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Heat flushed her cheeks for a different reason but it didn’t do much to assuage the guilt she was dealing with.

“Thank you. And I know. But that’s for a reason,” she hissed. “I don’t do—this.” She gestured at them and then realized she was still buck naked on his beautiful designer sofa. A longer glance showed that her skin was covered in patches of pink from where his touch had been insistent, or his hair-roughened jaw had dragged over her skin. She swallowed quickly as memories threatened to drag her back into a riptide of passion.

“Chloe, listen to me.” His voice was commanding, but with a hint of amusement that made her feel like an unsophisticated adolescent. “No one knows about what happened. Just you and me, and I can promise it will stay that way. This is not the problem you seem to think it is.”

She pressed a hand to him, intending to push him away from her a little, so she could sit up and think straight. Only her fingertips connected with his warm, bare chest that was so much more toned and perfect than she’d imagined, and instead of pushing, it just hovered there.

As if sensing the change in her, he shifted slightly, so their bodies brushed all over and she shivered from head to toe.

“I don’t do this either,” he said, gruffly, surprising her for some reason. “Not since Laura died.” He moved his hand to her cheek, cupping her there, holding her so he could look into her eyes. “The minute I heard, Ellie became my priority. Not just for the short term, either. I owe it to both of them to make her the number one priority in my life, to always be there for her. And definitely not to destabilize her already shaken world with random women in our home, our lives.”

His duty to the teen was exactly as it should be. It made her strangely proud, given that they’d only just met. “Yeah, of course,” she agreed. “I think you’re right to make her your focus. She deserves that after what she’s been through.”

He shifted again. “I don’t regret what just happened between us. I think it was inevitable, from the minute you agreed to come out here.”

Her brows shot up. “You do? Why?”

His laugh was mocking. “I don’t think I’m the only one who felt it, that afternoon in your office?”

Her throat thickened.

“I walked in there and my body reacted; I wanted you. I fought it, because I needed to focus on getting you to agree, but that doesn’t change the fact: I looked at you and felt something I hadn’t known in a long time. And despite the fact I’ve put that side of myself on ice, trained myself not to notice women—or so I thought—I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. This was inevitable, and it was good. Really good.”

Really good? That felt like a very insipid way to describe what she’d just felt.

“I think we’d be stupid to walk away from it.”

Her heart pounded. His words weren’t what she was expecting and they didn’t quite make sense. “What does that mean?”

“It means we can’t put the genie back in the bottle. You’re here, in my house, for the next few weeks. Do you think we can go back to ignoring each other, or pretending to?”

Her fingers moved, of their own accord, from his chest to his sides, trailing lines to the firm jut of his hip bone and then lower, to the swell of his ass.

“I don’t know,” she admitted after a beat.

He laughed again, this time a mix of mockery and indulgence, and then, he was pushing up to stand, holding out a hand for her to take.

“Let’s discuss it over dinner. You’re hungry, remember?”

Chloe was used to the homes of the super-rich. She’d been to meetings at mansions in Knightsbridge, penthouses in Canary Wharf, townhouses right on Hampstead Heath with massive, sprawling underground entertainment areas and seven-car garages. She’d seen wealth. But this was somehow next level. The dining room that had been set for dinner was bigger than her entire apartment, and though two places had been laid out down one end, it did nothing to create a sense of comfort. The size of the room and table were intimidating, and that was before she even factored in the artwork—amazing paintings that she was sure would have cost a fortune.

“They came with the house,” he said, catching her gaze and holding a chair out for her. They’d both dressed quickly—awkwardly for her part, as each brush of fabric to her skin brought back a surge of memory. Feeling. Desire. “You don’t like them?”

“I’m no art expert,” she demurred, as Jane appeared brandishing a tray with two cocktails and a platter of Greek flatbreads, olives and cheese.

“Thank you,” Chloe said, as Jane placed them down on the table. Dimitrios didn’t so much as flick his glance in the other woman’s direction. His eyes were instead boring down on Chloe, trying to probe her innermost thoughts. That didn’t bother her so much as the feeling he might actually succeed.

“Your face is very expressive,” he said.

She glanced across at him. “That’s funny; I’ve thought the same thing about you.”

His eyes darkened, swirling with surprise. “I doubt it.”

She laughed then. “Oh, so I’m allowed to be easy to read, but you’re not?”

“It’s not something I’ve ever been told,” he responded with a shrug.

“That doesn’t mean it’s untrue.”