Chapter Five
Archimedes could not remember the last time the sight of a woman in a dress had shocked him the way seeing Zoe swathed in scarlet silk had shocked him.
When he’d had Lydia put out the gowns, he’d already decided that she wouldn’t choose the scarlet one because it flashed too much skin.
He’d been hoping for the little black dress because it was clingy, but this? He couldn’t have asked for better.
Zoe Hargreaves hadn’t just blossomed. She was a rose in full bloom.
The scarlet silk clung to the most perfect hourglass figure, hugging her breasts, hips and thighs in the sexiest way possible. Her mouth was a lush bow of red, the gold choker making her neck look long and swanlike.
And that wasn’t even taking in the fact that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
The thin straps holding up the scarlet silk were the only things over her shoulders and there was no incriminating fabric showing through the hip-high slit in the fabric.
No, there was nothing but a swathe of pale, bare skin.
He even had to confess to being a little stunned, which had never happened to him before.
He’d spent the past hour making sure the table had been set the way he wanted it, and that the chef had prepared the food to his satisfaction. She’d agreed to this dinner at least, and since he didn’t know if she would agree to more, he’d decided to make the most of this one.
She was his wife now, and that changed things, though he wasn’t sure how or why. Something to do with his ring being on her finger and the sound of her being called ‘Mrs Athineos’. Also, her being a vision in red, which his body liked very, very much indeed.
He wasn’t sure if she’d take his hand, but he’d offered it anyway, the devil in him, the one that liked pushing boundaries, making him present it to her.
But she’d accepted his challenge and now her fingers were in his, and her skin was warm, and all he could think about was sliding his hand up her arm to those ridiculously thin straps and ripping them away so the silk would fall very slowly down and off her.
A dangerous thought. Pushing boundaries at work was one thing, but not when it came to his own personal boundaries. Those were far too easy for him to excuse and manipulate, to find reasons for pushing them the way he had when he’d been with the Russians. And he knew where that led.
He could not give in to it.
Zoe could never be part of any boundary pushing anyway, even dressed as she was in scarlet silk like a delicious present he wanted to unwrap.
And not only because of his own weakness, but because he suspected she had no idea what she was doing, all dressed up like that.
He’d been expecting her to turn up in jeans and a T-shirt, or even not turn up at all and he’d have to make good on his threat to send a security guard for her.
But no. She was here, wearing all the things he’d specified, and maybe the mistake was his.
Maybe, given his weakness, he shouldn’t have made those conditions.
She didn’t look at him as he led her over to her seat, letting go of her hand to pull out her chair for her.
‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said. ‘I can push my own chair in.’
He should let her sit, he really should. But that devil in him wouldn’t let him.
‘I’m sure you can,’ he said. ‘But I’m afraid I must insist. It’s our wedding dinner after all.’
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t protest, making a big production of sitting down in the chair instead.
It put her close to him, and he couldn’t help but lean in slightly, inhaling her warm, sweet, spicy scent, watching the light play over the glossy fall of her hair, and catching a glimpse of the shadowed valley between her breasts.
He wanted to linger there behind her, prolong the moment, but that wouldn’t be pushing her boundary so much as it was pushing his, and he didn’t need to be pushing any further boundaries tonight.
Instead, he went over to the ice bucket, where the bottle of vintage champagne was chilling, and unwrapped it, popping the cork, then filling two crystal flutes.
‘Not for me,’ Zoe said repressively.
He looked at her. ‘It’s our wedding night. Surely you can have one glass of champagne?’ Again, he shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be pushing, but he’d never been very good at doing what he should. He was much better at doing what he wanted.
And you know what happens when you do that.
Archimedes ignored the snide thought. Yes, he’d lost himself years ago, but he was past that now. He’d pulled himself out of that darkness, he’d found control, and one beautiful woman wasn’t going to affect it. One beautiful woman wasn’t going to affect him.
He pushed the champagne flute over to her, then took his own and sat down in the chair opposite. The candle flames leapt and flickered, the glow making her pale skin look like porcelain and her night-black hair, worn loose and over her shoulders, glossy as a raven’s wing.
Despite all his resistance, the desire didn’t lessen.
‘Well?’ she demanded without preamble. ‘You wanted dinner with me so here I am. At dinner.’
‘Yes, you are,’ he agreed, then raised his glass. ‘But first a toast. To our marriage.’
Zoe did not pick up her flute. ‘Yay for us,’ she said tonelessly.
He sipped at the cold, yeasty liquid, studying her.
‘You can’t stay angry about this for a whole year.’
‘Oh, no? Watch me.’
‘That’s not the Zoe I knew. The Zoe I knew never held grudges.’
‘The Zoe you knew is gone.’ She sat back in her seat and then, obviously changing her mind, reached for her flute and took a sip of the champagne. ‘I’m not her any more.’
That was patently obvious. The Zoe he knew always had a smile for him, was always willing to go on forbidden expeditions with him, which usually meant walking on Hampstead Heath or the Embankment, something that Banks had expressly told them not to do.
He’d never realised back then that he’d been lonely, not until Zoe had come into his life.
She’d been his friend and his partner-in-crime, but she’d also become his moral compass.
She’d shown him what kindness meant, giving coins to street-sleepers or feeding the stray cat that hung around Banks’s house.
Buying him his favourite chocolate bar from the corner shop instead of stealing it, which he would have done, because the shop owner was elderly and needed the money.
Where that kindness was now, he didn’t know, because the woman sitting opposite him now had a hard look to her face and a grim cast to her mouth.
Brittle, he’d thought in the church the day before, and that was certainly what she seemed to be.
She’d once been his North Star because she glittered so brightly, but now that glitter had dimmed. He didn’t like it.
‘So, tell me who the Zoe you are now is,’ he suggested.
‘Why?’ She was sitting rigidly in her chair and took another sip of her champagne, though it was really more of a gulp. ‘We’re not friends any more, Archimedes. We might be married and have to live together, but getting to know each other was not part of the deal.’
Oh, yes, that stubborn part of her was definitely present and correct.
‘What about if I want to get to know you?’ he asked idly.
‘So far, all of this has very much been all about what you want,’ she pointed out. ‘Nothing at all has been about what I want.’
Archimedes shifted in his seat. He was restless already and he’d only just sat down. With an effort, he schooled himself into stillness.
‘Then what do you want?’ he asked, which he thought was a reasonable enough question, because she wasn’t wrong. It had all been about what he wanted.
‘Not to get married to you and not to be dragged halfway across Europe,’ she said, taking another hefty gulp of her wine.
Okay, he could understand that. He could understand her anger about it, too. But she seemed very wedded to that anger, and especially at him.
She missed you, remember?
That was right, so she had. Oh, she’d denied it very categorically on the plane, but it had been that flat, categorical tone that had given her away. Besides, what other reason could she have for this hostility?
She’d asked him why he’d ignored her for so many years and while he’d replied with the same casualness with which she’d asked, perhaps he shouldn’t have. Perhaps his leaving had affected her more deeply than he’d thought.
The ghosts of all those old feelings he’d had for her whispered through him once again, with regret bringing up the rear. He regretted many things in his life, but that one regret for the way he’d left her lingered.
He could feel it still, an ache just behind his ribs, but he ignored it. He couldn’t give in to that ache, couldn’t allow himself to even be aware of it. Regret indicated care, and neither feeling could be indulged.
Archimedes put his flute down and leaned forward. ‘And yet here you are,’ he said. ‘Despite all that so-called dragging. So, what are you getting out of it? Or are you doing this out of some kind of misguided sense of loyalty to Banks?’
She snorted. ‘Hardly. What does it matter what I’m getting out of it?’
‘You’re stubborn, Zoe,’ he said. ‘If you don’t want to do something, you usually dig in, so he must have promised you something big.’
There was no give in her silver gaze, no softness. ‘You’re not exactly a pushover yourself, and clearly loyalty is something you have no idea about.’ She lifted her glass, took another gulp, a challenging look on her face. ‘He must be offering you something big too.’
Frustration at her hostility caught at him.
No, this wasn’t what either of them wanted, but they were doing it and they were here now.
And…well, he hadn’t seen her for years, and he was curious.
But if he wanted to get anything at all from her, he suspected he was going to have to be the one who offered something first.