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The way she stared him directly in the eyes made his senses roar. ‘That’s right,’ he agreed.
‘You’re do know you’re in the way? This is a busy professional kitchen—’
‘Then leave with me and the congestion will clear.’ He angled his chin to smile into her eyes.
‘You’re impossible!’ she complained.
‘I’ll see you outside,’ he told her.
‘In your dreams,’ she flashed.
He had great dreams.
He caught a glimpse of Lizzie’s eyes darkening as he left the kitchen. If she only knew how he wanted to drag her away from that sink and lower her, naked, into a warm, foaming bath, where he would wash her, pleasure her and make love to her until she couldn’t stand up, she might not be reaching for her coat now.
How had he stayed away for eleven years? Yes, he’d been working tirelessly to rebuild the damage done to his father’s business, so his parents could retire in comfort, but he’d taken himself away to the furthest reaches of the world in an attempt to lose himself to everything familiar. And there, in the seemingly endless miles of the desert, he had found himself, and a purpose, which was to help those who had not been as lucky as he had. Why had he needed to get away, and to do this? Was it penance for the shame felt at the way he’d treated Lizzie—the way he’d turned his back on her after the trial?
‘Don’t keep me waiting,’ he warned her. He was eager to pick up the threads he’d left loose for the past eleven years and weave them into a pattern he could understand.
* * *
Damon was waiting for her outside on a bike. Whatever next? It was a monster of a thing—big and black, purring rhythmically beneath him. In the deep dark shadows of the night, sitting astride the throbbing motorbike, Damon Gavros was quite simply the hottest thing on two hard-muscled legs.
He handed her a helmet and helped her put it on. She tried not to react when his fingertips brushed her skin, sending tidal waves of sensation streaking through her.
‘Just a short ride,’ she warned—a warning for herself more than him. ‘Is there an approved way of mounting this thing?’
Damon laughed as he secured his helmet, lowering the black visor so she could no longer see his eyes. ‘You have to climb on behind me and put your arms around my waist.’
There was every reason not to do so.
‘You’ll have to relax,’ he said when she tried to keep her distance. ‘And hold on.’
She might have yelped when the bike surged forward. She wasn’t sure. She was too distracted by Damon...by holding Damon. The power of the bike throbbing between her legs didn’t help.
Damon judged the traffic expertly, and soon they were moving smoothly through the night. Of all places, he took her to a funfair. She supposed it was neutral ground, where there wasn’t much option but to relax. There was certainly plenty of noise and colour, and dazzling flashing lights.
Dismounting from the bike, she removed the helmet, then glanced at Damon’s outstretched hand. ‘Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,’ she said, pulling back.
‘This is an excellent idea,’ he insisted.
She remembered, then, that Damon’s easy charm was as much a part of his nature as the steely side that had played its part in condemning her father to a lifetime in jail—a punishment that had almost certainly led to his early death.
Maybe it seemed odd that she was mourning her father’s passing, but however he had treated Lizzie she still thought him weak rather than bad. He certainly hadn’t stood a chance against the Gavros team.
‘Lizzie?’
Damon’s voice brought her plummeting back from an uncomfortable past to an incredible present.
And the future...?
She preferred not to think about that. Not yet. She would. Of course she would. But not while Damon’s shrewd eyes were searching hers. She would choose the time, and she would choose the place, and it wasn’t now.
He bought tickets for the big wheel. As she climbed into the small cabin and the door closed on the two of them, trapping Lizzie inside with her memories and with Damon, it was hardly reassuring to discover that her body instantly responded to his heat and his strength, reminding her with painful attention to detail of how it had felt to be naked in his arms.
‘You’ve turned pale. It’s not too high for you, is it?’
‘I’m certainly out of my comfort zone,’ she admitted, thinking about Thea, and how Damon was likely to respond when he found out they had a daughter together. ‘It’s a long way down...’ she mused quietly.
‘You look exhausted,’ he observed.
‘It’s hard work in a professional kitchen, and I’ve got more than one job.’ He could easily find that out. Better she tell him than that he started sleuthing. She needed the money to pay the rent, and to cover all the extras at Thea’s school.
‘Don’t you ever take time off?’ he pressed.
‘Hardly ever,’ she admitted. And what time she had, she spent with Thea.
‘And you live alone?’
The big wheel was a mistake. She couldn’t get away from Damon’s questions. To answer him meant telling him that she lived on her own most of the time—even in the school holidays—and Thea was often away, playing with the orchestra. Lizzie tried to go with her when she could, which meant finding a job in a bar, or as waiting staff to pay her way.
Their next trip was to Greece.
‘Lizzie?’
‘Yes. I live alone,’ she said, quickly pulling herself together.
‘It must have been a long road back for you?’
It was hard to concentrate. All she could think about now was Thea’s upcoming trip to Greece.
“Lizzie?’ I said it must have been a long road back for you?’
‘I like my work,’ she said distractedly.
‘But it’s repetitive,’ Damon pointed out, ‘and with no personal reward—’
‘Apart from earning my l
iving and keeping my pride intact, do you mean?’
‘I didn’t mean to offend you. I’m just curious.’
And now she was all heated up. How dared Damon stride back into her life and start judging her?
Wouldn’t Thea be happier with a father who could give her so much more than she could?
No. She would not, Lizzie thought fiercely. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ she said on the wave of that thought. ‘I don’t need your pity.’
‘And you won’t get it,’ Damon assured her with matching force.
CHAPTER THREE
BUT IT WASN’T long before Damon was questioning her again. ‘So what happened to your dream of attending that art college in Switzerland?’ he pressed as their cabin sank steadily towards the ground
‘I had lots of dreams when I was eighteen.’
Unfortunately they hadn’t tallied with her stepmother’s plans for Lizzie, and as those dreams would have been paid for by her father, using other people’s money—mostly Damon’s family’s—Lizzie realised now they had been meaningless.
‘I owe you an apology.’
‘For showing loyalty to your father?’
Damon read her so easily, Lizzie thought as his powerful shoulders lifted in a shrug.
‘You don’t owe me a thing,’ he insisted.
Their stares met and held for a potent few seconds, but all that did was allow Lizzie time to consider the big truth she wasn’t telling Damon. She couldn’t tell him yet. Not until she was sure of him—or as sure as she could be.
‘We were discussing your dreams?’ he prompted.
‘You were,’ she argued, with a spark of her old dry humour. ‘Life’s a series of compromises, don’t you think? If you can’t adjust, you flounder.’
‘And you’ve had to do a lot of adjusting?’ Damon guessed.
She remained silent.
‘I can’t imagine you floundering,’ he admitted. ‘Even at eighteen you had a good head on your—’
