“Why would I care about that?” Aristides had responded.
Now, every time Stavros thought of his mother’s heartbreak, how hard she’d tried to love her husband through his betrayals, how hard she’d worked to try to support her child when the divorce had left her with nothing but custody of him...he was furious. His mother had died from overwork and grief, as much as the cancer that had claimed her life.
No wonder, when Stavros had gotten his own diagnosis, he’d been so sure he would obviously die. How could he live, when his mother—so much better and kinder than he—had not?
Setting his jaw, he stared out bleakly at the sea. The sun was setting, leaving a red trail against the dark water that looked almost like a trail of blood.
It was a strange irony that he had lived. And now he had a son of his own. He would not abandon Freddie. He wouldn’t leave Holly to raise their son alone.
But how could he convince her to let him into their lives?
When Stavros had decided to bring her here from Switzerland, he’d been sure all he needed to do was spend a little time with her to make her see things his way.
But she’d shot him down every time he’d tried to speak with her on the jet. He didn’t blame her. He was totally off his game. Being back in his childhood home had thrown him in ways he hadn’t expected. Now, just when he most needed to be confident and powerful to win her, he was instead feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.
He hated it.
So how could he convince Holly? What could he do or say?
Sex wouldn’t be enough. He’d felt the way she shivered when he “accidentally” touched her, seen the way she licked the corners of her mouth when he looked deeply into her eyes, as if waiting for his kiss. She wanted him.
But she didn’t trust him. She refused to share a bedroom with him. Bedroom? Hell, she wouldn’t even let him hold his son.
No mere charm, no regular seduction, would win her now. So what would?
Leaning against the balustrade, staring out at the sea, Stavros took a deep breath. Hearing a noise, he looked behind him.
And gasped.
Holly had come out on the terrace looking like a goddess of beauty, Aphrodite rising from the sea. She was wearing a simple white sundress, exposing her bare shoulders and legs to the pink light of the setting sun. Brilliant red hair tumbled over her shoulders like fire as she walked toward him in her sandals.
His heart lifted to his throat.
Coming close, she looked up at him, her green eyes big, her dark lashes trembling with emotion. “Good evening.”
“Kaló apógevma,” he replied. He held out his arm.
Ignoring it, she went straight to the table, without touching him.
Following her, he pulled out the chair. She sat down, her lovely face expressionless. As he politely pushed the chair forward beneath the table, his fingers briefly brushed the soft bare skin of her back. He felt her tremble, which he’d expected.
But he trembled, too, which he hadn’t.
Going to his ow
n seat on the other side of the small table, he opened a waiting bottle. He paused. “Wine?”
“Just a taste.”
He poured the white wine into two glasses, then passed one to her. His fingertips brushed hers, and again he felt her shiver. Again he held his breath.
Then she leaned back in her chair, looking away as she took a single sip of the wine, then placed it back quietly on the table.
No. Desire would not lure her this time.
Stavros lifted the silver lids off their china plates, and saw lamb and rosemary and potatoes. Sitting in the seat across from her, he sliced the lamb cleanly with his knife and chewed slowly. “You should try this. It’s delicious.” He smiled. “My favorite dinner from childhood. I can’t believe Eleni remembered.”
“She seems to think a lot of you.”