Читать книгу Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 22

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ANGELOS REMAINED WHERE he stood, the echo of Talia’s slamming the door reverberating through the room.

Was she right? Could Sofia possibly think that he was ashamed of her? In his letter he’d taken pains to tell her how proud he was of her, how beautiful he thought her. But maybe letters weren’t enough. Maybe the way he acted when he was with her spoke louder than his cowardly written words. Because the truth was, looking at his daughter hurt him, because it reminded him of his own failures. But the possibility that it was hurting her was agony. Torture. He’d spent the last seven years trying to atone for his sins, working hard to keep Sofia feeling safe and protected. The idea that he’d failed utterly in his goal possessed the power to fell him. What if he, in his ineptitude and fear, had made things worse?

And Talia had had the courage to confront him about it, knowing he would be angry, that he would drive her away, just as he had done. She really was brave.

Sighing, Angelos sank into his chair. First he needed to talk to Sofia. He could deal with Talia later.

* * *

When Angelos came in that evening before bed to talk to Sofia, his expression serious, Talia’s heart lifted even as her insides quailed with trepidation. She quietly excused herself and when she returned an hour later, having heard Angelos’s slow, heavy tread down the stairs, Sofia had already fallen asleep.

Leaning close, Talia had been able to see the tracks of tears on the girl’s face and she’d bitten her lip, wondering how the conversation between father and daughter had gone. Angelos had made it abundantly clear that it was not her place to ask.

She went back to her bedroom and watched the moon rise above the sea, trying to enjoy the moment for what it was. In two weeks she’d leave Kallos, leave Angelos and Sofia behind for ever. But she hoped the things she’d experienced here, the lessons she’d learned, would equip her to face her own future with more courage.

And what about Giovanni’s book? Sighing, Talia sat on her bed, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin on top. She hated admitting her failure to her grandfather, but what else could she do? At this point she doubted Angelos even had the book. He’d certainly expressed no interest in poetry.

But then she hadn’t tried very hard at all. The least her grandfather deserved was for her to make a proper attempt. And she didn’t really have anything left to lose when it came to her relationship, or lack of it, with Angelos.

Before she left, Talia promised herself, she’d ask him straight out. At least then she could go back to Giovanni with a clear conscience and a conviction that she’d done the best she could.

She only wished she felt that way about her relationship with Angelos and Sofia. What if she’d made things worse, by telling Angelos her fears about Sofia’s feelings? What if too much honesty had damaged their fragile father-daughter relationship?

Restless now, she rose from the bed and went downstairs, intending to take a walk on the beach to clear her head. The light filtering under Angelos’s study door made her pause on the bottom stair, wondering if she dared go in and ask him how his conversation with Sofia had gone.

The thought of facing his stony-faced fury a second time made her falter, and after another second’s hesitation she continued on to the front door. She’d just put a hand on the latch when she heard a sound coming from Angelos’s study—something between a moan and a sob—and then the shattering of glass.

Her breath catching in her throat, her heart beating hard, Talia turned back to his study. She could not ignore those sounds of grief and despair, yet she also cringed at the thought of Angelos’s rage. Hesitantly she tapped on the door and when there was no answer, she turned the handle and pushed the door open with her fingertips.

Angelos sat sprawled in a chair by the fireplace, shattered glass sprinkling the hearth and the strong anise smell of ouzo permeating the air.

‘Angelos...’

He glanced up at her, his hair rumpled, the buttons of his shirt half undone, his gaze bleary. ‘I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re afraid of,’ he said. ‘I haven’t had so much as a sip.’

‘I suppose that accounts for the smell and the broken glass,’ Talia said as she closed the door.

Angelos glanced indifferently at the shards of glass surrounding him. ‘I suppose it does.’

‘No point in cutting yourself,’ Talia said, and bent to pick up the larger pieces. She swept them into her hand and then looked around for the bin.

‘Beneath the desk.’ Angelos’s eyes were closed, his face a ravaged mask of pain. ‘Thank you.’

She got rid of the glass and then sat gingerly in the chair opposite him. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

‘That’s not actually a surprise.’

He cracked open an eye and stared at her. ‘You can joke?’

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Talia admitted. ‘Let me help you, Angelos. I can tell you’re hurting.’

He closed his eyes again. ‘You have no idea.’

‘I know I don’t. So tell me.’ He just shook his head and she expelled an impatient breath. ‘You are the most stubborn, mule-headed man I’ve ever met!’

He smiled faintly at that, the barest quirk of his lips, but at least it was a reaction. ‘I must be.’

‘It’s as if you want to be miserable—’

He opened an eye, arched an eyebrow. ‘A glutton for punishment?’

‘It appears we both are,’ Talia answered, a flush touching her cheeks as she remembered how she’d practically begged for Angelos to care about her. The memory was enough to make her admit defeat. ‘Fine. You know what, Angelos? You can stew here for as long as you like. Drown in ouzo if you want to.’ She took a trembling breath. ‘You gave me the courage to face my fears but it seems I am not able to give you the same. So I give up.’ She turned towards the door, blinking back tears, hating how much this man affected her. How much she wanted to help him and couldn’t.

‘Talia.’ Her name was a whisper as she put her hand on the doorknob. ‘Don’t go.’

Slowly Talia turned around. ‘Do you mean that?’

His eyes were closed, his expression bleak. The word, when it came, was barely audible. ‘Yes.’

Silently she returned to her chair, and then sat down and waited, her hands clenched in her lap, her heart beating hard.

Angelos let out a long, low breath and opened his eyes. ‘I spoke to Sofia tonight, as you know. She told me...she told me the same thing you had told me. That she thought I was ashamed of her. That I kept her on this island to hide her from people, because I didn’t want anyone to see her scar.’ He scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘If I’d known that she would think that...the damage I would cause, on top of everything else...’ He shook his head. ‘I am the one who is ashamed. Of so much.’

‘What are you ashamed of?’ Talia asked softly.

She didn’t think Angelos was going to answer. He remained silent for a long time, his hands still covering his face, and then he slowly dropped them and stared at her. Talia nearly gasped at the utter bleakness she saw there.

‘Because,’ Angelos said heavily, ‘it was my fault that there was a fire.’ Talia knew instinctively there was more, and so she remained silent, waiting and alert. After an endless moment Angelos continued. ‘I was working downstairs. It had been a hard week, sleepless nights... Sofia was teething.’ He let out a sound that he choked off as soon as it came out of him, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. ‘She was such a sweet baby. So good-natured. Xanthe and I were so blessed. I’d never thought to have a wife, a family. Me, a gutter rat from the docks.’ He shook his head, lost in memory, awash in grief.

‘What happened, Angelos?’ Talia asked quietly. ‘That night?’

‘Xanthe was upstairs with Sofia. She was rocking her in the nursery. We lived in Athens at the time, a town house in Kolonaki. An old building, with leaky pipes and faulty wires...’

‘It was an electrical fire?’ Talia guessed, and Angelos nodded, his face twisted in regret.

‘I always meant to have the building inspected. I knew it was old—I picked it up for a song...’

‘You can’t blame yourself for that,’ Talia protested. ‘An electrical fire could happen to anyone, anywhere...’

‘It wasn’t just that.’ He drove his fingers through his hair, his head bowed. ‘I’d been drinking. A couple of glasses of ouzo, while I worked on reports. But I was tired and it must have affected me more than I’d thought because I was so slow.’ He dropped his hands and looked at her openly then, his pain naked, his face screwed up in anguish. ‘Talia, I was too slow.’

‘Oh, Angelos.’ His name caught in her throat and she blinked back tears as she realised the depth of the agony he’d endured then, and in the seven years since. Unthinkingly she dropped to her knees in front of him and took his hands in hers. ‘Tell me,’ she whispered.

‘It started in the nursery.’ He bowed his head, his hands clenched in hers. ‘The door was shut, and Xanthe had fallen asleep in the rocker with Sofia. By the time the alarm went off and I smelled the smoke, the fire was already raging. Xanthe was screaming, screaming...she couldn’t get the door open. The heat had swollen it shut. I tried to kick it down, I shoved my whole body against it over and over again, but I couldn’t. And the fire brigade was taking so long...’ His hands tightened on hers, hard enough to make Talia wince, but nothing would make her let go of Angelos now. ‘Xanthe told me to leave. She knew...she knew she couldn’t get out, but she wanted to save Sofia. She told me to go downstairs and she would throw her to me.’

‘Oh, Angelos...’

‘I refused. I refused, Talia, because I still wanted to save my wife. By the time I finally realised I couldn’t and ran downstairs, Sofia had already been burned. If I’d only listened...if I’d have acted faster...’ He shook his head. ‘Xanthe threw her down to me, and as I held our daughter, the flames engulfed her.’ A tear splashed onto her hand and wordlessly Talia put her arms around Angelos. He pressed his head against her chest, seeking comfort.

‘The fire brigade came then,’ he continued in a choked voice. ‘Too late. Too damned late. And Sofia’s face was badly burned, and parts of her body...she was so little. She spent six months in hospital, having to have skin grafts and surgeries. It was hell for both of us. She was in terrible pain and she missed her mother. She cried constantly—she didn’t want me, not even to hold her. She didn’t understand any of what had happened and I was so useless...’ He let out a choked sob and shook his head. ‘So useless, in so many ways.’

‘Oh, Angelos,’ Talia whispered as she stroked his hair. ‘How terrible for both of you. I’m so, so sorry.’

Neither of them spoke for a long moment and then finally Angelos eased away, his head still lowered. ‘It was easier to keep my distance from her afterwards. I bought Kallos and employed a nanny who could give her the care I never could. I thought I was doing the right thing, the best thing, for Sofia. But maybe I was just being selfish, keeping my distance because I couldn’t bear to be reminded of my own failings.’ He shook his head. ‘And I just made things worse.’

‘But you can make them better now,’ Talia insisted. ‘Sofia is only nine, and she needs you. She loves you. Make things better now, and love her back.’

‘I do love her—’

‘Spend time with her. Live on Kallos, or bring her to Athens with you. Show her and the world that you’re not ashamed of her.’

Angelos lifted his head and gazed at her, his brown eyes damp, his thick, dark lashes spiky. ‘How did a young woman like you become so wise?’

Talia let out a self-conscious laugh. ‘Am I really so wise? I’ve hidden away for the last seven years rather than face reality or try to conquer my anxiety. It’s easy to speak to someone else’s situation.’

‘But you conquered your anxiety in coming here.’

‘Yes.’ Her throat dried at the intent look in Angelos’s eyes, the realisation of how close his face was to hers. ‘And for that I am truly thankful,’ she managed to continue, ‘to you.’

‘You have nothing to thank me for.’

‘I do—’

‘I was a right bastard to you when you arrived.’

‘Well, maybe,’ she allowed with a little laugh. ‘But I’ve seen how kind you are.’ She tried for a playful smile. ‘Your secret is out, Angelos.’

‘Is it?’ he asked, his voice low and aching, and Talia’s heart gave a hopeful thump, like the tail wagging on a dog.

‘I think so...’ she murmured, and her mouth was so dry she touched her tongue to her lips, eliciting a groan from Angelos.

‘Talia...’ He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, his fingers warm and strong and sure. ‘Talia, you drive me crazy...’

‘Do I?’ she whispered, and then he was pulling her towards him and his lips were on hers, seeking and finding her as she’d wanted for so long, since the last time he’d kissed her.

Talia reached up and tangled her hands in his hair, anchoring his mouth more firmly to hers. She couldn’t get enough of him, of the taste and feel and sheer beauty of him as he slid his hands from her neck to her shoulders, pulling her from her kneeling position to sprawl on his lap as his mouth plundered hers.

Her heart raced as sensations exploded in her like fireworks, each one more intense than the last. Angelos’s hand sliding under her shirt, his palm flat on her belly, and then moving upwards, cupping the warm fullness of her breast, his thumb brushing its aching peak...

How did anyone survive this? she wondered hazily as she kissed him back with untutored enthusiasm and passion. How did anyone feel this way and live?

Then Angelos tore his mouth from hers, his breath coming out in a gasp. ‘We shouldn’t...’

‘We should,’ Talia insisted. She would not be put off a second time. ‘Angelos, I—’ I love you bubbled on her lips but she swallowed the words down. He didn’t want to hear that. Not yet, and probably not ever. ‘I want you,’ she said instead, and his expression darkened, his pupils dilating.

‘I want you too. Very much so.’

‘Then why not?’

‘It will complicate things—’

She glanced down at her rucked-up shirt, her legs sprawled across his lap, the hard and intriguing bulge of his arousal against her calf. ‘Things are already pretty complicated.’

Angelos let out a groan and leaned his head back against the chair. ‘Talia, you’re going to kill me.’

‘Then surely it will be a pleasant death?’ Some inner vixen emboldened her to press her palms against his chest, stroking the hard planes of muscles, teasing his nipples. She ached to touch him, and the evidence of his response as he groaned again and his body stirred was utterly thrilling. She leaned forward, her hair brushing his cheek, and pressed a kiss to his lips. ‘Please, Angelos,’ she whispered, ‘don’t make me beg.’

He caught her face in his hands and forced her to meet his fierce gaze. ‘If you’re sure?’

‘Of course I’m sure.’

Angelos stared at her for a long, hard moment and then he nodded. ‘All right, then. Come with me,’ he said, and in one fluid movement he caught her up in his arms and strode from the study, up the stairs and to his bedroom.