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She frowned. ‘That one is new. What does it mean?’
He smiled, the kind that bared his deep hunger. Felt a modicum of satisfaction when she swallowed and grew slightly breathless.
Before he could taunt her some more, she stepped back. ‘You know what, forget it. Goodnight.’
He didn’t respond, on account of staring into the space she’d just vacated with the type of stupefaction that came from receiving a thunderbolt. Male pride at hearing her addressed as Mrs Drakakis was one thing. Her hand slipping into his in sympathy after that harrowing revelation on the cliff and salving the rawness in his soul was another.
But...he couldn’t want any kind of permanence with her...could he?
He gritted his teeth, summoning every single scrap of memory he’d buried deep down, together with its attendant emotion. Anger. Desperation. Loneliness...that seared hardest.
‘Your mother doesn’t love you. She just hates losing to me.’
‘And you, Papa? Do you love me?’
The pitying look his father had levelled at him had shrivelled every ounce of hope in his foolish boyhood heart. But it had also taught him a valuable lesson. That depending on others for his happiness was a fruitless exercise unworthy of his efforts. Accepting that simple conclusion had truly been the moment he’d known his true purpose and worth.
It was what had got him through a faceless judge deciding he needed to live with the father who didn’t love him instead of a mother who, when she wasn’t embroiled in bitterness, regarded him with distant affection.
Perhaps it was because of that judge’s actions that he’d decided to become a lawyer. But Christos didn’t go into court with hope and love in his heart. Those emotions were too flawed to be reliable. Came with too many strings to be worth the air it took to speak them.
An hour passed, or perhaps it was only a handful of minutes—he couldn’t quite tell. As he strode down the hallway, Christos smiled grimly to himself.
No. There would be no permanence with Alexis.
A temporary agreement, with a side order of sex. And if everything went as planned, Drakonisos would be within his grasp. That was all he wanted.
All he would ever want.
So what if his stomach hollowed out with a quiet bleakness at his future outlook? It was only because he was yet to plan it all out.
* * *
‘Where are we going?’ Alexis asked as she stepped out into sunshine the next afternoon. She’d been summoned an hour ago by Christos with the instruction to pack an overnight bag. When she saw his casual state and the buggy parked at the bottom of the front steps, excitement leapt high.
‘The party is in four days. I want to show you the rest of the island before the guests descend on us.’
‘Why do I need an overnight bag if we’re staying on the island?’ The only other habitat she’d seen was the staff quarters. Unless... ‘We’re not going camping, are we?’ She wasn’t sure how she’d fare since she’d never done it.
He tossed her a wry glance. ‘So many questions. It’s almost as if you don’t trust me.’
I don’t trust anyone any more. It was a phrase she’d have unapologetically tossed at him a few weeks ago, but Alexis realised that it was no longer true.
Christos had proved himself with his generosity to Hope House, the only home she’d ever known. He trusted her professional judgement. Despite sharing a bed, he hadn’t crossed any lines. As enigmatic as he sometimes was, she knew she could trust him not to betray her the way
Adrian had.
The knowledge unravelled inside her, birthing a weighty, worrisome sensation. Aware of the sharp eyes watching her, she forced a casual shrug. ‘Fine. I’ll play along.’
His gaze combed her face, paused on her mouth long enough to make it tingle wildly. Then, with a new kind of tension vibrating off him, he stepped away.
Alexis ignored the sharp dart of disappointment and watched as her bag was placed on the small flatbed buggy next to his.
Her every nerve went on high alert as they drove off once more, this time in a westerly direction.
She told herself it was residual nerves from the past several days, but she knew it was something else. It was the ever-increasing drumbeat in her chest that urged her to stop fighting. That said this was as inevitable as her arrogant husband had stated it was.
She’d spent far too many days and nights trying to rationalise her emotions. Each subsequent mental argument veering in favour of giving in.
