced lovers! She’d seen the photos of his usual mistresses. Supermodels, actresses, glamazons who no doubt held their own in the bedroom as well as everywhere.
Her heart sunk.
She was way out of her league – outmatched in every way. And yet she couldn’t walk away from him; she couldn’t ignore this.
Before her courage deserted her once and for all, she stepped forward into the room, wrenched the door open and stalked out into the corridor. The house was silent, on first glance, but after several seconds of standing still and listening, she caught a sound from the kitchen. With nerves tripping through her body like live wires, she moved towards it, doing everything she could to affect a look of nonchalance when she was really a ball of anxiety.
Carlotta was in the kitchen.
The anticlimax was intense.
“Oh! Carlotta.” Eleanor swallowed. “I didn’t realise… I was looking for Apoll… Mr Hernandes?”
“Ah! That looks nice.” Carlotta smiled her approval. “He’s in the orchard.”
“The orchard?” Eleanor repeated with a frown.
“That way.” Carlotta nudged her head towards a window at the back of the kitchen and, sure enough, Eleanor saw lines and lines of fruit trees running down a gentle hill, bathed in sunlight.
“Ah! Thank you.” She looked down at her bare feet with a grimace, but then shrugged. So what? It was just grass, she’d be fine.
She moved quickly, out onto the terrace and around the corner, her steps increasing as she got closer to the orchard. Once she reached it, the fragrance was overwhelming. Late-season blossoms were giving off the most divine fragrance of citrus, and apples and pears were growing in abundance.
She forced herself to slow down, listening and looking for any sign of Apollo, and finally she saw him at the end of a row.
Oh, god. She stopped walking, her brow suddenly dotted in perspiration.
He wore only a pair of faded denims, low slung on his waist so she could see all his rippling muscles and bronzed skin, and he was shimmering in the afternoon sun courtesy of a sweat he’d built up. Was he actually cutting branches?
Surely he had staff to do that?
She couldn’t look away. He moved with the kind of athleticism and skill that had her utterly spell-bound, completely caught in his web.
He ripped a large branch from the tree and tossed it onto the pile, then wiped his forehead with his arm, and in doing so, caught sight of her in his peripheral vision.
The jolt of awareness was unbearable. An unfamiliar heat spread through Eleanor’s abdomen. Neither moved – they simply stared, and then, finally, with a throat that was thick and a voice that was hoarse, she said, “Don’t you own any shirts?” It was an attempt at sarcasm – a need to impress that she wasn’t as completely lost to him as she really was.
His smile showed he knew that; he understood. Damn him.
“Nice dress.”
And now she felt like a first-rate cow. “I came to thank you,” she said with a grimace. “That was thoughtful of you.”
“Thoughtful? It seems like the least I can do given that I stole you away to my island prison.” He turned away but she caught the sight of his grimace and her heart twisted. What had she said earlier? They were both trapped by this.
She watched as he lifted the saw to a thick branch and began to move it back and forth, back and forth, until the branch was sagging. His back rippled with each movement, muscles beneath smooth, salty skin dancing in the afternoon sun.
It was a hot day, there was no hiding that fact. Even just standing there, in the orchard, Eleanor felt her skin beginning to pink.
“Don’t you have staff who could be doing this?”
He didn’t answer at first. He continued sawing and, when the branch was almost cut through, he dropped the saw to the earth beside his feet and used both his broad, tanned hands to pull at the wood. His arms tensed, his biceps flexing.
Eleanor bit down on her lip, but it didn’t stop the very soft moan from escaping her mouth.
“I found,” he said finally, turning to face her, his hands on his hips, his chest moving with the force of his breathing. “That I needed to do something physical, suddenly.”
And she understood why. He was referring to the heat that flooded the atmosphere when they were together; he was blaming her. Not blaming! Attributing.
She swallowed, uncertain as to what she should say or do.
That had never been a problem in the past. She’d been worried about what he’d say when he learned the truth of her profession, but not unduly concerned. After all, she’d planned to quit her job and then explain everything to him, once she could prove that she no longer intended to write the article, she would present him with a fait accompli. She had never thought anything would have the power to rip them apart.
Now?
He’d said what he wanted from her: a physical relationship. There were boundaries and limitations all over the place. Eleanor couldn’t fool herself into thinking there would be a future for them. And her heart, that had already been damaged beyond repair after the last breakup with this man, wouldn’t cope with leaving him again.
But wasn’t she already lost to tha
t fate?
Hadn’t this day been enough of a reminder of how much she loved him? How incomplete she felt without him?
There was danger in every direction. Uncertainty dragged at her, threatening to pull her beneath the raging torrent of her emotions. “I…” she cleared her throat. “I see.” Her smile was tight across her lips. “Well, then. I just wanted to thank you for the clothes.” She spun away from him, her brow furrowed as she retraced her steps. But every bit closer she got to the villa flooded her with a different kind of doubt.
Doubt about walking away from him. Doubt about closing the door on what he offered.
So she stopped walking and spun around, her eyes meeting his with a kind of hopeless fatalism that she knew he’d understand.
“The thing is,” she said, walking back towards him, and this time, going closer, not stopping until she was standing right in front of him. “The thing is, I…” Damn it! What had she meant to say? What did she want? She was babbling like an idiot, and the way he was staring at her hardly helped.
“Yes, agape?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, the simple endearment one he’d said often before, yet it pricked her mind hearing it here and now.
“Nothing.” She shook her head from side to side, so that her dark brown hair shifted across her cheeks. “I just wanted to thank you.”
“For the clothes.” His smile was the last word in sexy. “Yes. You already did that.” He took a step closer and her insides began to tremble.
She bit down on her lip and her eyes held his. She wanted him. It was the only thing she knew, the only thing she could say with utter conviction in that moment.
“But the past…”
“Is in the past,” he said, moving closer still.
She frowned, but he lifted a finger and wiped it across her lips, his eyes roaming her face.
“You’ll never forgive me for the part I played in that article…”
“No,” he said with a gentle nod. “Nor for lying to me about why we were together.”
“I didn’t lie –,”
He interrupted her with a harsh, guttural sound. “I don’t want to speak about it anymore. I know you’re sorry and I believe that. But you being sorry doesn’t guarantee my forgiveness. Some things are too hard to forgive.”
Her sob surprised them both. Just a small sound of absolute grief. His brows drew together and now he cupped her face with both hands, his fingers splayed wide across her cheeks. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not… glad you’re here. Glad to see you again. Glad to get a second chance at some parts of our relationship.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “Sex, you mean.”
His lips twisted in a sardonic smile. “Yes.”
Apparently he saw no sense in hiding his intentions. She could never fault his honesty.
“We could have fun together,” he said simply.
“For a time?”
He nodded. “Yes. For a time.”
“And then what?”
He stepped closer, and now their bodies collided, his strong legs planted wide apart so that he was wrapped around her, and she found it hard to breathe and think. “And then we go our separate ways – for good.”
Her heart shivered. “And if I don’t want that?”
Regret marked his features. “Then tell me now and I’ll keep my distance from you.” A wry smile whispered across his lips. “Though the orchard won’t be in very good state by the end of it.”
A sad laugh escaped her lips – and it was also a sound of acceptance. Desperate, weary acceptance. “I hate the idea of us – what we are – being purely physical…”
“It will never be that,” he said with acceptance of his own. “But I’m not offering a relationship, Eleanor. I’m not offering anything other than sex.”
Her stomach swirled as though someone had put it in a jar and shaken it up.
“I guess this is normal for you,” she said after a few seconds. “But I’ve never… had a relationship be defined by sex. I don’t get how that works.”
He laughed softly, and though she thought they were standing as close as possible, he proved her wrong, when he dropped his hands around her waist and pulled her to him, so that every soft curve of her slender, slight body was moulded to the hard ridges and planes of his.
“You’re old enough to have had flings – don’t tell me you’ve only ever been in relationships?”
She flicked her eyes downwards, hiding herself from him as best she could. Flings? Relationships? Try one relationship, and with the man in front of her. “I’m not like you,” she said with a shrug.
“You’ve never had a one night stand?” He teased, fully expecting her to admit to such a thing.
She bit down on her lip and shook her head. “No.”
“Okay,” he rolled his shoulders. “Then maybe this isn’t for you. From where I stand, agape, we’re two adults who want to sleep together. We both know why it can never be more than that. I think a sex-only affair is great. Fun, sexy, and with an expiration date that saves anyone from wanting more. You mightn’t go in for that kind of thing, and to be honest, the part of me that wants all of you to myself is glad to hear it. I hate the idea of you sleeping around with other guys – I know that makes me some kind of pig, but it’s how I feel.” He moved his head closer, so she could see all the flecks in his ocean-coloured eyes. “But I don’t see what the big deal is. Sex isn’t the be all and end all. It’s kind of meaningless, emotionally, if you take the emotions out of it.”
“God,” she shook her head and lifted her palms to his chest, pushing him back from her a little. He was so warm, so salty and so hot, she needed him like she’d never needed anyone, but every cell in her body was screaming at her to walk away from him! How could she give into this when he was being so callous about what sex would mean to him?
“You must have slept with guys you weren’t in love with?” He pushed.
She shook her head, and his eyes widened, and for some reason, there was pain in his expression. Pain and hurt, as though she was the one lancing him with the meaninglessness of what they were to one another.
How could she tell him that she was still a virgin? That she’d been warned off flings by seeing what had happened to Elizabeth, and then she’d met Apollo and no other man had excited any degree of interest from her – emotional or physical?
And what would he say if she did tell him?
He didn’t want her love. He didn’t want any kind of commitment or relationship. Would he turn away from her if he knew the truth? Worse, would he no longer want her if he discovered that she had zero experience in bed? There was no way she could hold a candle to his usual lovers – she’d be using him, in some ways, for her first sexual experience. Possibly her only.
Would he revise his opinion and think her virginity was, indeed, meaningful? Would that give him pause for thought?
“I need to think about it,” she said softly, swallowing and stepping back. Her body screamed at her in rejection and outrage, wanting and needing to be back in his arms, surrounded by his heat and masculinity.
“Think fast, agape. I’m not keeping you here forever, and once we leave the island, this will be over…”
*
He watched her retreating figure with a stone of guilt heavy in his gut.
What the hell was he doing? If he wanted to take someone to his bed, there were any number of women he could have flown out to see. Women who were a lot less complicated and inherently dangerous to his equilibrium than Eleanor. Damn it, that didn’t matter though.
He didn’t just want to get laid. He wanted Eleanor. With every single nerve ending, sinew and pulse, he wanted her.
He needed her. She paused at the top of the hill, and his heart paused with her. Was she going to turn back? To run down to him and fall into his arms. His body was on alert, waiting, watching but then, she shook her head slightly and stalked off, as though she could shake his suggestion from her shoulders and resume
her normal life.
Okay, Apollo thought, turning to look at the pile of branches at his feet with a sense of bewilderment. It was time to call a spade a spade. He’d stolen her from Ras el Kida, kidnapping her, threatening her, and he’d had his reasons! Good reasons that he could use to justify acting like a barbarian. Her safety. His sister’s well-being. Raffa’s protective wrath.
But hadn’t his desire been a guiding factor for him as well?
Hadn’t he seen her in that crowded hall and felt every single part of him burst to life with renewed vigour? Hadn’t his body tightened just looking at her?
He’d wanted her and so he’d taken her and damn it all to hell, he had no idea what he’d do if she didn’t agree to become his mistress.
Mistress.
His gut churned with disgust. His father had had mistresses. Lots of them. And Stavros had treated them all as expendable, disposable, unimportant, meaningless trophies. Bodies to seek pleasure with, to take what he wanted, and then discard. The younger the better; many of them borderline of legal consent age.
Apollo groaned, and thrust his hands onto his hips, staring up at the hot, afternoon sun. Damn it all to hell, this was different. He was nothing like his perverted billionaire father had been.
And Eleanor was different too. She wasn’t just a woman he wanted to seduce and then discard. She was sophisticated, experienced, in her mid-twenties. She was… Eleanor.
Which meant what, precisely?
That he was screwed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AT THE TOP OF the orchard she paused and stared at the villa. A beautiful villa for a beautiful man, on a stunning island – for a stunning man. Everything about Apollo Heranedes was over the top. He was extravagantly gorgeous, rich, intelligent, fiercely strong, ruthless – yet kind, too, and loyal. Loyal to the father he blamed her for killing. Loyal to a sister he believed she, Eleanor, intended to hurt. Loyal to his friend, the Sheikh of Ras el Kida, and desperate to protect him from whatever destruction he believed Eleanor might heap upon them.
The Greek's Virgin Captive: She was wrong for him in every way but one... (Evermore Book 2) Page 7
