by Caro LaFever
Aetos swung his gaze away from the litter of achingly familiar tables and glared at the back of the mágissa’s head.
She did this to him. Forced him to see this.
She’d dared him.
Being who he was, he’d had to accept. How did this demonic creature know exactly the strings to pull to make him jump to her commands?
Lust burned and turned into the now-familiar resentment towards her.
Yet, she appeared oblivious. Surely, she must feel the heat of his irate gaze although he paced far behind her. She kept strolling. Oblivious to the turmoil she left behind her in her wake.
The crowds moved with her and around her. She smiled at a line of elderly men sitting in the sun playing backgammon. Every single gray or bald head lurched around and smiled right back. A gaggle of young studs passed her, laughing and nodding her way. A young kid zoomed by on a scooter and shot her a look filled with Mediterranean passion.
Something stirred inside him. Feral. Furious. He refused to name it.
She kept going, kept winning smiles and greetings and welcoming glances. Not only from all the males in the surrounding vicinity, but from every living creature. The nodding old lady, a fruit vendor who gave her a cluster of grapes as a sample. The young girl who raced over to the witch and tugged on her jeans. Even the hound lying in the shade by his master’s foot thumped a greeting with his tail as she passed by.
It was as if she belonged here. As if somehow, magically, she’d found her place in the sun. In Greece. In Athens.
In his home.
No! his turbulent brain shouted. This is not my home. And not hers, either.
He had to get out. Now. Every atom inside him screamed for release from this agonizing tour down memory lane. Memories he didn’t want to relive or resurrect. Memories he’d banished from his mind the moment he’d left this cursed land.
The familiar smell of tart, bitter coffee, a smell he’d never encountered in the States, filtered into his nostrils.
The streets brushed with the dust and the dirt of a thousand generations of his ancestors beat beneath his feet, gripping him, holding him. The warmth of the sun slid across his skin. Warmth he’d never found when the sun beat down on him in his home in New York City, his real home.
Uniquely Greek. Uniquely, warmly home.
No!
Aetos gritted his teeth and focused his entire concentration on the woman strolling in front of him. His tormentor. His torment.
He could endure this for a few hours. He could endure anything. To prove to her he could. He had no choice, since he couldn’t let her see. Couldn’t let her know what this did to him. What being in this city and walking these particular streets and remembering did to the inside of him he’d thought was gone. Long gone.
The woman threw another smile at a willing male who immediately turned and started strolling beside her, talking and panting.
She laughed.
The frustration and resentment jarred and jangled. Somehow his pace accelerated until he strode right behind her. He managed to glare at the young man who threw him a look and instantly fell back into the crowd. He shot a pointed stare at another group of old men ogling her. He barely contained another glower at the young boy who looked over as she went by.
Did she not notice his presence behind her?
Did she not feel the heat of his fury?
Apparently not. The siren ambled down another lane filled with coffee shops and outdoor cafés. She stepped right into his past without batting an eyelash or giving him and his pain a passing thought.
She paused at a vendor selling roasted chestnuts.
He slowed to a stop, unwilling to come any closer. As he stood there like a dumb animal, she accepted a sample, smiled her witchy smile at the enchanted vendor, and moved on.
His mother had loved roasted chestnuts. He could still remember her hum as she popped the nuts into her mouth. He could still smell the sweet, buttery scent. He still remembered the burn of the nut in his fingers as he eagerly peeled one after the other for his mother.
His mi̱téra.
He had stayed away from the New York vendors selling these nuts, prodding these memories. Stayed away all these years. Yet it had done no good. Every memory and moment were lodged inside the depths of him and nothing, he abruptly realized, would ever release him from their grasp.
Why did he find it hard to draw in a breath?
His siren tyrant moved again, and finally, he was able to take in a short gasp through his mouth. He had no interest in smelling the rich, burnt smell of chestnuts.
He followed. Deeper and deeper into despair.
A bookstore passed by, the one in which he’d purchased his very first copy of Plato. They wandered by the corner where he’d had his first fistfight at the age of nine. A twirling stalk of gyros flavored the air with its salty, familiar scent while its vendor called out for customers. Next, she forced him to follow her down the road his mother had taken him when she walked him back home from school.
The smells and sights and scents were the same. Terribly, horribly the same.
His eyes blurred.
A picture of his mi̱téra came. The way she flung her black hair over her shoulder as she talked about his father with wretched pain. The softness of her small hand as it held his childish one. Her eyes, eyes as dark as his, filling with tears as she kissed him.
Kissed him goodbye.
Years. Years and years of intentional, deliberate effort to rid himself of these memories…
All for naught. All in vain.
Because of her.
This was too much. He’d been wrong. This he could not handle.
“Stási̱.” Stop walking. Stop forcing me to confront these memories and moments. Stop.
The witch turned. She arched her brow at his hoarse tone. “What?”
“Come on.” He knew where to take her. A place holding no memories. A place where he would be safe from this unwanted bombardment of his past. A place every woman would want to see. He would spend some money, and she would be content and then, he could get back to the hospital with its gray walls and antiseptic smells and his laptop. “I know exactly what you’ll want to see.”
Chapter 12
Aetos Zenos was wrong.
Natalie had no interest in seeing this. “What is this?”
He glanced over his shoulder at her as he kept the brisk pace he’d set as soon as they entered this part of the city. “This is Kolonaki. The wealthiest shopping area in Athens.”
Peering into a window as they walked by, she grimaced. The display was filled with a pile of gold and silver jewelry. The next window held gem-encrusted purses and spiked leather high heels. Irritation welled, washing away the excitement and enjoyment she’d been feeling only fifteen minutes ago when she’d been pleasantly meandering through a warren of lanes filled with the real Athens.
This was not the real Athens. Or at least, not the Athens she was intent on seeing.
Stopping in her tracks, she eyed him.
He kept walking. A girl could call it a brisk pace, but in actuality, she’d label it a sprint. She was not interested in racing through this city as if the hounds of hell were dashing behind her.
What was his problem?
A Botox-lipped woman, wearing a dress which likely cost as much as Natalie used to make in a year, marched around her. Her disdainful look at Nat’s jeans and pink cotton top was the last straw.
“I’m going back.”
In front of her, his broad shoulders tensed beneath the silk of his blindingly white shirt. Those long legs of his, encased in the usual impeccable Italian business attire, froze. At least the man had taken off his tie and jacket before launching out of the limo in answer to her challenge. Why did he constantly wear a uniform more fitting for a boardroom than hanging around with his family? She hadn’t once seen him in a pair of jeans and simple T-shirt.
Zenos turned and gave her his usual glare. “What?”
“I hav
e no interest in —” She waved. “—this.”
His gold-tinged brows flew up in patent surprise. “What?”
“You heard me.” Whirling around, she stomped back the way she’d come. He thought she’d be interested in this fluff. He thought flashing some bling around her would make her coo with happiness. He thought she could be bought. He thought every woman could be bought. The man’s opinion of females was so blatant, so insulting she wanted to…she wanted to…
His scent and presence swirled around her. The heat of his body and his stare warmed her skin, set a light on inside her.
She wanted to…
She wanted to…
She wanted to kiss him.
What an idiot she was.
“I don’t understand.” His voice came from her side, gruff and irked.
“Clearly you don’t.” Her pace quickened.
“Every woman likes Kolonaki.”
“Well, I guess I’m not every woman.”
He muttered under his breath. A foul curse probably. Or maybe some kind of putdown.
“Listen.” Coming to a halt, she swiveled around to glare at him. Enough was enough. A huge amount of turmoil roiled inside this man, but she couldn’t figure it out and he certainly wasn’t going to tell her. In any event, this was her day, her moment to take in a foreign land, one she’d dreamed of visiting her entire life. She wasn’t going to let him spoil it with his insults and his anger and his pain washing like waves of angst over her. “I can go on my own. I don’t need you around.”
A trickle of golden sweat rolled down the side of his face, highlighting the symmetry of his cheekbone, the elegance of his bone structure. The beauty of him set a flame to light in her gut. In her lustful, needy sexual being.
Even his ear—his ear!—was handsomely sculpted.
Beautiful and blessed on the outside.
Damaged and destroyed on the inside.
“Sorry.” His apology was tough and cynical. Not a real apology at all. “I’d be happy to see the last of you, but I’m not going to go back on my word to my grandfather.”
His rejection stuffed her attraction right to the bottom of her stupid soul and escalated her temper. “Then you’ll have to go where I want to go.”
He grabbed her arm as she turned to leave. A burst of spiked heat blasted through her like a whipped charge of electricity. Out of pure instinct, she started to tug herself away from him.
Growling, his hand tightened on her. “We’re not going back there.”
The way he said there stopped her. There. As if there was hell itself. Or some kind of fiery place of utter pain.
She eyed him again.
The dark eyes looking at her were blank. And yet, she sensed a wealth of bitter agony pulsing inside him. The emotion poured out of him like a thick river of devastation.
Despite herself, sympathy bloomed.
Without realizing it, she’d been torturing the man. Whatever there encompassed, she would be cutting him into tiny pieces if she insisted on returning to the warren of Athenian lanes. She didn’t like the man, still, inexplicably she held some kind of yearning compassion for him in spite of his actions. The pain rolling off him didn’t excuse his surly behavior, but it mitigated some of her hurt and irritation.
“Fine.” Staring, she tried to reach inside him and figure him out. Why was walking through the streets of his native homeland causing such torment? It was no use, though; he gave her nothing except the blank stare back. At least she could give him an olive branch. “We’ll go somewhere else.”
A flicker of relief crossed his face as he finally let go of her arm. “Good.”
“We’ll go to your favorite place in Athens.”
“I don’t have a favorite place here.” The words came out of his mouth like bullets and his eyes went black with anguish.
What was going on with this man? “I can’t believe you didn’t have a place you loved as a child.”
His gaze swung away from hers as his hands fisted at his side. Even though the crowds around them talked and laughed and the jingle of a piano echoed from one of the dozens of cafés surrounding them, it seemed as if a hush fell between them. A hush before a lightning strike, a hush before a fall, a hush before devastation.
He turned with a jerk and stared at her. His eyes were no longer blank or black. They shone with unconcealed rage. They blazed, turning molten.
Not dark. To say his eyes were dark would not be correct.
Chestnut. The thought zinged. Exactly like the nuts she’d sampled mere minutes ago. Golden-brown with splashes of cognac. A thin line of black edged the iris, framing the brilliant mix of colors.
For a moment, she felt the connection. Felt the string of desire and challenge and indefinable need stretch taut between them. As if both of them were pulling away and yet trying to pull each other closer.
Then, the string broke. His intense, soul-destroying eyes went flat. The blazing warmth and color went dull.
She suddenly wanted to weep.
“All right.” His breath rasped and she watched, unwillingly, as his broad chest stretched beneath his silk shirt. “You win.”
What had she won? From the look on his face, she’d gained nothing of importance.
“Like you always do.” He turned and marched away from her.
His charge was completely ridiculous. Nat made a face at his back as she followed him out of the shopping district and onto a broad, tree-lined street. He set a brisk pace, not precisely a run, but not conducive to any kind of conversation. Which was just as well. If she had an extra breath, she’d have thrown his silly words right back at him.
She always won?
Ha! She’d won a few of their skirmishes, yet he certainly had won his fair share. He’d won her agreement to come here to Greece. He’d won her concession to play a part and fool his family. He’d won her unwilling desire.
Not that he knew this, thank goodness.
Surely he didn’t know about the lust running through her blood.
Not if he claimed she always won.
Her gaze skimmed along the broad male shoulders in front of her. The muscles bunched and loosened as his strong arms swung at his sides. Helplessly, she let her scrutiny drop down. Across the long, length of his back, the tautness of his waist. To his butt.
The man had a class-A butt.
The silk of his trousers slid and slipped over his gorgeous ass as his legs pumped down the street. She was ogling. Definitely ogling. But she couldn’t help herself.
So damn beautiful.
The man moved like a Greek athlete. His supple, graceful form strode through the mass of people, weaving and winding with artful finesse. The sun blazed on his curled hair like a winner’s wreath, highlighting the golden strands on top, the sugar-brown beneath.
Drooling, yes, she was drooling much to her disgust.
They were climbing. The street narrowed, the crowds diminished. The scent of pine and sea swam into her nose, and she took another deep breath, hoping it would clear her head of his appeal. No matter how gorgeous the man was, where it counted—in his character and his soul—he was ugly. She needed to remember this during the next few days they were together. She needed to remember this was a fantasy and he was merely the horrid, beastly prince in the tale who in actuality was not a prince at all.
He was a man. A man like her father.
Stopping in front of a stone-and-glass building, he turned and threw her a cold glance. “There’s a train that can take us to the top. Or…”
Her gaze followed his pointed finger. The path wove up and up, over the rugged mountain. “Or?”
“Or we can walk.”
A taunt, definitely a taunt. And a challenge.
“I’m going to walk,” she pronounced.
The man grunted in surprise.
“But if you’re tired, Zenos,” she crooned, wanting to strike him for his twist of beauty and ugliness. “I won’t mind if you take the train.”
With a f
lash which startled her, the grin appeared. Those burnished-chestnut eyes of his lit with golden laughter. His face turned from stony sullenness to frank appreciation. The grin widened, drawing her attention, drawing out her memories of his mouth on hers.
Ogling. Drooling. As well as dreaming.
Of his kiss.
Another soul-destroying adventure into this man’s dark, dangerous land of desire. Nat knew she was running into a disaster of monumental proportions. She knew if she kept walking deeper and deeper into this man’s world and mind and passion and pain, she risked everything. Yet the thought didn’t seem to matter as she watched his smile slowly fade and his eyes turn blank once more.
“Come on.” Turning, he went up the path again.
She followed. She had no choice. It was too late to choose another path or choose to walk away. Although everything inside her rebelled, her heart told her it was too late.
No. NO. Her brain screamed a protest as the knowledge sunk in.
She heard his breath, felt his heat, touched his broken, ugly heart with hers. No matter how much her brain rejected the connection, it was no use. She’d fallen for this twisted, tainted prince of pain.
He glanced back, his face set in its usual sullen rejection. “Having a hard time keeping pace?”
Excitement and dismay sparked inside. The thrill of the match, the knowledge of the agony sure to come. A womanly instinct told her to run from this man and yet, she couldn’t, wouldn’t concede. “I can more than keep up with you.”
Grunting, he threw her a look of challenge before turning and continuing to climb.
She focused on her burning legs instead of the thoughts zipping in her mind.
The path narrowed once more, the pine trees becoming dense, their fragrance more intense. She kept her gaze locked on the path, not on him. The turmoil inside her would only increase if she kept looking at him, wanting him.
They broke free of the trees and finally stepped onto the flat top of the mountain. A tiny, ancient church perched at one end. The simple, small café next to it held a smattering of tourists.
