Chapter 3
3
S aturday night
Aurelia slept all day, not waking until dusk. Between working extra hours to make up for the week she was taking off work, and the stress of seeing her “husband” after seven years without any contact, she hadn’t slept properly for weeks.
Groggily, she forced her lids open, momentarily disoriented. This bed was way too comfortable to be hers. Then the memories of the previous night came barreling back in and she jerked upright, suddenly wide awake. Michalis’s fundraiser, the annulment papers, the locked suite.
Shit. She swung her legs off the bed, scolding herself for. She should have tried to escape, but after the emotional rollercoaster, tossing and turning most of the night, her body had demanded sleep.
What she needed now was a shower and change of clothes. Maybe Michalis would be more reasonable this time. If he decided to let her go, she had a flight to catch back to Houston, and she didn’t want to be wearing last night’s gown.
She walked toward the large walk-in closet, hoping, but not expecting there to be any clothes inside. To her surprise, it was full of men’s clothes; shirts, jackets, trousers. No women’s clothing, not even an old dress. Clicking her tongue in disappointment, she stepped farther inside. Maybe there would be some behind the door, on the side she couldn’t see. Nope. Just shoes, ties and belts. Hmm. Maybe I could wear one of the longer shirts and use a belt to make it look like a shirt-dress? I’ve seen women do it before.
Quickly raking through the shirts, she selected the thickest one she could find. Her dress had a built in bra, so she hadn’t worn another one underneath. Now she wished she had. She was curvy, some might say full figured––in a Marilyn Monroe sort of way––so walking around without a bra wasn’t something she ever did. Not to mention she didn’t want to give anyone a show. Luckily, the shirt she chose, navy with red pinstripes, would hide a lot. Satisfied with her choice, she took it off the hangar, grabbed a slender black belt off the belt rack, and headed to the bathroom.
The room was huge and ornate, with a separate jacuzzi tub and shower, two double sinks, lots of drawers and cabinets, a glass fireplace she could see from anywhere in the room, and hanging from the vaulted ceiling was an enormous crystal chandelier.
She sighed, momentarily awed by the sheer opulence of the room. Money has its privileges. A quick search unearthed at least a dozen different shampoos and body washes to choose from, and she sniffed them all before selecting one with a hint of jasmine and orange. Another drawer contained all the toiletries she could ever want or need. Luckily, she kept her legs waxed and they were still smooth, so she didn’t need to open a package or razors, but a new toothbrush was more than a welcome sight.
As quickly as she could, she brushed the tangles out of her hair, then twisted the long length up into a simple knot, securing it quickly using a chunk she’d left out for just that purpose. The longer it grew, the easier it was to create fancy updos that didn’t need a bunch of hair pins and sprays. It was thick but not so thick it was unmanageable, healthy and shiny; her best feature, in her opinion.
Tilting her head back and forth to make sure the knot wouldn’t fall out, she grinned in satisfaction as it stayed securely fastened. Good. She didn’t want to use the shampoos and conditioners on hand, she was very particular in that regard, and didn’t have all day to let it dry, even if she wanted to try one.
Stepping under the spray of the shower, she let herself relax and closed her eyes, enjoying the hot water beating down on tight muscles. Thy tiny shower in her apartment couldn’t compare to the luxury here, and she was not above taking advantage of it. After a shamefully long time, she decided she’d better hurry up and get moving. She finished quickly, then shut the water off and stepped out, wrapping herself in the towel she’d placed nearby. A smear of lotion, quick brush of her teeth, and she slipped into the shirt. The ends hung down almost to her knees, but with the addition of the belt, mid-thigh was the best she could do. A shirt-dress. She smirked at herself in the full length mirror. Not bad. Her fancy six inch heels wouldn’t look right, but they were all she had, so she slipped them on anyway.
Still admiring her emergency fashion rescue in the full length mirror, the sound of the bedroom doorknob turning caught her by surprise. She turned, bracing for a confrontation. A guard stepped in, face impassive.
“Mr. Giannopoulos requests your presence downstairs for dinner. I’m here to escort you.”
“Great,” Aurelia muttered. “Perfect timing.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. I said, ‘ lead the way .’”
Nodding, he motioned for her to precede him. “After you, Mrs. Giannopoulos.”
Grinding her teeth, she stared him down. “It’s Petrova.”
With the barest twitch of his lips, the guard nodded. “Of course, Mrs. Giannopoulos . Whatever you say.”
She let out a short, strangled scream––venting all her anger and frustration on the poor man. He was infuriatingly unmoved by her outburst. Muttering under her breath, she stomped out of the room, only to be met by two more guards, both of whom looked like they could take on a gorilla. And win. “Are you kidding me?”
The one closest to her smiled politely. “I’m Connor. This is Dom,” he said, pointing to the other guard. “And you’ve already met Elias.”
“I don’t need babysitters,” she huffed.
Dom tried, and failed, to contain his grin. “Sorry, Mrs. Giannopoulos. Boss’s orders.”
Without another word, fists clenched at her side, she stormed down the hallway, not waiting for her “escort”. By the time she reached the stairs, they’d surrounded her.
Downstairs, she entered a gorgeous dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean as the sun set on the horizon. A huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling over the heavy dining table which could easily seat twenty but was set only for two.
Michalis was already seated, sipping a glass of wine. He motioned for her to join him, and her guards vanished like smoke.
She refused to look cowed. Taking the seat across from him, she lifted her chin. “Are you going to sign now?”
He set his glass down, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Good evening to you, too. You look lovely in my shirt.”
She exhaled sharply, refusing to rise to the bait. “Stop stalling.”
“Eat first.” He gestured at the plate blackened snapper and grilled vegetables the chef placed in front of her. “We eat simply here unless we’re hosting a dinner party. You need energy. You haven’t eaten all day.”
Her stomach twisted with a mix of hunger and resentment. She took a few bites despite her pride. Every moment in his presence reminded her of how precarious her situation was.
After a tense silence, Michalis spoke. “You mentioned a boyfriend. David.”
She looked up from her plate, trying to gauge his mood. “Yes.”
“What’s his full name?”
She stiffened. “None of your business.”
He leaned forward; voice low. “I’m making it my business.”
“Why? Are you jealous?” she demanded, hating the slight tremor in her voice.
His lips thinned, the only indication that she’d angered him. “I’m making sure you’re not exposing yourself to more danger by trusting the wrong person.”
She let out a hollow laugh. “The ‘wrong person’? He’s not part of your criminal world. He’s kind. And safe. A concept foreign to you, I know, so let me assure you, I’m not in any danger from him; he would never hurt me. And by the way, I don’t need you––or your goons––following me around.”
Michalis’s lips thinned, his eyes narrowing to angry slits. “Safe. Is that why you’re attracted to him? Because you’re playing with fire if you think a normal, “safe” man can shield you from the danger that’s out there. Like it or not, you need my protection.”
“Stop using that excuse,” she snapped. “I’ve survived without your protection all this time. No one is going to hurt me. No one even knows I’m connected to you. There is no danger, unless it comes from you.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” Michalis ground out. “There are enemies you don’t know about, enemies who would love to get their hands on you again.”
She threw her napkin down. “Like who? They’re all dead. I know that because I watched you kill them in cold–fucking–blood.”
Michalis snarled, “Would you have preferred I let them live?”
She froze. Would she? Would she have been able to sleep at night, out there on her own, if she thought they could come after her again? Would she have felt safe? Ever? Slowly, she picked up her fork and resumed eating, eyes glued to her plate. “No,” she finally whispered, ashamed.
Breathing heavily, he folded his napkin on the table. “Good, because like it or not, that’s the world we live in. I will destroy any threat to you or our family. Would your “safe” little boyfriend do the same?”
Eyes overly bright with unshed tears, she looked back at him. “That’s not fair, and you know it.”
His laugh held no humor, but his voice softened as he said, “Life isn’t fair, agápe mou. ”
“You think I don’t know that?” Unable to contain her pain and resentment any longer, she lashed out, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m a fucking orphan , thanks to your father.”
Their gazes locked; his icy blue eyes boring straight through her like he could see into her soul. “Is that why you ran? My father had nothing to do with what happened. He died that day, too, so do not disrespect the man who welcomed you and your mother into his home and did everything he could to ensure your safety.”
“Ensure my safety? He was a criminal , and he married my mother, dragging her into his world. Their marriage put us in danger! She would still be alive if he’d just left her alone. I have every right to be angry, so don’t lecture me.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Believe what you want; it changes nothing. In case that isn’t clear enough, let me spell it out for you: I’m not signing your annulment.”
“You can’t keep me locked in here forever!”
A slow, unsettling smile curved his mouth. “Are you sure about that?”
Abruptly he stood, buttoned his suit jacket, and adjusted his cuff links.
She frowned. “It’s Saturday. Are you leaving?”
“Would you miss me?”
She stood defiantly as he came around the table, far too close for comfort.
“This isn’t right,” she whispered, hating the tremor in her voice. “Let me go.”
“Is that truly what you want?” he asked, voice a rough murmur. “Or is it just what you keep telling yourself? You could have mailed those papers, but you didn’t. Why is that, I wonder?”
Her pulse pounded, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy. Why hadn’t she mailed the papers? She tried to open her mouth—maybe to hurl another insult, or to insist she felt nothing. But the words wouldn’t come out.
He closed the remaining distance between them, the very edge of his lips making contact with hers in a featherlight caress.
She sucked in a choppy breath and held it, frozen, every cell in her body tingling in equal parts anticipation and fear. He’d never kissed her before, never even held her hand. If either of them moved even a hair closer, there would be no turning back.
A wave of unwanted desire flooded her limbs. She should resist, turn her head away—logic demanded it—but she stayed rooted to the spot, frozen. This moment had been building since their first confrontation.
Breath ragged, eyes blazing with a mix of triumph and determination, he challenged her. “You say you don’t want me, yet you don’t push me away. Tell me you don’t want to know what it would be like to have me inside you.”
Aurelia’s answer caught in her throat. She swallowed hard and whispered, “I don’t.”
He circled her throat with one hand, his thumb coming to rest on the erratic pulse at her neck. “Liar.” His tone was equal parts anger and something darkly possessive.
“This sham of a marriage has to end. Let me go.”
His eyes darkened with intensity. “I agree. The sham has to end, just not the way you pictured it. You’re mine. I will never let you go.”
Instead of releasing her, he backed her against the wall, pinning her body with his. She was acutely aware of the hand at her throat. He didn’t squeeze––he didn’t need to; she recognized the threat. Here was a predator––she could fight against him or submit to his dominance.
He raised his free hand, fingers trailing lightly over her skin until they were buried in her hair. The move was slow. Deliberate. There was no mistaking his intent. His body was hard, full of controlled aggression. His eyes said it all as they captured hers––she’d had her chance to run.
A rush of adrenaline mixed with desire, creating and an unwelcome, overwhelming awareness of his muscular leg wedging itself between her thighs. And still, he didn’t press his lips against hers. She began trembling, her knees ready to give out. This was crazy. She should stop him.
Her focus narrowed, acutely aware of his nearness, of his warm breath mingling with hers, the taste of his cabernet on the tip of her tongue. He was slowly gathering the reins of her desire, his control over her responses growing with every second he kept her waiting. Wanting. Her breath hitched. The same sizzling tension she’d felt back at the fundraiser flared tenfold.
Silence stretched taut between them. She cursed the pulse of desire that settled between her legs.
“I won’t let you run to him,” he said, voice rough with suppressed emotion. “I won’t let you give him what’s mine to take.”
She tensed, tears of rage suddenly burning her eyes as she hissed, “That’s what this is about? You’re afraid someone might steal your toy? How do you know I haven’t given myself to him already? If not him, then someone else? Seven years is a long time.”
His only reply was a slanted, desperate kiss. She gasped, hands flying up to shove him away—but the moment he deepened the kiss, coaxing, daring her to participate, her resistance vanished as years of anger and fear collided with new, irresistible attraction. Her nails bit into his shoulders as she fought the magnetic pull.
His mouth was hungry, punishing, as if trying to devour the defiance right out of her. She should have screamed or slapped him, but her traitorous body responded, heat coursing through her veins. He tightened his hold imperceptibly and took a step back, leading her away from the table, and she followed willingly. When he finally broke away, they were both breathing hard.
“I hate you,” she breathed, trembling.
“You can, but you don’t,” he rasped. “Even if you do, it isn’t going to change anything between us.”
He claimed her mouth again, and she yielded, a strangled moan escaping her. It was a twisted collision—nothing gentle or romantic, the fiery spark scorching her senses. Every logical thought screamed no , but desire flared white-hot, burning away all caution. “What are we doing?” she gasped.
He pulled back with an amused chuckle, but his hands began to roam her body, kneading and stroking her into a boneless, compliant puddle of goo. “You know what we’re doing. Have you given yourself to him already? Did you break our marriage vows?” He groaned. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to think about anyone else touching you right now.”
With an urgency born of need, he took her mouth, hot, fierce, demanding her submission. She didn’t notice him guiding her backward until her thighs hit a small side table. Papers and a decorative vase rattled. She clutched at his suit jacket, half wanting to fling him away, half wanting to pull him closer.
His hands splayed across her waist, darkly possessive. “You’re mine,” he growled. “Legally, physically—any way you want to spin it.”
She shook her head, but her protest died on a gasp as he lifted her bottom onto the table’s edge. Heat licked up her spine. She hesitated, suddenly unsure. “This is wrong,” she managed, voice ragged.
Michalis’s gaze burned with dark triumph. “No,” he countered, trailing a hand under the hem of the shirt she’d found, to the apex of her thighs. He groaned at what he found; her dress wasn’t the only thing she’d discarded. She wasn’t wearing any panties. There was nothing preventing him from easily sinking one long, thick finger deep into her wet heat. “It’s right, and you can’t deny you want it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut; a final surge of anger overshadowed by scorching need. He was right. She wanted to scream that she belonged to someone else, that she despised Michalis. But her body betrayed her, arching into his touch.
He pushed her thighs open, and his finger, calloused and rough from years of work, slid easily within her.
“You’re so wet,” he murmured.
She gasped as he added another finger. She was so sensitive—everywhere he touched, he left a trail of fire.
“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to fuck my wife.”