Chapter Eight
KATANOS WAS A small coastal town, and though it was very beautiful, it was not really set up to cater for tourists.
In summer, she could imagine it might be busier, but now, in winter, the place was quiet, populated sparsely with locals.
She’d had her choice of the two hotels, and had opted for the smaller, because it had sweeping views out over the water.
Now, however, she couldn’t look towards the windows without thinking of Nikos.
In the distance, she was sure she could make out the cliff faces of his island, the dense forest that covered them, and any time she happened to glance in that direction, she felt a pounding of blood in her ears.
An anger and hurt, a twisting inside her to know she’d never see him again. It was what they’d agreed to, and she’d known it all along, but, despite her best efforts, he’d got under her skin.
She’d become used to him.
She’d allowed herself to like him. Maybe, in the very back of her mind, even to want more from him. How stupid was she? After everything she’d been through with James, she should have been giving all men a seriously wide berth. Not falling into bed with the first willing partner.
Then again, she’d never regret that.
If nothing else, Nikos had given Genevieve the first orgasms of her life.
He’d shown her something vital and true about herself, that she’d always doubted—that she was a sexual woman, after all, capable of enjoying that act, of feeling intense pleasure.
The problem hadn’t been with her. Maybe it hadn’t even been with James, so much as their shared chemistry.
They just weren’t compatible, on so many levels.
Unlike her and Nikos.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain of that lanced through her. It was almost impossible to believe she wouldn’t see him again.
All night, she’d been disoriented. She’d drifted off to sleep, only to reach for Nikos, looking for the warmth of his huge body, for the pleasure of his touch, only to wake and remember his rejection, his cold acceptance of her leaving the island.
Finally, at dawn, she’d given up on trying to sleep and had slipped out of bed, pulled on a maxi dress and denim jacket, some dark sunglasses, and set off on a long walk, in the hope that, with exertion, she might be able to finally put him from her mind, once and for all.
Katanos was not a large town, and with only two hotels, and the influence of who he was, it took Nikos no time whatsoever to ascertain at which hotel Genevieve was a guest. It took even less time to establish that she’d left that morning, and not yet returned.
Unused to waiting, and not enjoying the way locals stared at him in the foyer, he nonetheless settled himself in one of the chairs so he would see when she returned.
Discomfort was his constant companion, though. He was aware of the way people looked at him. His wealth had made him well known, but his reclusiveness made him famous. He’d dealt with this before. Any time he showed his face in Athens, he was treated like some kind of god.
He didn’t once consider leaving though. Having decided to speak to Genevieve, he had no intention of failing.
Not again. And so, he waited, eyes trained on the door, ignoring the way every man and his dog stopped and stared, unable to believe that they’d seen The Nikos Konstantinou, with their own eyes.
She walked far longer and further than she’d intended, so it was after lunch by the time Genevieve made her way back to the hotel, thinking of the half-eaten sandwich in her small mini bar with a sudden pang of hunger.
She had barely eaten since leaving the island, and now felt a little light-headed.
She was distracted as she approached the hotel, so didn’t notice the couple standing at the windows, peering inside. Even if she had, she would have presumed they were simply admiring the mid-century décor, or something equally banal.
But when she pushed in the door and her eyes glanced across the lobby, she saw him immediately.
How could she not? On the island, there’d been something fitting about his size, his animalistic wildness.
But here—even when dressed in dark trousers and a business shirt—he looked like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Quite literally. She stopped walking, almost unable to believe he was here.
Unable to believe that she hadn’t conjured him up out of thin air.
But then, of their own volition, her feet began to move, carrying her towards him, as he stood and started to stride over the orange carpet.
But as they walked towards one another, something was dinging in the back of her mind.
A distant alarm. On the island, he’d been so elemental and raw, as if formed from the clay of the cliffs, the wildness of the ocean.
Here, in these clothes, there was something almost familiar about him.
She frowned, dispelling the thought. Of course he was familiar.
They’d spent days becoming intimately acquainted.
‘You really do have a death wish,’ he muttered.
She startled, staring up at him. The sensible question of ‘what are you doing here?’ was usurped by, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘One minute you are gallivanting around on a tiny sailboat in a wild storm, the next you are walking in the middle of the day, without a hat?’
‘It’s winter.’
‘It is warm and your cheeks are flushed. Are you burned?’
She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Could he really not work out why her cheeks were pink?
‘I’m fine,’ she said through gritted teeth, taking a step back, and wobbling a little—from surprise at seeing him again.
His hand swooped out immediately, before she’d even registered her reaction, and curled around her back, drawing her against his body.
Which really, really didn’t help matters at all.
‘You look like you are about to pass out,’ he muttered, condemnation in the words.
‘I’m not,’ she denied, though, in truth, she did feel very weak all of a sudden. ‘I’m just hungry. I haven’t eaten yet.’
He looked as though he wanted to snap at that, and inwardly, she dared him to. She was fed up with this man—blowing hot, cold, and right back into her life when she’d spent the last thirty hours forcing herself to accept the brutal reality of never seeing him again.
‘Then let’s go and eat.’
She opened her mouth to tell him, witheringly, that she had a sandwich in her room, but as she mentally conjured an image of that small space, with its double bed in the centre, she clamped her lips together.
Better to avoid being in a hotel room with this man right now.
She might have been annoyed with him, but there was no way she could deny the effect his proximity was having on her pulse.
‘Why are you here?’ she asked, instead.
‘We need to talk.’
She shook her head. ‘Not as far as I’m concerned.’
‘I owe you an explanation,’ he said, still holding her against his body. ‘You were right: I should have told you about her.’
Genevieve’s eyes swept shut on a wave of surprise.
Nikos was clearly different from James in myriad ways, but this was yet another.
James never admitted to having made a mistake, and he never apologised for anything.
He certainly never explained his actions.
Nikos’s willingness to do so brought a heady rush of power to her brain, and a strangely heartening sense of security.
It threatened to undermine all her sense and reason, her rational thoughts.
Because regardless of his good points, he was still a man, still someone she needed to treat with caution.
Not because of him, but because of herself, her battered heart, her destroyed abilities to trust.
‘Yes, you should have,’ she said, making a half-hearted effort to push away from him. But he held her up regardless, his arm like a vice around her waist, offering support that, in fact, she did feel she needed.
‘Then let me tell you now.’
‘Fine. Tell me.’ She tilted her face to his defiantly, but his eyes shifted over her shoulder, towards the door. She turned to look in that direction to see a middle-aged couple walking down the street.
‘Can we go to your room?’
‘No way, buster. Tell me this isn’t some kind of inter-island booty call.’
‘It’s not,’ he muttered.
‘Tell me here.’
‘No.’ He looked around, then let out a rough breath. ‘Come with me.’
She shook her head. ‘Not until you tell me where we’re going.’
‘For lunch. You need to eat, and I would prefer not to have this conversation in the middle of a hotel foyer.’ His eyes bored into hers, as grey as the stormy ocean, and she lost herself for a moment in their depths.
She thought she might actually agree to anything he asked of her, if she wasn’t careful.
‘Fine. I know a place nearby.’
She could see that he didn’t like that. Nikos, she suspected, was very used to calling the shots. But Genevieve had been in a relationship like that, and it had nearly been the death of her. She arched a single brow, silently challenging him to argue, but he didn’t.
‘Fine. I presume it’s close?’
‘Just next door.’
‘Show me.’ He kept his arm around her waist as they walked from the hotel, offering her support.
She wasn’t sure she needed it now the shock of seeing him had passed, but she didn’t say as much to him.
Not when it felt so good to be held close to his large, strong body.
Besides, what was the harm? They were on the other side of the world from Washington—thousands of miles from her ex-husband’s sphere of influence. He would never find out about this.
The waiter who’d led them to a table was little more than a child, fourteen or fifteen at most, and he’d shown more interest in his mobile phone than he had in his guests, so for once, Nikos wasn’t recognised when he arrived at a restaurant.
Thank Christos, because the last thing he needed was for this to go out of order.