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‘She’s asleep,’ Bea whispered.
Xanthia’s look of shock brought a smile to Bea’s face. ‘Already? But...how? It isn’t possible!’
‘She was tired, I think,’ Bea said with a shrug. ‘I’ve switched the monitor on. You’ll keep an eye on her?’
‘Of course, of course.’ Xanthia was glowing. She looked as though she wanted to hug Bea. Instead, she clapped her hands together. ‘Peace, at last! I have been so sad for the little girl—so much heartbreak and no one—’ Xanthia cut herself off abruptly. ‘I’m glad she has you.’
Strangely, so was Bea. Despite the fact it had only been one day, so much had happened that her London life already felt strangely distant. Almost as though she was looking at it through a sort of screen.
‘Ares asked me to remind you he’s waiting,’ Xanthia added belatedly, as though just remembering the reason for being stationed outside Danica’s door.
‘Like I could forget,’ Bea muttered. ‘Please call if anything happens with the baby. I don’t want her to be upset like she was last night.’
Xanthia nodded. ‘Tomorrow morning, Ellen will come. A girl I know from the village. She has two younger brothers and three younger sisters, all of whom she helped raise. You’ll like her.’
It had only been hours since she’d last seen him, but Bea still felt a jolt of something like awe at the sight of Ares Lykaios when she pushed open the door to the rooftop helipad some ten minutes later. He wore a suit that must have been made for his body, the darkest navy blue with a crisp white shirt open at the throat. He was designer, delicious and dangerous. Far too handsome for any one man.
Butterflies burst through Bea’s belly and her legs were unsteady as she walked towards the gleaming black helicopter. As she approached, he lifted the aviator-style sunglasses from his eyes, hooking them in the top of his shirt and pinning her with a gaze that hollowed out what was left of her tummy.
‘She’s asleep?’
Bea nodded. She wanted to stay cross with him, to remember that he was palming off the care of his infant niece to a virtual stranger, and that he’d blackmailed her into being here, but at the same time images of him in just a towel, comforting Danica in the small hours of the morning, showed that to be a lie. He did love the baby, and he was doing what he could to care for her. He simply felt bewildered by the enormity of being thrust into the role of parenthood out of nowhere. Relenting, she offered him a cool half-smile. ‘She seemed tired. Hopefully she’ll sleep well.’
His relief was obvious. ‘Thank you.’
And because she’d heard the helplessness in his voice that morning, when it had been just the two of them in Danica’s nursery, she understood the depths of his gratitude.
‘You’re welcome.’
The air between them seemed to spark with awareness, or perhaps that was all coming from Bea. Close to Ares, alone on the rooftop, she wanted more than anything to feel the strength of his body close to hers once more, to lift her face to his and have him kiss her as though that were the most normal and natural thing in the world. And maybe it was—for other people. But not for Bea. She’d never wanted a relationship with a man, and even the kind of relationship he had suggested seemed fraught with danger.
Dragging her eyes away from his with determination, she realised they weren’t in fact alone. A man in dark trousers and a pale shirt opened the door to the helicopter, smiling at Bea in an invitation for her to step inside. She took the same seat she’d occupied the night before, presuming Ares would do the same, but before he sat down he hovered over her, reaching for the straps of her seatbelt and fastening it into place, just as he’d done on the plane. Her breath held, her gaze was drawn to his face as if by magnetic force. She couldn’t look away.
He pulled the seatbelt tight, his fingers lingering at her hip as he lifted his attention to her face and she had to bite back a moan. Awareness crashed through her like a tidal wave, a desire she’d never known before pressing bright sparks of light into her eyes.
His gaze roamed lower, landing on her lips, so she remembered every single sensation of having him kiss her the night before, the way he’d plundered her mouth with his, proving a point. And he had proved that point—she wanted to sleep with him, no matter what she’d thrown at him in the anger of their fight.
Desire stormed through her blood; she was helpless to fight it.
She surrendered a part of herself in that moment, acknowledging how much she wanted him. She was taken back to the way she’d felt on the gondola, when she’d been tempted to throw all caution to the wind and experience, for the first time in her life, what sex was all about.
‘Ares—’
His name on her lips was a plea, drawn from deep within her.
And he understood. She saw it on his face that he knew how she felt, and what she wanted. So it made absolutely no sense when he stepped back, taking the seat across from her, his expression neutral as he buckled his own belt in place.
Her cheeks felt as though they’d caught fire. She stared at him in disbelief, then blinked, turning her attention to the window. Uncertainty and need were looping through her. She felt completely out of her depth, an experience Bea had always hated.
Before she could contemplate pulling the pin on the whole idea of a shopping trip in Athens, the helicopter’s blades began to whirl, the engine noise cutting out any possibility of conversation as the craft lifted up into the sky.
For a moment the view distracted her. The night before it had been pitch-black, and she’d spent the entire day enveloped in baby-related research. For the first time, as the helicopter took the trajectory of an eagle over the coastline, Bea realised how stunningly beautiful it was. The sun had not yet set but was on its way, painting the sky a dramatic palette of fiery oranges and pinks; the ocean below them was a deep turquoise, enhanced by the dusk light. She could see how sparsely populated the coastline was too, each house spaced several miles apart, each luxurious and modern, though Ares’s most of all.
‘Champagne?’ The throaty-voiced offer had her turning to face him. A recognisable label on a piccolo bottle was being held towards her. She stared at it a moment before nodding, watching as he curled his palm around the cork and lifted it, the sound muted by his hand’s tight grip. He placed a straw in the top, handing it across to Bea, and she took it gratefully.
‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked, simply to fill the silence—a silence that was throbbing with a drugging awareness.
‘I bought the house ten years ago.’ His lips twisted in a way that suggested to Bea he was concealing something.
