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‘No.’ He propped up on one elbow, apparently completely relaxed. ‘I don’t believe it was a matter of you having simply not slept with anyone.’
‘Why not?’ She challenged, her eyes sparking with his.
‘Because you’re a flesh and blood woman,’ he murmured throatily. ‘And I know for myself how sensual you are. How hungry your appetite...’
Her pulse sped up and with his eyes digging into hers she found she didn’t want to lie to him. What was the point? ‘I wanted to save myself for my husband.’ She slid her gaze sideways, aware of how juvenile the assertion must have sounded. She focused her eyes on the wall and didn’t see the look of intense concentration that overtook his features.
‘Why?’ A single word, rough and husky.
‘I’ve told you: sex should mean something.’ She frowned. ‘I thought it should mean something. I was... I think sex and love should go hand in hand and when I eventually fell in love, and someone loved me, I wanted it to be something I shared with them.’ When had she first started to align sex with love? She wasn’t sure she’d ever know. When had she inextricably bound the two, sentiment and act, together? ‘And then I met you.’
There was a self-mocking tilt to his beautiful lips. ‘A man who thinks sex is for fun and love is a
construct.’
Her heart stammered at the coldness of that assessment. ‘A man I couldn’t resist.’ She shook her head, clearing the vestiges of the past from her mind. ‘But that was years ago and I’m not the same person any more.’ Certainty strengthened inside her. ‘I guess you could say I learned my lesson.’
‘We have already discussed this. I need another child, another heir...’
She ignored the cold, callous conclusion to that sentence—in case anything happens to Leo. ‘That’s an entirely separate proposition to what we were just about to do. Sleeping together because we aren’t strong enough to listen to common sense, to do the right thing, is simply a matter of poor judgement.’
‘You are cutting off your nose to spite your face,’ he observed dryly.
His comment was utterly accurate. In putting a halt to their sensual pull she was only hurting herself because she wanted him with all of herself. She needed him. And yet she was resisting him because her pride demanded it of her. Not just her pride—her heart. Her heart, that could have so easily been his; her heart that had been hurt and ignored too many times to easily trust. ‘I’m not. I’m just... I’m someone who always wanted the fairy tale,’ she said quietly.
But often the most quietly voiced sentiments carried the most resonance.
‘There’s no such thing as fairy tales,’ he said after several beats of silence had passed, and he stared at her for a long moment, his expression a mask of intensity. ‘And even if there were, I could not give it to you.’
She sucked in an unsteady breath, lost for words.
‘You can get back in bed, Frankie. Relax. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.’ And he turned onto his side, his back to her.
Silence fell. She stood there, watching him for a moment, and when his breathing was rhythmic and steady she climbed into bed, turning her own back on him and hugging the edge of the mattress.
* * *
It was a recurrent nightmare but that didn’t change the fact that it flooded Matthias with adrenalin as if it was all happening for the first time. He was back in the limousine. The smell of petrol and burning flesh filling his nostrils, his body trapped, his eyes open. His parents were dead but Spiro, beside him, was still alive.
His cries were like nothing Matthias could put into words.
‘I’m coming,’ he promised, pushing at the metal that was heavy on his chest. ‘Just keep your eyes open.’
The driver was dead too. He couldn’t see the security agent who had been travelling in the same car as them.
‘I can’t, Matt,’ Spiro groaned, and his dark eyes were covered with tears.
‘You must.’ Matthias, a teenager, swore darkly into the limousine and Spiro winced. He had to get free. He had to save them.
‘I’ll be there in a second. Hold my hand.’ He reached out and the pain was like nothing he’d ever known before. His arm was broken. He grunted, extending it as best he was able. It was just far enough. Spiro put his smaller hand in Matthias’s, and Matthias looked at them; their flesh was the same colour, their hands the same shape. But Spiro’s was cold. Ice-cold, like nothing Matthias had ever known.
‘Listen to me.’ Matthias spoke urgently. ‘I can hear sirens in the distance. Can you?’ There was a bleating—from far away. ‘They’re coming to help you, Spiro. They’re going to cut you out of this car and take you to hospital. I’ll be beating you again in basketball in weeks.’
Spiro smiled—his teeth were covered in blood. Matthias’s chest ached. His younger brother’s eyes were heavy.
‘Damn it—stay awake,’ Matthias commanded, pushing at the metal once more. It budged, but only by a tiny amount. ‘Damn it!’ he shouted again.
‘Matt...’ Spiro dropped his hand and Matthias jerked his head towards his brother. Stars danced in his eyes and for a second he blacked out. When he came to the sirens were louder, and Spiro was sleeping. At least he looked like he was sleeping.
