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He kissed her until he thought it might break him, and then he thrust her away from him.
And took some solace in the fact that however wrecked he might feel, she looked worse. Her blue eyes had gone dark, needy.
The sound she made was of loss.
“Tonight is our last night here,” he told her. “We have a series of extremely high-profile events to attend, Molly. Remember. This affair will be very, very public.”
“Is it an affair? Or an impromptu bit of theater you’ve set up for your entertainment?”
But she didn’t ask that quite as sharply as she might have. And he could hear the tremor in her voice. He could see the flush on her face and against the fabric of that dress of hers, the telltale press of her hard nipples, giving her away.
“Don’t you worry about when our affair will begin in truth,” Constantine said, dark and hot. “You’ll know. You’ll find yourself on your knees, begging as beautifully as you do anything else.”
And then he left her there, still obviously trying to hide the fact that she was shaken before she could tell that he was, too.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MOLLYSHOULDHAVEEXPECTED, Constantine being Constantine, that the publicity tour he had apparently put together in his spare time—all while seeming to do nothing but drive her to the brink of distraction with his daily sunscreen ritual, then taunt her every evening—was comprehensive. And would catapult them to the forefront of every gossip’s mind, not to mention every tabloid’s main page, with a vengeance.
Because vengeance was his goal, and she needed to remember that. She had almost started to think that his goal was to keep her completely off balance, because he was succeeding at that, and brilliantly.
Though she thought she would rather fling herself from one of the Skiathos cliffs, like the Gothic heroine she told herself she was, than admit it.
That next morning he drove them both in a simmering silence to the Skiathos airport. His jet waited for them there, prepared to whisk them off across the world to Los Angeles, stop one on their world tour. It might look like a romantic interlude to some. It was meant to look like a happy accident of press appearances while engaged in some of that high-profile celebrity charity that famous and infamous people alike used the way teenagers used the hallways in their schools, all see and be seen.
But Molly knew the point of it was neither romance nor charity. It was her eventual humiliation. He’d said so.
“If we are attending some kind of gala event,” Molly remarked as they started their descent into a surprisingly clear day over the Los Angeles basin, “does that mean that you have also selected my wardrobe? Or is this more naked time. Thatwillcause a stir.”
Across from her, Constantine barely looked up from the laptop that had consumed his attention for the whole of their flight. Too busy checking for mention of himself in several languages, she could only assume. Because it was too strange to think of Constantine Skalas actuallyworking.Surely that was what Balthazar was for.
She couldn’t have said what Constantine was for, save her own, personal destruction.
“Your role is simple,” he said now. “Keep your mouth closed and act adoring. Easy enough, no?”
“Easy, yes,” she agreed. “But unusual, certainly. I’m not exactly known as the shy and retiring type.”
Constantine slapped his laptop closed as the jet’s wheels touched the ground. His gaze seemed to touch hers with a similar impact. “But you are besotted,hetaira. You hardly know yourself. Your body betrays you with the things it wants and you tell yourself you ought to be horrified, when in truth, all you are is wildly, madly in love. So much so that it is astoundingly visible to all and sundry and possibly even from space.” Then his mouth curved in that mocking way that always seemed to pierce straight through her. She assumed he must know that. “Or is that too much of a stretch?”
“Don’t you worry,” Molly said, as if trying to soothe him. She smiled. “I’m very, very good at my job.”
But she was just as happy when his attention was redirected to his mobile, because that had all been...a little too close to the truth for her liking.
Because she had the terrible fear that despite all her tough talk, she was more in danger when it came to Constantine Skalas than she ever had been, even back when they’d lived together in Skiathos the first time.
Because the teen girl she’d been then had never imagined he would look twice at her. Not really. Whereas the grown-up version of Molly was a little too aware that at any moment, there was the possibility he might kiss her again.
Or more.
Why hadn’t he done more?
She had spent ten days wandering around naked all over his estate in Skiathos, pretending she didn’t feel half-feverish at the thought, waiting for him to put his hands on her at any moment. To her dismay, it was nearly all she thought about, unable to understand why it was that he simply kept her...wanting.
Maybe the wanting was why.
If so, it worked. It drove her mad. She had lounged about near the pool every day, near the sun if not quite in it, imagining that every stray breeze was his touch. And even though ten days of forced idleness should have driven her crazy, she had never felt particularly idle. Too busy was she...imagining.
Because the things that had happened inside of her the first time he’d put that sunscreen on haunted her. Not to mention the things she’d done. God, the things she’ddone...She still daydreamed about it. Those hands of his, all over her breasts. That hard thigh thrust between her legs. Her absolutely shameless display as she’d rocked herself against him... How she’d moved her hips, making no secret of the fact that she was pressing the molten, aching core of her femininity against his hard-packed muscles.
