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“You’re saying it’s not true?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.”
“Nice try, princess, but pictures don’t lie.”
She swallowed past the rage and frustration. “And that really bothers you, doesn’t it?”
“You are my ward…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But it’s more than that.” She leaned forward over the desk, catching the faint, lingering smell of spices and alcohol, which reminded her of the pudding bubbling away downstairs. “I think you’re jealous.”
“Jealous?” He responded without humour, his expression impossible to read. “And what would I be jealous of?”
“The men I’m photographed with?” She murmured, her eyes boring into his, demanding answers. She was so far out on a limb and she hoped like hell she was right. That she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life.
“Yes, how right you are. The vain, self-interested men you let fumble all over you have been keeping me up at night.” His eyes narrowed and before she could recognize his intentions, he moved around the desk, so that his body towered over hers. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like?”
She stood slowly, her eyes locked to his even when she was terrified and knew it would be safer to look away. “What what would be like?”
“Sleeping with someone who knows what they’re doing.”
She glared at him, but her heart was tripping over itself, and emotions were rioting beneath the surface of her skin. She had come to see him to explain her need to escape. Nothing more. “I’m going back to London. I have a charity ball I’m obliged to attend.”
“You are laying low while this latest scandal blows over,” he corrected, moving infinitesimally closer.
“Damn it, Stavros!” She stomped her foot to the ground. “This is none of your business.”
“Wrong.”
She sucked in an angry breath.
“Did you know that every time you are in the papers, your father is included? Claudia La Roche, daughter of the late literary giant Christopher La Roche… This is how most articles about you begin.” He leaned closer, his face menacing as it hovered just above hers. “Your life is disgracing his legacy.”
She gasped, the horrible sentence burying deep into her soul and spreading plague and pain in its path. She lifted a hand and brought it down on his cheek hard, so that red covered his flesh. She was shivering with emotions and adrenaline and she took one second to survey the damage of her violent outburst and then spun around, running blindly for the door. She was powered by pain and aches and feelings so hurt they were destroyed beyond repair.
She reached for the door, pulling it inwards but Stavros was behind her, his powerful body dwarfing hers, his expression furious as he slammed the door shut and caged her against it.
“You do not get to run away from this conversation, princess, no matter how unpalatable you find it.”
Claudia spun slowly, pressing her back to the door, staring up at Stavros with eyes that showed all her torment and grief. “You don’t get to talk to me like this, no matter how unpalatable you find me.”
“Unpalatable?” His laugh was a harsh sound of self-derision. “That’s the exact opposite of how I feel about you. I might hate your lifestyle and hate your choices. I sure as hell hate the fact you have let every man with a title paw your beautiful body, but even that fact does not change what I want from you.”
“And what’s that?” She fired back, anger mixing with needs that were just as demanding, just as intense.
“I want to screw you.”
She drew in a ragged, aching breath, her pulse a raging torrent that would rival the storm-swept river outside.
She had to tell him the truth. This couldn’t go on. He wouldn’t want her if he knew that she was still innocent. He was playing with her because he thought they were equals. He thought her sexually experienced and as au fait in matters of flirtation and seduction as him.
“You’re wrong about me,” she said urgently, even as her hands lifted to his chest. Not to push him away but to hold him close. She
tilted her head higher, her mouth inviting his. “You’re so wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” He crushed his lips down on hers with urgency. “But I want you anyway. I hate that I want you. I hate that I feel this.” His lips moved over hers, his tongue warred with hers. “I think I even hate you, Claudia, for what you are doing to your father’s name.”
He pushed her back against the door harder, so that she felt the strength and rigidity of his body pressed to hers. “But God, I want you.”
