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And now? What could he do now to make it better? He’d brought Lindsay back to Greece, back into the spotlight she despised. At least now he could try to make things easier for her. She might need to be here for his mother, but she didn’t need to play hostess or be the centre of attention. He’d make sure of that. It was, considering all that had happened before, the least he could do for her.
It was nearing two in the morning by the time he finally made it to bed, his head aching from the endless circling of his thoughts as well as far too much whisky. He stopped in the doorway of the bedroom, his heart suspended in his chest as he watched Lindsay sleep. Her hair was spread out across the pillow, the colour of a moonbeam. She wore a white cotton nightgown with thin straps of scalloped lace, and Antonios could see the round swell of her breasts above the thin material as her chest rose and fell in the deep, even breaths of sleep.
Desire shafted through him, along with an almost unbearable sorrow. It was too late now. Too much had happened, too much hurt and misunderstanding. Their marriage really was over. Lindsay had made that clear.
Wearily, Antonios stripped down to his boxers and slid into bed. It was a wide king-sized bed but it felt too small as he lay on his back, trying not to touch Lindsay even though everything in him ached to pull her into his arms, remind her just how good it had been between them. That, he knew, would be a very stupid thing to do.
Eventually both the whisky and exhaustion overcame him, and he slept.
* * *
Lindsay awoke just before dawn, a pale greyish-pink light filtering through the bedroom curtains. She blinked, closing her eyes again as she sank back into the soft, sleepy cocoon of a feather duvet—and a hard body pressed against her own.
Her senses jarred awake even as her mind remained fogged with sleep. She could feel a masculine, muscular leg between her own, a hard chest squashing her breasts. Antonios.
Her body went on delicious autopilot, her arms sliding around Antonios’s neck as she arched closer to him. Felt the hard press of his arousal against her thighs.
Memories rippled through her mind like reflections in water. Laughing with Antonios. Hugging him, feeling safe and protected and cherished. Making love with him.
She felt one large hand slide from her hip to the dip of her waist to finally, thankfully cup her breast, his thumb moving over the already taut peak.
She gave a breathy sigh of pleasure and Antonios moved her onto her back, his hands seeking her urgently now, lifting her nightgown, finding her flesh. One hand slid between her legs and she moaned and lifted her hips in invitation, wanting and needing to feel him inside her, to experience that wonderful sense of completion and wholeness again.
He was above her, braced on his forearms, poised to slide so deliciously inside her, when the alarm bells that had started to clang distantly in her mind broke into furious peals.
She opened her eyes, stared straight into Antonios’s face. He was staring at her with the same expression of appalled realization that she knew she must have on her own.
This shouldn’t be happening.
She could feel the tip of his arousal brushing against her and it took everything she had not to arch her hips upwards in invitation.
With a groan Antonios flung himself away from her, rolled onto his back, one arm covering his eyes. Lindsay lay there, her nightgown rucked up to her waist, everything in her aching, demanding satisfaction. With a shuddering breath she pulled down her nightgown and rolled onto her side.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Don’t be.’ Antonios lowered his arm and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘We both got carried away.’ He sat up, throwing off the sheets, and strode, magnificently naked, towards the en suite bathroom. ‘We’re due at the main house for breakfast with my family,’ he said over his shoulder, his tone flat. ‘But if it’s easier for you, we can have breakfast here and then visit my mother privately.’
His thoughtfulness only hurt her more. ‘I think I can manage breakfast.’
He turned to look at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t push yourself, Lindsay, on my account.’
‘It’s fine, Antonios. I know what I’m capable of.’
He nodded in wordless acceptance and disappeared into the bathroom. Lindsay sank back against the pillow. If Antonios had been this sensitive and understanding before, would their marriage have survived? It was a hard question to ask, and an impossible one to answer.
The morning when she’d decided she was going to leave him, her body had felt like a leaden weight, her mind nothing but buzzing emptiness. At that point, after enduring three months of near-constant scrutiny from his family while being routinely ignored by her husband, her anxiety had been nearly all-consuming.
She’d barely been able to drag herself to luncheons and dinners, parties and receptions, all planned for Antonios to introduce his new wife to the local community, to his world. All the while she’d tried to hide the stress-induced eczema on her hands and eyelids, the nausea that had her rushing to the bathroom at inopportune moments, the migraine headaches that came out of nowhere, the light-headedness and shortness of breath that had plagued her every time Antonios took her somewhere public.
The attacks had been worse than anything she’d ever experienced before; she’d been in a strange environment and, far worse, with a man she thought she’d loved but who suddenly seemed like a stranger. She’d been lonely and lost and utterly miserable.
Escaping had felt like her only option for survival. She’d woken that morning and known she no longer possessed the strength, either physically or emotionally, to continue. She couldn’t drag herself to one more lunch or dinner, couldn’t try to have one more fruitless conversation with Antonios. It had all felt, quite literally, impossible.
And so she’d left. Not telling him she was leaving had been the coward’s way out, Lindsay knew, but she simply hadn’t had the strength to explain anything any more. She’d told him she needed to return to New York to wrap up some things with her father’s house. Antonios had asked her how long she’d be gone and she’d prevaricated, telling him she’d book a return ticket when she was done. He thought she’d be gone a week.
On the plane back to New York she’d felt like a zombie, an empty shell. She’d barely heard the stewardess asking her if she wanted something to drink or eat. She’d simply stared straight ahead, her mind and body going into a kind of emotional and mental hibernation.
Then she’d stepped across the threshold of her father’s house; she’d still been able to smell the scent of his pipe and suddenly she’d burst into tears. She wasn’t even sure what she was weeping for: her failed marriage, her father, dead just four months, her own weakness that had wrecked so much in her life. Everything.
With a heart that felt like a dead weight inside her she’d typed out the pithy email to Antonios, telling him their marriage was a mistake and she wasn’t coming back. He’d called that afternoon and she’d heard the bewilderment and anger in his voice, had felt it when he’d hung up on her. At least she’d chosen to leave, she’d told herself, and then she’d curled into a ball on her bed and slept for fourteen hours straight.
And waded through the next few weeks, trying to summon the strength to rebuild her life. And she had, or at least she’d started to. She’d started therapy again and returned to her research. She’d met up with a few friends who hadn’t asked too many questions about her brief failed marriage, and she’d told herself it was enough.
It had to be enough.
Lindsay rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling as she heard the sound of the shower being turned on. She imagined Antonios naked under the spray, rivulets of water streaming down the taut perfection of his body.
The body she’d almost just taken into her own, the body she knew as well as her own. The body she missed so much.
Because the little life she’d built for herself back in New York hadn’t been enough. Not remotely, not when she’d tasted true happiness with Antonios.
It wasn’t real, she reminded herself. It didn’t last. Letting out a long weary sigh, Lindsay rolled out of bed.
They got ready for breakfast without speaking or even looking at each other. Lindsay showered and changed into a pale green sundress and sandals, plaited her hair into a French braid.
Antonios was wearing chinos and a white linen shirt open at the throat, the light-coloured clothes making his skin and hair seem even darker. He looked magnificent and the sight of him freshly showered, the scent of his aftershave, made desire spiral dizzily inside her again.
Desire she would have to control. Neither of them could afford another encounter like the one they’d had this morning.
His gaze flicked over her as she emerged from the bedroom but he said nothing and they walked in silence to the main villa.
Just as before, everyone was assembled in the dining room as they arrived, and six pairs of eyes trained on Lindsay as she walked into the room. She felt the speculation, even the censure, and once again her chest went tight.
This time, though, Antonios didn’t stride ahead, oblivious. He reached for her arm, steadied her elbow, his body half shielding her from the stares of his family. She glanced up at him in surprise and saw him gazing back at her with that steady strength that had drawn her to him when they’d first met. Antonios had felt like the rock she could cling to in the drowning sea of her own fears and anxieties. He felt that way now, and she was touched by his sensitivity. Despite everything that had happened last night, she hadn’t expected it.
