Rumors Behind the Greek's Wedding

And on that cryptic note, she drew Byron away towards the back of the yacht, where he could see a smaller speedboat had slunk through the barrage of press boats following in their wake, up behind the yacht, and was being frantically moored out of the way of the jet stream of the engine.

Célia looked up at him, the concern clear in her face, and he couldn’t help himself. He needed it, he needed her. His lips crashed down on hers, shocking them both, each feeding off the adrenaline, drawing strength and more from the heady impact of the kiss.

CHAPTER NINE

DUSK HAD FALLEN, casting the sea about them in an inky darkness that was pierced by the bright lights strung overhead. The deck was still full of guests, though the staff weaving through them with silver trays of champagne and canapés had lessened in the last hour as Célia and Loukis’s departure grew closer.

A boat was to meet them and ferry them to Loukis’s island home while the yacht returned the guests back to the port at Piraeus. Célia drew the silk wrap around her shoulders to ward off the sea breeze, undeterred by the large heaters placed strategically across the deck. She wasn’t sure what had passed between Loukis and his mother, but ever since they had left, her fiancé-for-now had been distant. Oh, he’d played his part well, smiled and laughed with the guests, pronouncing him the happiest man, the luckiest. But that kiss had been full of so much more than expediency or efficiency to communicate their ‘engagement’. It had shocked her, the ferocity of need that whipped through her, that she felt from him. Had it not been for the wolf whistles that had cut the kiss short, she would have been lost. Lost to him and to whatever it was that he had called forth.

And since then, he’d remained just out of reach. Never staying long in the same circle she was, hovering some distance away, ready with some excuse to withdraw. Having become so accustomed to his touch, his presence, the feel of him at her side, Célia felt strangely adrift. As if she’d done something wrong. As if she was being punished, or denied something, without explanation or understanding. It had nestled into the space she kept reserved for her father and her ex. And she hated it.

Had he too realised what she had? That they had spent the entire evening lying to their friends, their loved ones? That the happiness of the guests had started to grate because they were celebrating something that was not to be? Célia’s heart ached a little at the thought and she chastised herself for it.

One of the reasons she had been happy to agree to Loukis’s demand was because she would know where she stood. That he would not demand anything more than appearance. That there were clear lines that neither would broach.

But she wouldn’t lie to herself. Not now. She knew her body’s reaction to Loukis. She knew that she had somehow come to want him more than anything she had ever experienced before. In the last few weeks she had understood, appreciated and even liked him more for his need to protect his sister. The kind of protection that had never been afforded to her. She wanted to know what that was like. To be able to rely upon a man so strong in his conviction, so powerful, so...enthralling.

She had come to want to be the woman he saw. The proud, accomplished, driven woman who was just as powerful as he. And as she tried that woman on for size she was surprised to find how intoxicating that sense of power was, how...hedonistic.

It was with painful irony that she realised this just as Loukis seemed intent on withdrawing from her and she now looked upon their retreat to his island estate with trepidation. She knew what she wanted...but would he give that to her? She was not naïve. She knew that she had seen the flame of arousal and need in him. Knew that he was affected as she had been, not just by the kiss earlier, but each touch and caress that drew them inexplicably towards a point of no return. But she could also sense the barrier between them. The one that held him on one side and her on the other—an immovable wall that she wanted to tear down. But could she risk it? Could she give into her desires, but still protect her heart?

Her heart wasn’t involved, she told herself sternly. It wasn’t what Loukis wanted and it certainly wasn’t part of the deal. The irony was that although he needed the perfect fiancée, it wasn’t real...so perhaps she didn’t need to be so perfect. And it was precisely that which gave her desires, her wants, free rein.

A smartly dressed man in a Captain’s uniform appeared at her side, informing her that it was time. Célia knew he meant that the boat had arrived to whisk her and Loukis away from their guests, but she couldn’t help but feel that it was also some internal battle cry. That it was time. For her finally to ask for what she wanted, to demand it from him.

The guests laughed as Ella gave Célia one last hug, shouting demands to Loukis to bring her friend back safely, as if they were going on a holiday or, worse, that he might actually keep her. For ever.

The words hung in Loukis’s mind, taunting him. He shouldn’t have done it. The kiss had been over three hours ago now and he could still taste her. Feel her lips beneath his, the spike in his adrenaline washing away the bitterness of his encounter with Meredith, consuming all his thoughts and focus on the sensual delight Célia offered. She had returned his kiss with a fervour that had both shocked and aroused. Until the wolf whistles of the guests on the yacht had cut through the moment of madness.

He hadn’t touched her since. Not even in the little ways he had become accustomed to doing, in the name of...he had been a fool. Lying to himself. Those touches had nothing to do with her getting used to him and had been only about him laying a hand on her. Teasing himself, testing himself, trying to prove to himself that he wasn’t the playboy any more. That he could resist temptation.

In the last three years he had resisted the temptation of many beautiful women. He was most definitely not the reckless playboy of his youth. The problem was Célia. Not him. She had called to him like a siren from the very beginning. Even now, as he waved goodbye to the guests from the speedboat moored beside the yacht, he remembered their first encounter. She had presented an unusual challenge and, despite the hideous beigeness of her T-shirt at the time, he had still seen the beauty she worked so hard to hide.

But the challenge had morphed in the last few weeks, until the bright point of its edge had cut through the sensual miasma between them and he’d realised that the real threat would be to act on his desire for her.

The way you look at her...

His mother’s voice taunted him even as he did take his fill. The yacht’s Captain had taken her arm and was helping her down into the speedboat beside him. He observed a brief glimpse of smooth pale skin between the high skirt and the cropped top she wore, the way her hips swayed as she took her first steps towards him and the smile across her features and a thrill in her eyes he wanted to turn away from. For it was not excitement at the boat ride towards his island home, but something else. A deeper, darker pull, tempting him. Taunting him.

But the risk was too great. Hadn’t Meredith shown that tonight? Nothing could come between himself and his custody of Annabelle. Not even the woman coerced into helping him get that very thing.

As he pulled down on the throttle of the boat he was piloting himself, he relished the roar of the engines, hoping that in some way they would burn away the ferocious need that held him tight in its grip.

* * *

They had moored at a jetty after about forty minutes on the speedboat. The noise from the twin engines making any form of communication impossible. Not that Célia had tried. She might know her own body’s desires, but she could also tell his. Loukis had built a wall between them ever since that kiss. One that she wanted to tear down.

It was as if a line had been drawn in the sand—one she would readily cross, yet he remained on the other side. But it was his fault. He had started this, he had drawn this impossible need from within her and now she was angry. Angry that he was seemingly walking away.

Once again, his automatic sense of chivalry had been lost as he forged ahead up the dark path, leaving her to follow in his wake. Célia had been shut out before, so many times that the feeling was painfully familiar. But she wouldn’t have it. Not this time.

As Loukis opened the front door to a sprawling estate, she saw none of the beauty and opulence she had come to expect from Loukis. She saw nothing but his back as he walked further into the property she really couldn’t care less for.

‘Don’t do this. Don’t ignore me,’ she called after him as he stalked through the dark rooms offering only shapes in the gloom to identify their use.

‘The bedroom is upstairs. There’s no one here, so you can—’

‘Don’t. Ignore. Me.’ The words held a barely leashed anger that had been brewing long before she had met Loukis.