CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
Lynna dreamed of that kiss and thus woke in a foul, foul mood. She wanted to be furious that he had kissed her without her consent.
But she hadn’t pushed him away, and she could have. She hadn’t used a strategic knee to make him crumble, and she could have. She was well-versed in all the variety of ways to rebuff a man’s unwanted advances.
She had let him kiss her because…
Well.
She’d never been kissed. Which she’d never once allowed herself to feel pathetic about. She was introverted, self-assured and had never been able to put up with the foolishness of boys , even when life had been easy and happy.
As she’d gotten older, and the world of men had offered more possibilities, she’d been too busy. Nose to the grindstone, pulling herself and her family out of grief and financial distress, which left her with absolutely no patience for other people’s nonsense.
She had come to the conclusion a few years ago that she would likely always be a virgin, and she’d accepted that. Been happy with it.
“I am still happy with it,” she said. Out loud. To assure herself.
So the kiss had…messed up things inside of her. That was just a physical, physiological reaction. Like yeast in baking. There were reactions that happened in a body just as they did in a bread dough. It was science .
She didn’t have to want to act on them for the chemical reactions to exist. To find herself surprised and curious in the moment .
She most certainly would not let Athan have his mouth anywhere near her ever again. She didn’t even understand why he was pretending that he might…see her that way.
“Because he’s the devil,” she told the empty room resolutely, scowling at the crumpled up wedding gown on the floor.
It had made her feel beautiful, and Athan had even said that with a kind of reverence that had made her heart feel… light instead of the heavy weight it had been for years.
She hated it.
She pushed out of bed and padded over to her suitcase. She had only brought clothes meant for being a chef. Particularly an event chef. Everything was black, easy to move in and easy to clean.
Drab.
“Well, we have no reason to be anything other than drab, do we?” She pulled out the first pair of top and pants her hands landed on and changed into them. She pulled her piles of hair back into a tight braid.
What she looked like was immaterial. Maybe she was playing the role of wife not chef, but there was nothing in her contract about looking a certain way.
So dressing like the staff felt like rebellion, and that powered her out of her room and downstairs into the kitchen. There were some staff already there, brewing coffee and making noises about breakfast, but she politely and efficiently kicked them all out.
She was going to make breakfast. Part of her was tempted to only make it for herself, let Athan fend for himself, but that was silly if she’d gotten rid of the other kitchen staff.
Besides, if Athan got used to her cooking, he would miss it all the more when they weren’t together.
She frowned at herself as she pulled a bowl of eggs from the refrigerator. Not that she wanted him to miss her . She just wanted him to be in pain.
She had a ladenia in the oven, a fruit salad prepared and was halfway through the cooking the strapatsatha when Athan wandered into the kitchen.
Last night he’d worn a tux. He’d looked every inch the wealthy sophisticate he’d been bred to be, and though that wasn’t to her taste, Lynna did not for the life of her understand his former fiancée’s decision to trade in one Akakios for the other.
If you were going to wed the devil, Athan was perhaps the handsomest devil there was. In a tux. In casual clothing. She had once seen him in nothing but his swim trunks and that had certainly been an education in the male form.
She did not allow the memory to form in her mind.
“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Athan asked. Not quite with disdain or censure. Somehow he made his tone curious , when she knew he was not because it was obvious what she was doing. And he, no doubt, did not want her doing it.
Too bad. “I am going to make the food while I’m here. We had a contract.”
“I think the one we signed yesterday overruns the original.”
“I enjoy cooking, and so I will do it.”
“All right. Do I get to make requests?”
“No.”
He sighed. “I didn’t think so.” He watched her as she sliced some bread and put it in the toaster before taking the eggs off the heat.
“Perhaps you can teach me.”
“Teach you what?” she asked, paying special attention to how and where she crumbled feta on top of the strapatsatha .
“To cook.”
“Why?”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t want to be anywhere near you. “What possible reason could you have for learning how to cook?”
“So I can make the things I enjoy that you’ll refuse to make me simply because I enjoy them.”
“Then watch a video.”
“Come, Lynna. We needn’t be quite so antagonistic. We’re partners. For the next year.”
When he said things like year, and partners, regret seeped into her like poison. Why had she done this to herself? “Partners like our fathers were partners? Should I wear armor to guard myself from the back stab?”
“If you wish.”
She hated when he didn’t get mad in response. Particularly when she was letting her temper get the better of her and she shouldn’t.
“Breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes.”
“Excellent.” But he didn’t leave. He slid onto a stool at the little breakfast counter, got out his phone.
She thought he’d settle into work, and as much as she didn’t want him there, that was fine. She was used to all sorts of strange situations while being a hired chef.
But then Athan spoke. “Did you talk to your mother?”
Lynna didn’t know that she really wanted to discuss it with him, but she supposed he had a right to know who knew the truth. “Briefly.”
“How did she take the news?”
Lynna tried not to sigh. She actually didn’t know. Her mother had neither seemed horrified by the union, nor too happy about it. For both of them, Rhys was the focus. He had been so young when Father had died. Only fourteen. And mother had struggled under the weight of grief those first few years while Lynna had still been away at university and not fully aware of how bad life at home was until that last month.
But they’d both fixed things now, and Mom could hardly argue she’d done the wrong thing.
I worry, Lynna. Your father thought he knew what he was doing too and look where that got us.
Father trusted Constantine. I don’t trust Athan at all.
But you’ll be married to him.
And that had really been it. Her mother had given Lynna a tepid blessing, in between emotional apologies for being such a failure as a parent.
Lynna wanted no one’s apologies. Particularly her mother’s. Luckily, Rhys was busy at university and Mom would soon enough be distracted by a new home.
“Well enough. She said she’d like to live in Crete, to start.”
“I’ll have my real estate man compile some potential properties for her to look over.”
“Great.” And it was, so Lynna ignored the twisting feeling of anxiety in her chest. Mom would get a new house where she wanted to live. Lynna’s loan was already paid off, and Rhys’s schooling for the year. Good things were in the offing.
She took the bread out of the toaster, and then began to plate them both a little bit of everything she’d made. When she presented him with a plate and a mug of coffee, he took it all in as if it were some great work of art. Then he grabbed a fork.
“A man could get used to this.”
“Feel free.”
“Why does that feel like a threat?”
She lifted a shoulder and suppressed a smile. So he could be funny? So what? She had her plate in her hand. She wanted to go eat out on the terrace, but he’d likely follow her. The best bet was her room.
But before she could turn to leave, Athan pulled out the chair next to him.
“Sit. Eat. We should learn how to spend time together without sparring for our upcoming trip to Athens.”
“Should we though?”
“Yes, Lynna. We should. There is an entire contingent at AC International that did not like how your father was treated. I can hardly get their support to hire Rhys, to give you all shares, if they think you hate me.”
“Maybe they’ll oust you and hire me.”
Athan sighed and shook his head. “They are afraid of my father. And rightfully so. But everyone knows I’m the only person who could possibly stand up to him. But I need leverage.”
“And I’m your leverage.”
“You are indeed.”
And he was gazing at her like that mattered in some way, like she did, when she was only the pawn he was paying dearly for the privilege of having.
Before she could think of what to say, or manage to look away from that dark, dangerous gaze that threatened to poke at her careful, calm walls, his phone began to ring.
He glanced at the screen and grinned. “Speak of the devil. Or should I say, devil supreme. Let’s have a chat, shall we?” He put the phone between them and answered the call on speaker.
“Hello, Father. To what do I—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” a very angry voice demanded.
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t follow.” Athan feigned a loud yawn. “It’s awfully early.”
“It’s nearly nine,” Constantine’s voice growled through the speaker. “Whatever do you think you’re doing marrying Aled’s servant girl of a daughter?”
Athan didn’t reply at first, but he looked at her and grinned while taking a bite of ladenia . “I didn’t realize this was common knowledge just yet,” Athan said, after a while. “Just think, if you and Regina had stuck around, we could have had a double wedding.”
“If you think doing something so absolutely brainless is going to somehow win you shares and votes, as if anyone in this company thinks of Aled Carew as anything other than a bumbling, dead fool, you are even more useless than I gave you credit for.”
“Shares? Votes? Father, you wound me. I married for love, of course.” This time he winked at Lynna, and she looked away. Down at her plate. To eat. This was the strangest situation she could imagine getting herself into and she didn’t know how to deal with it.
Yet. She would figure it out. She always did.
“Love? Did you blind that silly shrew with lies of love?”
Shrew. Well, she was glad Constantine thought so. But silly? No, she couldn’t stand that. “I understand why you might see it that way, Constantine,” Lynna said, before she thought better of it, before she could rein in her temper or her tongue. “After all, the only person who could possibly love you would have to be blind indeed.”
* * *
Athan didn’t even hear his father’s response to that, or maybe the response was simply the click of a phone call ended. But he stared at Lynna in wonder.
He could kiss her. He had never in his entire life seen anyone stand up to his father in such a way. Even her father had treated Constantine as a kind of…untouchable monarch.
He considered following the instinct, considered kissing her here and now as she lowered her head in her hands.
No, not yet. Slow and steady with stubborn Lynna.
“I should not have said that,” she muttered.
“Why not?”
“It can hardly be wise to make him so angry.”
“It doesn’t matter. He’ll be as vicious as he can be regardless of how I needle him or don’t. A lesson it took me a long time to learn.” He went back to the delicious breakfast she’d made him. Yes, he could certainly get used to this.
She turned to look at him with a frown. “Why? You do his bidding. You’re his right-hand man.”
“I’m his replacement, and he knows it. It was fine enough when I was young and had no ideas of my own, just mimicked his every move, but the minute I balked at that, he turned on me.”
“Then how are you still in his company?”
“I’m a savvy man, Lynna. As is my father. He enjoys the little battles we have, always so sure he’ll come out on top. Regina is case in point. That’s not so satisfying if I’m a beggar on the streets. He wants me close so he can attempt to overpower me, show me up and win . And since he often does, I started letting him.”
She pulled back, kind of straightened, a look of such genuine affront on her face, he was fascinated by it.
“You let him win?”
“Of course. You have to lull an enemy into complacency sometimes.” Athan took a sip of coffee. Clearly Lynna did not understand the art of losing a battle or two to win the war.
Unsurprising.
“Regina was supposed to be my first play at rebellion, my first true battle toward a war won. But he figured it out, because of course he did. So, another loss there. But we found a way to attempt a new win, didn’t we? This attempt he can’t undo, can’t manipulate. He knows it, or he wouldn’t have called me in a lather. He’s usually smarter than that. He’s quaking in his boots.”
Lynna looked at the phone in clear disbelief. “It didn’t sound it.”
“Trust me.”
“That’s one thing I’ll never do, Athan.” She stabbed a bite of egg with her fork.
It shouldn’t bother him. Why should she trust him? And yet he found himself wanting to earn her trust.
Another challenge to meet. Because he was worthy, no matter what his father wanted anyone to believe.
She would see. He was certain of it, even if the breakfast seemed to have lost its taste. He was confident because there was nothing else to be.
Athan smiled broadly. “I would wager that the minute we’re back in Athens, he’ll make an appearance at the house. He’ll change his tune a bit. Tell me of all my faults and failings, then offer a handout. Talk loftily about how he’ll save me once again.”
Lynna frowned at this. “I don’t understand.”
He studied her. She came from two very honest people. She worked hard—it was obvious in the success of Your Girl Friday. And for the past five years, she had accepted a job from him and pretended she didn’t hate him and everything he stood for, while doing meticulous, amazing work.
No, he supposed she’d never understand the games his father played. “Mark my words, Lynna. He isn’t done, and because he isn’t, this marriage was potentially the smartest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Ironic,” she replied. “It might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”
He laughed at that, true enjoyment winding through him. When she let her personality show, there was a glimmer of an interesting woman underneath that hard outer shell.
They ate the rest of their breakfasts in silence. He even let her clean up after everything without complaint. If she felt the need to be chef and cleanup crew, there was really no point to stopping her.
Without a word, she began to walk away from the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To my room,” she replied, frowning at him. “I didn’t recall you needing to know my every move being part of the deal.”
He ignored that. “What about a swim?”
She looked at him with that heavy distrust he was beginning to find frustrating instead of amusing, though he had no right to her trust.
“I didn’t bring a suit,” she said.
He let his gaze wander. “Intriguing.”
Was it terribly masochistic that he enjoyed the cool disdain written all over her face when his gaze returned there?
“There is absolutely no need to pretend as though there is anything remotely…physical about this arrangement.”
He let those words settle in the air around them. An interesting point of contention with what he’d said. Not that she didn’t want him to express physical interest, but that she thought he was pretending .
“You don’t strike me as a particularly unconfident woman, Lynna, so it’s fascinating you wouldn’t think there’d be an honest attraction.”
“You’re a man whore. They tend to like the obvious.”
“Funny, I thought being a whore required liking any and all kinds.”
Her scowl deepened. But she didn’t leave the room, and he figured that was sign enough to continue this conversation. He slid out of his stool, casually walked over to where she stood behind the counter.
Her eyes darted to the exit, but she didn’t take it. She lifted her chin. And stood her ground when he got close.
Fascinating. Arousing. That her eyes had gotten a little wide, her cheeks a little pink. Her exhale was even a little shaky, and he felt it against his face, leaning this close to her. His whole body throbbed with a complicated want that he refused to think of as a complication.
After all, they were married. Why not enjoy a physical relationship?
He took her hand, the left one where his ostentatious ring sat, he used his thumb to move it back and forth. “Do you need to hear me say it plain?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.
She inhaled sharply, and her words were just as sharp. But her hand was still in his.
“I need nothing from you except holding up your end of the bargain,” she said. Clearly, no doubt, but with a hint of a tremor to her voice.
He wanted to press his mouth to the scrambling pulse at her neck, but instead he held her gaze and spoke quietly but firmly. “The bargain is clear. Contract signed. It is what it is, but you and me are something separate.” He lifted her hand to his mouth.
Before he could brush a kiss across her knuckles, she jerked her hand away. “There is no you and me beyond that contract.” She pushed at him, and he gave her the space she insisted upon. Let her storm away. Because he could and would take his time.
And she, whether she wanted to admit it or not, was not immune to him.
Any more than he was immune to her.