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Sophie could only stare. ‘Oh,’ was all she could say. Dismay filled her, and more complex emotions too. Disturbing emotions.
He was opening doors now, looking inside the rooms opening off the hallway, pausing as if to make mental notes, but Sophie did not follow him. Only when he headed further into the interior of the hallway, beyond the staircase, did she follow him. A moment later she wished she had stayed where she was. Nikos had opened the double doorway to the music room. The covered bulk of the grand piano was instantly visible. He turned to look back at her.
‘Something of a find for you—though, I take it it’s out of tune?’ There was a timbre to his voice she didn’t want there. He was acknowledging a past where once the presence of such an instrument would have had her trying it out instantly. But no longer.
She spoke tightly. ‘I’ve no idea.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely you couldn’t resist playing it?’
‘I don’t play any more.’ Her voice was terse. Her mouth tight-lipped.
A frown creased between his eyes. ‘So much for the dedicated music student,’ he remarked caustically.
Of its own volition Sophie’s throat constricted. Parting with her piano had caused almost more anguish than having to sell the house. But her baby grand had been worth money, and money was all that she had allowed herself to focus on.
Nikos was looking at her, she realised. Frowningly.
‘I thought your music meant everything to you. What made you give it up?’
She could not answer him. Turning away, she stumbled blindly towards the baize door that led to the servants’ quarters. He strode after her, catching her arm to stay her. It burned like a brand and she pulled free. He caught at her again, catching her hand. Then abruptly he frowned, lifting her hand into the light and turning it over, seizing her other hand at the same time before she could stop him.
He was staring down at them, his frown deepening, while she tried desperately not to feel the touch of his cool fingers on her or feel the closeness of his body to hers.
‘They’re scratched to pieces!’ he exclaimed.
‘It’s just from gardening,’ she answered faintly. Again she tried to pull them away from him, but it did not make him let them go. Instead he smoothed his thumbs over her palms.
‘You should look after them more.’ His voice had softened, like his touch. Sophie’s stomach hollowed. The tone of his voice and the slow smoothing of his thumbs sent a thousand nerve endings sussurating.
He was speaking again, with the same timbre in his tone. ‘You always had such beautiful hands. You kept them as soft as silk. Your touch was like velvet…’
There was a husk in his voice. He was too close—way, way too close to her. Her hands were like imprisoned birds in his—birds that he was soothing, captivating. Her heart was thudding, slow and heavy, her breaths were shallow and uneven. Dear God, she couldn’t be here—she couldn’t! Couldn’t let him caress her palms like that—couldn’t let herself respond. Couldn’t. Mustn’t.
Somehow she had to break free, stop him…stop herself…
‘Nikos,’ she breathed. Her eyes fluttered to his. ‘Let me go…’
The tall bulk of his body was too close to hers, the spiced, heady scent of his skin too overpowering. She could see everything about him—everything. The darkening line of his jaw, the sculpted shape of his mouth, the blade of his nose and the dark, drowning eyes.
‘Let me go…’
It was a whisper. A plea.
Something moved in his eyes. They were alone in the house, alone in the world. And far, far too close—
‘I can’t,’ he said, his eyes pouring into hers.
As he spoke the words he knew them for the truth. The hopeless, stark truth. Slowly, infinitely slowly, his grip on her hands tightened, drawing her closer towards him, closer still. His mouth started to lower to hers…
‘I can’t resist you.’ His voice was nothing but a husk. ‘Sophie…’
There was longing in his voice, a caress.
Panic beat up in her—panic and more—much, much more! For a moment she was poised between the two, almost yielding to his voice, his touch, to his mouth so close to hers…
With despairing sanity, she freed herself. She stared blindly, her face aghast at what had so very nearly happened. Then, as if impelled by a reflex so urgent it possessed her totally, she pushed roughly past, tugging at the baize door and then hurtling down the stone-flagged corridor beyond, her footsteps echoing in the empty house.
Behind her, Nikos stood stock still.
What had he nearly done?
