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Twenty minutes later, he had his answers. And that grip on his chest had grown into a vice. Costas had a heart condition. A long-term one he’d been ignoring and downplaying for the better part of a year. Unless he had an operation within the next three months, his prognosis would worsen irreparably.
Christos wasn’t aware he’d wandered back into the suite until he arrived in front of the liquor cabinet in his private living room. His hand shook as he poured himself a stiff whisky, tipped his head back and downed it. Thrusting the glass back on the shelf, he braced his hands on the surface, attempted to calm his rioting thoughts even as the words the doctor had uttered dropped like anvils onto his shoulders.
Her scent arrived first, whispering seductively through the late-afternoon air to wrap its mingled lilac and Nag Champa tendrils around his senses. That scent had triggered a primal reaction in him the first time he’d inhaled it, and he’d had an uncharacteristic urge to discover exactly what his assistant dabbed on her skin before coming to work. A curiosity that had led to him discovering the name of her perfume and investigating the ingredients. Somehow Christos knew he would never smell Nag Champa without associating it with Alexis Sutton.
‘You’re back,’ came her voice. He latched onto her unique blend of sultriness and firmness that evoked far too vivid thoughts of erotic intimacy. Thoughts that should’ve had no place here and now perhaps, but anything was better than thinking about his grandfather’s state of health. About how hard he’d have to fight if the stubborn old fool refused to heed his doctor’s advice.
So he pivoted to face her. And received another bolt of unwelcome sensation.
She was dressed in a thigh-skimming floral sundress, its short wispy sleeves leaving her arms bare. Unbidden, his gaze wandered down, his gut tightening as he took in her long, beautiful bare legs and pedicured feet. Further images pushed through his resistance, of those stunning legs wrapped around his waist, their grip exquisitely intimate, promising the kind of raw passion he’d found elusive in his lovers long before he’d closed his electronic black book. Dragging his gaze upward in a wild bid to overcome the heat climbing up his body and its reaction behind his fly, he bit back a curse when he found her twirling her damp, unbound hair into a rope. She’d taken a shower, stood naked beneath his shower jets and washed that sexy body in his bathroom while he’d been out.
Realising he was in extreme danger of putting his burgeoning erection on show, he dragged his mind from the bathroom to the living room.
He wondered how long she’d been standing there. Wondered what those far too perceptive eyes had seen. ‘You have news.’ It wasn’t a question. And for a fraction of a second he wanted to be annoyed. But then wasn’t this the exact trait he’d valued in her above all else? The reason his professional life ran much smoother now than it had in the years before her, when he’d suddenly seemed to attract seemingly intelligent assistants who nevertheless began to see him as a meal ticket almost as soon as they sat behind their desk?
A means to an end. That was all he’d ever been to the people who should’ve had his welfare at heart. And in a roundabout way, wasn’t that what Alexis had extracted from him too?
Perhaps he was being disingenuous. After all, wasn’t it he who’d proposed this situation? But then she hadn’t exactly rejected the idea. She’d found a way to make the situation work for her. So was he really scraping the barrel to find fault with the very thing he’d orchestrated? And for a commendable goal, no less?
What was wrong with being wanted for himself, for once, with no strings attached? He sucked in a breath as the unwanted answer arrived. The only thing she’d demanded was help for her children’s care home. And he...selfishly wanted that sort of care and consideration for himself.
Thee mou, was he that much of a monster? He allowed the sourness in his chest to expand. He was the recent recipient of bad news. He had a right to handle it whatever way he saw fit.
So he poured himself another drink, took a sip before he answered. And as he did, a curious little notion thrust itself into his thoughts. This was why he’d come here. Because he’d known she would ask about his grandfather. That he’d answer, and, in so doing, perhaps ease the burden of having to carry this alone.
Because that was their pattern, wasn’t it? Over the years, she’d toss out questions about cases he was working on, seemingly under the guise of offhand conversation. He would answer. And before long, the conundrum would unravel itself as she waltzed out of his office, her curvy hips swinging and those long legs he was having trouble dragging his gaze from making his blood heat.
He pursed his lips, unwilling to admit to himself that she’d become...vital. That made him dependent. Dependence led to nothing but disappointment. His father had hammered that reality home time and again. And his mother, after years of being beaten down, had given up entirely, leaving a young and helpless Christos to fend for himself.
‘A heart condition,’ he bit out, the need to get the words out chafing his skin. ‘Any strain could lead to his condition worsening.’
Concern clouded her face. ‘Shouldn’t he be in hospital seeking treatment?’
His throat tightened, strangling the words. ‘The only treatment is an operation. Which he’s refusing, apparently.’
‘But...can’t you do anything?’
The very question he’d posed to his grandfather’s doctor. ‘I can’t force him. As long as he’s kept calm the decline will be slow.’
She advanced further into the room, her hand dropping from her hair after pushing the heavy, silky mass from her face. Now that he’d seen her hair loose, he was at risk of becoming absorbed with the way the chestnut waves gleamed in the sunlight.
‘But he won’t get better either, so what can you do?’
‘He instructed his doctor to tell me that under no circumstances was I to attempt to sway him into seeking further medical help. He’s taking his condition under advisement...until after his birthday, which is in two weeks.’
‘What? But that’s...emotional blackmail.’
A smile twisted his lips. ‘Of sorts, yes.’
‘What options do you have?’
‘None. It looks like Costas has won this round. Until he can be convinced otherwise, he’s very much in charge.’
Christos watched her eyes widen. She knew him well enough to know he didn’t like operating under another’s thumb.
He rotated tense shoulders. ‘I need a shower. Then I need to talk to my grandfather.’ It wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to having but then, when had any conversation with his family been easy? He could count on the fingers of one hand the moments of joy in his life. Most of them had happened while he was alone. All of them were tied to this island. A part of him he wasn’t willing to deny any more accepted that this was why he wanted Drakonisos so badly.
Alexis nodded. Then, for the first time since she’d walked in, she looked...hesitant. As if she wanted to offer an opinion. Or an empathetic shoulder to cry on.
