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Chapter Eleven

This whole conversation felt crazy as well as stupid. Christos could hardly believe he’d let it go on as long as he had, and yet…

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so alive.

He cocked his head as he let his gaze sweep over Rose’s face, noting the flush rising to her cheeks, the sparkle of excitement—and nervousness—in her hazel eyes, making them glitter. She worried her lower lip with her teeth and then pressed her lips together to keep herself from it, her gaze clashing with his in challenge, and clearly taking some effort to hold.

She looked beautiful, but she also looked young and achingly vulnerable. Despite the attraction roaring through his veins that this bizarre conversation had only stoked, along with the whispers that had slipped treacherously through his mind, convincing him that having a no-strings affair with the mother of the Amanti heir didn’t have to be an unbelievably bad idea… Christos knew that it absolutely was.

And not just for him, or his family, but for Rose. He had hurt her earlier today with his autocratic orders and veiled threats, and he didn’t want to hurt her any more than he already had by ending their no-strings affair abruptly, which he knew he would have to do, for the sake of his family and her baby.

Except any kind of rejection now would hurt her, too. It had been both reckless and incredibly stupid, he thought with sudden, savage self-recrimination, to entertain this absurd notion for so much as a second, as much as he’d wanted to—and still did. Rose made him feel things that hurt but also invigorated him, and pushing that envelope had been intoxicating. But realistically, when he forced himself to think about it with the cool logic he usually possessed, they could not possibly have an affair, or anything even remotely resembling one. It was utter, utter madness.

“Christos.” Her voice quavered as she continued to gaze at him with so much uncertainty in her eyes, they turned to limpid green pools. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking how lovely you are,” he told her honestly, unable to keep from saying it. Her eyes widened, her flush deepening, making her seem even more beautiful—and desirable. Everything about her was soft and lush and pliant—the sweet curve of her cheek, her shoulder, her breast. All that hair, tumbling to her waist in a riot of golds and browns that glinted under the light. The way her lashes swept down toward her flushed cheek. The breath she drew that hitched revealingly. When she shifted, he breathed in her vanilla-and-roses scent that possessed such an alluring sweetness. All of it was enough to make him long to forget both his principles and the practicalities of the situation and simply sweep her into his arms. It felt, in a strange and entirely indefensible way, like the only thing that made sense.

“So very, very lovely,” he murmured, shaking his head, and he saw Rose’s teeth sink into her lower lip. Even that was enough to enflame him all the more.

“So why,” she asked, her voice holding a painful throb of hurt, “does it sound like you’re about to turn me down? Even when I said I agreed to all your strings or lack of them?”

“My lack of strings,” he queried, “and not yours?”

Her eyes flashed with sudden ire. “Don’t turn this into a I-know-you-can’t-help-but-fall-in-love-with-me situation,” she warned, looking so annoyed by the idea that he almost, unexpectedly, laughed. “Don’t be the jerk hero in a romance novel who expects women to fall at his feet just because.”

“I don’t, I assure you,” he told her, unable to keep from smiling at how put out she appeared by the prospect. “If anything, Rose, it’s the opposite.”

The words fell into the stillness, and her eyes widened with surprise. With a jolt of irritated discomfort, Christos wondered why on earth he’d admitted that. He hadn’t even thought that way, not in a long time, not actively. He’d done his best to put his unavoidable deficiencies behind him and live a life of service to his family, which was what he wanted.

“What does that mean?” Rose asked quietly, and he shrugged, determined to be dismissive.

“I told you before that I can’t have children. For some women, that might be convenient, but for others…it’s a deciding factor.” He thought he’d spoken tonelessly, but some emotion must have slipped through, because Rose looked far too sympathetic, her eyes going soft, her lush mouth turning down.

She cocked her head, her gaze bright with too much understanding. “Are you thinking of a woman in particular?” she asked, her voice so soft, so sad, that part of Christos wanted to snap at her, claw back some dignity.

Instead he found himself admitting, “As a matter of fact, I am. I was engaged back in my twenties. I discovered my infertility during a routine medical test right before our wedding.” He shrugged, spread his hands, trying his damnedest to make out like it hadn’t devastated him, his life plans, his relationship with his family. He didn’t know if he’d truly loved Tiana, but he certainly hadn’t liked her walking away from him. “There ended up being no wedding,” he finished curtly.

Her lips parted softly, and her words came out on a sigh of sympathy. “Oh, Christos.”

“Don’t,” he said quickly, and now he was snapping. “Trust me, there is nothing that is more of a turnoff than pity.”

“I don’t pity you,” she exclaimed. “I pity that woman for being so—so shallow. Did she not think of the vows she was meant to say? For better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health?”

“To be fair,” he replied, “we don’t say those vows in Italy.”

“Well, maybe you should,” she fired back, and his lips twitched. Her indignation was adorable as well as affirming, and thankfully it didn’t feel like pity.

“Maybe we should,” he agreed, and the moment stretched on, started to turn into something else.

A small smile played about her mouth, and her eyes started to dance, surprising him yet again. “A turnoff,” she repeated thoughtfully as she sat back in her chair, resting her elbows on its arms. “So you weren’t not turning me down, then, if you’re talking about turnoffs…or ons?” Her voice lilted playfully, but with a hint of both vulnerability and need that only added to his desire for her.

“Rose…” Christos didn’t even know how to respond. This conversation had taken so many dizzying turns, and now they were back at the start, with the enticing possibility of…something…happening between them.

But what? What could he possibly allow that would not be a terrible mistake with potentially horrendous consequences? And then there was the fact that Rose was currently pregnant with his brother’s child. Surely that should be enough to dissuade him from his desire. Make him see—and act on—common sense.

Rose slouched further back in her chair, so her hair rippled down nearly to the floor, that small smile about her mouth turned almost smug as her dancing gaze held his own. She looked like she was planning something, but Christos could not imagine what. Then he felt a nudge of his ankle, and bare toes sliding meaningfully up his calf. With incredulity, he realized that Rose was playing footsie with him. He let out a choked laugh, and a giggle slipped from between her lips as her toes inched higher. There was something so innocent about this…as well as incredibly intoxicating.

She slid even further down in her chair, so her hair rippled right to the floor, her foot inching even higher up his leg, her toes curving all the way to underneath his knee. Despite the fact that part of him still wanted to laugh, he felt himself responding to the sinuous slide of her foot, the heat of her gaze, and suddenly it didn’t feel like there was anything innocent about it at all.