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‘Unfeeling bastard,’ Sophie murmured, her heart clenching at the memories of her mother enclosing a photo with the letter she wrote to Petros Liakos each year on her daughter’s name day.
‘The point is,’ Costas’ words broke across the painful recollections, ‘he hadn’t realised she’d written again. Apparently he was shocked to discover how many letters there were.’
Sophie said nothing. She refused to have any sympathy for the old man.
‘The housekeeper left him in his study.’ Costas paused. ‘When she returned later he’d collapsed across the desk. There were letters and photos spilled onto the floor and his arm was stretched out towards the telephone.’
Sophie could see the image so vividly she couldn’t see anything else for a moment. Not the bright sky, nor even the man so close beside her.
‘You think the news precipitated his stroke?’ Nausea swirled in the pit of her stomach, rose like a tide, engulfing her.
‘I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘But I felt you should know.’
‘I … Thank you.’ Sophie shook her head, trying to clear the whirling thoughts that bombarded her. If her grandfather had been trying to call, how tragic that he hadn’t succeeded. For her mother and for him.
Sophie shot to her feet and took a few faltering steps away, breathing deeply to counter the shock of this news. For it was a shock. It didn’t change the essentials—her grandfather was obviously an arrogant, domineering old man, too proud for his own good. But still.
‘You would prefer I hadn’t told you?’ Costas’ voice had a rough edge that sent a tremor of reaction racing across her skin.
‘No. You did the right thing.’ Sophie stared out over the stones of the old city, her vision blurred, her throat closing. She wrapped her arms round herself, trying to hold in the pain of conflicting emotions. Grief for her mother was a constant. But now it melded into something more complex and confusing.
‘But the pain is still raw,’ he murmured. ‘Almost too much to bear.’ The words came from just behind her, feathering the tender skin of her neck. She spun round, automatically stepping back so that he stood at arm’s length. Even so his dark gaze mesmerised her, filling her vision.
The yearning for his touch, for the comfort of his embrace, was almost overpowering. She had to force herself to stand rigidly still, not stumble closer as she so desperately wanted to do.
‘You are strong, Sophie. Stronger than you think. Eventually, one day, the hurt will ease.’
She looked up into his sombre face, letting his words wash over her. It was his expression that held her attention, the fierce concentration on his proud features as he watched her.
She felt the tension between them spike, the still afternoon air was thick with it. His gaze had never been so unfathomable or more tantalising.
‘Whatever your grandfather’s mistakes, they are in the past, they’re behind you.’ he said.
But it wasn’t that simple. It seemed she had unfinished business with Petros Liakos.
And now, here, right this minute, she had to find out if she was imagining the unnerving intimacy between herself and Costas. The need to know was a driving force that overwhelmed caution.
Were his words simply trite encouragement from an acquaintance? Or did he feel what she felt—a strengthening bond of understanding between them?
She took a single step, closing the gap so that the heat of his body encompassed hers. She shivered, feeling as if she’d stepped into danger. Her nostrils flared as she recognised the warm scent of his skin. It sent a jolt of desire right through her. She tilted her head up towards his. Her heartbeat raced as she saw his mouth just a whisper of breath away from hers.
Anticipation hummed through her, her body swayed infinitesimally closer. She willed him to reach for her, to tell her he’d felt it too—the sense of rightness when they were together.
That was what she wanted—wasn’t it? To put an end to this suspense? She’d imagined his embrace so often these last days, the need for it had consumed her, keeping her awake well into the long nights.
Yet still he stood, looking down at her, neither encouraging nor discouraging. His lips had parted slightly as if ready for the taste of her. Excitement twisted ever tighter in her belly, urging her on. She could kiss him if she just reached up and pressed her mouth against his.
He expected it too: the gleam in his eyes told her that, as did the throbbing pulse at the base of his neck.
But he wouldn’t take the initiative. Sophie understood that with sudden, devastating clarity that halted her instinctive move towards him.
Why? Why wait for her to make the first move? He must read the invitation in her eyes.
She hesitated on the brink of committing herself.
And then the answer came to her, like a bolt out of the clear sky, stabbing straight to her heart.
A shadow stood between them, a shade of the past. Costas looked at her but, she realised, he didn’t see her, not really. He was attracted to her because she reminded him of the woman he’d loved and lost just ten months ago. Her cousin, Fotini.
