Chapter Four
The jet came in to land on Kythea’s tiny landing strip and from there Archimedes had a small Jeep take them to his villa.
It was built on the side of a rocky cliff high above the sea, with traditional whitewashed thick stone walls, many terraces, small gardens, olive groves and grapevines.
Some of his staff did small batch olive oil pressing, which they then sold to tourists on the mainland.
He didn’t bother charging them rent for the trees or the buildings that they used to press the olives because he loved the oil that they made.
He also loved that they gave it to him free in return for use of the groves and the buildings.
Zoe kept her attention firmly on the scenery, her face betraying nothing as they drove up the narrow, winding road to the villa itself. Cypress trees stood on either side of the entrance, artfully lit in the summer night that was already closing in.
There was a brief kerfuffle when one of his staff tried to take Zoe’s bag to her room and she protested, but after he’d told her that she was welcome to lug the heavy bag up the stairs to her room herself, she eventually relented.
He did insist on showing her to her room, though, because he’d given the order to Lydia, his housekeeper, to find a selection of gowns for his new wife and he wanted to see her reaction.
Yes, he was a bastard, he could fully admit that. He hadn’t needed to insist on dinner, and he certainly hadn’t needed to rub it in by insisting on gowns, lipstick, jewellery and shoes either, but she was being so bloody-minded he hadn’t been able to resist.
Also, he was beginning to enjoy himself and that was quite unexpected.
In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much in the company of another person that wasn’t directly related to sex.
Or the intellectual enjoyment of successfully hacking someone’s security, or building systems that kept hackers out.
But then Zoe had always been quick-witted, he remembered that.
She’d been such a bright spark back in Banks’s house.
He remembered the first night she’d arrived, small and bedraggled-looking, with huge grey eyes.
Banks had introduced her to the rest of them—there had been five at that stage, with Zoe making it six.
She had been afraid, flinching as one of the bigger boys nearly knocked into her, and almost without thinking about it, he’d pushed the other boy away to protect her.
Back then, he’d been a chaotic mess of a kid, his impulse control nonexistent, and his morals skewed by his environment. He hadn’t made friends with any of the other kids, mainly because he just hadn’t been interested in them.
Then along had come Zoe, and her vulnerability had hooked into a deep part of himself he hadn’t known was there.
Why her? He had no idea. Perhaps she’d reminded him of himself when he’d first arrived in Banks’s house, alone and scared, coming from yet another foster situation that hadn’t worked out.
Whatever the reason, when he’d pushed that other boy away, she’d looked at him as if he was her own personal hero. No one had ever looked at him that way before, and he’d liked it. He’d wanted more of it.
So he’d become her protector and gradually she’d come out of her shell.
The first time she’d smiled at him, he felt he’d won a prize, and the first time she’d put her small hand in his, his heart had swelled in his chest. She’d been the first bright spark in his dark, lonely world.
The first person who’d ever wanted to spend time with him, the first person who’d ever shown interest in him that wasn’t just about his ability with a keyboard.
He’d loved that. Loved that she trusted him and looked up to him. It had made him feel as if there was something better inside him, something more than just a mess of a kid who nobody had wanted.
Then he’d discovered she was fiercely intelligent into the bargain, and after the requisite Banks lessons in computer hacking she was also nearly as proficient as he was when it came to moving around in the data sphere. That hadn’t made him jealous. That had made him fiercely proud.
Now, as he led her up the stairs to where her room was, he could feel an echo of that pride inside him. The ghost of a feeling he’d long since thought was gone. A feeling he never had any more, not these days.
A feeling you should never allow yourself to feel.
No, there was that. There were many things he no longer allowed himself to feel, because he knew what happened if he followed those feelings. Darkness. Violence. Death. A hole he’d spent years climbing out of.
But he wasn’t going to descend into that hole again, not now he’d successfully mastered all the emotions associated with it, and he never would.
He led her down the hallway to the guest room in one corner of the villa that had a balcony and a magnificent view out over the ocean.
It was a beautiful room, light and airy, with a huge bed hung with gauzy curtains, a colourfully tiled ensuite bathroom, a daybed near the windows and a massive walk-in wardrobe.
The floor was smooth stone flags softened with bright rugs, and cushions that echoed the colours of the rugs were scattered on the bed and the daybed.
He gestured to her to go in and she walked past him into the room. Right in front of her was the bed with the four gowns laid carefully out on it, that Lydia had chosen according to his specifications.
One was green silk, another silver net with a black underdress. There was a slinky little black dress, and the last was scarlet silk with a hip-high slit in the skirt. She would look magnificent in any of them, and he was rather pleased with himself for insisting she wear them.
Zoe dumped her duffel bag, then walked up to the bed and looked down at the array of gowns. She glanced at him, her silver gaze unimpressed.
‘How many other women have worn these?’ she asked bluntly.
‘Why?’ he asked, purely for wickedness’ sake. ‘Are you jealous?’
She snorted. ‘Hell, no. I just don’t like second-hand clothes.’
That was a lie. She’d worn nothing but second-hand clothes as a kid and had never had any problem with them. No, it wasn’t the clothes she didn’t like, it was doing what he said, wasn’t it?
‘No other women have worn these gowns,’ he said with perfect truth. ‘They’re brand-new.’
‘Okay, so you just happened to have a whole lot of gowns in your wardrobe for…what? Emergencies?’
‘Something like that.’ He strolled over to the bed and stood beside her.
‘I think the silver would look amazing on you.’ Nothing wrong with a little reverse psychology, especially when what he really wanted was for her to wear the slinky black dress.
In fact, it surprised him how much he wanted her to wear it.
Seeing her in that wedding gown had whetted his appetite, and even though he shouldn’t feed that appetite, looking wouldn’t hurt.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she said tartly. ‘You’re going to insist on that silver one.’
‘No.’ He lifted a shoulder. ‘You can choose which one you’d like.’
‘Oh, wow, how generous of you.’ Sarcasm edged the words. ‘Finally, I can make a choice of my own.’
He didn’t rise to the bait, merely giving her a bland look. ‘The shoes are in the wardrobe, along with the jewellery. The lipstick is in the bathroom, along with other make-up.’
She didn’t look at him, but he could tell by the way her jaw was jutting that she was battling her temper. He was standing right next to her and he could smell her delicious feminine scent, complex, sweet, yet also warm, with an undertone of spice. It was sexy as hell.
‘Believe it or not,’ he said conversationally, ‘dinner and dressing up for it are the only things I’m going to insist on. As to anything else, I don’t care.’
‘Your generosity knows no bounds.’ Her nose wrinkled as she surveyed the gowns on offer. Then she glanced at him. ‘I’m not the only one dressing up. If you’re not, then it’s a hefty no thank you from me.’
‘Of course.’ He gave her a smile purely to annoy her. ‘It wouldn’t be right to let you have all the spotlight.’ He nodded at his feet then held up his hand with his new wedding ring on his finger. ‘I have the shoes and jewellery on already.’
‘But no lipstick, I see,’ she said.
Again, she managed to get a genuine smile from him. ‘No. No lipstick for me.’
‘I should make you.’
‘With your own security guard?’
This time she rolled her eyes before looking back down at the gowns on the bed. ‘What if I don’t like any of these?’
‘Then please feel free to turn up naked,’ he murmured, again unable to help himself. ‘I wouldn’t object.’
Her gaze narrowed, but she couldn’t quite hide the faint pink in her cheeks. He was becoming addicted to that blush of hers, which wasn’t good in the bigger scheme of things. Being addicted to anything wasn’t good in the bigger scheme of things, as he well knew.
He’d left Banks’s house determined to never be under anyone’s control ever again—he’d wanted to be his own man, his own master—but he’d always planned to take Zoe with him.
When Banks had refused to let her go, he’d felt it like a knife in his side.
So he’d decided then and there that he would make Banks let her go, pry her from his grip.
At eighteen, though, he’d had nothing, he was nothing, which meant that he had become someone.
Someone so powerful and important and rich that Banks would have no choice but to give her to him.