Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 16

CHAPTER SEVEN

TALIA AND SOFIA watched Angelos climb up the hill, his stride easy and powerful, the scowl on his face deepening with every step. Sofia slid her hand into Talia’s and hid slightly behind her.

Talia lifted her chin, determined to brazen out whatever Angelos had in mind. What on earth could he be angry about? Taking his daughter on a picnic?

‘Well.’ He stood in front of them, his hands on his hips, the scowl still on his face. ‘I’m here.’

‘So you are,’ Talia agreed warily. ‘Why?’

His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Did you not ask me to come on a picnic, even though it is a wretchedly hot day? And so I came.’

Talia simply stared at him for a long moment before she finally realised what he was saying. ‘You mean...you’re coming with us? And you’re...you’re not angry?’

‘Angry?’ Angelos stared at her, nonplussed. ‘Why do you think I am angry?’

A grin split her face as relief zinged through her. ‘Maybe you should look in a mirror on occasion,’ she dared to tease. ‘You’ve been scowling the whole time you were climbing the hill, and scaring the dickens out of your daughter and me.’

For a second Angelos looked almost embarrassed. ‘Well.’ He rubbed his chin, looking away. ‘Like I said, it is very hot out here.’

And then the full realisation of what he’d done bloomed inside her, and she felt caught between laughter and tears. Angelos was coming on their picnic. He was trying, and maybe that was what had brought the scowl to his face, because this was unfamiliar territory, and it was hard. Harder, perhaps, than Talia even knew.

He was coming out of his comfort zone, and she admired him for it. She knew how incredibly hard that could be.

‘We’re glad you’re here,’ she said, and stepped aside so Sofia couldn’t hide behind her any longer. ‘Aren’t we, Sofia?’

‘Ne,’ Sofia answered after a moment, ducking her head so her hair hid her face. Talia suppressed the urge to tuck it behind Sofia’s ears; she knew it was a defence mechanism, and one she employed whenever she was in her father’s presence.

‘Good.’ Angelos’s expression clouded as he saw the way Sofia hid, but then he gave one brisk nod and surveyed the valley before them. ‘So where are you intending to have this picnic?’

‘I thought we could walk to the far side of the island. There are some rocks there that look interesting.’ Talia pointed to some large boulders that bordered the shoreline, perfect for scrambling.

‘Very well.’ Angelos nodded again, and Talia had to smother a laugh as she realised how out of his element he was. He had the most commanding, confident presence of anyone she’d encountered, and yet he was clearly out of his depth here, no doubt trying to manage a picnic like a business meeting. ‘Shall we?’

‘Yes, we shall,’ she agreed, and she must not have been able to keep a teasing note from her voice because Angelos gave her a swift, suspicious look before he started down towards the valley.

They walked down the hill towards the opposite shore; the hillside was dotted with the ancient, gnarled trunks of olive trees, the ground strewn with stones. Talia stumbled on one, and before she’d even had a chance to right herself, Angelos steadied her with one strong hand on her elbow, the touch of his skin against hers a shock to her system just as it had been last night, like being doused in ice water, or jolted with electricity.

Except, Talia reflected as Angelos dropped his hand and they walked on, both of those sensations were unpleasant and Angelos’s touch hadn’t been unpleasant at all. Far from it. The few times his skin had brushed hers she’d felt a warmth blooming inside her, spreading outward, taking over. It was the kind of feeling that made her want more, made her wonder how to get it.

She was still feeling the aftershocks of his hand on her elbow as they approached the shore, little zinging sensations arrowing low down in her belly. Amazing how a hand on her elbow of all places could make her feel so...tingly. Dangerous too, because she knew she couldn’t entertain some kind of crush or attraction for her boss. For a whole lot of reasons.

Not least of all the complication of Giovanni’s book. But she didn’t want to think about the book today, or how she was going to bring up the subject with Angelos. She just wanted to enjoy their time together, as Sofia was.

She looked down at Sofia walking between them, her shy glance darting from Talia to Angelos, as if she couldn’t believe they were both here. And in truth, Talia couldn’t believe it. She’d spent hours last night, lying on her bed, staring into the darkness and wondering what Angelos had meant, saying Sofia was better off without him around.

How could he, how could any father, think such a thing? Talia knew what it was like to grow up motherless, fatherless, longing for so much as a memory of the parents she’d had and having only an empty space in her heart and head instead.

She knew her parents hadn’t been perfect, far from it. Her oldest brother, Alessandro, had hard memories of her mother and father, memories he wouldn’t speak of to anyone, or at least not to Talia. She knew her father had had an affair, which had resulted in a half-brother she barely knew, Nate.

But surely any parents were better than none? Sometimes she and her sister Bianca, who had only a few shadowy memories of their mother—the smell of perfume, the jingle of bracelets—talked about how they missed their parents, missed having ever known them. Missed having a memory of a conversation or cuddle. Giovanni was wonderful, but he’d been only one old and sometimes ill man to care for seven very different and sometimes difficult children.

So why did Angelos shy away from his daughter? Last night, when she’d been in his study and heard the anguish in his voice, seen it in his face for a moment, Talia had been sure there was some private torment that kept Angelos from his daughter, and she’d longed to know what it was, so she could try to relieve him of such an awful burden.

But who was she, she’d asked herself in the darkness of her bedroom last night, to relieve anyone of anything? She’d chosen a life of isolation rather than brave the world around her. She wasn’t in any position to offer advice.

But you’re different. You’re protecting yourself physically. Angelos is cutting himself off from the person he loves.

‘Shall we stop here?’ Angelos asked, and Talia blinked the world into focus. She’d been so lost in her thoughts she’d barely been aware of the island around her, the sea shimmering with sunlight, the boulders they’d reached pointing proudly to a hard, blue sky.

‘Yes, this looks good.’ Talia took the blanket from her bag and spread it over a patch of even sand. Sofia sat down, kicking off her sandals and then digging her toes into the sand with a sigh of pleasure.

Angelos sat nearby, his long, muscular legs stretched out in front him, his arms braced behind him, as he gazed out at the sea.

‘Now this isn’t so bad, is it?’ Talia teased, and he shot her a dark look.

‘It’s hot. But the breeze is pleasant.’

‘You know I’m not talking about the weather.’

‘No.’ His forehead furrowed, he glanced at Sofia, who was now kneeling in the sand, scooping it up in handfuls.

‘How about we make a sandcastle?’ Talia suggested, waving a bucket, and clearly taking her meaning, Sofia clapped her hands. Angelos looked nonplussed.

‘A what?’

‘A sandcastle? You have made one, haven’t you, when you were a child at least?’

‘No, not as a child.’ He drew his legs up and rested his forearms on his knees, his expression becoming distant and veiled. ‘I... I used to make them with Sofia.’ He glanced at his daughter, who was watching him warily, not understanding the English. ‘But she’d always eat the sand.’

‘I’m assuming she was a baby at the time?’ Talia said. She was oddly moved by the arrested look on Angelos’s face, the sense that this was a precious memory, and one he didn’t access often. Again she felt that sense of grief and even torment, so private it felt as if she were glimpsing something she wasn’t meant to see, an emotional peeping Tom.

‘Yes, she was a baby,’ Angelos said, and he looked away. ‘Not quite a year old.’

No one spoke, and Talia tried to think of something to say, some way to bridge the moment between darkness and light, between painful memory and carefree present.

Then Angelos turned back to them and gave his daughter a rusty smile, his gaze deliberately averted from Talia. ‘Do we have a spade?’

Talia handed him a plastic shovel, her heart precariously full as she watched Angelos begin to dig. They were merely making a sandcastle, and yet it felt like they were building something more, the beginning of something important, its foundation the memories that had gone before.

After a few minutes of them all working together Talia scooted back, content to let father and daughter create their palace. She started to unpack the food Maria had made them, casting a glance every so often to Angelos and Sofia. Neither of them was speaking, so she couldn’t say it was a huge bonding success, but at least they were doing something together. It still felt like a lot.

* * *

Carefully Angelos turned the bucket over and lifted it so a perfect dome of damp sand emerged. Sofia peeped up at him, a shy smile lighting her features, making the old guilt and grief inside him twist painfully. He could tell his daughter was pleased to have him here, and it made him wonder if he’d been remiss, even wrong, in staying away for so long.

But he’d felt he’d had no choice. He’d honestly believed he was doing the best thing for Sofia. And maybe he had been. A single, sunny afternoon was simply that. A moment in time. The reality of his presence in Sofia’s life was that he was inept, inexperienced, and it brought back painful reminders of everything his daughter didn’t have.

He glanced at Talia, who had unpacked several containers of food and was now sitting on the edge of the blanket, her hands clasped around her knees as she stared out at the sea. Her hair blew in tangles around her face, making Angelos itch to tuck it behind her ears, let his fingers skim the silky softness of her cheek.

His insides clenched at the thought as he grimly acknowledged that he was attracted to his temporary nanny. Ironic, really, that he’d had his choice of svelte beauties before and he’d always refused them. He hadn’t felt so much as a flicker of desire for the other nannies, not to mention the women at work and in Athens who had offered themselves to him. It had been so long he’d wondered if his libido had simply gone for good. He hadn’t even minded; life was simpler that way, and pleasure was something he hadn’t so much as considered in a long, long time.

But since Talia Di Sione had catapulted into his life, his libido had become positively wakeful. Desire had roared through him last night when she’d touched his shoulder. His shoulder. For heaven’s sake, it wasn’t as if she’d rubbed up against him, or tried to kiss him, those petal-soft lips opening and yielding under his...

At these thoughts his body stirred to life and Angelos shifted where he sat. What was he doing, thinking like this?

Talia caught his glance and smiled at him. Sofia was busy completing her castle, and so they had a moment of private conversation.

‘So you didn’t make sandcastles as a child? How come?’

Jolted by the question, as well as the nature of his own recent thoughts, Angelos answered without thinking. ‘I had no opportunity. I grew up in Piraeus.’

‘Piraeus?’ Talia wrinkled her nose. ‘But isn’t that near the beach?’

Angelos shook his head, wishing he hadn’t said so much. He never talked about his childhood, not even to Xanthe. She hadn’t wanted to know, had preferred to think they were starting something new and better together. ‘The docks,’ he explained succinctly. And then, for no reason he could fathom except that Talia was looking at him with such honest, interested curiosity, he clarified, ‘I was a street rat.’

‘A street rat?’ Her eyebrows rose in disbelief even as her expression clouded with sympathy. ‘What do you mean exactly?’

Angelos shrugged. ‘I was—am—an orphan. My father was never around and my mother gave me up when I was a baby. I grew up in a home for children, but when I was fourteen I left to work on the docks.’ He looked away, not wanting to see the revulsion and pity he knew would be in her eyes. Xanthe had been horrified by his past. She’d accepted it, accepted him, but she’d wanted to pretend the ugly parts of his story didn’t exist. And so Angelos had acted as if they hadn’t.

‘That’s terrible,’ Talia said quietly. ‘And it must have been so hard for you. I’m so, so sorry.’

Her obvious sincerity left him feeling nonplussed, even disoriented. ‘I survived.’

‘But how did you go from working the docks to owning your own management consultancy?’ she asked. She sounded quietly awed, which made no sense. Angelos turned back, still expecting to see pity, and instead he saw admiration shining in her eyes.

It felt like a kick to the gut, to the heart. Suddenly he was breathless. ‘I had a lot of luck,’ he said gruffly. ‘I went to night school and received my high school accreditation, and then a scholarship to university. I started my own firm fifteen years ago, a single room in a shabby building in the wrong part of Athens.’

‘That doesn’t sound like luck,’ Talia said. ‘That sounds like a lot of hard work and determination.’

Angelos just shrugged again. He didn’t know how to handle her admiration; he was so unused to it. Xanthe had met him when he was already successful, and the people from his past had disappeared a long time ago. In any case, he didn’t deserve it, not really. So he’d worked hard. He’d made money. What did it matter? He hadn’t been able to protect his family at the most crucial time. He hadn’t been able to save his wife.

‘Angelos, I’m proud of you,’ Talia said, laying a hand on his arm. He tensed beneath her touch, every nerve twanging to life from the simple brush of her fingers. He had a mad, nearly irresistible urge to pull her into his arms and plunder the soft mouth he hadn’t been able to stop looking at. No one had ever said they were proud of him, not even Xanthe.

Talia’s fingers tightened on his arm and Angelos felt his insides coil in expectation. It would be so easy to turn to her, to take her face in his hands and draw her lovely mouth towards his. Everything in him pulsed with the desire to do so.

And he sensed that she wanted him to, that she wouldn’t resist. The attraction was mutual, which both excited and alarmed him. It would be so, so easy...

Then Sofia turned from her finished sandcastle, chattering to Talia, and she let her hand slip from his arm. Angelos let out a long, low, silent breath of relief—and disappointment. The moment, whatever it had been, had passed.

Talia started putting food on plastic plates, and handing them around, and after a few seconds when his libido lay down again, Angelos rejoined the conversation.

He picked at the delicious offerings of cheese and bread and olives, a restlessness inside him that he’d quieted for a long time, and this not to do with the overwhelming physical attraction he had for his nanny. This was caused by something deeper, something more emotional. At first he hadn’t liked Talia’s prying questions, but then part of him had. Part of him had been glad to share something of who he was, to be honest and open with another person.

Disturbed by this thought, he put the plate aside and started walking towards the sea. He kicked off his sandals and let the cool water lap over his feet, cool his blood. What was wrong with him today?

From behind him he could hear Talia clearing the dishes, talking to Sofia. Then he heard them both coming across the sand, and he saw that Sofia had stripped to her one-piece and Talia...

Every thought flew out of his head as he gazed at Talia in a forest-green bikini. It was, for a bikini, quite modest: boy shorts and a halter top. He was able to acknowledge that even as his pulse skyrocketed and his mouth dried, his gaze moving inexorably towards the gentle swell of her breasts under the thin fabric, the enticing dip of her waist and flare of her hips. His palms ached to smooth across her golden skin, to anchor her hips in his hands....

Horrified by how quickly he’d envisioned that fantasy, how instantly his blood had heated and his body had responded, Angelos stripped off his shirt and dived cleanly into the sea, letting the shock of the cold water cool his response.

‘How is it, Papa?’ Sofia asked, and Angelos stood, making sure he was waist-deep to hide any lingering effects of seeing Talia.

‘Cold but fine,’ he called. ‘Why don’t you come in?’

He told himself not to so much as glance at Talia, but clearly his body was not receiving his brain’s signals because his gaze slid that way, and he inhaled sharply as he saw the desire in her eyes. Watched her gaze drop to his bare chest before flicking away.

So he’d been right. She wanted him. She wanted him just as he wanted her.

The realisation shocked him, not because he was so surprised that Talia would desire him physically, but because it had been so long since he’d felt the same. And for a second, no more, he considered acting on the attraction they both felt.

It could be simple, if they let it be. She was here only for six weeks; they could have a fling, get each other out of their systems. The sex would be good, fantastic even, and it had been so long...

And what about Sofia? In the last twenty-four hours he’d seen how Sofia was happier, more confident and comfortable, with Talia around. He could not risk his daughter’s well-being simply to scratch an itch he’d only just developed.

He turned away from Talia, effectively ignoring her as she dove into the water, and watched Sofia instead.

* * *

Angelos Mena in nothing but shorts was an unbearably gorgeous sight. Talia knew she was probably making a fool of herself, letting her gaze linger on his broad, bronzed chest, watching the muscles in his shoulders and arms ripple enticingly as he held his hands out to Sofia. His stomach was perfectly flat, every contour of his six-pack abs defined.

She imagined brushing her fingers against those ridged muscles, exploring their shape, letting her hand slide lower...

A blush scorched her cheeks as she realised what she was imagining. She, who had absolutely no bedroom experience, hadn’t done anything but buss lips with a boy a lifetime ago, was picturing that? She didn’t even know what that would look like. Feel like.

Quickly Talia ducked her head under the water, kicking hard away from Angelos and Sofia. She had to shut down this line of thinking now. She couldn’t bear the thought of Angelos seeing the overwhelming desire she felt in her face. What if he sent her away, suspecting she was trying to seduce him?

The thought that she could seduce anyone, much less a man as powerful and commanding as Angelos, was utterly absurd. He would never be attracted to someone like her, someone with absolutely zero worldly experience.

She thought of that portrait in the dining room, the elegant sophistication of the woman who had been his wife, with her dark eyes and knowing smile. Whereas she didn’t know anything.

Suddenly, to her shock, she felt strong hands close around her shoulders like iron bands and she was jerked out of the sea, coughing and sputtering as she inhaled a mouthful of salt water.

‘Why did you swim underwater for so long?’ Angelos demanded. His face was thrust close to hers, his eyes glittering with fury, droplets of water beading on his bare chest.

‘I don’t know... I was just swimming.’ Her body pressed close to his, Talia could barely form a coherent thought. She could feel his thighs against hers, hard and powerful, his hands still clasping her shoulders, her breasts brushing his chest, making them tighten and ache.

‘I thought you’d hit your head or something when you dove in,’ Angelos gritted out. ‘I couldn’t see you...’

Despite the desire swirling through her like a delicious fog, Talia could tell Angelos had been genuinely worried.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ve always liked swimming. I grew up by the water. You don’t need to worry about me in the water.’

He released her so suddenly she nearly fell backwards. She found her footing as Angelos stepped back, his expression shuttering. ‘Next time come up for air a little sooner,’ he bit out, and then turned away, back to Sofia, who was paddling in the shallows.

Talia watched them together, wondering at Angelos’s extreme reaction. All right, she may have been underwater for a little while, but she’d always liked swimming, the way the water cocooned her, made her feel safe. And she’d been trying to get over her physical reaction to her boss.

Unfortunately Angelos’s manhandling of her had only made it worse. Her arms burned where he’d touched her, and every part of her tingled. The peaks of her breasts ached where they’d brushed against his bare chest.

Best not to think of that again, Talia told herself, and dove back under the water, making sure to resurface before Angelos came looking for her again.

They stayed on the beach for most of the afternoon, swimming and lazing around, but Angelos didn’t attempt to make conversation again beyond a few basic pleasantries.

Talia knew it was better that way, and yet the little he’d said about his childhood had provided an intriguing glimpse into the emotional interior of a man who had, on appearance, always seemed hard and cold and, frankly, unfriendly.

It made her want to get to know him more, but Angelos was providing no opportunity. Clearly he didn’t feel the same way.

After a few hours, their skin encrusted with salt and a sunburn starting on her nose, Talia suggested they pack up. Sofia’s face dropped but Talia could see her charge was flagging; they’d spent a lot of time out in the wind and sun.

Wordlessly Angelos helped to pack up and then took the picnic basket from her as they started back towards the villa. Talia had the pleasantly tired sensation of having had a full day out, although after suffering one of Angelos’s frowning glances she realised she must look a complete mess.

Her hair was tangled and salty, hanging in damp ropes down her back, and her nose was probably Rudolph-red by now. She’d put her T-shirt and shorts back on over her swimsuit, which had made damp patches on the fabric. Yes, she was really rocking a sexy, seductive look right now. Not that she wanted Angelos to see her as sexy or seductive, of course. Not that he ever would, even if she wore a black lace bustier and fire-engine-red stilettos.

Now where had that image come from? Talia let out an incredulous little laugh as she pictured herself in such a ridiculous getup. She hated heels and the only thing she wore to bed was a very old, very large and very comfy T-shirt. This made her smother another laugh, and Angelos glanced at her, eyes narrowed.

‘What’s so funny?’

For a second she imagined telling him, and that made her laughter cut off like a tap being turned off. Would he be appalled or incredulous or both? She knew Angelos Mena was way, way out of her league. ‘Nothing,’ she assured him. ‘Nothing at all.’