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CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘OH, MY GOD.’ She stared at the rapidly spreading stain of milky coffee against a broad chest, her heart in her throat as her eyes lifted higher to ascertain that, yes, somehow, surely in an alternative universe, Beatrice Jones had once again managed to spill her coffee all over Ares Lykaios’s chest.
It made no sense. Her brain struggled to translate what she was seeing. She’d barely slept since returning from Athens four days earlier. She was living on a strange combination of Netflix and coffee from the coffee chain beneath her apartment. She didn’t even have to order now; when the baristas saw her walk in they began to prepare her drink, so all she had to do was tap her credit card and grab it when it was ready.
And in the case of this, coffee number four for the day, slam it into the chest of the only man she’d ever loved.
‘I swear I put on the lid.’ But the fact that it had burst open the instant she’d bumped into him might make him beg to differ.
Oh, God.She looked terrible. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered. Her hair was scraped back into a ponytail, her shirt had a stain on the sleeve and she’d abandoned make-up for the sheen of takeaway noodle fumes.
‘Beatrice.’ He growled her name from somewhere deep in his throat and goosebumps ran across her skin; her stomach flipped. She looked at her watch for no logical reason except that time would tether her—she hoped—to reality. It was almost five in the afternoon. Of what day?
‘What are you doing here?’
Of all the questions running through her brain, that was uppermost.
‘I came to see you.’
Obviously. Why else would he be in this exact part of London? ‘Is it Danica?’ she asked quickly, concern for the little girl momentarily eclipsing anything else.
He flinched. ‘Danica is fine. She’s...at home with Ellen.’ His lips were a grim smudge on his face.
‘Oh. I’m glad.’
‘May I come in?’ He gestured to the security door to her building.
Bea stared at it, panic gripping her heart. She shook her head instinctively.
‘Just for a moment.’ There was something so imperative and commanding in his tone that Bea found herself sighing and moving towards it. She could control this situation. And she could definitely control how much she let him see of her pain. She had pride and she would use it to strengthen her resolve until he finally left. At the same time, she acknowledged that she desperately wanted him to stay. Seeing him under any circumstances was better than not, and oh, how hungry she was for the sight of him, the feel of him.
‘How did you find out where I live?’
‘It wasn’t difficult.’
Of course it wasn’t difficult for someone like Ares Lykaios. Somewhere during the time they’d spent together in Greece, she’d come to see him as a mere mortal, simply a man she’d fallen in love with, but he wasn’t anything so pedestrian as that. He was powerful and could do whatever the hell he wanted.
She buzzed open the security door then gestured to the door at the top of the stairs, a shiny black with a golden number four emblazoned on it.
‘There are two apartments downstairs,’ she explained as she averted her gaze from him, knowing she couldn’t watch as he walked up the stairs or desire would undo every effort she was making to hold onto her pride. ‘But no apartment number three. I’ve always wondered if the original builders thought it was unlucky or something.’ She clamped her lips together, aware she was filling the nervous silence with babble and hating herself for that.
At the door of her apartment she hesitated, her eyes darting to his before returning to the lock.
‘Two minutes,’ he commanded, and when she still didn’t move he reached out and took the extended key from her fingertips and inserted it, pushing the door open with an expression that was inscrutable.
Bea’s heart was in her throat, emotions running rampant. She wasn’t prepared for this. She’d wondered if she’d ever see him again, but had presumed that she’d at least have time to brace for that, to prepare herself for the mental hurdle of being near him once more.
This was hard.
She fought ingrained good manners, pointing to a chair without offering him a drink. Despite the dark patch spreading over his shirt, she refused to do anything to accommodate him. She’d had enough of being trampled. Enough of putting her heart out there and having it unceremoniously refused.
Bea’s apartment had a large open-plan kitchen and lounge area. She kicked off her shoes then padded into the all-white kitchen, depositing the almost empty coffee cup into the sink and washing her hands before slipping a pod into her own machine. The muscle memory of the task was reassuring and somewhat calming; his eyes on her as she did something so simple was not. The machine whirred as dark coffee began to run into the mug.
When she turned around, he was staring at her intently and her breath slammed through her. She wanted to stamp her foot and she realised her temper was running away from her. How dared he come here with no warning, looking so damned perfect? As though nothing in the world was bothering him. As though his life was continuing completely as normal.
‘What are you doing here?’ Pride be damned. The words were a husky groan, a plea for him to disappear again so she could continue getting over him.
His lips compressed. The coffee machine stopped whirring.
