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Almost as if he was talking to himself, Apollo said, ‘It was like this the night we met.’
‘I don’t... I don’t remember. I mean, I remember bits of that night but not details...’
Apollo stood in front of her, eyes roving her face. ‘Are you sure, Sasha? Really? Or is this just an elaborate stunt to gain my trust? To get back into my bed?’
His words acted like cold water in her blood. She pulled back, dislodging his hand from her hair. ‘No. I wouldn’t do that.’
He moved closer again and put his hand under her chin, tipping her face up. So much for his words dousing the heat. It sizzled back at his touch, just as potent.
‘Wouldn’t you? It’s no less than you’ve already done, but I have to admit, if you are acting, your skills are exemplary.’
For the first time since she’d woken up in the hospital something more than confusion and bewilderment rushed through her, distracting her. Sasha took his hand to pull it down. ‘Maybe that’s because I’m not acting.’
But instead of pushing his hand away to break all contact with him and his cynical words, she couldn’t seem to let go. Electricity hummed through her, mixing with the high emotion to create a volatile mix.
For a crazy second she almost thought he was going to kiss her. But then he broke contact and stepped back. His eyes were so dark in the dim light they looked black. Sasha felt a little dizzy, as if they had kissed.
He said curtly, ‘You should go to bed, Sasha. It’s late.’ He went to the door and held it open.
Sasha couldn’t understand what had just come over her. The depth of the need to have him kiss her still left her shaken.
Dear God, had she actually asked...?
She all but ran out of his office before she could read the disgust on his face or, worse, let him see the awful surge of humiliation climbing up from her gut.
Apollo waited until Sasha had disappeared before closing his door. He went back to his desk and downed his drink in one, as if that might burn away how close he’d come to taking what she was offering, lifting that lush mouth towards him, begging with those huge eyes to kiss her.
One minute he’d been wondering how she’d managed to sneak under his guard again, and the next he’d been on the verge of hauling her closer to relive that night they’d shared—which was exactly what she’d been angling for since they’d married.
His hand tightened around the crystal glass so much he had to relax for fear of breaking it.
Sexual frustration bit sharply into his gut. He’d spent the last three months without so much as a flicker of arousal when he’d looked at his wife. And now it wasn’t a flicker. It was an inferno.
He couldn’t understand what was happening. But he knew that, no matter how intense it got, he would not be weak. He’d been weak for her once before and she’d upended his life. It wouldn’t happen again.
CHAPTER THREE
SASHA WENT UPSTAIRS to her bedroom, feeling dazed. She stood in the middle of the room and put her fingers to her mouth, almost as if to test that they hadn’t kissed, it had felt so real, so inevitable. But, no, her mouth was the same. Not swollen. Throbbing with sensation.
Because she knew what that felt like.
It hit her then, like a sledgehammer. She’d wanted it so badly because she knew what it felt like to be kissed by him. That’s why her body had literally ached...from the memory of knowing his touch. Wanting it again.
She sat down on the end of her bed, going cold inside. Thank God he’d pulled back before she’d have been able to articulate her need any more than she already had, silently. She cringed to think of how he’d put his hands on her arms, literally pushing her away.
She realised something else. Maybe she’d craved it so badly because it had felt familiar to her body to be kissed by him. And since everything else around her was so unfamiliar she’d gravitated towards that. A natural response of her body to seek anything familiar?
And exciting, whispered a little voice.
It didn’t give her much relief to put it into this context. A flimsy justification for what had nearly happened.
And with a man who resented her presence and had told her to her face that he didn’t trust her. What kind of a masochist was she?
When Sasha made her way down to breakfast the next morning she felt ragged. She’d woken at dawn, sweaty, tangled in her sheets. Dissatisfied. She’d slept fitfully and her dreams had been full of X-rated images. Images that she couldn’t be sure now were just from her dreams. They’d felt like memories...
When she walked onto the small terrace where she’d eaten breakfast alone all week, she wasn’t prepared to see Apollo. She hadn’t heard his car that morning but she’d still been hoping she might have missed it. But then she realised it was a Saturday so he must be off work.
He looked up at her as he lifted a coffee cup to his mouth, but immediately put it down again and stood up. There was no discernible expression on his face.
