Hostage to Love

“Kyria Andreakos! Good, you’re home. Very, very good.” She clapped her hands together in glee before rushing down to throw her arms round Belle.

Nick spoke curtly to the older woman, who drew back with an apologetic but assessing look. She mumbled under her breath, cast Belle another smile, and then turned to supervise her husband, Yannis, as he unloaded the suitcases from the cart.

“What did you say to her?” Belle asked sharply.

“I told her you weren’t in the best of health, so she should contain her exuberance.” Nick stated unapologetically, unfolding his lithe body from the vehicle and coming to help her up. With reluctance, she accepted his help, unwilling to cause a scene in front of Demetra. But it didn’t stop her voicing her thoughts.

“I’d thank you not to give everyone the impression I’m made of fragile glass, primed to shatter into a million pieces at any moment.”

“If you say so, pethi mou.”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your little one, nor your little anything for that matter.” Her voice came out in a screech, and her face burned.

She saw the smile that played about his lips, and her anger went up another notch.

“And you can stop using that humoring tone with me. In fact, you can leave me alone altogether.” To her chagrin, her voice broke, and a sob rose in her throat. Had she possessed the strength to march away from him, she would have; instead she felt herself wilting like a delicate flower exposed to too much sun.

With a muttered oath, Nick swung her up in his arms for the second time in less than ten minutes, mounted the steps, and entered the villa. She barely had time to reacquaint herself with the interior of the place she’d once called home before Nick whisked her up the grand staircase and turned into the left hallway. Paintings of seascapes, richly colored tapestries, and the mosaic motifs that made up the stunning décor whizzed by as he strode rapidly to the end of the long corridor, pushed open the door, and advanced toward the huge bed in the middle of the room.

Bracing a knee on the mattress, he laid her down on the luxurious coverlet.

She sank back into the cool, soft pillows, striving to hide the sharp awareness that rampaged through her. But although she pulled away from him, she couldn’t stop her eyes from devouring him.

A lock of hair had fallen over his eyes as he’d bent over, and she clenched her fist against the urge to smooth it back, the way she would’ve done as a newlywed. In contrast to her agitation, she noted with resentment how his chest rose and fell with smooth control beneath the black shirt he wore.

His body, as toned and sleek as ever, vibrated with latent power from the top of his dark head to the tips of his handmade loafers.

She looked away, desperately forcing aside the heat that rose within her. The sexual charge between them had always been extremely potent, and time and distance, it seemed, had only heightened it for her. When it continued to creep up in unrelenting waves, she moved away from him toward the middle of the bed, fearful she’d betray her body’s response with the arrows of white-hot desire that shot to the very center of her being.

Casting her eyes around the room instead, she noted the décor hadn’t changed from the pleasant white and blue design. The large bed was still fringed by billowing white canopied curtains, and the deep blue coverlet streaked with gold was as vibrant and silky beneath her fingers as it had been the first time she’d stroked it.

The handmade Cycladic furniture that graced the bedside and the room, along with the richly patterned rugs scattered on the white tiled floor, were also the same ones she remembered.

Nothing had changed, she noted with cutting poignancy. Nothing except the man in front of her, who had made her fall deeply in love with him, only to reveal fathoms-deep control issues that went beyond the running of his multi-billion-euro empire. By the time she’d found the strength to walk away, Nick’s need to control her had plunged to a level so deep, it obliterated everything in its path, including her love. Of course, the final straws had been his stance on their future children, or the distinct lack of them, and the glaring realization that Nick didn’t love her—certainly not enough to say those three simple words to her.

“I want to rest now, so if you’ll excuse me?” Her voice didn’t hold as firm as she willed it, and she hoped he’d think it was through tiredness rather than an unhealthy mixture of pain, sadness, and arousal.

“Do you need anything? A glass of water or a cool drink?” Was his voice husky, or were her ears playing tricks on her?

“No, thanks, I’m fine.” Please, please leave. I want to be on my own.

He cast a quick glance over her. “You can’t sleep in those clothes. I’ll have Demetra bring up your cases and help you change. I’d offer to help myself but you’d probably claw my eyes out.”

His tone was humorous but his eyes remained solemn and concerned.

“No, I’m too weak to claw. But I wouldn’t be above giving it a shot, so yes, you best stay away.”

He sighed. “I didn’t mean to distress you, pethi mou—”

“But you succeeded all the same. As always.” They stared at each other for a timeless moment. Then she turned her back on him. She didn’t breathe until she heard the door shut with a firm click behind him. Then she gave in to the tears filling her eyes.

…

Nick leaned against the closed door, a deep reluctance to leave Belle’s side deadening his feet. She needed her rest, but Thee mou, it was hard, when all he wanted to do was crawl into the bed with her.

He’d missed her, he admitted grimly to himself. So much more than he’d thought possible. Seeing her again after so long brought home to him just how much.

He’d refused to go after her when she’d walked out, because he’d been so certain she’d return home after she calmed down.