The Dimitrakos Proposition

‘I haven’t behaved very well,’ Acheron muttered in a harsh driven undertone. ‘I am trying to make amends.’

‘Pity’s pity,’ Tabby told him, unmoved by that argument.

Acheron came down on the bed beside her. There was something wild about the glitter in his seething golden eyes as he gently knotted one hand in the fall of her golden hair and closed his mouth hungrily over hers. He sent a jolt of such savage hunger rocketing through her that she froze in sheer fright.

‘Does that feel like pity?’ he growled.

Tabby made no comment because she could barely breathe. She wanted him to do it again and for longer and was only just able to keep her hands off that lean, powerful body so very close to hers for the first time in a week. One little touch and he made her feel like a sex addict ready to run scarily out of control. In sudden retreat, she dropped her head and then mercifully they were interrupted by the entrance of a woman carrying a tray.

‘You need to eat,’ Acheron told her unnecessarily.

With his assistance, Tabby leant back against the pillows and lifted the knife and fork. She literally didn’t dare look at him again, couldn’t trust herself that far, knew that she couldn’t risk reliving that burning, driving sensation of sexual need in his presence. Hungry though she undoubtedly was, she had to force herself to eat because the sheer level of tension holding her taut was suppressing her appetite. She ate in silence while Acheron paced restively round the big room, constantly drawing her eyes until she remembered that she couldn’t afford to look, and in fact had to blank him out to stay in control. And what did that say about her? Was she really that weak that she couldn’t withstand him? This guy who had virtually ignored her for the past week? The same one who had slept with her and then backed off at supersonic speed? Shame engulfed her, increasing the exhaustion she had been fighting to contain.

The tray was removed from her lap. Her lashes drooped, eyes so heavy she literally couldn’t hold them open any longer.

‘Get some sleep,’ Acheron urged, and for once she was in the mood to obey.

* * *

Tabby awoke with a piercing need to go to the bathroom, eyes flickering open on darkness and a strong feeling of disorientation. She struggled to sit up and gasped in dismay at the pain that shot through her ankle while she stretched out a wildly flailing hand in search of a bedside light. Mercifully she found the switch attached to a hanging wire, and light illuminated the bedroom a scant second before the male lying on a sofa against the wall leapt upright.

‘Ash?’ she whispered in disbelief. ‘What are you doing in here?’

Acheron was bare-chested and barefoot, low-slung denim jeans clinging to his lean hips. Her startled gaze clung to the muscled expanse of his magnificent bronzed torso and then flicked guiltily higher to take in the dark stubble masking his lower jaw and the unnerving intensity of eyes that glittered like black diamonds in the low light. ‘I couldn’t leave you in here alone.’

‘Why not?’ Tabby queried, her face hotter than fire as she forced herself to swivel her hips and shift her good leg off the edge of the bed. ‘Why would you sleep on a sofa for my benefit?’

‘What on earth are you trying to do?’ Acheron demanded, striding across the room.

‘I need the bathroom,’ she breathed between gritted teeth, mortification rolling over her like a tidal wave.

‘You are so stubborn, koukla mou. Right now, you need help and I didn’t want to put a stranger in here with you,’ he admitted impatiently, pushing the walking stick resting against the bedside cabinet into her hand and then slowly pulling her upright to take advantage of its support. ‘Now go slow or you’ll hurt yourself.’

But Tabby had already worked out that there was no way of moving her leg without her ankle hurting her and she simply clenched her teeth and got on with it, tears stinging her eyes as she hobbled clumsily towards the connecting door he had already opened for her benefit.

Acheron groaned something in Greek and carefully scooped her up into his arms to carry her into the bathroom and gently settle her down on the stool by the vanity unit. ‘Pain’s always worse in the middle of the night. You’ll feel better tomorrow,’ he predicted. ‘Shout when you’re ready to go back to bed.’

Reckoning that there would be two blue moons in the sky before she willingly asked for his help, Tabby studied her tousled reflection in the mirror in cringing horror. She was still wearing the make-up she had put on for dinner the night before and she had panda eyes, sleep creases on her cheek and hideously messy hair. How come he looked gorgeous in the middle of the night but she looked like the Bride of Dracula?

She glanced down and fingered the skimpy nightdress she now wore and swallowed back a groan. Acheron must’ve undressed her. So what? He had already seen her naked, she reminded herself doggedly, so he had seen nothing new and it was very silly to be embarrassed about it. Levering herself upright, she took care of necessities and then made use of the facilities to clean herself up as best she could. Feeling considerably fresher but pale and stiff with th

e amount of pain her every movement had made her suffer, Tabby hobbled back out of the bathroom.

Acheron was waiting to scoop her up and deposit her back on the bed.

‘I still don’t understand what you’re doing here with me,’ she said weakly, perspiration breaking out on her brow.

‘There’re only three bedrooms in the main house. I knew you wouldn’t want Amber staying away from you in the staff quarters and Melinda needed the third room,’ Acheron explained drily.

‘There’s only three bedrooms?’ Tabby remarked in amazement. ‘You really didn’t plan this move very well, did you?’

Acheron dealt her a fulminating appraisal in seething silence. ‘It’s three in the morning...let’s talk about it tomorrow.’

Tabby watched him move back towards the sofa and released her breath on a reluctant sigh. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, share the bed... It’s as big as a football pitch. I’m sure we can manage to avoid each other.’

Acheron swung round, his surprise unfeigned, but he said nothing. He switched out the light, and she lay very still in the darkness, listening to the sound of his jeans coming off and trying very hard not to picture what he looked like without them. The sheet moved, the mattress depressed and she forced herself to relax. She was safe as houses with him, she told herself wryly. Acheron was powered by reason, not emotion, not passion. He knew they were a match made in hell.

It was dawn by the time Tabby woke again. Soreness and stiffness assailed her with her first involuntary movement, and she screwed up her face in silent complaint. She turned her head only for her breath to hitch at the sight of Acheron lying asleep only inches away from her. His hair, rumpled into ebony curls, stood out in stark contrast to the white pillow case, his black lashes luxuriant fans that rimmed his strong cheekbones, his wilful passionate mouth full and relaxed. She couldn’t stop staring at him. The sheet was wrapped round his hips, the corrugated musculature of his bronzed chest and abdomen exposed as well as a long, powerful, hair-roughened thigh. The pure haunting beauty of his perfectly sculpted body grabbed her by the throat and shook her inside out while heat pooled in her pelvis. She wanted to touch him; she wanted to touch him so badly it hurt to be denied.