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She could see that he was aroused himself. Yet he seemed to disregard it. To not even notice it, somehow, when she had always been under the impression that Constantine Skalas, above all men, was ruled entirely by that impressive length she could see pressed against his trousers.
Yet all he did was indicate the tube of sunscreen, still with that smile.
“Don’t forget your face and neck,” he said. “You’re already quite red. Though I do not think it is sunburn. Yet.”
And then, to her astonishment—and what she would not have admitted was something far more complex than that, and a whole lot closer to disappointment—he simply turned and left her there.
She sat there, in the shade of that tree, for a long, long time.
And then longer still, as there was no getting past what had happened. What she had not only allowed, but had obviously reveled in.
Eventually, she took his advice and put sunscreen on her face and neck. Then sat there, certain that he must have been watching her, or waiting for her to...do something. It would no doubt indicate what was next on the naked blackmail menu for the day.
The shadows changed, yet Constantine did not reappear.
So even though she would have happily put it off longer if she could, Molly had no choice but to stand up, face the house behind her that she still hadn’t gone inside this time, and then actually walk in of her own volition.
The house already made her feel vulnerable, and she shivered as she stepped inside, and not because of the temperature. She could see ghosts of her younger self everywhere she looked, and having to walk through these rooms literally naked, stripped down and vulnerable, did not help. She padded through the various living areas, trying not to see her memories play out before her, but there was no sign of Constantine.
Gritting her teeth, she moved on, making her way back to that dreadful study once more. But he wasn’t there, either.
Eventually, she found him in the grand master suite that was its own wing of the house. She had not, obviously, spent much time here, as it was Demetrius’s domain. And woe betide anyone who went somewhere he did not wish them to go. She had only vague memories of the way the suite was set out, with a sitting room here, a media center there. She told herself it was pleasant, by contrast, to walk through rooms with no ghosts at all.
But there was Constantine, and he was something far worse than a ghost. He was stood out on yet another balcony, his gaze on the sea beyond, speaking in impatient Greek into his mobile.
And yet somehow, Molly knew that he was perfectly aware of the very second she stepped out behind him. If not before.
He gave no indication that he cared either way if she was there, but she knew that he did. She just knew.
Constantine finished his conversation, and not particularly quickly, then turned, shoving his mobile in his pocket as he faced her. And she was struck—again—by his wholly unfair beauty. He was too masculine, too sexual, and yet somehow fitted perfectly here, where centuries back he should have been a god.
First monsters, now gods. She was losing it.
“You are lucky you did not attempt to defy me and dress,” he said, though he sounded sorrowful. “I was so certain you would.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” she replied loftily, and would keep to herself that new stab of self-recrimination. Because it hadn’t even occurred to her to put her clothes on. What did that say about her?
Nothing good, she replied to herself. Nothing that wasn’t more monsters and gods and willing sacrifices.
“I have a number of calls I must take today,” Constantine told her, his dark gaze moving over her and making her feel as if he was still touching her. “I trust you can amuse yourself without supervision?”
“Am I allowed to amuse myself?”
His gaze gleamed at her dry tone. “In any way you like, save one. I already told you that your pleasure is at my command. And only when you beg me, Molly. I meant it.”
She wanted to shake apart again, into a thousand new pieces because of that. And she was sure that he could see how close she came to doing it.
Instead, Molly pressed her bare feet into the smooth stone below, ordering herself to breathe. To remain calm. To use all the lessons she’d learned over time here. Among them, to stand about wearing or not wearing all manner of strange things while others stared at her.
Pretend this is a job,she told herself.Because it is.
“I don’t think you need to worry about me running off to pleasure myself at the slightest provocation,” she managed to say, just this side of withering. “I realize this may come as a surprise, but some of us are not quite so obsessed with endless sexual exploits as others.”
“You could have fooled me.”
That voice of his was dark like silk, and it curled in her like a threat.
She thought she should refute that. Fight him. Stand up for herself, for God’s sake.
