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‘Of course. It costs nothing and it makes people happy.’
‘You like making people happy?’
‘It’s better than making them sad. There’s enough sadness in this world already.’ She wiped her palms surreptitiously against her thighs. ‘So, what should I do first?’
‘I think I suggested holding your hand.’ He held his out, a hint of challenge in his eyes. ‘Please tell me you’ve at least held hands with someone before.’
‘No,’ she said, because why bother lying?
The heat in his eyes wavered a second and he frowned, as if her answer had personally offended him somehow. ‘What? Why the hell not?’
‘Because I never met anyone I liked enough, I told you.’ And it was true, she hadn’t. Not when every single man she’d ever met had seemed to pale into insignificance compared to the Castor Xenakis she’d read about in her magazines.
‘I see,’ he said, sounding sceptical. ‘Well, it’s nothing to be afraid of.’ He held his hand out more insistently. ‘Come,mikri alepou.’
This was silly. If she couldn’t even get up the courage to hold his hand, then how was she ever supposed to pretend to be his new bride?
Why did you ever think you could do this at all? It was a stupid idea and you know it, and Annabel would be appalled. You’re just going to create more problems for her, like you always do...
No.No, that wasn’t true. She was going to help her sister and if holding hands with this man, if marrying him, was what she had to do, then she’d do it.
Glory took a silent breath, lifted her chin and reached for his hand.
And all the breath left her lungs as his long, strong fingers closed around hers.
His skin was warm, his grip firm, and it was strange, but the second he closed her hand in his, something inside her relaxed at the same moment as something else gave a little thrum of excitement.
She blinked at the sensation and stared at him, searching his beautiful face, wanting to know if he felt it too.
His expression was opaque and even though he seemed relaxed, there was a tension to him. She took a step closer, curious to know what was going on, but his lashes swept down, veiling his gaze. ‘And now,’ he murmured. ‘I’m going to put my arm around you and pull you in close.’
Before she had a chance to move, he lifted his other hand, sliding his arm around her waist and drawing her into his side.
She tensed, waiting to feel uneasy at being so close to him. Yet the unease didn’t come. Instead there was only a restless heat and a fluttering excitement that crowded in her throat.
Because beneath his lashes, his gaze had turned smokier, brighter gold glinting in the amber depths, a glimpse of the wolf.
The excitement fluttered harder, that rebellious part of her liking that she could rouse the predator in him. A scary thought, yet also thrilling.
Did he feel this too, then? This heat? This excitement? Or was it all only her?
Castor drew her in closer until she was barely inches away. He towered over her, all wide shoulders, broad chest and hard, masculine strength, and she should have felt threatened by it, but she didn’t. She felt safe and almost...protected, which was a strange thing to feel when this man’s reputation had him being a predator of the worst kind.
He smelled warm, of that exotic spice, and for absolutely no reason that she could see her mouth watered.
She blinked up at him, fascinated by that wolfish glint in his eyes.
‘How is this?’ His voice was soft and deep, a caress of rough velvet.
‘G-good,’ she stuttered breathlessly.
He kept his gaze on hers as he slowly lifted her hand and brought it to rest on his chest, holding it there in his own warm grip.
She took another shaky breath, aware of the warm cotton of his shirt and, beneath that, the rock-hard plane of his chest.
‘And this?’ He looked down at her, gauging her reaction.
She’d never been this close to a man before, let alone this man. Never had his arm around her waist, one palm resting gently in the small of her back, while his other hand held hers to his chest. Never been pressed lightly against the length of a hard, masculine body, never felt his heat.
