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He was staring down at them, his frown deepening, while she tried desperately not to feel the touch of his cool fingers on her or feel the closeness of his body to hers.
‘They’re scratched to pieces!’ he exclaimed.
‘It’s just from gardening,’ she answered faintly. Again she tried to pull them away from him, but it did not make him let them go. Instead he smoothed his thumbs over her palms.
‘You should look after them more.’ His voice had softened, like his touch. Sophie’s stomach hollowed. The tone of his voice and the slow smoothing of his thumbs sent a thousand nerve endings sussurating.
He was speaking again, with the same timbre in his tone. ‘You always had such beautiful hands. You kept them as soft as silk. Your touch was like velvet…’
There was a husk in his voice. He was too close—way, way too close to her. Her hands were like imprisoned birds in his—birds that he was soothing, captivating. Her heart was thudding, slow and heavy, her breaths were shallow and uneven. Dear God, she couldn’t be here—she couldn’t! Couldn’t let him caress her palms like that—couldn’t let herself respond. Couldn’t. Mustn’t.
Somehow she had to break free, stop him…stop herself…
‘Nikos,’ she breathed. Her eyes fluttered to his. ‘Let me go…’
The tall bulk of his body was too close to hers, the spiced, heady scent of his skin too overpowering. She could see everything about him—everything. The darkening line of his jaw, the sculpted shape of his mouth, the blade of his nose and the dark, drowning eyes.
‘Let me go…’
It was a whisper. A plea.
Something moved in his eyes. They were alone in the house, alone in the world. And far, far too close—
‘I can’t,’ he said, his eyes pouring into hers.
As he spoke the words he knew them for the truth. The hopeless, stark truth. Slowly, infinitely slowly, his grip on her hands tightened, drawing her closer towards him, closer still. His mouth started to lower to hers…
‘I can’t resist you.’ His voice was nothing but a husk. ‘Sophie…’
There was longing in his voice, a caress.
Panic beat up in her—panic and more—much, much more! For a moment she was poised between the two, almost yielding to his voice, his touch, to his mouth so close to hers…
With despairing sanity, she freed herself. She stared blindly, her face aghast at what had so very nearly happened. Then, as if impelled by a reflex so urgent it possessed her totally, she pushed roughly past, tugging at the baize door and then hurtling down the stone-flagged corridor beyond, her footsteps echoing in the empty house.
Behind her, Nikos stood stock still.
What had he nearly done?
For a moment he, too, was poised in the balance, between what had so nearly happened and the hollowing realisation flooding through him now.
I nearly kissed her—
How had he let himself get so close to such a thing?
But he knew how—knew utterly. He’d wanted to kiss her. Feel for one long, blissful moment her soft lips beneath his…
Shudderingly, he pulled his mind away, banned it from the path it sought to follow. No! No, he must not allow this! Sophie was the past—the poisoned, tormented past. She was not the present—she must not be! Yet he had come that close to kissing her! That close to taking her slender, pliant body in his willing arms and kissing her…
With stringent effort, he sheered his thoughts away again. This had to stop! Now—right now! He should leave—right away—and never, never come near her again!
But would that stop him thinking about her? At his sides, his hands balled into fists. Four years ago, it had cost him more than he could bear to stop himself thinking about Sophie, by day and by night. And now—now that he stood so close to the edge of the cliff he had hauled himself up, hand over hand, so arduously four years ago—would he not be back exactly where he had once been?
I have to make myself immune to her! I have to see her as simply an ordinary woman, no one special. Beautiful, yes, but nothing more than that!
But how to make himself immune? As he stood, with the silent, deserted house all around him, it came to him. The logic clear and simple. Obvious. Slowly he felt his hands unfist. Of course! That was what he must do! That was his way out of this impossible impasse! He wanted immunity to her—well, the way to achieve it was staring him in the face! Immunity was achieved by exposure—that was how it worked. You exposed yourself to the infection and you gained immunity to it. If it worked with disease, it would work with the lethal vulnerability to Sophie Grafton that he was infected with!
As his hands unfisted he felt the tension drain out of him. Of course that was what he must do. Desensitise himself to her by treating her as if she were anyone—someone quite ordinary. Someone who had never had the disastrous impact on him that she had once had. Someone he could spend time with as easily, as uncomplicatedly, as any other person.
