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“Somehow, I doubt that.”
“Well, that’s because you don’t know me at all.”
“I know enough.”
She wanted to scream. It was like having a conversation with a brick wall. “Whatever.” She stepped into the room, immediately hit by the overwhelming luxury. It was at least four times the size of her bedsit, with a sumptuous king bed against one wall, enormous windows framing a view of the sea, and the bathroom, far from being sequestered from the room, was open plan, with a large claw-foot bath and enormous shower positioned to take advantage of the views.
“Well, then,” she said, over-brightly, as the boat began to purr, and the outside world shifted. Whatever she’d been about to say scuttled from her mind. “We’re moving.”
“We’re on a boat.”
“Yeah, but…I thought we’d just…I don’t know, be parked here.”
“No.” His eyes probed hers. “We’ll be floating in the middle of the ocean, far away from the world, your friends, and nosy journalists.Katanoitó?”
“Yes, I understand,” she agreed, distractedly.
His eyes narrowed. “You speak Greek?”
“No, not at all.” A nostalgic smile crossed her lips. “Your dad used to say that.”
Anastasios jerked his head back, as if she’d slapped him again. The air between them electrified, his resentment palpable.
“It’s probably a good idea for you to stop throwing your relationship with him in my face.”
She glared at him, frustration spilling over into raw carelessness. “Does it bother you because you believe he cheated with me? Or because you’re jealous that you think he slept with me?”
His lips were rimmed with white and he went very, very still, his body radiating tension. “You’re obviously aware of the effect you have over men.”
She could have laughed for the ludicrousness of that observation. Given she had precisely zero experience with the opposite sex…
“I’m not some femme fatale,” she sighed, lifting a hand to her temple and pressing it there. “Why don’t you let me tell you about your father and me, so that you can understand—,”
“I already understand plenty.” He moved in the direction of the door, then stilled within the frame. “I realise you didn’t have to come with me today.”
“Didn’t I?”
His eyes glowered and she dipped her head. They both knew he was right. At any point she could have refused to join him, and though he might have expressed his anger, he wouldn’t really have forced her to leave the country. She’d chosen this path because she too wanted to exercise some damage control.
“I’m glad you’re here.”
Her heart kicked up a gear.
“I’m glad you’re prepared to be reasonable, even if it is a little late to make any true amends.”
She bit down on her lower lip. Why did it bother her so much that he believed the worst in her? Because she’d had a lifetime of hurt and rejection, and this was the last straw.
“All I ask is that you spend a few days on the yacht, and stay out of trouble. Do you think you can manage that?”
He should have addedanother requirement, he reflected, later that afternoon, as he watched Phoebe chatting to one of the crew. He was not one of the longer serving members of the team, but rather a seasonal worker, hired for the summer, to help with the additional usage, so Anastasios knew nothing about the man, not even his name. But from this vantage point, he could see that he was young, fit and objectively speaking, good looking, with his deep tan, blonde hair and crystal blue eyes.
It was fascinating to watch Phoebe talking to him. Whereas with Anastasios she was uptight and on-her-guard the entire time, with this other man, she was relaxed and happy, her smile quick, her eyes sparkling; even her hair seemed to have taken on a life of its own, lifting in the early evening breeze, whipping her face so she had to lift a hand to push it back. He watched the elegant gesture with a tightening in his chest, and realized he could no longer ignore the fact that he wanted her.
Not in a passing, idle way, but with a passion that was rare and hungry. It was the same passion that had galvanized Anastasios at school, making him sure to succeed, because he’d known he would never get anything but the best academic result. It was how he became the fastest long-distance runner at university—because he woke early, every day, the need to triumph fueling him through all weather conditions, so that he focused with single-minded determination on becoming the best he could be.
The same need had lodged in his gut and refused to be dismissed.
He wanted Phoebe Whittaker. Hell, he needed her. And the fact she’d been with his father? Could he get beyond that? Did he have a choice?
