She deserves the truth, too. Don’t be like her husband. Don’t hurt when you can heal.
The words were in his dream, but they might as well have been a sledgehammer against his temple, for how they acted to wake him up. He pushed up in the bed and stared at the wall opposite, his mind spinning over that, his breath coming in rushed fits and spurts.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt Genevieve. His own pain was something he relished, something he sought at every opportunity. But Genevieve, he’d wanted to help. To heal, just as Isabella, in his dreams, had said.
The thought of Genevieve being back in Katanos, being hurt that he didn’t tell her about Isabella, thinking that it was in some way a reflection of her, rather than it being whohewas, and he knew he couldn’t leave things as they were. He’d had three long years to carry his guilt. There was nothing he could do for Isabella now, except suffer because of how he’d treated her. But at least he could explain to Genevieve. It was the very least he owed her.
Chapter Eight
KATANOS WAS Asmall coastal town, and though it was very beautiful, it was not really set up to cater for tourists. In summer, she could imagine it might be busier, but now, in winter, the place was quiet, populated sparsely with locals. She’d had her choice of the two hotels, and had opted for the smaller, because it had sweeping views out over the water. Now, however, she couldn’t look towards the windows without thinking of Nikos. In the distance, she was sure she could make out the cliff faces of his island, the dense forest that covered them, and any time she happened to glance in that direction, she felt a pounding of blood in her ears.
An anger and hurt, a twisting inside her to know she’d never see him again. It was what they’d agreed to, and she’d known it all along, but, despite her best efforts, he’d got under her skin.
She’d become used to him.
She’d allowed herself to like him. Maybe, in the very back of her mind, even to wantmorefrom him. How stupid was she? After everything she’d been through with James, she should have been giving all men a seriously wide berth. Not falling into bed with the first willing partner.
Then again, she’d never regret that.
If nothing else, Nikos had given Genevieve the first orgasms of her life. He’d shown her something vital and true about herself, that she’d always doubted—that she was a sexual woman, after all, capable of enjoying that act, of feeling intense pleasure. The problem hadn’t been with her. Maybe it hadn’t even been with James, so much as their shared chemistry. They just weren’t compatible, on so many levels.
Unlike her and Nikos.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain of that lanced through her. It was almost impossible to believe she wouldn’t see him again.
All night, she’d been disoriented. She’d drifted off to sleep, only to reach for Nikos, looking for the warmth of his huge body, for the pleasure of his touch, only to wake and remember his rejection, his cold acceptance of her leaving the island.
Finally, at dawn, she’d given up on trying to sleep and had slipped out of bed, pulled on a maxi dress and denim jacket, some dark sunglasses, and set off on a long walk, in the hope that, with exertion, she might be able to finally put him from her mind, once and for all.
* * *
Katanos was not a large town, and with only two hotels, and the influence of who he was, it took Nikos no time whatsoever to ascertain at which hotel Genevieve was a guest. It took even less time to establish that she’d left that morning, and not yet returned. Unused to waiting, and not enjoying the way locals stared at him in the foyer, he nonetheless settled himself in one of the chairs so he would see when she returned.
Discomfort was his constant companion, though. He was aware of the way people looked at him. His wealth had made him well known, but his reclusiveness made him famous. He’d dealt with this before. Any time he showed his face in Athens, he was treated like some kind of god.
He didn’t once consider leaving though. Having decided to speak to Genevieve, he had no intention of failing. Not again. And so, he waited, eyes trained on the door, ignoring the way every man and his dog stopped and stared, unable to believe that they’d seen The Nikos Konstantinou, with their own eyes.
* * *
She walked far longer and further than she’d intended, so it was after lunch by the time Genevieve made her way back to the hotel, thinking of the half-eaten sandwich in her small mini bar with a sudden pang of hunger. She had barely eaten since leaving the island, and now felt a little light-headed.
She was distracted as she approached the hotel, so didn’t notice the couple standing at the windows, peering inside. Even if she had, she would have presumed they were simply admiring the mid-century décor, or something equally banal.
But when she pushed in the door and her eyes glanced across the lobby, she saw him immediately. How could she not? On the island, there’d been something fitting about his size, his animalistic wildness. But here—even when dressed in dark trousers and a business shirt—he looked like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Quite literally. She stopped walking, almost unable to believe he was here. Unable to believe that she hadn’t conjured him up out of thin air. But then, of their own volition, her feet began to move, carrying her towards him, as he stood and started to stride over the orange carpet.
But as they walked towards one another, something was dinging in the back of her mind. A distant alarm. On the island, he’d been so elemental and raw, as if formed from the clay of the cliffs, the wildness of the ocean. Here, in these clothes, there was something almost familiar about him. She frowned, dispelling the thought.Of coursehe was familiar. They’d spent days becoming intimately acquainted.
‘You really do have a death wish,’ he muttered.
She startled, staring up at him. The sensible question of ‘what are you doing here?’ was usurped by, ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘One minute you are gallivanting around on a tiny sailboat in a wild storm, the next you are walking in the middle of the day, without a hat?’
‘It’s winter.’
‘It is warm and your cheeks are flushed. Are you burned?’
She stared at him as though he’d lost his mind. Could he really not work out why her cheeks were pink?
