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He stared at himself in the mirror, determination recognizable in his eyes as he accepted, finally, that desire for Phoebe wasn’t going away. Certain things were inevitable, and necessary. Only by accepting what was sparking between them could he put her behind him. If the last month had taught him anything, it was that.
As random thoughts and reckonings began to form one cohesive plan, he moved out of his room as noisily as he could, enjoying the thought of waking her, of her body in bed startling in recognition of his, passing.
But before she joined him for a coffee, he had work to do. He reached for his phone on the kitchen bench and started a lengthy text to his assistant.
Phoebe had never been a big believer in celebrating birthdays. Last year, with Kon, had been the first year she’d actually enjoyed the day. Nonetheless, she always marked off the date dutifully in the calendar of her mind, as if cataloguing the fact she’d made it another year.
There had been nights, as a child, when the terror had been so bad, her father’s violence so extreme, that she’d wondered if she would. Phoebe firmly ascribed to the belief that getting older was a privilege and she met each birthday with a grateful heart.
And despite the fact her companion—her kidnapper, she reminded herself—didn’t know it was a special day, that didn’t stop this from being a delightful place to spend her twenty fifth birthday.
When she stepped into the kitchen, it was to a half-naked Anastasios and a platter of danishes. Her heart leaped. Happy Birthday to me.
“Good morning,” he said, his custom greeting firing something inside of her. Today, when their eyes met, they held, and the electricity arcing between them was almost impossible to contain.
“Hi.” Her voice crackled. She swallowed to clear her throat. “It’s another beautiful day.”
He turned to look out of the window—an unnecessary gesture, as sunlight surrounded them. “In fact, it’s a perfect day for jet skiing.”
She blinked at him. “It is?”
“Sure. Most days are,” he added with a smile, that had the power and wattage of a thousand suns. “Care to join me?”
Her heart gave a funny little squeeze. Under ordinary circumstances, she might have fought the idea of that. Things between them were so complicated. But today was her birthday, and it seemed only fair to give her heart what it wanted most in the world.
“Of course.”
His eyes sparked with hers and her veins flooded with lava.
“I’ve never been jet skiing,” she said with a nervous smile. “What if I fall into the water?”
“You’ll just have to hold on tight.”
Easier said than done. An hour later, one of the jet skis had been floated by the staff, and Anastasios was sitting on top of it, chest covered in droplets of water, hair slicked back from his face. Her mouth went dry.
Suddenly, she was nervous. Not about jet skiing, but about sitting right behind him.
“Come on, live a little,” he goaded her, and she bit down on her lip, still hesitating. Only the sun was so warm and the water so beautifully inviting and clear.
She looked back to him. “No sharks?”
“Just me.”
She laughed softly. “You, I think, I can manage.”
“We’ll see.”
A blade of anticipation sliced through her, but before she could give in to her doubts, she pointed her arms over her head and dove into the water, swimming away from the yacht first, then treading water a moment, turning back to face him. It was the loveliest sensation—the water was warm, and the sun glinted off its surface.
“Making a break for it?”
“Prisoners are hard wired to attempt escape,” she said with a grin, moving her arms so she put even more distance between them.
“This prisoner will have her freedom soon enough. Come, enjoy your last little bit of captivity.”
She dove under water to hide the sobering effect his words had on her. She wanted to get back to London, and her bedsit, and her job, and the mountain of debt that was waiting for her. She wanted to get away from Anastasios and his accusations and smouldering eyes. Didn’t she?
A lump formed in her throat. It was no good. She kicked under water a bit longer, until the gleaming belly of the jet ski was close enough to touch, then emerged, long hair shimmering down her back, reminding Anastasios of a mermaid.
