The Kiss She Claimed From The Greek

Sofie shivered inwardly. She would never forget the way he’d commanded her the other evening. ‘I want you on your knees. Now.’ What had followed had shown her that up until that moment Achilles had merely been toying with her. Keeping her in the shallow end of the pool. But that night...taking him in her hand and then tasting his very essence, feeling him grow even harder against her tongue...had changed her. Matured her. Given her a sense of her own power and femininity like nothing else had until that moment.

He’d made himself vulnerable to her, and yet he’d never seemed more powerful and commanding. By the time he’d finally touched her she’d exploded into a million pieces. She still felt the shock of it now. The pleasure she hadn’t been able to contain.

And this...for him...was normal.

He gestured with his hand for her to come to him. Knowing that if she didn’t obey he would just come and get her, Sofie stood up and tried not to feel self-conscious when his dark green gaze dipped over her body, bared in all its disproportionately curvy glory in a bikini.

She sat on the edge of the pool a little away from him, and then squealed when he reached for her and pulled her into the water. She splashed inelegantly and spat out water, but she no longer cared how she might be compared with his other, much more svelte lovers because her legs were around his waist, breasts crushed to his chest, and his mouth was on hers, eclipsing every annoying thought.

‘Wow.’

Sofie couldn’t be more articulate than that. The scene before her was like something out of a dream.

The vast villa on a hill had all its windows and doors open. Music playing. The sun had set and the vast clear sky was painted in shades from orange to lavender. People milled around with glasses of sparkling wine in their hands. The scent of herbs and flowers infused the air.

Tables were set with elaborate floral centrepieces down the middle, groaning under the weight of the food being offered. Vast canvases of art were hung on huge walls inside and Sofie could see people appraising the paintings, looking very serious and appreciative.

‘What’s this event in aid of again?’ she whispered to Achilles.

‘It’s an annual private art event, with proceeds going to fund the arts in different communities. This year the money is going to fund scholarships for underprivileged students in London, Athens and Paris.’

‘Oh, that’s nice.’

A stunningly beautiful and impossibly tall black woman glided past Sofie at that moment, dressed in a silver trouser suit. It was only afterwards that Sofie recognised her as a legendary supermodel.

Sofie had felt her red cocktail dress with its deep vee was too revealing, but now she felt positively overdressed compared to what some of the women were wearing. Or not wearing. The dress was sleeveless, and gathered to her waist, from where it fell in soft folds to her knees. She wore matching red high-heeled sandals.

Achilles had surprised her by asking a hair and make-up stylist to come to the villa to help get her ready. She wasn’t under any illusions that, much as it was a nice gesture, it wasn’t necessary. Her own best efforts wouldn’t be up to par with a sophisticated crowd like this. As it was, she was half expecting a tap on her shoulder and to be escorted off the very exclusive premises.

When she stopped rubbernecking for a moment she realised that a couple were standing in front of Achilles. A tall and very distinguished-looking older gentleman and a woman who had to be his wife. Younger by a few decades. Closer to Achilles’s age. Blonde. Skin stretched across her face in a way that made it look totally expressionless. Cold blue eyes. Improbably pert-looking breasts under a sheath of what looked like liquid gold.

Sofie knew instantly who she was. Even before she felt Achilles tensing and pulling her closer.

‘Athena... Georgiou,’ Achilles said smoothly. No one shook hands.

The man offered a tight smile. The women spoke in Greek, and Achilles said with unmistakable steel in his voice, ‘I’m afraid Sofie doesn’t speak Greek.’

The women cast a dismissive glance at Sofie. ‘Forgive me. I shouldn’t assume everyone is multi-lingual.’

Ouch.

They exchanged pleasantries, laced with venom from Athena, and then the other couple were gone.

Sofie looked up at Achilles. ‘I think I’ve guessed who that was. The reason for our presence here this evening?’

Achilles grimaced. ‘Yes. Sorry for subjecting you to Athena’s very particular brand of toxicity. She’s determined to move on to a new husband and she’ll do anything—even paint herself as an adulterer. Because of course she ensured in the prenuptial agreement that she would still receive a hefty pay-out. But her husband isn’t going to let her go without a fight.’

‘What a lovely situation.’

‘Not an uncommon one. For every genuine marriage there are about a hundred as toxic as the Demetrious’s.’

Sofie balked at that. It made most of the marital strife she’d heard of look positively Disneyesque in comparison. Suddenly she was aware of the cynicism in the air like a scent. Aware of the women looking around them, eyeing up the men. The men with wives appraising other women. The general air of discontent.

She shivered a little and Achilles said, ‘You can’t be cold?’

She shook her head, ‘No, I’m fine. I think I’ll just go and look at the paintings for a minute.’

A man was approaching Achilles, looking very determined. Achilles said, ‘I’ll follow you in. If you see something you like, let me know. I’ll buy it.’

About a minute later, when Sofie was standing in front of one of the paintings and saw the price tag, she almost choked on her drink.

A friendly voice beside her said, ‘I had much the same reaction the first time I came to this event.’

Sofie looked around warily, and then had to look up at the tall woman beside her. Very pretty, with dark hair and blue eyes. Pale skin. She looked friendly. Eyes twinkling.

Sofie said, ‘You sound English?’

The woman nodded and held out her hand. ‘Guilty as charged! Lucy Levakis. And you sound Scottish?’

Sofie shook her hand. She smiled. ‘Yes, from Gallinvach—a small island to the very north of Scotland.’

Lucy frowned. ‘Isn’t that famous for one of Scotland’s highest mountains?’

‘Yes, Ben Kincraig—that’s it.’

Lucy let her hand go. ‘I’ve never been, but I believe it’s beautiful.’

Sofie felt shy all of a sudden, as she realised how polished and glamorous this woman was. ‘It is pretty.’

‘I see that you’re here with Achilles Lykaios?’