Читать книгу Modern Romance October 2019 Books 5-8 - Annie West - Страница 21

HANNAH STARED AT the black velvet box with a sense of disbelief. The jeweller was watching her, a smile on his face, and Hannah imagined how this must look from the outside. A tailor had arrived on the island earlier that day, armed with suitcases of couture, beautiful dresses, jeans, shirts, bathers, lingerie—everything the wife of Leonidas Stathakis might be expected to wear.

The dressmaker had stayed for hours, taking Hannah’s measurements, and photographs of her for ‘colour matching’—whatever that was—and to discuss wedding dress options, before disappearing again. All the while some servant or other had taken the suitcases and carefully unpacked them into the room Hannah was using.

‘Her room,’ though she had no idea when she’d ever think of it like that.

There had also been a doctor, who’d come to check her over and implement a new vitamin regimen, and promised fortnightly check-ups. Then there’d been a more detailed conference with Mrs Chrisohoidis regarding Hannah’s favourite foods, flowers and any other thoughts she might have as regards the running of the house.

Hannah had changed into one of the simple white shift dresses—for comfort on a hot day—and pulled her red hair into a bun on top of her head. As she looked at the dozen engagement rings the jeweller presented, all set against signature turquoise velvet, she knew it must appear to be some kind of Cinderella fairy tale. Leonidas looked on, not exactly playing the part of Prince Charming, though what he lacked in warmth he more than made up for in physical appeal.

He was casually dressed, in shorts and a white shirt, but that did nothing to diminish his charisma and the sense of raw power that emanated from his pores. It burst into the room, making it almost impossible for Hannah to keep her mind focussed on this task.

‘Just something simple,’ she said with a shake of her head, thinking that each and every ring was way too sparkly and way, way too big. ‘Maybe this one?’ She chose the smallest in the box.

‘Ah!’ The jeweller nodded. ‘It is very beautiful.’ He lifted it out, holding it towards Hannah. ‘Try it on.’

This was all wrong! She didn’t want to choose her own engagement ring, and no matter how many pretty, sparkly, enormous diamonds twinkled at her, it didn’t feel right. She closed her eyes for a moment and imagined Leonidas going down on one knee, proposing as though this were a real wedding, and a bolt of panic surged inside her. But this wasn’t a fairy tale and he wasn’t Prince Charming, just as he’d said.

We are a one-night stand we can’t escape.

Her heart began to churn. With a sense of unease, as though she were about to commit massive tax fraud, she slid the ring onto her finger. It was a perfect fit. She stared down at it and, ridiculously, tears filled her eyes. Now! Here! After becoming so adept at blocking them, she felt their salty promise and quickly sought to disguise them in what should have been a happy moment.

‘It’s beautiful.’

Leonidas came to stand beside her, his presence a force, a magnetic energy, pulling her eyes upwards.

‘Don’t you think?’ she asked him.

His eyes met hers and they were back on the beach, just the two of them, his body inside hers, his strength on top of her.

‘It is.’ He nodded, hesitation in his tone. ‘But you do not have to decide now.’

‘Of course not,’ the jeweller agreed. ‘I can leave the tray, if you would like to try each for a time?’

Hannah’s head spun. Each ring had to feature a diamond of at least ten carats. What must the whole tray be worth?

She didn’t want to spend a week prevaricating over which enormous diamond she’d drag around. She just wanted the jeweller to go. She wanted Leonidas to go. Her head was spinning; it was all too much.

We are a one-night stand we can’t escape.

He was right, and yet she rejected that description, she recoiled from it with everything she was.

‘That’s fine.’ She shook her head, the beginnings of a throb in her temples. ‘This one will be fine.’

She wanted to be alone and perhaps it showed in her voice, because Leonidas was nodding his slow agreement. ‘Very well. Thank you for coming, Mr Carter.’

The jeweller left and Hannah watched the helicopter lift off from the cool of the sitting room, taking him from the island and to the mainland of Greece, the sun setting in the background, casting the beautiful machinery in a golden glow.

The day had lived up to the morning’s promise. Heat had sizzled and Hannah, having spent so much time preparing for what lay ahead, wanted to simply relax. She’d spied a pool in her explorations the day before and she thought of it longingly now.

‘Greg Hassan is scheduled to sit with you today,’ Leonidas said as he entered the room.

Hannah’s temples throbbed harder. ‘Who?’ She failed to conceal her weariness.

‘Head of security at Stathakis.’

Hannah’s throat shifted as she swallowed. ‘What do I need to see him for?’

‘There are protocols you will need to learn.’ He was tense, as if braced for an argument.

‘I thought you said this island is far from the mainland, inaccessible to just about anyone…’

He tilted his head in agreement. ‘This island is secure, sigoura. But there are still protocols to follow and there are always risks.’

His fear was chilling. But it was also very, very sad. She saw the tension in his body, and she wished there were some way she could take it away for him, that she could tell him everything was going to be okay.

She didn’t know that it was, but she knew you couldn’t live looking over your shoulder.

‘Can’t you just go through the security stuff with me?’

‘You will need to have a relationship with Greg,’ he said firmly, his eyes roaming Hannah’s face. ‘He’ll coordinate your movements, and our daughter’s, arrange her security detail as she gets older.’

Panic flared inside Hannah. It was all too real and too much. To say she was overwhelmed was an understatement. ‘Do you mind if we don’t talk about that right now?’

His expression shifted. ‘Your safety is important.’

She nodded. ‘I know. I’m just—well, I’m worn out, to be honest.’

Concern flashed in his expression. ‘Of course. You must be, the day was full and in your condition…’

‘It’s just a lot to take in.’ Her smile was more of a grimace. ‘I thought I’d go for a swim and just let it all percolate in my mind.’

‘Fine.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll ask Marina to prepare a simple dinner for you, for afterwards.’

Hannah nodded, unable to express why her stomach was swooping. ‘Thank you.’

She didn’t see Leonidas again that evening. She swam, gently pulling herself through the water, enjoying the lapping of cool against her sun-warmed skin, and then she ate the dinner Mrs Chrisohoidis had prepared—a small pasta dish with some fruit and ice water.

She contemplated going in search of Leonidas afterwards, but the revelations of their conversation from that morning were still sharp inside her.

She slept heavily, which surprised her. When Hannah woke, the sun was up, the sky was bright, and everything felt calmer. Better. Just as her mother had always said it would.

She had a feeling she could handle anything.

She showered, luxuriating in the sensation of the water on her body, lathering herself in the luxury coconut-fragranced products before towelling dry and slipping on a pair of shorts and a loose shirt.

Her stomach rumbled and she put a hand on it unconsciously, smiling as she felt their baby inside her. She looked down, her eyes catching the glinting of her engagement ring and her heart twisted, because she’d worn another man’s ring, once upon a time, and she’d become used to seeing that on her finger. Then she’d become used to her hand being empty and bare—she’d been grateful. Grateful she’d found out what Angus was really like before she’d married him.

And now, she was to marry Leonidas. It was a gamble, and she wasn’t sure she had the nerves to gamble any more, but here she was, closing her eyes and hoping for the best—all for their daughter’s sake. This was all for her.

She had a coffee and some pastries for breakfast and was contemplating a walk on the beach when Leonidas appeared, wearing a similar outfit to the day before.

He wasn’t alone.

‘Hannah.’ He nodded and she wondered if the man behind Leonidas thought the stiff formality of Leonidas’s greeting unusual.

‘This is Greg Hassan.’

The man in question didn’t look anything like what Hannah had imagined. For some reason, ‘head of security’ conjured images of some kind of black belt muscleman in her mind, someone more like Leonidas, who looked as if they could snap someone with their little finger.

Greg Hassan was on the short side, and slim, with fair skin and bright blue eyes. Hair that had at one time been blond was now balding on top. Hannah was lost in her own thoughts so didn’t notice the way he startled a little at the sight of Hannah. But then, he smiled, moving towards her with one hand extended. She met it, belatedly forcing a smile to her own face.

‘Miss May, this won’t take long.’

In fact, it took hours.

Greg Hassan left some time after noon, and Hannah’s head was back to feeling as if it had been through a washing machine.

The island itself had state-of-the-art monitoring, there were panic buttons in each room, and alarms that were activated by unexpected air activity, including drones—the paparazzi had occasionally tried to send drones into the airspace to capture images but the new detection methods effectively made that impossible.

‘As for when you travel,’ Greg had continued, ‘you’ll have a team of four bodyguards. One of them will be with you at all times, and another with your child.’ He’d smiled reassuringly, as if this were good news, but Hannah had felt as if she were having her head held under water.

She was drowning and it hurt.

‘As much as possible, we’ll coordinate your movements in advance. If you wish to travel to Australia, for example, to see family, we’ll send a team out ahead to set up and prepare for your arrival. When your daughter starts school, I presume you’ll move to the mainland—’ At which point Leonidas had interrupted and said that had not yet been decided. Greg had continued that in the event of their daughter attending a school in Athens, or a major city, the campus would be vetted, and their daughter would wear a watch with an inbuilt panic alarm.

Questions mushroomed inside Hannah’s brain, but she hadn’t wanted to ask them in front of the security chief.

Leonidas had escorted Greg Hassan from the building and then disappeared to work, leaving Hannah with a million uncertainties scrambling around her brain.

She kept busy, calling her boss, Fergus, and informing him of her decision, and sending a polite, carefully worded email to her aunt, advising her, as a courtesy, that she was pregnant and getting married. She didn’t even want to think what the reaction would be. Hannah was careful to leave out any other details—particularly who the groom was.

She texted her flatmates and let them know she wouldn’t be coming back, but saying she’d pay rent until they found someone else and she could get back to pack up her room.

It all felt so official, and officially terrifying, but also bizarrely right.

She didn’t see Leonidas again until that evening. Hannah stood on the terrace, watching the sun set, her heart lifting as the golden orb dropped, already feeling some kind of soul-deep connection to this land.

She heard his approach, and then she felt his proximity, even though he didn’t touch her. It was as simple as the air around her growing thick, sparking with an electrical charge that fired her blood.

She turned slowly to find him there, his eyes locked to her as though he couldn’t help himself. But the minute Hannah looked at him, he blinked and looked away, turning his attention to the ocean.

They stood there in silence for a moment, Hannah trying not to react to the throb of awareness low in her abdomen, trying not to act on an impulse to throw herself at him.

As the stars began to shimmer, she found herself remembering the meeting of earlier that day, recalling all the questions that had flooded her. ‘You don’t travel with a bodyguard.’

‘I always have security,’ he contradicted.

‘Not on New Year’s Eve. I didn’t see anyone else…’

‘My hotel is a fortress when I am there.’ He tilted his head towards her, his eyes scanning her face. In the evening light, his sharp features were all harsh angles and planes. ‘Additional guards would have been superfluous.’

‘Was it like this before the accident?’

‘It was no accident,’ he responded, whip-sharp.

‘Before you lost them,’ Hannah corrected.

‘Euphemisms? Perhaps if we call it what it is—murder—you will accept the security measures more readily.’

Hannah wasn’t sure she agreed.

‘And no. Before they were killed, I was stupid and lax with their safety. I was arrogant and thought myself, and everyone around me, invincible, despite my father’s connections.’

Hannah moved towards Leonidas, her heart sore for him.

‘Isn’t that better than living with fear?’

‘Living with fear might have kept them alive,’ he said, darkly.

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I know they should never have been out wandering the streets.’ He ground his teeth. ‘And that you and our daughter will never be exposed to that kind of risk…’

Hannah tried not to feel as if she were drowning again. She tried to breathe slowly, to feel the freedom of this island, to understand why he felt as he did.

And she did. She could imagine what pain he must be suffering, and the added layer of guilt. But the picture he was painting was grim. Hannah couldn’t imagine not being free to simply wake up and decide to go to the shops, or to visit a friend without having bodyguards do a preparatory security sweep.

‘So she’ll wear a panic button?’ The idea turned Hannah’s blood to ice, but then, so did the idea of anything happening to her.

His voice held a warning note. ‘At least you’ll both be safe.’

His feelings were completely understandable, but Hannah railed against them instinctively. She’d felt loss, she knew its pain well. Losing her parents, then losing her engagement to Angus, she understood what it was like to have everything shift on you.

And yet, being fearless in the face of that was a choice.

‘How come there are no pictures of them?’

Leonidas shifted to face Hannah, complex emotions marring his handsome face. ‘What?’ The word was sucked from him.

‘You were married, what, three years? How come there are no wedding photos? No baby pictures of Brax? If I didn’t know about them, I would never have guessed they even existed.’

Leonidas shut his eyes, but not before she saw his grief, his heartache.

‘It is not your concern.’

Hannah’s insides flexed with acid. Another reminder. His wife and child were off limits. They weren’t her concern. His life before her was not up for discussion.

More boundaries. Rules. Distance. It slammed against her and she ground her teeth, the limitations of this like nails under her feet.

‘I understand it hurts.’ She spoke quietly, lifting a hand to his chest. His heart was pounding. ‘But not talking about it doesn’t make sense.’

‘Please, stop.’ She felt his frustration like a whip at the base of her spine.

‘Why?’

‘Because it is my choice. Because she was my wife and he was my son.’ His voice cracked with awful emotion and she swept her eyes shut for a moment, sucking in a breath.

‘I know that. And they’re a huge part of you, just like our daughter will be.’ She carefully kept herself out of that summation.

‘But I do not want to discuss them.’

‘Why not? Don’t you want to remember your son? Don’t you want to talk to me—to someone—about his laugh, his smile, his first steps, his night terrors—all the things that made him the little boy he was?’

Leonidas’s skin was paler than paper. ‘I will never forget my son.’

‘I know that,’ she said quietly. ‘But you can’t honour someone by burying their memories.’

Her words hung between them, sharp like an insult, bony and knotty and troublesome and almost too much. She partially rejected the truths of that observation, but she knew from experience what this felt like—she’d been made to stay silent for years, to hold her grief inside, and she’d lost so much of her parents as a result. So many memories she should have been free to relish, to smile about, were gone for ever because of forced disuse.

‘He was the light of my life!’ he said suddenly. The words were torn from him, animalistic for their pain. He held his ground, staring at her as though she were covering him in acid. ‘He was the light of my damned life! Amy and I… I loved her but, God, she drove me crazy and we weren’t…in many ways, we weren’t well-suited.’ He dragged a hand through his hair, his eyes pinpointing Hannah with his grief. ‘We’d argued the week before they died. She’d gone to Athens and I was glad.’ He groaned, his displeasure at reliving that time in his life evident in every line of his body. ‘I was glad because I was sick of fighting with her, sick of disagreeing over unimportant matters. But Brax was my reason for living, my reason for breathing, the reason I would never have left Amy.’

Hannah’s grief was like dynamite in her chest.

She waited, letting him speak, letting him finish. ‘I loved her but Brax was my everything and then he was dead. Because of me.’ He dug his fingers into his chest and her eyes dropped to the gesture, to the solid wall of tanned flesh that hid a thundering heart.

‘You think I am at risk of forgetting a single thing about him? You think I need to speak to you about my son to remember the way balloons made him laugh riotously, or the way clowns terrified him, or the way he loved to swim and chase butterflies?’ His expression softened with grief and love and Hannah held her breath, all of her catching fire with the beauty of that look—of the expression on Leonidas’s face.

‘Do you think I will ever forget how much he loved strawberries? Cheese? The way he called me Bampás, except he couldn’t say it properly so he said Bappmas instead? These things are burned inside my brain, Hannah, whether I speak of them or not.’

It was too real, too raw. She needed to say something, but words failed her. She opened her mouth, searching, seeking, but Leonidas shook his head and then kissed her.

It was a kiss to silence Hannah, a kiss to suck away whatever she’d been going to say and swallow it up, because he’d made it obvious he didn’t want her grief, her sympathy, her conversation.

He kissed her, and she resisted for a moment because he was finally opening up to her and she wanted to talk to him, to help him, to hear him. She stiffened in his arms, wanting to push at his chest, to tell him not to run away from this conversation but then he groaned, a guttural sound of such utter, devastating need, and any fight wavered, leaving only surrender.

Surrender and such deep, deep sympathy.

She understood the complexity of his emotions.

And the way he kissed her now, she understood what he needed. He wished he didn’t want her like this; he’d said as much on the beach, but this flame was burning out of control no matter how they tried to manage it.

‘Damn it,’ he groaned, swooping down and lifting her up. Regardless of the fact she was five months pregnant, he carried her effortlessly, moving through the mansion with a determined gait.

He shouldered the door to his room open—Hannah hadn’t been in here. She looked around, seeing the dark wood, the masculine touches, gathering a brief impression of a space that was huge and elegant before he laid her on the bed, his body coming over hers, his mouth seeking hers as his hands pushed at the waistband of her shorts, lowering them, his hands running over her body.

A gentle breeze rustled in off the Mediterranean, bringing with it salt and warmth. Hannah lifted herself up, kissing him as her hands pushed at his shirt, guiding it over his chest, up to his head. He broke the kiss so she could remove it and then she lay back, breathless, her eyes running over his chest.

The room was dark, but she could see enough. She drank in the sight of him as quickly as she could because he kissed her again, his tongue flicking hers, his hands worshipping her body.

He brought his mouth lower, pushing at her shirt, lifting it to her throat so he could take one of her breasts into his mouth, his tongue swirling over a nipple until she bucked beneath him, stars flashing in her eyelids.

‘God,’ she moaned, digging her heels into the bed, arching her back, begging him to take her, to thrust inside her.

His mouth moved to her other breast and his fingers took over, his palm feeling the weight of her breast, his thumb and forefinger teasing her nipple until she was a puddle of whimpering nerves.

‘Please,’ she husked, running her nails down his back.

His arousal was hard between her legs; his knee nudged her thighs further apart and then he thrust into her, the ache unmistakable, the same urge overrunning them both. She felt his need and mirrored the depth of it.

She lifted herself onto her elbows, finding his mouth, pulling his lower lip between her teeth and biting down on it, so he let out a sharp sound of shock and then a groan as he pushed her head back to the mattress, his kiss a complete domination and sublime pleasure.

Only she wanted more, she wanted to be in control of this. She kissed him back, just as hard, needing him to understand her—this. Needing to reassure him in some way.

She moved herself over his arousal, her breath pinched, her body screaming in relief.

Hannah’s heart hammered against her ribs and pleasure burst, touching every single part of her, until she was all fire and flame, no room for thoughts and feelings, doubts and uncertainties.

Concerns of security, the future, their relationship, his grief, her loss, they all disappeared. What room was there for anything when there was this pleasure in life?

Her breathing was rhythmic and he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Her vibrant red hair spread over his crisp white pillows, glowing like copper, and his gut throbbed painfully.

Leonidas Stathakis had tormented himself for the four years after his wife’s death, staying celibate even when his body had begged him to relent, even when he’d wanted to lose himself in a willing woman’s arms.

He hadn’t.

He hadn’t given in, until he’d seen Hannah and something inside him had begun to beat, a drum he could no longer ignore.

And it was still beating, but harder and faster now. With Hannah under his roof, it was impossible to ignore this; just as she’d said.

Theirs wasn’t a normal marriage, but they did have this, and suddenly, Leonidas didn’t want to fight it any more.

He watched her sleep, her beautiful, pregnant body naked to his hungry gaze, and he gave up fighting altogether. Perhaps in the morning he’d feel differently, but, for now, Leonidas allowed himself to curve his body behind hers, to place an arm possessively over her stomach and to fall asleep for the first time in a long time with a woman in his bed.