Heiress's Defiance Read online

  She swallowed. She’d felt close to him for just a second, like she understood something about him, but he’d just proven to her that she understood nothing. No, she’d never had to worry about her next meal or the roof over her head. But she had lived without much affection, and that seemed to be a poor existence indeed.

  Christos would not agree, she was certain. She pulled her hand away and folded it in her lap, suddenly self-conscious.

  He tipped her chin up with a finger and she found herself looking into deep, dark blue eyes. “Careful, Lucilla,” he said softly. “I might think you care.”

  She sucked in a breath, steadied herself. “Well, I don’t. I was just being polite.”

  He laughed. “You seem to do that a lot.”

  “Be polite? It’s the way I was raised.”

  “And I was raised to say what I think and take what I want.”

  Her heart thumped against her chest wall. “We can’t always have what we want, Christos.”

  He stroked a finger down her cheek, over the column of her neck. Her skin prickled. “Why can’t we?”

  She licked her lips as need and fear twined together in her belly. “Because sometimes it’s a very bad idea.”

  His gaze dipped to where her pulse beat in her throat, back up again. His eyes glittered with heat and promise. The lights flickered and she wondered insanely if he were somehow in control of them.

  “Sometimes. But sometimes it’s a very good idea. What if this is one of those times?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHRISTOS WATCHED HER throat move as she swallowed. Her pulse tripped along like a trapped butterfly’s wings. He wanted, very much, to press his mouth there and feel the beat of her heart. He felt the compulsion as fiercely as the storm raging outside, but he would not do so without her invitation.

  “I don’t know how you can say that,” she said. But she picked up the wine with trembling fingers and he hid a smile of satisfaction. She was not unaffected by this pull between them. That, at least, was gratifying.

  “Passion, glykia mou. It is all about passion. Our passion might spring from intense … disagreement, but it is still passion.”

  She arched an eyebrow then. “I can’t imagine how you see an affair between us going. Won’t your style be cramped when I don’t conveniently disappear from your life the next morning? You’ll have to face me over a conference table on a regular basis. It will be awkward.”

  “You’re making excuses, Lucilla. We don’t know what it will be like until we’ve traveled that path, do we?”

  “I’m still not convinced.” She pulled in a breath and stood, gathering plates and silverware. “I can’t even believe you have me thinking about this. Earlier today, if I could have vaporized you with a look, I would have happily done so.”

  That made him laugh. Because it wasn’t the usual reaction he got from women. “Then I should be thankful you cannot.”

  He stood and began to help her by closing up the containers again. They worked in silence, moving the dishes to the sink and the food to the refrigerator. When she walked away from the sink, he went over and started the water running.

  “What are you doing?”

  He slanted her a look. “Washing dishes.”

  Her jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?” He nodded toward the sink. “They’re dirty, aren’t they?”

  “I was planning to get them in the morning. Besides, it’s storming. What if we lose power?”

  “Then the dishes will be half done. But at least we can try.”

  Probably she had a maid come in and tidy up for her, but he didn’t know that for certain. He’d learned the pleasures of having domestic help a long time ago, but he was still capable of cleaning up a mess here and there.

  She came around and grabbed a towel while he began to wash. There wasn’t much—a couple of plates, knives, forks and the spoons they’d dipped the food out with—and it didn’t take long. She closed the last cabinet and set the towel down.

  “I can’t believe you washed my dishes. I should have taken a video so I could post it online.”

  He leaned against the sink and crossed his arms. “And do what? Prove that I wash dishes sometimes? Scandalous information indeed.”

  Her face lit with mischief. “Ah, but if I pointed out they were my dishes and you were secretly my love slave, this could be detrimental to your reputation. Women everywhere would wail and rend their garments. Men would no longer respect you in the boardroom.”

  She made him laugh. “What you fail to grasp, sweet Lucilla, is that I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me. So long as the job gets done—and it will—they can believe I wear ladies’ underwear in the privacy of my own home and paint my nails on weekends.”

  Her jaw was slack. “Do you?”

  He was almost offended. After he’d just told her he didn’t care, he did care when it was Lucilla wondering these things. He straightened to his full height and, gripping her forearms, tugged her against him. She was soft and warm, her body lushly curved. She did not pull away—nor did she push him. Her hands came up to rest on his shirt, but lightly.

  He knew the tide could turn, knew she could push him away a moment later, but he was going to take full advantage of her cooperation right this second.

  “The only ladies’ underwear I’m interested in is yours,” he growled. “And I don’t want to wear it so much as rip it off your body.”

  Her breath hitched in. “I still think it’s a bad idea.”

  “It’s only your brain that thinks that, Lucilla. Your body has a very different idea.”

  She dropped her gaze and studied her hands where they rested on his chest. Then she drew in a breath. He could feel her surrender before she said the words. “I know.”

  She was supposed to be the good girl. She was supposed to do everything right, be strong and come out on top at the end of the day. But here she was with Christos Giatrakos, the man she was working hard to topple, and all she could think about was how good it felt to be pressed up against him, her body melting into the hard angles of his.

  He was spectacular, damn him. Her brain might resist, but her body knew it and wanted more.

  She put her forehead against his chest and concentrated on breathing. He skimmed his fingers up and down her spine, his touch comforting and titillating at the same time. She could feel the tension building inside her as he continued to stroke her. But he made no move to take the moment deeper and her stomach began to twist with need and frustration.

  She wanted him to do something. Wanted him to be the one to make the first move so she could tell herself later that she’d been a victim of her hormones. That she’d operated on instinct rather than making a conscious decision.

  But all he continued to do was hold her while her nerves tightened.

  “I don’t understand this,” she said. “I’d just as soon see you drive off into the sunset as spend another moment watching you sit at my desk and issue orders like a potentate.”

  His voice was a rumble in her ear. “It drives you crazy, yes? Me in charge …”

  She tilted her head back to look up at him. “You know it does.”

  “And what will you do when I take charge in bed, Lucilla?”

  A shudder rippled over her. “Perhaps I won’t allow it.”

  His eyes glittered. “Ah, another battleground, then. I have a feeling it will be a most pleasurable and explosive battle.”

  She curled her fingers in his shirt. “Why is everything a battle with you?”

  “Who says it is?”

  “You have a fierce need to conquer, Christos. I’ve watched you do it a hundred times in a hundred different meetings. You make everything into a battle.”

  His brows drew down. He looked reflective. “Perhaps this is true. And yet I do not wish to battle you tonight. Yes, I wish to conquer. But in a good way. In a most exciting way.”

  “Why can’t we conquer each other?”

&
nbsp; “Perhaps we can.” He bent toward her then, dipped his mouth to her collarbone. Lucilla closed her eyes and sucked in a sharp gasp as his lips and tongue moved over her skin. Oh, she was insane to allow it. Insane to even contemplate going to bed with Christos.

  “I wish I understood what this is,” she said on a sigh.

  He lifted his head to look at her. “It’s sex, Lucilla.”

  “I realize that. What I mean is why. Why you?”

  “You keep asking this, and there is no answer. It simply is.”

  She frowned. “That implies we aren’t in charge of our choices.”

  He looked puzzled. “This is a choice. I’m here. You’re here.”

  She pushed him back when he would have bent to kiss her again. “And if I wanted you to leave?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll go.”

  Somehow, she didn’t want that, either. She let out a frustrated growl. It was damned inconvenient to want the man you desperately wanted to destroy. “Wouldn’t you be happier if I offered my resignation and went on a pilgrimage to Tibet or something?”

  “It might make my task at the Chatsfield easier, but the truth is I wouldn’t wish you anywhere else.”

  “You say the damnedest things sometimes, Christos.”

  He pulled her tighter to him, until she could feel all the contours of his body against hers. Hard contours, solid contours. Oh, my …

  She’d admired his body for weeks, slid surreptitious looks in his direction when he wasn’t watching—her and every other red-blooded female on the staff—and envied the women on his arm, though she knew she should not. It annoyed her a great deal to envy them, but she’d told herself it was simply because he did look like a Greek god and it was okay to appreciate that from afar.

  His hands slid down her back, over her hips. She thought he would kiss her but he did not. He looked at her very seriously while her heartbeat raced and moist heat slid between her breasts. “This is when you need to tell me to leave,” he said.

  “I know.” She dragged in a breath. She didn’t want him to let her go. But what choice did she have? She was so accustomed to denying herself that it came more naturally than the alternative. She dropped her hands from his chest and took a step back. “I—I think you should go.”

  “Do you really? Or do you just think you should say so?”

  She curled her hands into fists. Outside, rain slashed against the windows. “You must understand. I can’t sleep with you, Christos. Even though I want to.”

  He speared her with a look. “Very well.” Then he went and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, slinging it over his arm.

  Disappointment swirled inside her. She felt almost desperate with it. “Do you want the leftovers?”

  “You keep them.”

  He took his phone out as he walked toward the door. And that was the moment when she felt as if she would never be close to anyone again, as if everything she’d ever sacrificed had been for naught. She was lonely, isolated in her ivory tower of duty and devotion to her family and her career. When was it okay to take something for herself?

  When that something isn’t the one person standing between you and success.

  Dammit. Lucilla pulled in a deep breath as he reached the door. He stopped and shrugged into his jacket. And then he was looking at her again, those deep blue eyes searching hers. He reached out and slipped his hand along her jaw. “It was fun for once, Lucilla mou. No arguments, no anger. Perhaps we can get along, after all, yes?”

  Impulsively, she put her hand over his where it rested on her jaw. “I doubt it. You’ll make me angry tomorrow before I’ve had my first cup of coffee. But it was pleasant.”

  He smiled and her heart turned over. God, why did he have to be so unbelievably beautiful for a man? “I’m glad to hear you admit it.”

  The lights flickered again, longer this time, and she looked up at the fixture. Christos was looking, too. “It’s quite a storm,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “You don’t even have an umbrella.”

  “Do you care if I get wet?”

  She shrugged. “Not really. And if you could manage to get struck by lightning, that would really help me out.”

  His eyes widened. And then he laughed. “Bloodthirsty little thing, aren’t you?”

  She gripped his forearm. “I’m kidding, Christos. I’d like you to go away, but alive and well and unharmed.”

  “Well, thank you for that. I think.”

  “It’s definitely a compliment. A month ago, I wouldn’t have cared how you went away so long as you did.”

  “Then I’ll count my blessings.” He bent and kissed her on the cheek and her heart kicked hard. It was a sweet gesture, nothing sexual, but she found she missed the sexual.

  He opened the door and the lights popped out. All the sounds in her apartment—the hum of the refrigerator, the electronic buzz of several appliances—went completely silent.

  “You can’t leave,” she said after a long moment.

  He made a movement and a light flared. His phone. “I have a light. And I’ll call a cab.”

  “You didn’t drive?”

  “No.”

  “The traffic lights might be out, too. It’ll be chaos until they get the power restored.” The Chatsfield wasn’t far from here, but it had a generator and protocols in place to make sure the guests were not inconvenienced. Her building, however, did not have backup power.

  “Are you asking me to stay, Lucilla?”

  “Until the power is restored, yes.”

  “Are you afraid of the dark?”

  She snorted. “Hardly.” She wasn’t afraid of it, precisely, because she’d always made a game of it when they’d lost power at Chatsfield House. But then she’d been surrounded by children and servants. Here?

  It wasn’t her first power outage, or likely her last, but no, she didn’t like being alone when everything was so bloody still.

  Christos shut the door again. His phone still gave off a warm glow and she could feel his heat. It was comforting, in a way.

  “Well, I’m afraid of the dark,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “You are not.”

  He put an arm around her and guided her back toward the kitchen. “No, not really. I just thought it would make you feel happier if you thought I was.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You don’t care if I’m happy or not.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “Please.”

  “Or maybe I just like it when you smile.”

  “I smile. A lot.”

  “Not at me.”

  “You don’t do anything to deserve it, Christos. Now hold the phone up while I check the drawers for candles.”

  She found candles and a lighter. She lit those and set them on the island, and they returned to the stools they’d occupied not so long ago.

  “I like it when you smile,” he said, and her heart turned over.

  “You are smooth. No wonder you’ve bedded half of London so far.”

  He snorted. “Half of London? I wasn’t aware you’d noticed.”

  Heat prickled at the back of her neck. “It’s impossible not to. If you aren’t showing up at Chatsfield functions with a new woman on your arm, you’re in the gossip pages with them.”

  “I have no control over what those rags print.”

  “None of us do,” she said softly.

  “You are trying to make a point, I assume?”

  “Just that I know the Chatsfields haven’t given a good showing lately, but the papers often exaggerate just to make sales.”

  “I am aware of that.”

  She felt a pinch in her chest. “Cara is troubled, Christos. But she’s not bad. She’s not a disgrace.”

  “I never said she was. I merely sent her where her shenanigans would do the least harm.”

  “Vegas. Yes.” She pictured Cara in Sin City and wondered what the child she’d raised would be getting up to there. It worried her, but C
ara was an adult now and not best pleased whenever Lucilla interfered in her life.

  “You are worried about her.”

  It surprised her that he noticed. “Yes. She’s so young. And impulsive.”

  “The young usually are.”

  He said it in such a way that she found herself studying him, wondering what experiences lurked behind those eyes. “I wasn’t.”

  He snorted. “No, I can certainly believe that.”

  She had to control her voice not to show her annoyance. “What makes you say that?”

  “Lucilla mou, if you were in the least bit impulsive, we would have had gotten naked together weeks ago.”

  Heat slid through her belly. “You’re teasing me.”

  “I am. Somewhat.” He picked up the wine he hadn’t finished earlier and took a sip. “But it’s true. You are not impulsive. You think everything through, often too much.”

  “I’m not sure I like being analyzed by you.”

  He shrugged. “You cannot stop me from analyzing you. Only from saying what I find.” He leaned toward her, as if daring her to put a hand over his mouth. She did not. “And what I find is that you overthink too many things. Make decisions, Lucilla. Implement them. Learn from your mistakes and don’t make the same ones again.”

  She grew stiff. “You’re implying that I’m less of a manager than you and I don’t appreciate it one bit.”

  “This is not what I said. But if it’s what you take from my words …” He shrugged.

  Her insides clenched tight. “I’m thinking I should have let you stand outside and get soaked. Oh, and the lightning thing? I’ve changed my mind again.”

  Christos laughed. “If I were anyone else, you wouldn’t feel so insulted. You’re good at what you do. I didn’t say you weren’t. What I said was that you don’t go with your gut as often as you should. Sometimes, that’s all we have to go on.”

  She glared at him. “You really annoy me, Christos.”

  He slid his fingers up the inside of her arm, heat dancing in their wake. “But I excite you, too.”

  Damn him, it was true. He did excite her. Her skin tingled. Her stomach rose and fell like a boat on a wavy sea. She sniffed. “That’s beside the point. You can’t insult me and expect I’ll fall into your arms.”