Innocent in Her Enemy’s Bed

Even she had become a crumpled form of herself, too fearful of further dents to let herself be all that she could be.

She didn’t know how to articulate that worry in a way he might accept, though. And they had arrived at his building. His warm hand closed over hers as they walked up and that innocuous contact had the ability to empty her brain of all those worries.

In fact, a girlish lightness entered her heart. They were going on a date.

It became their habit to go out for dinner every night. It was both a low stress event and high. They went to quiet, intimate places and talked about the wedding and travel and foods they liked. In that way it was companionable and easy.

But Leander did courtly things, holding her chair and asking her to dance.

Every time Ilona was in his arms, she struggled to hide that his spicy scent and the brush of his body made her bones weak, but she never refused. It was the most delicious torture to put herself through. She liked feeling his strength and his confidence as he led her around the floor. She liked how cherished she felt when his thumb brushed the heel of her palm or his splayed fingers shifted on her waist, strong and possessive.

It always made her long for him to kiss her or make a move when they got home, but he always stayed well on his side of the wide bed they continued to share.

Tonight, as he seated her and took her wrap, his thumb brushed into the hollow beneath her ear. His caress sent a tingling rush into her breasts.

“No makeup tonight. That’s good.”

The bruises, she realized with a sick lurch in her stomach. They had finally faded and she was glad they were gone, but there were plenty of other reminders of that dark night—the police report that had gone nowhere because Midas had an alibi, the fresh rumors Odessa had started about Ilona being in financial straits, the RSVPs to the wedding that were weighted far more heavily to Leander’s guests than to hers.

Leander’s warm hand gave her shoulder a squeeze. Affection? Reassurance?

It was gone too quickly for her to interpret. He circled the table, leaving her in a confusion of shy pleasure. He’d become difficult to read, offering those small, unexpected caresses before withdrawing. They left her bereft and swimming in yearning. She kept waiting for the fiery desire he’d shown her on the yacht to reemerge, but each time it sparked, he always seemed to douse it and move away.

While she quietly drowned in unrequited lust.

He paused with his hand on his chair and she looked up at him with her heart in her throat, wondering if he had any clue of her feelings. His handsomeness nearly undid her, with his alert profile, his tall bearing and wide shoulders, his nail beds going white as he tightened his grip on the back of his chair—

With a gasp, she swung her head around, expecting Midas to be swooping down at them, but it was only a woman of fiftyish years.

Oh! She had completely forgotten.

Ilona rose and smiled in flustered greeting. Now she felt extra foolish for the way she was mooning over Leander, but she was excited to have arranged this little surprise for him.

Her flashing glance revealed he was staring coldly at the woman, his mouth held in a grim line.

Ilona’s stomach plummeted and her blood went ice-cold in her veins. She’d made a mistake. A terrible one.

But Susan Vasilou was upon them, the moment unavoidable. Her hair was dark brunette with shots of silver, her build slight and graceful, her mouth wide like her son’s as she smiled in a way that struck Ilona as being forcibly bright.

“Darling.” She touched Leander’s arm and offered her cheek.

“Mother.” He bussed her cheek and shot a glower at Ilona. “You invited her?”

“I—” Culpability had to be painted all over her face.

“Oh, don’t scold her. I asked her to let me surprise you.” Susan tapped his wrist. “Yes, I’m joining them,” she told the server who appeared beside her.

While a chair and place setting were procured, Leander said, “I thought we would see you at the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.”

“I wanted a chance to have you all to myself.” Susan held out her hand to Ilona. “And to meet your beautiful bride. Please call me Susan.” Her Greek lilted with her British accent, but it was smooth and unhesitating.

Leander politely helped both of them with their chairs. This time, he didn’t touch Ilona as he did. He radiated so much irritation, her toes curled in her shoes with anxiety.

“Tell me about the wedding.” Susan turned her eager interest on Ilona. “How did you two meet? Tell me everything.”

Ilona practically choked on her tongue. Where to start? Not with the truth.

“Using Ilona is beneath you, Mother,” Leander said in a chilly undertone as they were left alone. “If you want to see me or know something about my life, call me.”