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He gestured for her to go first.
‘Did you manage to get hold of Annabelle?’
Loukis clenched his teeth, not needing to vent his frustrations at this moment in time. He would wait until later for that. ‘Meredith had decided to take her out for the afternoon, so I will have to try again later.’
She nodded and looked about. He wondered what she was seeing. The balcony of the restaurant jutted out from the building like an architectural feat, dramatically increasing the floorspace of the flat rooftop. He had reserved the whole area. For privacy and for other important reasons, not least because of the beautiful views of the Athenian skyline at night. Framed by the dark slash of the mountain range, the Parthenon was lit dramatically in the distance, its place high up on the hill drawing every gaze, tourist and local alike. Dusk had fallen, barely an inch of pale purple remaining as the dark promise of night bled into it.
Loukis took this all in in one glance, his gaze reluctant to leave her for more than a few seconds.
‘You look beautiful.’
Her amber eyes flew back to him from the horizon, as if she was attempting to silently interrogate his meaning, his motivation.
‘Better than the beige T-shirt, then,’ she said, the sting of the bitterness in her tone dimmed slightly by the sadness he didn’t miss in her eyes.
‘The item in question was offensive only in that it was painfully obvious what you were trying to hide.’
‘And that was?’ she asked, seemingly genuinely intrigued.
‘Everything in you that is innately beautiful.’
He hadn’t meant to say those words. He hadn’t mean to be so truthful. But there was a vulnerability about her that night that called forth the only honesty he could give her.
He knew women well. Had made it his mission to study and understand them when his own mother seemed so impossible to predict, to identify. So he knew women who would hide their pain beneath brittle masks, knew women who displayed their sensuality like a glorious fan of peacock feathers, knew women who aggressively sought dominance where they had once lost it in the past, and knew women who hid their inner sense of power and sensuality, hoarding it protectively from view. And he very much thought that Célia was of the latter variety. But as if sensing it was too much for both of them, he picked up and perused the menu blindly.
‘What would you like to drink?’
As if the waiter had sensed it was safe to return, he appeared on the balcony to take their order.
Célia seemed to take a deep breath, turned smilingly at the man and ordered a martini. It surprised him; her choice bold, the drink dry, and the request for a twist of lemon rather than an olive seemed to suit her.
‘Same,’ he stated to the waiter without taking his eyes off Célia, who was clearly uncomfortable with his constant gaze.
‘I’m surprised that you didn’t order for me,’ she said, placing her hands on her lap beneath the table. Probably, he assumed, turning them within each other as she had done before.
‘That was for speed and efficiency. This is not.’
‘What is this for, then?’
It was then that he decided not to tell her of his plans for that evening. He would need her to be as natural as possible—and even before they had ordered drinks she’d had a streak of tension through her as if she were ready to bolt.
‘This is so that we can get to know each other a little more.’
‘Is that necessary?’ she asked, still unable to meet his gaze.
He reached across the table and placed his hand on her neck to cup her jaw. As expected she almost jumped right off the chair. But he kept his hand in place, feeling the flickering of her pulse, smoothing it slightly with a swipe of his thumb that caused a sensation within him that he had to fight to temper.
‘It is if you’re going to stop jumping every time I touch you. We’re supposed to be...weareengaged. And we’re going to have to start acting like it. So,’ he said, finally removing his hand, ‘I have a game of sorts for us to play.’ He waited for her to take this in. ‘You will ask a question, and for each one I answer, I will touch you.’
The look of fear that crossed her face bit him hard. ‘Not like that, not...’ He shook his head, trying to find the words. Where was his usual charm? Where was the man reported to have seduced women in their hundreds? ‘We’re in public, Célia, it’s not as if I’m going to ravish you. Consider it the opposite of aversion therapy. For every question of mine thatyouanswer, you will touch me.’
Célia’s heart thudded in her chest, her cheek still warm from where he had caressed her. She knew that he was right, that she had to stop being so...overly sensitive to his touch. They would have to put on a performance in public eventually. And out here, beneath the night sky, where the air was warm and there was no one to see them, was surely a safe place to...to...
‘You agree?’ he cut through her thoughts and she nodded her assent even as she feared what his first question might be.
‘What is your favourite colour?’
She laughed then. At the ridiculousness of his question, of her fear. Couldn’t help but catch the way his lips had quirked up in a smile as if he’d expected her reaction.
