CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER EIGHT
Flora rolled over in the massive bed, propped her chin on her folded hands and stared out through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. An afternoon thunderstorm was moving in over the skyscrapers of Hong Kong.
She and Apollo had arrived late the night before, after a charity event in New York, and had come straight to the luxury Victoria Peak apartment he owned. He had some business with the Helios Hong Kong office that he was going to take care of, before they went on to Athens and his property in Greece.
Two weeks had passed since their marriage on the terrace of that house in Paris, not a long time, yet Flora felt as if the entire course of her life had shifted.
The afternoon after the ceremony, still lying in bed together, they’d drafted various press releases and sent them off, detailing how in love they were, so much so that they hadn’t been able to wait to marry, and so had had a quick wedding in the chateau’s garden.
That had caused a stir, naturally enough. The press had been full of speculation as to why Apollo had married his PA so quickly, and for a few days there had been a lot of chatter and rumour on social media and in the gossip columns about the possibility of a pregnancy. There were other rumours too and, as she’d feared, they were largely about her. She was a gold digger, some people said, she was blackmailing him, she was a home-wrecker and they’d never give up fighting for ‘ViLo’.
There was nothing she could do about that but hope no one enquired too deeply into her background. Apollo, though, had been as good as his word. So far, he’d protected her from the press, shielding her from intrusive questions and instructing his security to make sure the photographers were kept at bay whenever they were out.
She hadn’t known he could be so protective, and there was a part of her who loved it. Who loved him holding her hand in his, his tall powerful figure shielding hers as they arrived at whatever event they had next. He was her bulwark against all threats and, even though she knew it was all an act, it made her feel in some small way cared for.
Apollo hadn’t broken his promises to her the way her father had. Apollo had told her he’d protect her, and he had.
He’d also done some phone interviews, firmly denying all the pregnancy, blackmail and gold-digger rumours, stating that the hastiness of their marriage was due to love, that was all.
Naturally, she tried to ignore the media circus, but every day she couldn’t stop herself from religiously checking websites, message boards and other social media every morning, looking for any mention of her family history. So far, nothing had been said, but she didn’t imagine that would last. Someone, somewhere would find out, and she didn’t want to think about what would happen then. The now was where she wanted to be, because the now was so good. So…so good.
Since that night in the limo, where she’d jumped into the deep end of her desire, she’d let herself sink deeper and deeper. And instead of drowning, she’d found that she could breathe. That, in fact, it was her element, that she belonged there, and she belonged there with him, because it was his element too.
He was a revelation to her, his blunt honesty allowing her to be honest as well. In the fragile structure of lies she’d built around herself, there was one precious truth, glowing like a pearl. The truth that she was obsessed with him, that she wanted him. That she might be lying to him, but there was nothing fake about the physical passion he managed to draw from her.
It felt freeing to finally be allowed to have this one thing that wasn’t a lie.
He hasn’t just rocked your world. He’s knocked it off its axis entirely.
She let out a sigh, watching as the rain began to pelt against the glass, the skyscrapers across the bay wreathed in cloud.
Being his wife rather than his PA these past two weeks had been…amazing. And not for the parade of glittering events or the endless supply of beautiful gowns and jewels, the jet-setting around on private planes to different countries, or meeting famous celebrities and important political figures.
No, it was him.
Since that night in Paris, he’d taken the chains off the raw passion that lay at the heart of him, and allowed it free rein. It thrilled her that she was the one who’d managed to unleash it, that she, the blank slate of a PA with no experience of men, had been the one to draw it from him.
Ever since the death of her mother, she’d had nothing in her life but that one goal—to bring Apollo down. Everything she did was in service to that goal. She did nothing for herself, nothing that wouldn’t ultimately get her what she wanted, which was his utter ruination.
She’d been so one-eyed, so rigid in her pursuit, that she hadn’t allowed herself even the smallest of pleasures. Yet, for the past two weeks, pleasures both big and small had crept into her days, and it was all due to him.
There were small acts of care, such as the coffee he brought her every morning once he’d discovered she liked a cup before she got out of bed. Strong and milky, with one sugar.
The warm bath he insisted on drawing for her whenever they were in a new city and she was tired and jet-lagged. He’d let her have some relaxation time before her favourite part, which was when he joined her. She loved his hands on her, washing her back and then her hair, which he took his time over, since he liked washing it, as much as she liked him washing it. He’d also figured out her favourite foods and made sure that they were always available, wherever they were.
Those were the small pleasures, ones she hadn’t had since she was a child and her parents were still alive. Part of her knew she should tell him that he didn’t need to be so solicitous of her, that this wasn’t a real marriage after all, yet another part of her was hungry for it. She had been on her own for so long, she hadn’t realised how lonely she’d been until him.
Rain fell across the skyscrapers in a glittering veil.
Flora watched it idly, wondering if she could somehow convince Apollo that they didn’t need to go to the party they were supposed to attend that evening. That maybe they could stay here and have a private dinner in bed instead.
This isn’t real, remember?
No, it wasn’t, but part of it was. And she wanted that part to keep on going for ever.
How can it? When all of this, everything you’re doing with him, is built on a lie?
Her heart tightened, the threads of guilt that had subtly woven themselves around it constricting painfully. She’d ignored those threads, told herself she didn’t feel them, told herself she was justified in what she was planning to do to him, and yet…
Those were lies too.
But what else was there for her? She could tell him the truth—and part of her desperately wanted to, yet, if she did, it would render the entirety of her life since her mother had died, meaningless. Her parents’ deaths meaningless too, and she couldn’t let that happen. What was the point of anything otherwise?
* * *
Apollo came into the room just then, completely naked and carrying a tray, and Flora forgot about the guilt aching in her heart, watching him instead. He was so much more fascinating, especially when he wore nothing but his smooth, velvety olive skin.
A sigh escaped her. The man truly was the personification of the god he was named for. Broad-shouldered, his chest powerful, his stomach flat and hard, not an ounce of fat on him. Then lower, his narrow hips and muscular thighs, and the glory of that very male part of him.
He put the tray down on the edge of the bed, and she saw he’d brought her a little tasting plate of different cheeses, crackers, grapes and nuts, along with a couple of flutes of champagne.
A traitorous warmth expanded in her chest, the way it always did when he brought things for her, tugging hard on those threads around her heart, deepening the ache. She didn’t want to feel this way about him, she couldn’t. It was dangerous, and yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from feeling it.
And the more time she had with him, the more of him she wanted, because a curiosity had taken root inside her. About the reasons he was so rigidly controlled on the outside, yet so passionate and hot on the inside.
A forbidden curiosity. She couldn’t ask him about himself, because then it might prompt him to ask questions about her, and that she couldn’t allow. Lies were all she had for him, and she didn’t want to tell any more, not when the weight of the ones she’d already told were getting heavier by the day.
It was a pity, because he was such an intelligent man, and they’d had some fascinating conversations. Their topics had ranged from global politics to books, art and then onto philosophy, and from there his charity work and how the rate of scientific progress should be used to improve the lives of everyone, not just the few. He had a voracious curiosity, his mind full of knowledge on the most obscure topics, and she loved talking to him about them. It was a little depressing that she couldn’t reciprocate with her own interests, because she really didn’t have any. Her life had always begun and ended with her quest for justice.
‘For me?’ she asked, glancing at the tray of food and smiling as he sat down on the bed beside her.
‘You have to keep your strength up for the event tonight.’ He slid a propriety hand into her hair and gave her a hot, slow kiss before releasing her, desire still glittering in his eyes. ‘Not to mention for afterwards.’
She’d never get tired of that look, or the hunger in it, the desire that was for her and her alone.
Will he still want you when he finds out who you really are?
Flora shoved the thought away, along with the feeling of foreboding that came along with it. She should have spent this past week putting a plan in place for what she’d do if and when the truth came out, how she’d deal with it, or more specifically how she’d deal with him. But she hadn’t. Some part of her simply couldn’t bear to think about it, because she just wanted this for a little while. Someone’s touch on her skin. Someone’s hand to hold. Someone to hold her.
No, not someone. Him.
If you’re not careful, it won’t be his heart you break. It will be your own.
Apollo frowned, studying her face. ‘Are you all right, matia mou ? You’ve gone pale.’
She forced another smile, hoping he wouldn’t press the issue. ‘Only a headache.’
He reached out and cupped her cheek in one of his large, warm hands. ‘Shall I get you some painkillers?’
The warmth inside her turned bittersweet. He was a naturally caring man, and very protective, and his concern was absolutely genuine. Yet it wasn’t specific to her, she suspected. He would do this for anyone.
You want it to be for you, though.
No. No, she didn’t. He was the enemy, and she couldn’t lose sight of that.
‘No,’ she murmured, unable to resist leaning into the warmth of his hand. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
But his frown didn’t lift, his gaze narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘The last two weeks have been something of a whirlwind, I know. Once we get to Athens, it’ll be better.’ His thumb brushed her cheekbone gently. ‘You could probably do with some rest.’
She hadn’t asked him much about what was going to happen after this. He’d mentioned her moving in with him back in Paris, but they hadn’t discussed it since. In fact, they hadn’t had any practical discussions at all. ‘And after that?’ she asked, shivering a little as he caressed her again.
‘After that, we’ll have some time in Greece, then we’ll go back to London, and I’ll arrange for you to move into my residence there.’
She should leave the future to take care of itself, not ask him anything more, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. ‘What will happen then? Will I go back to being your PA? Or will you hire someone else?’
His frown deepened. ‘Being my PA won’t be appropriate now, even with the marriage. I know I promised you that your job wouldn’t be affected by our arrangement, and it won’t be. But perhaps you might feel more comfortable in another position?’
She hadn’t thought of a different job, not when her whole life had revolved around her mission. She hadn’t given any thought to what would happen after she’d completed it, either.
You haven’t thought about a lot of things, have you?
Ignoring the voice in her head, Flora concentrated on him. ‘Such as?’
‘There are a few positions vacant in the London office, and a couple of them would suit you very well, but…’ He paused a moment. ‘It wouldn’t be a good look for me to appoint you without going through the proper procedures, especially considering you’re my wife now.’
It didn’t matter. She was closer to him as his wife, more than she’d ever have been as his PA.
‘You’re very rigid about your reputation,’ she said without thinking. ‘Why is that?’
His hand fell away abruptly, leaving her skin feeling cold. ‘You must know why, Flora. Because of my father.’
She froze, watching his face. He’d never mentioned his father before, or his past. ‘You mean, the investment scheme collapse?’ she asked carefully.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s been…what? Fifteen years? Surely you don’t have anything left to prove now.’
‘It doesn’t matter how many years have passed. My name will always be linked to that scheme, and the misery it caused so many people.’ His voice had flattened, all the warmth that had been in it leaching out. ‘And, as such, my behaviour and that of my company will always be measured against what happened back then. I must be above reproach at all times, you know this.’
The lines of his face had hardened along with his voice, and inside her something hurt. It shouldn’t, yet it did. Because looking at this caring, protective man now, it was becoming more and more difficult to see him as the man who’d ruined lives back then. The man she’d thought was ruthless and hard, manipulative, who merely paid lip-service to being a good employer and an upstanding businessman.
Except…she’d been wrong. She knew that now. He genuinely believed in all the good things he was doing—everything he’d done to protect her, for example—and certainly it was belief that shone in his eyes now.
‘It must be hard,’ she said impulsively. ‘To feel that you have to be above reproach all the time.’
Something flickered in his gaze, as if he hadn’t expected the statement. ‘It’s not…easy, no,’ he admitted after a moment. ‘But it’s important to me that I set myself apart from my father. To do the right thing, be a better man than he was. I want the Constantinides name to be associated with helping people rather than destroying them.’ There was a glow in his eyes now, fierce and hot, and for once it had nothing to do with sex. ‘I will not be my father, Flora. I will never be him. I refuse.’
* * *
Apollo wasn’t sure where his need to make Flora understand that he wasn’t his father had come from. He’d spent his life setting himself apart from Stavros, and most people knew now that he was a completely different beast, and yet it felt very important that she know that.
Her opinion had never mattered to him before. She was his PA, she did what he told her, and he’d never thought beyond that. But somehow, at some point in the course of the past two weeks, her opinion had begun to matter.
She had begun to matter.
She was lying in his bed, a white sheet twined around her naked body, with her black hair in a tangle over her shoulders. Her eyes were the same dark grey as the thunder clouds outside, and she’d never looked more lovely.
Your wife.
A deep satisfaction stretched out inside him, that she was his.
Marrying her that day had been a very good decision indeed, especially when even the past two weeks of having her in his bed every night hadn’t eased his hunger for her. In fact, if anything, having her constantly at his side had somehow made it even worse. Two weeks, and he was still just as obsessed with her as he’d been that first night.
Even right now, despite the fact that they had another event in a couple of hours, all he could think about was pushing her over onto her back and taking her mouth, hard and hot and hungry, then feasting on her body, making her scream, and then, and only then, thrusting into her, giving both of them the pleasure they craved.
It was madness. Somehow he’d gone from being in complete control of himself to being totally at the mercy of his need for Flora. Her and only her. No one else would do. No one else had managed to get under his skin so completely that it felt as if she’d always been there.
She’d released something in him, opened the door to the cage that some part of him had been trapped in, and she hadn’t been ruined by it. No, if anything, he was the one who’d been ruined, and he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Flora’s clear grey eyes met his. ‘You’re not anything like him,’ she said, as if she was well acquainted with Stavros and his foibles. ‘You’re not.’
This was a line of conversation he didn’t particularly want to follow, but she’d told him the day they’d got married that she’d lost her parents. It hadn’t been easy for her—he’d seen the grief in her eyes—so he could hardly shy away from telling her about his. Anyway, she’d have heard all about his father’s infamous misdeeds. Many people had, especially after the suicide of one of the investors. Perhaps she had questions, and, if so, he had to give her the opportunity to ask them. He was her husband after all, and she should know what kind of man she’d married, even if the whole thing was a sham.
Not that he’d ever shied away from what his father had done or his own role in it. As he’d told her, he had his standards, and they were honesty and transparency at all times. He wasn’t a hypocrite.
‘You didn’t know him,’ he said bluntly. ‘He used to tell me how like him I was, and there was a reason for that. I’d always wanted to be employed in the family business, follow in his footsteps, so when he said it was time for me to learn the ropes, I couldn’t wait. I loved it.’ He didn’t look away, didn’t bother to make the words sound better than they were. It was the pure, unvarnished truth and she should hear it. ‘He wanted me to recruit as many people as I could into that damn scheme, so I did. I enjoyed it too, charming people out of their money. I believed it was for a good cause. A few things didn’t add up, of course, but I ignored them, because I thought my father was a brilliant businessman, and he must have dealt with any discrepancies.’ He paused a moment, then added, because he didn’t want to sugarcoat it. ‘I think deep down I knew the scheme was wrong somehow, but I loved my father and I wanted his approval. I wanted him to be proud of me.’
Flora’s face had paled. Understandable really, considering what he was confessing. ‘Apollo,’ she began.
‘No, let me finish. I hold myself to these standards because of what I did. Because I gave the worst parts of myself free rein. Charming people, convincing people to hand over their money, manipulating them… I loved all of it. But the pride Stavros took in what I’d done, I loved most of all.’
Flora said nothing, only looked at him.
‘So now you know the truth,’ he said into the heavy silence. ‘I was complicit in my father’s crimes, and that’s why I have to set myself apart from them now. Why my reputation must be spotless. And why I can’t ever lower my standards, not even once.’
A strange expression crossed her face then, one he couldn’t read. ‘You enjoyed it?’ she echoed.
‘Yes.’ He didn’t flinch away, didn’t pretend it was something other than what it was. ‘I liked the challenge. The rush I got when someone, who hadn’t been interested, now suddenly was, because I’d convinced them.’
Her lashes fell, veiling her gaze, and she picked up the edge of the sheet, slowly pleating it with her fingers. She had tensed. ‘So…when did you realise it was all a scam?’
He could remember it still, so clearly. First, a call from one of the investors, David Hunt, whom Apollo had brought on board personally, asking if there was any truth to the rumours that what Stavros was running was a Ponzi scheme. That had been news to Apollo, so he’d reassured Hunt that of course it was no such thing. Stavros would never do anything so terrible. A week later, Hunt had killed himself, and subsequent enquiries into his financial dealings had revealed he’d invested everything in the Constantinides scheme.
The rumours got louder and the authorities got involved, and still Apollo had thought the whole thing was a media beat-up, defending Stavros to anyone who would listen. Then one day he’d come into the office to find his father in the process of shredding files. Stavros had thrust a pile at him and told him to destroy them, and it was in that instant he’d realised. That everything they’d been saying about Stavros was true. His father was a liar, a cheat, a fraud. His scheme had led to the death of someone, and he’d involved his own son in it.
Apollo had felt then as if the world had collapsed around him. He’d refused to shred the files, had demanded Stavros tell him why he’d done what he did, and Stavros had rounded on him in a fury, saying that Helios needed money and how else was he to get it? That if he truly loved this family, Apollo had to help get rid of the evidence, like his father had told him to.
Stavros hadn’t cared that he’d stolen from people. He hadn’t cared he’d led a man to his death. He hadn’t even cared that he’d made Apollo complicit in the whole thing by lying to him about it. Apollo had been furious with his father, but had saved the worst of his fury for himself, for how he’d let his love for his father blind him to the truth.
He hadn’t destroyed what remained of the evidence. He’d gone straight to the police with it and turned Stavros in.
After Stavros had gone to jail, his mother had refused to speak to him, blaming him for not standing by his father when he’d needed him. The company collapsed into ruins, all their friends abandoned them, and he was left with nothing but blind fury and a crushing sense of guilt.
He’d had no way to deal with any of it, except to force it all down and do better. Remake the Constantinides name, get the business back on its feet. Make reparations to those who had lost money in the scheme’s collapse, and then do everything he could to put as much good in the world as he was able.
So that’s what he’d done, and what he continued to do.
‘The first I heard was when one of the investors called and asked me if I knew anything about the rumours that my father was running a scam,’ he said. ‘I told him no, because I was sure my father would never do anything like that, but…’ He didn’t want to talk about this, not with his beautiful wife naked in his bed, not when there were other, far more pleasant things to be doing. But he forced himself to go on, because he’d promised himself all those years ago that he would be honest. ‘A week later, the news came through that the man I’d spoken to had taken his own life. Subsequent investigations revealed that he’d sunk his life savings into my father’s investment scheme, and that there were…irregularities.’
Flora nodded, but didn’t look at him. Her fingers that had been pleating the fine linen of the sheet in a nervous movement had stilled. She seemed even more tense.
And why not? This was difficult to say, and probably worse to hear.
‘The authorities wanted to investigate my father’s dealings,’ he went on. ‘And one day I came into the office to find him in the process of shredding files. I’d refused to believe the rumours that he was crooked, but that day… I realised they were all true. That a man had died because of him.’ Apollo paused and the corrected himself, because he had to be honest. ‘Because of me.’
Her hand closed convulsively on the sheet, bunching it up in her fist. Yes, this was a terrible thing he’d done. No wonder she’d gone so pale.
‘Does it bother you?’ he asked, after a moment, not knowing why it mattered to him, only that it did. ‘My past? What my father did? What I did?’
‘No,’ she said.
But there was an edge in her voice that made him reach out and grip her chin, tilting her head back so he could look into her eyes. ‘Flora,’ he said softly. ‘Don’t lie to me. You know how I hate that.’
Shadows clouded her gaze, and there was a complicated expression on her face that he couldn’t interpret. It looked as though she might speak, but then she leaned forward suddenly and her mouth was on his, kissing him hungrily.
There’s something she’s not telling you.
The thought occurred to him, clear as day, then her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down onto the bed, and her mouth was tracking kisses down his neck, to his throat, over his chest, down to where he was hard and ready for her, as he always was.
Another thought occurred to him then, as her hot mouth closed around him, a belated thought, that she was trying to distract him. That what he’d told her had bothered her, but she hadn’t wanted to admit it.
But then, as her tongue began to explore him, and her hands clasped him tight, in just the way he preferred, the thought went straight out of his head.
And there was nothing more but the exquisite pleasure of her mouth around him and the firm grip of her hands.