by Jane Porter
“I could tell. Some things one doesn’t need to see to know. Just as I didn’t need to see you to know I love you. That I will always love you. And I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you.”
Elizabeth’s breath caught in her throat. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even breathe.
Kristian stood up from the table and crossed around to kneel before her. He had a ring box in his hand. “Marry me, latrea mou,” he said. “Marry me. Come live with me. I don’t want to live without you.”
His proposal shocked her, and frightened her. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for him—she did, oh, she did—but marriage. Marriage to another Greek tycoon.
She drew back in her chair. “Kristian, I can’t… I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“You don’t want to be with me?”
All she wanted was to be with him, but marriage terrified her. To her it represented an abuse of power and control, and she never wanted to feel trapped like that again.
“I do want to be with you—but marriage…” Her voice cracked. She felt the old pressure return, the sense of dread and futility. “Kristian, I just had such a terrible time of it. And it shattered me when it ended. I can’t go that route again.”
“You can,” he said, rising.
“No, I can’t. I really can’t.” She slid off her chair and left the table. She felt cornered now, and she didn’t know where to go. He was in her house. The restaurant owner and the waiter were in her house. And it was a little two-bedroom house.
Elizabeth retreated to the only other room—her bedroom—but Kristian followed. He put his hand out to keep her from closing the door on him.
“You accused me of being a coward by refusing to recover,” he said, holding the door ajar. “You said I needed to get on my feet and back to the land of living. Maybe it’s time you took your own advice. Maybe it’s time you stopped hiding from life and started living again, too.”
Firmly, insistently, he pushed the door the rest of the way open and entered her room. Elizabeth scrambled back, but Kristian marched toward her, fierce and determined. “Being with you is good. It feels right and whole and healthy. Being with you makes me happy, and I know—even if I couldn’t see before—it made you happy, too. I will not let happiness go. I will not let you run away, either. We belong together.”
She’d backed up until there was nowhere else to go. She was against her nightstand, cornered near her bed, her heart thundering like mad in her chest.
“You,” he added, catching her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth, kissing each balled fist, “belong with me.”
And as he kissed each of her fists she felt some of the terrible tension around her heart ease. Just his skin on hers calmed her, soothed her. Just his warmth made her feel safe. Protected. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.
“I know you are. You’ve been afraid since you lost your parents, the year before your coming-out party. That’s why you married Nico. You thought he’d protect you, take care of you. You thought you’d be safe with him.”
Tears filmed her eyes. “But I wasn’t.”
He held her fists to his chest. “I’m not Nico, and I could never hurt you. Not when I want to love you and have a family with you. Not when I want to spend every day of the rest of my life with you.”
She could feel his heart pounding against her hands. His body was so warm, and yet hard, and even with that dramatic scar across his cheek he was beautiful.
“Everything I’ve done,” he added, tipping his head to brush his lips across her forehead, “from learning to walk again to risking the eye surgery, was to help me be a man again—a man who was worthy of you.”
“But I’m not the right woman—”
“Not the right woman? Latrea mou, look at you! You might be terrified of marriage, but you’re not terrified of me.” His voice dropped, low and harsh, almost mocking. “I know I’m something of a monster, I’ve heard people say as much, but you’ve never minded my face—”
“I love your face.”
His hands tightened around hers. “You don’t bow and scrape before me. You talk to me, laugh with me, make love with me. And you make me feel whole.” His voice deepened yet again. “With you I’m complete.”
It was exactly how he made her feel. Whole. Complete. Her heart quickened and her chest felt hot with emotion.
“You make sense to me in a way no one has ever made sense,” he added, even more huskily. “And if you love me, but really can’t face marriage, then let’s not get married. Let’s not do anything that will make you worry or feel trapped. I don’t need to have a ceremony or put an expensive ring on your finger to feel like you’re mine, because you already are mine. You belong with me. I know it, I feel it, I believe it—it’s as simple and yet as complicated as that.”
Elizabeth stared up at him, unable to believe the transformation in him. He was like a different man—in every way—from the man she’d met nearly three months ago.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, seeing her expression. “Have I got it wrong? Maybe you don’t feel the same way.”
The sudden agony in his extraordinary face nearly broke her heart. Elizabeth’s chest filled with emotion so sharp and painful that she pressed herself closer. “Kiss me,” she begged.
He did. He lowered his head to cover her mouth with his. The kiss immediately deepened, his touch and taste familiar and yet impossibly new. This was her man. And he loved her. And she loved him more than she’d thought she could ever love anyone.
Kissing him, she moved even closer to him, his arms wrapping around her back to hold her firmly against him. His warmth gave her comfort and courage.
“I love you,” she whispered against his mouth. “I love you and love you and love you.”
She felt the corner of his mouth lift in a smile.
“And I don’t care if we get married,” she added, “or if we just live together, as long as we’re together. I just want to be with you, near you, every day for the rest of my life.”
He drew his head back and smiled down into her eyes. “They say be careful what you wish for.”
“Every day, forever.”
“Grace Elizabeth…”
“Every day, each day, until the end of time.”
“Done.” He dropped his head and kissed her again. “There’s no escaping now.”
She wrapped her arms around him, reassured by the wave of perfect peace. “I suppose if you’re not going to let me escape, we might as well make it legal.”
Kristian drew his head back a little to get a good look at her face. “You’ve changed your mind?”
A huge knot filled her throat and she nodded, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Ask me again. Please.”
“Will you marry me, latrea mou?” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.
“Yes.”
He kissed her temple, and then her cheek, and finally her mouth. “Why did you change your mind?”
“Because love,” she whispered, holding him tightly, “is stronger than fear. And, Kristian Koumantaros, I love you with all my heart. I don’t want to be with anyone but you.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli
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CHAPTER ONE
SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.
Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.
She needed that job.
Needed it.
Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.
It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.
No!
She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to the bailiffs but her father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!
Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.
There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.
It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.
None.
Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.
Per month!
Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.
She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a table near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.
‘What can I get you?’ Allegra was about to order a glass of house wine, or maybe just ask if they could do her a pot of tea and a sandwich, because she really ought to try a couple more job agencies, but hell, a girl could only take so much rejection in one day and she may well be living off tea and sandwiches for a long while yet!
‘A bottle of Bollinger please.’ It was an extravagant gesture for Allegra, an unusual one as well. She was extremely careful with her pay cheque, saving twenty percent to put towards her first mortgage before it even hit her account, determined never to be like her family—but where had that gotten her?
The waitress didn’t bat an eye; instead she asked how many glasses.
‘Just the one.’
She was given a little bowl of nuts too!
‘Celebrating?’ the waitress asked as she poured her drink.
‘Sort of,’ Allegra admitted, and then, left alone, she decided that she was. For months she had put up with her boss’s thinly veiled leers and skin-crawling comments. It was worth celebrating just to finally be past all that, so she raised her glass to the window, in the general direction of her old work place.
‘Cheers!’
As she turned she caught Mr. Gorgeous watching her—not staring, just idly curious—and she couldn’t blame him for that. After all, she was raising a glass to the window. She gave him a brief smile and then turned back to her thoughts, took out a pen and the notebook and list of contacts that she always carried and set about making copious lists, determined, determined, that by the end of the week she would be back in work.
Halfway down the bottle and she didn’t feel quite so brave. If anything, half a bottle of champagne on an empty stomach had her emotions bubbling and she was dangerously close to tears, especially when the waitress came over.
‘You didn’t sign the register when you came in,’ the waitress said, and even before she continued Allegra knew what was coming and inwardly flinched as realization dawned. ‘You are a member, aren’t you?’ She felt a blush spread on her cheeks. Of course it was a private club that she’d entered, not some bar she’d just wandered into, and just as she was about to apologise and fling down her fifty-pound note and flee, a voice that was as pleasing as its owner saved her the embarrassment.
‘Why are you hiding there?’ A deep warm voice had both Allegra and the waitress turn around and she found herself looking now into the eyes of the pensive stranger—very brown eyes that stayed steady as hers blinked in confusion. He turned and addressed the waitress. ‘Sorry, she’s my guest. I’ll sign her in in a moment.’ The waitress opened her mouth to say something—after all, Allegra had been sitting there alone for a good half an hour or so and he had made no effort to join his guest—but perhaps he was a favourite customer, or maybe it was just his impressive stance, because, without comment, the waitress left them to it.
‘Thanks,’ Allegra said as he took a seat in front of her. ‘But no thanks. I’ll just settle my bill….’ She went to go, but as he moved to stop her, his hand reaching across the table, she shot him a look that told him unwelcome contact would be a very foolish mistake on his part. Given the day she’d had, Allegra had enough pent-up energy to give this stranger a little piece of her mind.
‘As I said, thank you, but no thank you.’
‘At least finish your drink,’ said the stranger. ‘It would be a shame to waste it.’
It would be a crying shame actually.
Maybe she could take it with her, Allegra thought wildly, having visions of herself walking down the street, half-drunk bottle in hand, bemoaning her situation. She found herself smiling at the very thought—not smiling at him, of course, except he interpreted it as such, because he clicked slender fingers in the direction of the bar and summoned another glass. Allegra sat bristling as the waitress poured him a glass of her champagne.
‘I’m just trying to enjoy a quiet drink alone,’ she said pointedly.
‘Then sign in,’ he suggested.
‘Ha, ha!’
‘Or,’ he offered, ‘you can be my guest, which means you sit with me. I wouldn’t hear of it otherwise.’ She couldn’t place his accent. He spoke English terribly well; in fact, his voice was clipped and well schooled, unlike Allegra’s rather more London accent, but there was a slight ring to it, Spanish or Italian perhaps. She was determined not to stay long enough to find out.
‘Anyway,’ he carried on despite her lack of response, ‘you don’t look as if you are enjoying it. In fact, apart from the small salute to the w
indow you seem as miserable as I am.’ She looked at him and saw that the impressive suit he was wearing wasn’t just dark, it was black, and so, too, the tie. Not just from the attire, but from the strain on his face, he had clearly come from a funeral. Now he was close, she could smell him—and he smelt nothing like the usual man in a bar. It wasn’t just the delicious hint of cologne that was unusual; he actually smelt of clean—there was no other way to describe it. His eyes were clear and bizarrely she felt herself relax just a little, for this was surely not a man who usually pressed attention, and it wasn’t as if she had anywhere else that she needed to be.
‘Are you usually so invasive?’
He thought about it for a moment. ‘No.’ He took a sip of drink and seemed to think about it some more. ‘Never. I just saw you looking so fed up and then when the waitress came over I thought…’
‘That you’d cheer me up?’
‘No.’ He gave a small shrug. ‘I thought we could be miserable together. Don’t look, but there are a group of women…’ He gestured his head and as instructed she didn’t look, but she knew who he meant. She’d heard their flirting laughter, and had easily guessed it was aimed towards him. ‘One of them in particular seems determined to join me.’
‘I’d have thought you’d have no trouble at all fighting off unwelcome attention.’ Unlike me, she didn’t add, but then she wasn’t particularly used to men vying for her attention—well, not gorgeous ones anyway. But knowing how to deflect unwelcome attention was surely a prerequisite to him stepping out on the street, because wherever he went he surely turned heads.
‘Normally, I have no problem.’ He didn’t say it in arrogance, merely stated the fact. ‘Just today.’ She looked at his suit. ‘I was just trying to have a drink, to think, to have some silence, perhaps the same as you….’ And while she’d have chosen to have some peace, she’d settle for silence too.
‘Okay.’ She gave a begrudging smile. ‘I can manage silence.’
He must be someone, because all she had been given was a small bowl of nuts, but now that he’d joined her she was treated to lots of little bowls of goodies. She didn’t care if she looked greedy; the rumble in her stomach reminded Allegra that she hadn’t eaten since the slice of toast she’d had while dashing to the Underground some seven hours ago.
