CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER TWELVE
When he awoke the next morning, a slow blinking introduction to day, it was with Lynna still in his bed. Her dark hair sprawled out against his pillow, his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, so her long dark eyelashes created a little fan against her cheek. Her skin pale and pink against the soft fabric of his sheets and the air around him smelled faintly of strawberries.
Of her.
And it created an odd weight in his chest—not unpleasant, but strange and perhaps a little disconcerting for its weight. For the fissure of uncertainty it sent through him, but when twined with the deep-seated satisfaction, there was nothing really to be done about it. It was simply something to endure.
Her eyes began to blink open. Blue threaded with silver, carefully awakening and shaking away the last tendrils of sleep. When her eyes focused in on him watching her, he noted the wariness that lingered in the edges of her expression, but her pretty mouth curved ever so slightly. So he pressed his mouth to the corner of that smile, and felt that smidge of wariness melt away.
Heat curled inside of him lazily. Instead of that potent slap of lust like last night, this was gradual. A gentle ocean wave that would eventually swell and overtake them both.
But for now, he rode the gentle. The slow. The natural, swelling stirring. Her soft sighs, the beautiful blooming give of her mouth, her body, as without anything spoken, they came together. In slow moves and quiet gasps and pleasured sighs.
He talked her into the shower, into pleasuring her there, drunk on the feel of her, the sounds she made, everything that made up Lynna. His wife. His and only his.
When she finally left his room, insisting she needed her own things and to make breakfast, Athan hummed to himself as he prepared for the day. Perhaps he would be a little late to the office, but he would not miss any meetings if he took his time with breakfast.
Less than thirty minutes later, he was dressed and on his way to the kitchen certain his good mood could not be dimmed. All his goals would be realized in short order, and then he could spend the next year enjoying his beautiful wife.
Perhaps it felt like too short a time, but no doubt by the end he would be ready to move on. Everything would be settled then. Everything would be right.
He would make certain of it.
She was already in the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl. She was not dressed in black, though she was dressed casually. Soft pants the color of summer green and a loose sweatshirt to match. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail that bounced as she moved.
When he paused in the opening of the kitchen to watch her, sure she would continue with her preparations as she had every other day leading up to this one, she didn’t. She stopped what she was doing and looked over her shoulder at him.
She was more potent and addicting than any substance could be. Because it rearranged something inside of him, this change. This admission on her part, no matter how small, that something had changed.
And he wanted to make that permanent, in ways he failed to understand. The need to do something that held her here, right where he wanted her, was too big a need, a desperation to set aside.
She must have read the intent in his gaze because when he approached, she held him off with a hand to his chest, studying him with those blue-gray eyes that spoke of a million questions and uncertainties and suspicions. It made him want to take away every last one. To give her every answer and assurance she needed.
“Do you think this is wise?” Before he could answer that, she shook her head, presumably at herself. “Let me rephrase. I know being wise is not your concern, even if it is mine, I only mean, should this really be…a recurring thing? Is that best?”
Best. “Who knows what’s best?”
She clearly did not like this answer, because she frowned, and didn’t drop the hand that held him off. “I do. I always do.”
She sounded certain, but it sounded like someone trying to convince themselves more than any certainty.
“Lynna.” He tried to imbue his tone with a gentleness, which was rusty, or perhaps new and never truly used before. “We are to be married for a year. I see no reason not to enjoy what there is to enjoy for that time, then go on our way at the end.”
“What if we should tire of it before then?”
He laughed in spite of himself. Tire of it? He grinned at her. “If you think you could tire of it, I will have to prove you wrong. Over and over again.”
He watched her try to fight a smile, and it thrilled him that it was a fight. That she didn’t quite succeed in hiding her amusement. And since she didn’t, he pressed his luck. Lowered his mouth to hers, but stopped a whisper away, listening for that little sound of sharp intake so heady and uniquely her.
That pause where she decided to move forward or not. Where want fought with reason and safety and whatever else Lynna Carew concerned herself with.
“We should start right now,” he murmured, his lips so close to hers she no doubt felt the movement on her mouth. And then he kissed her, gentle, slow…perhaps even sweet, though the notion was as foreign to him as this wholesale obsession that only seemed to grow, no matter how many tastes he got of her.
Whatever she had been doing was forgotten because she held on to him. Melted into him . And nothing existed except this kiss and the sweet, perfect response inside of her.
Until someone behind him cleared their throat. Twice.
Athan managed to drag his mouth from hers, looked over his shoulder at his assistant and scowled. “Perhaps now is not the time, Niko.”
“Perhaps,” Niko agreed, but he didn’t leave and that was the first indication that something was wrong. Moreso when he continued to speak. “However, I think you’ll want to see this, Mr. Akakios. Immediately.”
Athan wanted nothing to disturb this moment. He wanted nothing of the outside world right now, period. “If my father has stirred up another false story…”
Niko shook his head. “Not your father, sir.”
Dread arrowed dead center, drowning out all those good feelings he thought invincible. If it wasn’t his father…
Niko moved forward, tablet outstretched. Athan took the object from him and read the screen.
A Mother’s Regret. Why Elena Akakios fears her son’s temper and what his sudden marriage means.
Athan did not read the rest. He wasn’t certain his eyes worked anymore. He felt perhaps as if he’d been flipped upside down, like someone was hanging him out to dry by his ankles.
His mother .
He felt a hand on his back. Gentle pressure. “Athan.” Lynna’s voice. “What is it?”
Athan had to clear his throat, and it irritated him that he did. “Apparently my mother has decided to weigh in.” Athan tilted the screen so Lynna could read.
Her hand didn’t move from that spot on his back, like she was holding him up, offering him comfort. And so he held himself very still, until the thought of her breaking the contact sounded worse than him deciding when and how to lose that warmth.
He stepped away from Lynna, handed the tablet back to Niko.
“But…why?” Lynna asked, soft and confused, and he was no doubt fooling himself to think she might actually be concerned. Because sure he had talked her into his bed, but based on chemistry and lust.
Not feeling .
Which seemed good in the moment because there were too many feelings rioting around inside of him, none of them finding center or purchase. All out of his control.
But why?
Athan did not have answers for that. Why indeed. Because while he knew his relationship with his mother was…complicated, he would have thought her hatred of Constantine would have trumped their…issues.
Instead, she had come out against him—no doubt at Constantine’s behest. Perhaps there was more to the story. Manipulation, coercion. Constantine had many tactics up his sleeve.
Athan had just lost the plot. He’d been distracted by Lynna, when he should have been focused on all the ways Constantine could try and destroy him.
Or perhaps your mother should have warned you .
He set that aside. He had not warned his mother any of the times he’d betrayed her. He had certainly not warned Aled Carew before he’d upended Lynna’s father’s life. In reality, this was all no doubt his just desserts.
Because the human condition was betrayal and hurt. In between whatever glimpses of goodness and pleasure a person could find, there was only this .
But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight them or fight for himself. Even if he had to clear his throat again. “I assume Ophelia knows?” he asked Niko.
“Yes, sir. She’s doing damage control. She’ll meet you here once she has more to go on.”
“No. Not here. At the office. I must go into the office. I have meetings this afternoon.”
“Ophelia did not think that best. Her instructions were to stay put.”
“Well, I think it is best. I will not let this affect my work. That’s what he wants.” But it wasn’t his father. It was his mother. “You needn’t break the news to her. I will handle it.”
Niko hesitated, but only for a moment. After a sharp look from Athan, he turned and left the kitchen.
“Athan, perhaps you should stay here,” Lynna said. “Listen to Ophelia. She is your public relations manager for a reason.”
He looked at Lynna then. Really looked at her. She had something like concern in her expression, in the way she had her hands clasped together. And for a strange blinding second, he wanted to listen to her. He wanted to believe she was concerned, that she did care.
That someone could.
But he knew better, and so did Lynna.
Which left something sharp and painful lodging in his chest. So perhaps his words were more curt than they needed to be, but they needed to be said either way.
“You needn’t pretend you suddenly care simply because we slept together, Lynna.”
* * *
Lynna felt the words like a slap. She should not have been surprised that he might lash out, but she found herself taken aback anyway. Perhaps not so much at the words as her reaction to them.
Not anger, but something that felt far too close to hurt.
Luckily the idea that her ever traitorous heart might be so completely worthless as to feel hurt because Athan Akakios might be a little harsh infuriated her.
“And you needn’t pretend we are any less partners against your father simply because we did. This is about AC International. This is about Rhys. It is about clearing my father’s name.”
He held her gaze, and perhaps if it simply stayed cool or blank or angry, she might have softened, but the fact she was stupid enough to think she saw hurt there had her sticking to her guns.
“Of course it is,” he returned. Coolly.
And that would not offend her, because there were no secrets here. No feelings. A night together in bed didn’t change what they were to each other. That was all physical—and the physical needed to be put away to deal with this.
For the people who meant most to her in the world. So what did it matter if he was cool ? If he lashed out? She was a problem solver, and she would solve this problem if he would not.
“It seems an epically bad idea to ignore the instructions of your PR expert in the midst of a PR crisis.”
“I will not cower ,” he all but growled.
“No, but you will need to make the right choices. And to do so, we need to understand where this came from.”
Athan turned away from her then. His back was stiff, his shoulders tense, and she had the oddest impulse to move forward and smooth her hands over all those contracted muscles. Like when she’d reached out and touched him when Niko had dropped the news.
But that had been too close to crossing lines, confusing motives. Perhaps the pleasures of last night…and this morning…did not have to end , but only if they could keep those lines clear. Only if it did not get…confusing. For either of them.
So, they had to focus on the task and moment at hand. They had to solve the problem.
“Why did he go to your mother?” she asked him. “Why did she turn on you?” Maybe if they understood that, Ophelia could somehow undo this.
“I grew up at my father’s knee, Lynna. That meant a hefty disdain and mistreatment of my own mother. She has every reason to turn on me.”
There was clearly more to that story, and she opened her mouth to demand it. Then she stopped herself. This was partly her fight, but not totally. And Athan had a whole team of people to deal with this. He didn’t need her.
And, maybe, there was some small part of herself worried that if she heard the story she’d have empathy for Athan because, while she had issues with her own mother, they all stemmed from dealing with tragedy. Her mother had never once turned her back on her children, and it felt so wrong to think any would.
She went back to making breakfast. It was something she could do, and he would need to eat. And then she didn’t have to think about a boy whose parents did not love him. Who had presumably used him as a tool, and still did.
But that only made her think about the truth of the matter. Athan’s parents had not been married for some time, which meant whatever Athan thought he did to his mother at his father’s knee was nothing recent . “You were just a boy when your parents divorced.”
“I was thirteen,” he said starkly, as if that refuted what she said, when of course it did not.
“That is a boy. Rhys is nineteen, and I hardly consider him more than a boy, no matter how brilliant he is and how well he’ll do once he graduates into the real world. Thirteen is a boy .” She didn’t know why she felt so adamant about that when she could not doubt that he’d done terrible things to his own mother.
It was the Akakios way.
“Well, this boy followed his father’s example. I was cruel and manipulative with my mother. Just as I was well into my twenties, I followed his orders, danced to his puppet strings, and thought we were both right and clever and good , while she was wrong and someone to be pitied at best.”
He did not look at her as he said any of this. He was staring out the window, something bleak and sad on his handsome face. Enough sadness to make sympathy twist deep inside of her where it didn’t belong.
Then he whirled on her, suddenly and with a snapping anger.
“Would you like to know when that changed for me?” he demanded, eyes blazing. There was something about that question that felt like a threat.
So she shook her head. “No.”
“I did not think so.” He gave a bitter laugh that made her feel uneasy. With herself. With her understanding of everything—most especially him. But then he sighed. “I suppose since I’m staying put, I shall go for a swim. Please send someone to fetch me should Ophelia arrive.” Then he strode out of the room.
Lynna let out a slow breath of relief, mostly. Because he was staying. Just as she’d wanted him to. As his PR manager had wanted him to. The smart thing—it really had nothing to do with her.
Yet she couldn’t help but think she had solved that problem for him. If she hadn’t been here, he would have gone into the office. Which was no doubt what Constantine wanted—another confrontation.
But Lynna had convinced him to stay.
And that meant far more than she could let it.