He stood then, looking down at her with a set jaw. ‘I could not help my mother. I didn’t help my wife. Let me at least help you.’
Her heart then, already ripped to shreds by everything she’d been through, felt newly damaged by Nikos’s admission, and how he viewed himself.
‘Oh, Nikos,’ she murmured, shaking her head. ‘I can’t use your guilt like that.’
‘I will feel it, no matter what. At least this way, I have an option to make amends. Let me help, Genevieve. I’m begging you.’
As the words had formed on his lips, and he’d heard them in the room, he’d wanted to suck them right back in again. A fake engagement? And everything that meant? The idea of reappearing on the Athens society circuit, engaged to someone else? So Isabella would be relegated to a figment of his past. Worse, willingly creating the impression that he’d moved on from Isabella?
But the more he looked at Genevieve, and saw her desperate, stressed features, and thought of the man responsible for that, he knew he had to act as a shield for her. To protect her in a way he desperately wished someone had protected Isabella, or his mother.
More than that, he knew Isabella would want him to do this. She would be the first to counsel him to care for someone in need, to give of himself.
So when Genevieve looked up at him and nodded her agreement, albeit with a look of swirling doubt in her eyes, he knew for certain this was the right choice. Which was not the same thing as looking forward to it. All he wanted was to turn tail and run back to his island, to his solitude and cabin, to the life he’d had before Genevieve. And yet, strangely, he wanted to drag Genevieve back there with him, too.
Chapter Ten
THE TRANSITION FROMmountain man to billionaire—albeit rugged, enormous billionaire—happened far quicker than Genevieve wanted. When Nikos returned to her hotel room that evening, he’d shaved his island stubble, had his hair trimmed, and he wore a suit. The kind of suit she’d sworn she couldn’t imagine him in, because he’d been so at home in casual clothes. Or nothing at all.
Now, though, he wore something that looked custom-made. Well, it would probably have to be, given his proportions. Proportions that fairly engulfed her as they left the hotel and slipped into his waiting car. A man with dark hair was behind the wheel and he said something obviously deferential when they slid into the back seat—going by the tone, rather than the language, which was Greek.
‘I don’t know if I’ll get used to you like this,’ Genevieve said, a little breathily, as the car took off from the hotel.
He slid her a look that showed he felt the same, and, with her stomach in knots, they drove the rest of the way in silence. It wasn’t far, though. Perhaps ten minutes later, the car slid through a set of open gates then stopped, and when Genevieve looked out, she saw a gleaming black helicopter with a golden ‘K’ on the tail.
K for Konstantinou.
She fell into step beside him as he opened a hinged door and then held out his hand to help her up into the helicopter. She glanced at him a little nervously. ‘Do I need to lift you?’
‘I’ve only been in a helicopter once. I didn’t enjoy it.’
‘Do you want to drive instead?’
She looked at him and shook her head, forcing herself to be brave. This was the second phase of her life; she was no longer going to be shaped by fear. And in part, that was because Nikos was helping her grow beyond that. She couldn’t run and hide from James for ever; she had to face her demons, to face him.
‘No, it’s okay,’ she said, with renewed determination, as she put one foot on the ledge then swung herself into the supple leather seat. Nikos shut the door firmly then came around to the front pilot side, opening the door and swinging his frame in, before reaching across and threading her arms through the seat belts. Something she definitely could have done if she’d been a little less preoccupied by the whole helicopter thing.
It was when his eyes hooked to hers though, and his hand went between her legs, to retrieve the buckle, that she gasped audibly, gaze falling on him in a way they both understood. No matter what had happened since, no matter how complex this arrangement had the potential to be, this part was simple. He touched her, and her body reacted. And vice versa. She could see it in the way his hand lingered against her sex, the way his lips tightened, as though he couldn’t wait to kiss her there again.
‘Nikos,’ she murmured, without even knowing what else she wanted to say.
But she didn’t need to say anything. He took one look at her then crashed his mouth to hers, all dark and desperate, his hands roaming her body, her legs, her sides, her breasts, coming to catch her face and holding her right where she was, so his mouth could ravage hers until she was a whimpering, desperate mess. ‘Please,’ she whispered into his mouth, heat forming between her legs, breasts tingling with a desperate need for him to take her.
‘Soon,’ he promised, pulling his head away so he could see her properly. ‘I’ve never known anyone like you,’ he said, but with such darkness that she knew, in a way, he wished he hadn’t met her. Because she threatened the life of solitude he’d built. She made him want what he wished to refuse himself.
She lifted a hand, curling her fingers over his cheek. ‘It doesn’t mean anything,’ she said, promising them both that, because they each had their reasons for needing to keep that in mind. ‘It’s just sex. It doesn’t change how you loved your wife, or how much you miss her.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw, and then he was pulling away, sitting in his own seat, fastening his seat belt before running through the pre-flight checks and getting the rotors spinning.
Genevieve’s sigh was swallowed by the sound of them lifting off.
To her surprise, he landed the helicopter not on a helipad or at an airport, as she might have predicted, but rather, squarely on the top of an enormous yacht, in the midst of what looked to be—going by the size of the boats—an incredibly prestigious marina. The rotor began to slow down, and Nikos flicked buttons and levers before removing his headset and turning to her, his expression now unreadable. ‘Ready,koukla?’
Her heart gave a little stammer as she contemplated that. It wasn’t too late to change her mind. Could she take another day, and try to work out how to explain this to James? But just remembering the way Nikos had held her—for support—in the lobby set her cheeks aflame. The chemistry between them had instantly flared to life and she had no doubt it would have been captured on camera by some nosy passer-by.
And for all she was determined never to rely on anyone again, there was a part of her that felt relief. Relief at the thought of being able to share her burdens for a while. She’d been alone so long, even within her marriage: aware, constantly, that everything was crumbling down around her and she had no way of fixing it. She’d missed her mother, her father, her old friends, her prospective career, and the man she’d thought her husband to be. Now here was Nikos, with his big broad shoulders, offering to help her. Offering to make her load lighter to carry, to help her manage her ex-husband’s response and mitigate his impact in her life.
She would pay him back whatever money was spent, once she was standing on her own two feet. That was a point of pride, and she was determined to do it. But for the rest? Maybe this fake engagement wouldn’t just help her. Maybe she could find a way through Nikos’s grief, too, and that awful cloak of guilt he carried with him. She was stepping into the second phase of her life; could she encourage him to do the same?
