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She was shaking now as relief took over, a deep relief that sprung from the core of her doubts and worries. He moved closer, lifting his hands to either side of her face, holding her steady so he could stare at her in a way that made her feel as though her soul was on display for him to see and understand, and for some reason, despite her habit of keeping her innermost feelings secret and guarded, she didn’t mind, in that moment. ‘There is nothing wrong with you,’ he repeated, a frown curling his mouth. ‘You are passionate and sensual, beautiful and addictive.’
Addictive. Hardly. And yet, somehow, standing in that small, idyllic cove, it was easier to believe Alex’s words above all else. Alex was making her feel wonderful, and that terrified her, because feeling great would lead her to relax, to trust him, to let herself care for him again, and Tessa couldn’t risk that. She’d pull away soon. But right now it just felt so good to be close to him, naked and bathed in sunlight, the ocean wrapping around their feet with each decadent roll towards the shore.
‘Just be sure to only be addicted to me between Friday and Sunday,’ she said in a light-hearted tone that didn’t quite ring true. But it was important to remind him—to remind them both—of the deal they’d struck.
He drew his brows together, not understanding her words, and then his face was expressionless. ‘Right, the contract.’
She nodded, dislodging his hands. Or perhaps he withdrew them. Either way, the effect was the same. Her chest felt as though it were caving in. ‘It makes sense,’ she clarified. ‘I don’t want this taking over our lives.’
His eyes probed hers, and now she didn’t like feeling seen, she didn’t like how visible her innermost feelings were to him. ‘You’re really worried about that, aren’t you?’
She parted her lips, a denial on her tongue, but when his eyes held hers, and their bodies were brushing, she could only be completely honest. ‘Yes.’ She looked up at him, hoping he’d understand. ‘It has to be this way.’
The air between them crackled, tension zipping through her. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something, and in a small part of her mind she was hoping he’d argue. That he’d insist on their tearing up the contract and being married, for real, rather than the pragmatic arrangement they’d forged.
‘If you say so.’ It was what she wanted, and yet it left a funny feeling in her throat, as though something had lodged there and wouldn’t break free. She ignored it. This was the marriage they’d agreed to—it was what they both wanted.
Tessa was an excellent chess player, and it was obvious Alex hadn’t been expecting that. It was also obvious that he didn’t enjoy losing. Tessa hid her smile behind a cup of tea, watching as his confident, hair-roughened fingers hovered over the pieces with what she could tell was an unusual level of uncertainty for a man like Alexandros Zacharidis. His dark eyes flicked to hers, his lips a flat line as he reached for his drink—coffee—and took a sip.
‘I don’t know how you drink coffee at this hour,’ Tessa murmured, her eyes latched to the way his hand gripped the cup, his fingers so strong and tanned against the white ceramic, bringing back memories of his skin against hers at the beach that morning. Her heart rate doubled and her stomach squished. ‘I’d be up all night.’
He replaced the cup at his side, returning his attention to the chess board. ‘I’m used to it.’
‘Late night chess and coffee?’
He made a growling sound. ‘I haven’t played chess like this in a long time.’ Finally, he moved a piece—a clever move that bought him a little more time before the almost inevitable checkmate. ‘Not since your brother and I used to sit up late in our dorm doing this, in fact.’
Tessa’s eyes grew round in her face and something sparked inside her abdomen. ‘Stavros taught me to play,’ she said unevenly. ‘He was very gifted, and never let me win.’
‘I could say the same of you.’
She laughed softly. ‘I’m not gifted. But I did have to get good, fast, playing Stav. We shared a competitive streak and a mutual hatred for losing, which meant our games were hardly quiet. My mother took to leaving the swear jar beside the board—he had a terrible vocabulary, when we played chess.’
It was Alex’s turn to laugh, a throaty, guttural sound. ‘I remember. Not that he lost often to me.’
‘When did you start playing? You’re good.’
‘But not as good as you and Stavros,’ he responded without ego, easing back in his chair and watching her, so she was glad she’d already formed a response to his move, and wasn’t completely thrown off kilter by the intensity of his gaze. Beneath the loose kaftan she wore, and despite the balmy warmth of the night, her skin prickled with goosebumps.
‘How old were you when you started playing?’
‘Properly playing? Around seven.’ Her smile was involuntary. ‘But playing with the pieces? Much, much younger. As a girl, I used to steal into my father’s study and take them for make-believe games. I would tell the most fantastical stories about the queen that was taken hostage and the army of pawns raised to save her, and the fights between the gallant knights, and finally the kings.’ She shook her head. ‘That was back when I still thought queens should be saved by their loyal, loving husbands.’ Cynicism touched her lips. ‘Your go.’
He made a noise of agreement but didn’t move at all.
‘Stav was the one who found me playing with the pieces. He wasn’t cross, but he took them away, telling me they weren’t dolls, that the set in Dad’s office was actually hundreds of years old, and quite breakable. He said that if I wanted to touch them, it would need to be in a game of chess, not make-believe.’
‘That sounds like Stav.’
Her heart squeezed. ‘He was always an excellent rule follower.’
He shifted his fingers to the board, sliding a pawn across. She frowned at the unexpectedness of the move, momentarily distracted by his technique, which made no sense to Tessa. It was a play she hadn’t seen before, and she tried to formulate his game plan, but he was too close, and his masculine fragrance was wrapping around her, so it was almost impossible to concentrate.
‘And you weren’t?’
‘I was,’ she responded, a small smile on her lips that was echoed on his.
‘Stavros told how you would take the jars of Nutella from the pantry and hide them under your bed, and whenever your parents asked about it, you would shrug and say you had no idea.’
