One-Night Heirs

CHAPTER SIX

FLINGINGOPENTHE blue shutters, Emmie stuck her head out the window and took an invigorating breath of sea-salt air.

Beyond the whitewashed walls of the tiny Greek hotel, which was really just a few guest rooms above a taverna, she could see the sapphire Aegean sparkling in the morning sun.

Past the fishing boats in the bay, she saw a yacht on the horizon. Was it Theo’s, coming to collect them? She hoped not.

This sleepy village was off the beaten path, far from Mykonos or Santorini. Lyra was just a small rocky isle with limited ferry service and no nightclubs or mega resorts, with more grazing sheep than tourists. The island had just one village, also named Lyra, with a few scattered two-story hotels, quiet beach coves, and tavernas overlooking the harbor, where fishermen with stubbly beards and low-slung caps brought in that day’s catch with nets on their rusted boats.

And it was all so wonderful, so beautiful and glorious, that it made Emmie’s heart hurt with joy.

She turned away from the window, back to their small room. The innkeeper’s wife had grandly called it the honeymoon suite, but maybe that was because space was so tight in here, honeymooners were the only ones who’d want it. Seeing her husband sleeping in the small bed, her heart twisted as tightly as the sheets tangled at his feet.

They’d slept together last night.

Just slept.

She’d barely managed to push him away in New York. Refusing him, when she wanted him just as badly, was the hardest thing she’d ever done. But she couldn’t give in, not without falling for him all over again. And he was not just out of her league: she knew that giving her body to a man who had no capacity for love would only end with her heart bleeding on the floor.

When the driver had taken them to the airport outside New York City and they’d boarded his jet, she’d waited a little breathlessly for his reaction. Would he punish her with the silent treatment? Give up his vow of fidelity and start texting some more accommodating woman? Or, worst fear of all, would he try to seduce her on the spacious white leather sofa of the jet’s cabin, when she had nowhere to flee?

If so, she honestly didn’t know how long she could hold out, not against him, not against her own treacherous, desperate desire.

Instead, Theo had done something she’d never expected. He’d neither punished her nor pressed his sensual advantage.

He’d acted like a friend.

Theo had been solicitous of Emmie’s comfort, asking the flight attendant for food and drinks that he thought might tempt her. When he’d suggested that they change out of their wedding clothes into something more comfortable, she’d braced herself—until he’d come out of the back room of the jet’s cabin wearing a faded rock-concert T-shirt and slim-fitting sweatpants. He actually wanted her to be comfortable.

So a little nervously, she’d changed out of her wedding dress and high heels into comfy leggings and an oversize hoodie emblazoned with the name of her community college. They’d washed down hors d’oeuvres and a charcuterie platter with sparkling water and soda and watched a mutually agreed-upon movie. Nervous of rom-coms, she’d argued in favor of a female-led comedy, and he’d let her talk him into it. It was only later that she realized his negotiation had been only pretense. He’d let her choose.

Midway through the movie, sated and sleepy, she’d fallen asleep. She’d woken over the Atlantic to find Theo sleeping beside her on the white leather sofa, his arm protectively over her shoulders, his cheek resting on the top of her head.

They’d arrived at Lyra yesterday, coming by speedboat from the nearest airstrip at Paros, a few islands over. She’d closed her eyes, feeling the sun on her face and wind through her hair, then heard her husband’s apologetic voice beside her.

“The yacht is stuck in Athens till tomorrow, I’m afraid. We’ll have to manage at the local hotel tonight.”

He’d looked so regretful, as if he really feared he was disappointing her, that Emmie expected to find Lyra an abandoned ghost village and the local hotel a dilapidated shepherd’s hovel.

Instead, she’d discovered a charming Greek village clinging to the edge of the sea, full of kind, friendly people. Waking ten minutes ago, she’d felt refreshed, reborn, after a night of deep, delicious sleep as her husband had held her in his arms.

Held her. Just held her.

Maybe this marriage was going to work after all.

As long as their partnership was based only on comfort, support and friendship—

But as she looked back at the tiny double bed in the small room, her eyes forgot they were friends...only friends...just friends and unwillingly caressed the length of his powerful tanned body half-hidden beneath the tangle of sheets. The muscles of his chest stood out starkly, the morning sunlight gleaming over his thick biceps and thighs, hardened from his gym habit.

He was wearing only boxer shorts. She dimly recalled hearing him get up at sunrise, quietly change his clothes and go out. When he’d returned, he’d gone to the tiny en suite and turned on the shower. Gauging by the running shoes, T-shirt and shorts left on the floor, he must have gone for a run.

What drove him? she wondered. Why did he throw his body so hard at everything, whether it was working superhuman hours or going for a long run after very few hours of sleep?

Her gaze lingered on his hard-muscled chest, following the dark line of hair down his six-pack abs to the very center of his masculine body, beneath the boxer shorts mostly hidden by the cotton sheets twisted between his sprawled, powerful legs.

“Morning.”

At Theo’s deep, lazy voice, she looked up sharply, her cheeks hot. With his arm still tossed above his head on the pillow, he gave a wicked, amused smile. He’d clearly caught her perusing his near-naked body.

“Morning.” She trembled a little, waiting for him to hold out his hand, to try to tempt her to join him in bed. Could she resist? Could she refuse?

Instead, he sat up in bed, smiling. “I’m starving. Want some breakfast?”

She smiled back, relieved. “Sure...”

Then her throat closed as he rose from the bed, giving her a full view of his powerful, nearly naked body. She saw the scarred flesh of his ankle, burned from an engine fire in a long-ago car race. She caught her breath as he bent over, giving her a view of his muscled back, the boxers straining over the powerful curve of his backside as he dug through his suitcase. Cheeks burning, she turned away, staring out the window at the sea.

“Ready.” Dressed casually in a collared linen shirt and khaki shorts, he gave her an innocent smile, even as she thought she saw a glint of wicked amusement in his eyes. And his lips curved upward at the edges—

Oh, heaven. How had her gaze fallen to his lips? She swallowed. “Ready.”

But her cheeks still felt hot as they went downstairs to share a late-morning breakfast on the taverna’s small patio at the water’s edge.

She had dressed modestly in the loose blue cotton sundress and sandals she’d bought in the village yesterday, her hair in a simple ponytail. With only sunscreen applied to her skin, she looked like a tourist and respectable married pregnant lady, she hoped, no different from any other... No one would know their honeymoon was chaste, she told herself. Biting her lip, she stared down at the huge rock on her left hand as the innkeeper spoke to Theo, beaming, clearly delighted to discover that his guest spoke fluent Greek.

Sipping her creamy decaf coffee, Emmie looked around at the other guests who’d straggled down to breakfast late. They all looked like honeymooners for sure, with a post-sex glow. One young couple, holding hands over the table, kept kissing each other when they thought no one was looking. Her heart twisted with unwelcome envy.

“I’m sorry this honeymoon is such a disappointment.” She turned to her husband wide-eyed, suddenly terrified he’d read her mind. Sipping his own black coffee, he gave her a mild smile. “With the yacht coming late.”

“I don’t mind,” she answered, relieved. “I like it here.” At the rise of his skeptical black eyebrows, she added a little defensively, “Lyra is the most beautiful, charming, friendly place I’ve ever seen.”

He glanced up as the innkeeper brought their breakfasts and departed. “If you say so.”

Taking a bite of her flaky pastry—ah, heavenly butter!—Emmie closed her eyes in bliss, mumbling, “If you don’t like Lyra, why did you bring us here on honeymoon?”

His eyes flickered. “Our honeymoon starts on the yacht.” He stabbed his eggs with his fork. “Our stop in Lyra is just an unpleasant errand I need to finish first.”

Lyra unpleasant? She nearly choked on her second pastry. Washing it down with sweet, creamy coffee, she wiped her mouth. “I’m happy here.”

“No one is happy here,” he muttered.

Did he know this island well? She frowned, trying to remember anything he might have told her about Greece when she was his secretary. But there was nothing. He’d never spoken about his past in Greece, ever. She asked bluntly, “What’s your errand?”

Theo looked at her, his jaw tight. “You deserve the honeymoon of your dreams, Emmie. You’ll have it. I promise you. You’ll be cherished in luxury on my yacht, waited on by a ten-person staff. We’ll visit Santorini, where a friend is hosting a party for us. It should be very glamorous. Then Mykonos.”

“Glamorous,” Emmie sighed.

His lips curved. “Didn’t you notice the clothes in your suitcase?”

Emmie had, to her dismay. After they’d arrived in Greece, he’d presented her with a Louis Vuitton trunk graced with her new initials, E. S. K., filled with new designer clothes that fit her pregnant body perfectly, including cocktail dresses and resort wear—obviously arranged by a stylist, at great expense. It was still in lockup at the harbor, awaiting to be loaded onto the yacht.

But she’d seen a flash of prices on the tags. A two-thousand-dollar swimsuit cover-up from Prada? Seriously? Once they were back in New York, she vowed to take it straight back to the stylist for a refund. Even if her husband was crazy rich, that didn’t mean their spending should be crazy stupid.

Especially not when, as she and Theo had wandered Lyra’s narrow cobblestone village road yesterday afternoon, she’d found swimsuit cover-ups for just ten euros and cotton sundresses for twelve, one of which she was wearing now. She looked down at her hand, twisting her diamond ring nervously. “We could skip Mykonos and Santorini and just stay in Lyra.”

“Thank you, but you don’t need to pretend. This place is a hellhole.” His jaw was tight as he looked up at the charming taverna hotel that she’d taken a million pictures of with her phone since yesterday. “I’m sorry. You deserve better.”

Her brow furrowed. Hellhole?

Was he in some alternate reality?

In her time on this island, she’d felt nothing but joy. Emmie wasn’t sure why. Was it because, for the first time in her life, she was on vacation? With no responsibilities, no family to cook and clean for, no number-crunching in a basement cubicle or billionaire-wrangling over business schedules?

She didn’t have to serve anyone or rush anywhere. She’d just been able to do whatever she pleased. She’d wandered the village on a whim, exclaiming with delight over everything, from the sweet cat curled up on a sunny windowsill, to the children dragging a kite, to the housewife sweeping her doorway and the old man leading a herd of black-faced sheep down the cobblestones. Emmie was in heaven.

And she’d assumed Theo felt the same. But now, looking back, she realized he’d simply followed her, encouraging her happiness without taking part in it. If anything, Theo seemed to go out of his way to be a stranger in Lyra, never introducing himself, avoiding people’s eyes, as if deliberately acting the part of the rich, arrogant American tourist.

The truth was, though he’d tried to hide it, he’d been tense since they’d arrived here. She should have realized it earlier, when she saw he’d gone for a long run at dawn. It was how he dealt with stress. Exercise—or sex. Which obviously he wasn’t getting.

She swallowed. What was the mysterious errand? “Why don’t you like Lyra?”

His jaw tightened again as he looked away. “It’s unfortunate the yacht-engine repair took longer than expected. A part had to be flown in from Rotterdam. But we’ll be sleeping onboard tonight, I assure you.”

Emmie looked past the small fishing boats to the enormous, modern yacht approaching the harbor and felt strangely let down. “Is that it?”

“Yes. Finally.” Theo hesitated. “As I told you, I have an errand to run later today. It’ll take me a few hours...”

“I’ll come.”

“No.” Then added more gently, “If you’re truly enjoying Lyra, I’m sure you’d prefer to spend your last hours shopping and relaxing, rather than dealing with some dreary errand.”

“But what is it? Does it have to do with your new property in Greece? The one you mentioned at the wedding?”

Theo carefully ate a bite of dry toast then tossed the rest back on the plate. He gave her a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. “You’ll be all right for a few hours without me? You won’t be lonely on your own?”

Of course she wouldn’t be all right. What bride would appreciate being abandoned on the second day of her honeymoon, so the groom could disappear on a mysterious errand he refused to discuss?

But friendship went both ways. She wanted to be supportive, not clingy. So she forced herself to smile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.” His handsome face held no expression as he tossed down his linen napkin. Looking at her downcast face, he relented. “But we have a few hours to enjoy ourselves first. What do you say we go to the beach?”

She brightened. “I’d love that.”

Smiling, Theo tossed a pile of euros on the table, leaving an enormous tip. As they went upstairs to get changed, Emmie hummed a happy song to herself as they climbed the stairs, thrilled at the thought of spending time on the famous white sand beach of a bona fide Greek island.

“This is going to be so fun—” But as she turned back to her husband on the rickety stairs, his handsome face was twisted with so much grief and rage, she caught her breath.

The darkness in his expression was quickly masked as their eyes met. He smoothed his face into a smile. “I certainly hope so.”

And Emmie couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible that this quaint Greek island, which to her seemed so sunny and bright, was a hellhole that Theo couldn’t wait to leave.

From the moment Theo saw the small rocky island of Lyra, he’d known bringing Emmie here was a mistake.

He’d brought the small, wrapped package from the safe of his Manhattan office to do what he’d been delayed from doing last week: watching from a distance as the charred ruin of his past was finally completely destroyed. Then he’d meant to drop the package into the sea, as Sofia had asked.

But there had been complications. The yacht’s faulty engine leaving it docked in Athens. Sofia coming to Lyra after he’d specifically told her to stay in Paris. His wife starting to ask questions.

This wasn’t how Theo had imagined his revenge would be.

Just climbing out of the speedboat onto the dock in Lyra’s small harbor, returning to this place he’d sworn he’d never set foot on again, had caused a physical reaction. Even now, everywhere he looked made his skin crawl with memory, spiders and centipedes of repressed tragedy, little feet of horror whispering up and down his spine.

Walking through the tiny village which Emmie proclaimed charming, all he could see were the ghosts of the past. He’d seen her startled eyes when he’d called it a hellhole, and he’d known he’d revealed too much, been too honest about his feelings. But anytime he wasn’t in her arms, focused on the long game of his slow seduction, he was on edge.

So far, no one had recognized him. He’d had a different surname then. He’d had so many names as a child. His father’s. Then his mother’s. He’d had three different stepfathers, none of whom had legally adopted him, but his mother always insisted on calling him by each new surname, as if that could bind her new husband to her son, to make them a family. Hopeless. Stupid.

Then it all ended in flames...

The torture of his own memories caused an overlay of pain over every pretty whitewashed building with blue shutters, an invisible shroud suffocating the rocky shoreline and clear blue water.

He’d been helpless as a boy. Helpless to save his family, even to save himself.

Until he finally had—at unbearable cost...

Theo couldn’t relax. Since he’d arrived, he’d barely slept. So he’d gone for a run that morning, pushing himself hard, sprinting the eight-mile trail around the edge of the cliffs, hoping to outrun all his demons.

He ran past an old house and saw the gray-haired, wrinkled version of a woman he vaguely remembered. One who’d once called the police when she’d found him stumbling down the road as a boy, broken and covered in his own blood. Now, the old woman’s eyes narrowed as he ran past.

But he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to be recognized as that boy. Not by anyone. Not even himself.

For decades, he’d seen the charred ruin in his dreams. Theo had bought the ruined property on Lyra because he’d hoped if he took possession of hell, it would loosen its jaws around his soul. But on his run, when he’d seen the burned debris in the distance, he’d stopped cold.

Theo had thought, returning to Lyra as a self-made billionaire with a wife and a child on the way, he’d prove his past was finally behind him, that he’d feel proud and strong, that he’d finally leave the helpless boy behind.

But one look at that scene and he’d realized nothing had changed inside him, not really. Maybe it never would...

“Can you believe it?” Emmie’s joyful face looked up at him beneath the wide-brimmed sun hat she’d bought yesterday with Lyra stitched across the top in Greek letters. In spite of her stringent application of sunscreen, her legs and arms were already turning tan, with the slightest hint of pink, and he saw freckles on her upturned nose. “A secret beach!”

It took him a moment to brush away old ghosts and come back to the present. By then, Emmie had already dropped her cheap straw beach bag on the white sand. She yanked her white sleeveless cover-up off over her head, revealing a turquoise string bikini as she raced out into the blue water with a joyful whoop.

Standing alone on the beach, Theo stared out at her.

Her bikini caressed her pregnant curves as she kicked at the surf, spreading her arms wide and turning her face to the sun. The little triangle tops of the bra barely contained her overflowing breasts, and the bikini bottom, with strings tied in bows at her hips, was half-hidden by her belly.

Theo was hard just looking at her. But then, he felt like he’d been hard from the moment of their marriage. Repressing his desire, treating her with asexual kindness and concern, cuddling with her while they watched that awful comedy on the jet—and most difficult of all, having her sleep next to him in bed, for the love of heaven, feeling her soft, sensual body move against his groin as she sighed and moaned in sleep—

Remembering, he breathed a strangled curse. A man could only endure so much. He didn’t know how much longer he could bear it.

When would his wife finally give in to her own desire and make the first move? When?

It amazed him now that he’d thought her plain before he hired her. How had Emmie contrived to camouflage her incredible beauty for months at the office, in the unflattering suits and tightly prim hairstyles of the efficient, sexless secretary, before he’d finally, truly seen her?

Now, Theo stared at her as she waded into the blue water like Aphrodite, golden beneath the sun. Emmie Swenson Katrakis was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.

More than beautiful: she was magic. She was the only one who could make him forget. The only one who could chase the ghosts away. Making love to her was all he could think about.

Which meant she was his addiction. Right or wrong, he had to keep her close. So he could keep touching her, looking at her. And when she surrendered to temptation and took him back into her bed, he’d finally feel peace, in the explosion of euphoria as he took her...again and again...

“What are you waiting for?” she called, swimming and kicking in the sea. “Come join me!”

Emmie was chest-deep, the surface of the water clinging to her swollen breasts, sliding slowly over her skin and the tiny clinging fabric. The shock between cool water and warm air caused her nipples to pebble beneath the material. He could see the shape of them, even from here.

He needed no further invitation. He ripped off his shirt and tossed his phone down on top of it. Wearing only his blue swim trunks, he plunged into the water, letting the sea wash him clean before he resurfaced beside her. Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her in the Greek sun, just for a split second, as salty water splashed over them both.

With a laugh, she pulled away and ducked her body back beneath the water. Playfully, she kicked a wave of water over him.

With a low growl, he threw himself in pursuit of her, and with a mock scream she swam away. They played together in the water on the private, deserted beach, and he somehow laughed harder than he had in a long time.

Finally, as the sun started to lower in the sky, he remembered the errand and felt a shadow over his soul. They waded back to the sandy beach. He checked the time and told himself he could take a few more moments, just a few. He spread their blanket beneath the scrawny shade of a single olive tree, clinging to the edge of some rocks.

He dried her off with a towel and froze, looking down at her, his heart pounding. He thought of stretching her out on the sun-warmed blanket and taking her right there on the white sand. But shepherds had sometimes wandered through here following their charges, and even when he was younger there had been an occasional backpacker who heard about the secret beach. But maybe—

“How did you even know about this place?” Emmie asked, yawning as she stretched her limbs out in the sun. “When I asked the innkeeper about a beach, she only told me about one up north. She called it the tourist beach.”

“This one is kept quiet. For locals.”

Her dark eyelashes fluttered open as she peeked at him. “Then, how did you know about it?”

Theo felt the low rumble of tension go through his body, like dark clouds on the edge of his consciousness, crackling the air with threat of a coming storm.

No, he thought. Please. He didn’t want to think about it. Let him enjoy this just a little longer. Just an hour. A few more minutes.

“Theo.” He felt her small hand reach up to cup his rough, unshaven chin. “What is it? What won’t you tell me?”

For a moment, he closed his eyes, holding his breath. Her touch lured him—tempted him unbearably. All he wanted to do was pull her close, to kiss her, to feel her naked body against his own, to plunge into her, to lose his mind in the sweet madness between them.

And yet he forced himself to turn away. “It doesn’t matter—”

But Emmie held onto his shoulders. Their eyes locked.

Lifting her head, she hesitated for the space of a breath. Then she kissed him. A brief brush of her lips against his.

Then she drew back, her violet eyes luminous in the Greek sun.

With an intake of breath, he pulled her into his arms, on the soft blanket and kissed her hungrily.

Their lips met like fire, and she clung to him—he clung to her—it was everything he’d waited for and more...

Pulling away with a gasp, he kissed down her neck, his hands roaming over her warm, bare skin—her breasts, her belly, her hips. He reached for the tie of her bikini top at the nape of her neck. His fingers fumbled with the effort, as if he were an untried boy—

Nearby, his phone rang. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to ignore the sound. But it kept ringing and ringing until finally, with a curse, he snatched it off the blanket, half-intending to toss it into the sea.

Then he saw the number of the person calling. It was like a splash of cold water in his face. Glancing at Emmie, he stood up unsteadily, putting the phone to his ear, walking away from the blanket beneath the olive tree. He spoke quietly into the phone, in Greek, praying his voice sounded calm, praying his wife wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t care, wouldn’t ask questions.

Speaking quickly, he finished the call as soon as possible. But when he turned back, Emmie was sitting up, staring at him, her face pale beneath her freckles.

“Who’s Sofia?” she demanded.