Captivated by the Greek

He took a breath—a shuddering breath.

‘I vowed I would never run that risk. And I vowed I would never get involved with any woman who could endanger that vow. I only ever wanted temporary relationships. Nothing...deeper. Nothing...longer. Nothing longer than a holiday romance.’

There was a twist in his voice now, and it was heavy with irony. Bitter self-mockery.

‘Just the way you did.’ He took another breath, felt it razoring his lungs. ‘We were so well suited, weren’t we, Mel? In our own different ways we wanted the same thing—our freedom.’

He gazed at her—at the way she lay there, at her golden hair, her beautiful face—and a thousand memories came rushing to his head of those glorious days they’d had together—so good...so good.

So right.

And in the golden wash of those memories came knowledge, pouring like a fountain through him. Confirming—in a tidal wave of emotion—what had swept over him when he’d set out to find Mel again—to beg her to stay in his life.

He stilled. Thrust his hands deep into his trouser pockets. Stood there immobile, unreadable. Then something changed in his expression. He seemed to stand straighter—taller.

He looked at her lying there, her body ripening with their baby...their child-to-be.

‘I want a new freedom,’ he said. His voice was different now—resolute, adamant. ‘The freedom not to be scarred by my parents’ marriage—not to be fearful of repeating their mistakes. The freedom, Mel, to say finally what I have crushed down up to now, because I don’t want to put on you what you do not want. You want your freedom—honoured and preserved—and I won’t try and hamper you, or constrain you, or curtail you in any way. I know how hard-earned it is, how well deserved it is. You have your scars, too, Mel, but for all that I still want a new freedom.’

He paused, took a razor-edged breath. Then spoke again.

‘I want the freedom to say this, Mel.’ He took another breath, just as sharp, and absolutely vital to his existence. ‘You said if I hadn’t known about the baby we could have been free of each other.’

Between them, the silence stretched. Mel could not speak, could say nothing at all, for suddenly there was no breath in her lungs—no breath at all—and still the silence stretched between them.

Then... ‘I don’t want to be free of you.’ Nikos’s voice seared into the silence. ‘When I saw that car hit you—oh, God, I thought you were dead. I thought you were dead! That I’d lost you for ever. And it was the worst moment of my life.’

It felt as if his heart was being impaled, speared again by the terror he’d felt as he’d watched her crumple to the ground. He relived that moment of absolute nightmare, knowing with grovelling gratitude to all the powers-that-be that he’d been spared. Knowing with a blaze in his head, in his heart, that he could not go on without speaking.

He surged on. It was too late to stop now—far, far too late.

‘I want you to come back to me so much. I can’t help hoping...hoping against hope...that despite everything—despite all that you’ve ever said to me—you might just—just...’ He took a final ragged breath. ‘Just want to come back to me. That you might just,’ he said, and his eyes could not leave hers...not for a second, not for an instant, ‘want to make your life with me.’

He had said it. Finally he had said it.

His heart was bared now, and it was beating for her and her alone. And if she spurned it—if she looked at him with pity, with rejection, after hearing words that had only made her want to flee from him the more—then he would bear it. But if he didn’t put his words out there, then she might never know...never guess...just what he felt for her.

‘I don’t want to be free of you, Mel. I can’t be free of you. You’re in my head, and in my thoughts, and in my blood. You’re in my heart, Mel...’

His eyes were blazing...the blood was roaring in his veins.

‘There’s only one freedom I want, Mel. I want to be free to love you.’

There was silence—absolute silence.

Nikos’s gaze lasered down at her, willing her to speak. To say something—anything. But she simply lay there, her face as white as ice. Then he saw slow, thick tears start to ooze from beneath her eyelids.

He was at her side in an instant—a fraction of a second. Seizing her hands, clutching them to him.

‘Mel! Don’t cry—oh, my darling one, don’t cry. I’m sorry—I’m sorry that I said all that to you. I should never have burdened you with it.’

But she only wept more, and he had to scoop his arm around her shoulders and cradle her against him. She wept into him—tears and tears and more tears. He soothed her hair and held her close, and closer still. And then, somewhere at his shoulder, he heard her speak. Muffled and tearful.