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Dimitrios’s own heart was beating way too fast. He glared at her, not with anger at Chloe, of course, but at fury that anyone had ever left her feeling like this.

“Fuck him,” he muttered. “He lied to you. Not all men lie.”

She made a snorting noise of disbelief.

“I don’t lie.”

Her eyes flicked to his, her lips twisting. “Maybe not yet. But if you needed to, you would. Sorry. I don’t mean to be all man-hating but basically, I am.” She forced a smile in what was clearly a valiant attempt at normality. “But that’s fine. We’ve already established that I’m just using you for sex.”

It was her defence mechanism. She made jokes when things got too deep, and usually, he let her. But not now. Now, he moved closer and kissed her slowly, his tongue flicking her lips apart, his mouth claiming hers, his body melding to each and every curve, the contact stirring something in the pit of her stomach.

“You’re hurting,” he said, kissing his way down to her throat, flicking his tongue there. “You might have broken up six months ago, but you’re feeling that pain every day. But one day, you’ll realise you’re stronger because of what happened, and you’ll realise you’re strong enough to take a chance.”

She pulled back a little, so she could look him square in the eye. “You’re wrong. Once bitten, twice shy, and that was the kind of bite there’s no getting over. My heart ran out on me that day; I never want it back again.”

“Your turn,” she said, in the small hours of the morning, when the whole house was silent and sleepy, except for his room. Fire crackled in the grate, the light flickered gold against the ancient walls. Chloe kept her head pressed to his chest, so the sound of his heart beating filled her soul.

“What for?” His hand stroked her back lazily, slowly, fingertips tracing invisible lines over her skin.

“I told you my horror story. What’s yours?”

His hand paused. “What makes you think I have a horror story?”

“The fact you’re still single?”

“That’s a choice.”

“Not a trauma response like mine?”

His hand resumed its trajectory but he didn’t answer. She moved to prop her chin on his chest, so she could see him better. In the dim light cast by the dying flames, the sharp angles of his features were even more obvious, more addictive. “I’m serious. You must have had relationships.”

“Sure.”

“And?”

“What would you like to know?”

“Everything,” she teased, moving her hand to mimic his, but on his hip, swirling circles there, feeling the way his skin bunched beneath her touch.

“There’s nothing particularly interesting to tell. I’ve dated.”

“Anyone serious?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“No.”

“Come on,” she said, rolling her eyes and wriggling closer, so her lips were only an inch from his. “There must have been someone, at some point, who meant something to you?”

Lines formed in his brow when he frowned. “No.”

“So, even before you lost Ben and Laura, you were anti-commitment?”

“It’s not like I’ve set out to avoid getting into relationships,” he said, conveying a hint of impatience in the tone of his voice. “I’ve been busy, and then, when Laura died, my whole world shrank down to consist of Ellie, and only Ellie.”

Chloe’s eyes roamed his face, something widening in her chest that made her insides hurt. She lifted a fingertip and traced it along his cheek, so his eyes dropped to hers, his frown still in place. “I wonder if that will ever change for you.”