him was enough to set her skin on fire with awareness. Having to tolerate his touch—the touch of a man who hated her and made no effort to hide it—was too much to endure.
‘Nobody said it would be fun.’
He spun her around as easily as if she were made of balsa wood rather than flesh and blood, using his size to counteract her resistance and make her move with him the way he thought she should.
Exasperated, she took a breath and immediately wished she hadn’t, her lungs suddenly full of the scent of the man, the very essence of him captured in one ill-timed gasp for air. She turned her head away, so desperate to find somewhere unpolluted with his scent that she missed yet another step, and their feet collided and clashed. He answered by hauling her even closer so she was plastered from breast downwards against his body, her legs so close to his that she had no choice but to cede to his control. ‘What are you doing?’ she protested, pushing back her shoulders to try to reclaim some space between them.
‘Attempting to look like a couple.’
‘We’re not a couple.’
‘We could at least try to move in the same direction at the same time,’ he growled. ‘Just dance.’
He didn’t say anything after that, and for that she was grateful. So she tried to concentrate on the music and forget all about the way her skin tingled where their bodies met, tried to disregard the warm puff of air that signalled his breath teasing the coils of her hair around her ear. But there was no forgetting the feeling of skin against skin as he held tight to her hand, no ignoring how strong and warm the body plastered next to hers felt. And no amount of music would ever be enough to let her forget exactly who she was dancing with.
So she closed her eyes, wanting to shut off at least one of her senses. It was a mistake, the action just heightening her awareness of him until all she knew was the feel of their bodies swaying together to the music as he expertly guided her around the floor. Somehow, in the midst of flying sparks and backbiting, their bodies had found some kind of synchronicity, and in spite of him being the last person in the world she wanted to be with, the way his body moved against hers was intoxicating.
She could feel an underlying tension to his steps as if every movement was a battle, and yet his moves were masterful, long lean legs powering his big body around the floor as smoothly as a professional. And in spite of herself, in spite of her own deep-seated tension, she felt herself relaxing into him.
Why fight it? It was all for appearances, after all. Soon they could go back to being enemies. Soon this momentary respite in their battle would be over. But at least for now there was a kind of truce, where time and resentment were suspended in the magic of the music and the dance. And the thought came from nowhere that if it felt this good to dance with this man when he hated you and you hated him, how much better must it feel if they actually loved each other?
She jerked her head away from his shoulder, snapping her eyes open and her thoughts back from the brink. She had no right to ask such questions. No right to wonder anything except when this interminable ordeal of being in Yannis’s arms would be over. What she needed was a distraction from her thoughts, and conversation was the only tool she had to hand.
‘I take it you’ve never married.’
She felt his intake of breath rather than heard it, felt it in the brief falter in his step and the slight jerk of his head above hers. ‘Not yet.’
‘No need to sound defensive,’ she responded with a nerve she didn’t know she possessed. ‘I’m sure there’s hope for you yet.’ Couples began drifting onto the dance floor around them, men and women with smiling faces in dusted-off suits and brightly coloured Sunday-best dresses. ‘So why is it proving so difficult?’ she persisted. ‘What is it you’re looking for in the woman of your dreams that’s proving so elusive?’
‘I don’t see a ring on your finger.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘And I haven’t?’
‘Touché. Rafe told me you were driven to succeed. Tell me, when will you have amassed enough millions that you can settle back and relax?’
She felt his fingers tense around hers.
‘I thought you had a headache.’
‘It didn’t get me out of dancing. Why should it preclude me from conversation?’
He spun her around a couple who cut across their path, the sudden motion leaving her momentarily breathless and giddy, her fingers biting into him for support. ‘Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t,’ she managed once they’d settled into a steadier rhythm again and thinking that if she kept talking, he might not notice how desperately she’d just grabbed for him. ‘I know people have always liked to label you and Rafe as playboys, but of the two of you, somehow I always picked you for a family man. I would have expected you to have been married long before now.’
‘Maybe I should have been!’ His voice was gruff as his feet ground to a sudden halt. He looked around at the couples filling the dance floor, as if assessing whether they’d done enough to satisfy their duty, before releasing her suddenly as if deciding they had. ‘Now you can go.’
CHAPTER TWO
WOMEN and headaches. Women with headaches. Who needed them?
Yannis tugged at his tie, then removed his gold and onyx striped cufflinks and let them clatter to the bedside table as he kicked off his shoes, taking in the empty suite and the king-sized four-poster bed with more than a touch of regret.
He could have brought Susannah. He hadn’t had to terminate their arrangement when he had, even if it had made so much sense at the time. Apart from her own tendency to play the headache card, it was always a risk, he knew, taking any woman to a wedding and expecting her to come away without thoughts of wedding gowns and honeymoons planted in her head.
But if he had brought her, at least he’d have someone here now. Someone to rub his shoulders and massage his temples and soothe this other throbbing part of him… Kolasi. Why the hell he felt like sex when he’d had to endure the worst night of his life was beyond him.
No, not the worst night of his life. That black night and the explosion of events it had detonated belonged to a time thirteen years ago. Tonight might have been uncomfortable, unpleasant at times, but nothing could surpass that poisoned night.
Still, surely he deserved some kind of compensation after having to face Marietta again? He reefed off his shirt and slung it to the floor before launching himself onto the bed, gazing unseeingly at the canopy above his head.
She’d taken offence to his comment that she’d changed, but there was no denying it. She’d grown into her body in the intervening years, her breasts fuller than he remembered, with hips that balanced their weight and rendered her shape more womanly than before.
He closed his eyes, but the pictures were still vivid of Marietta lying naked in his bed, her blonde hair like a halo around her head, the dip of her slim waist and the spring of blonde curls at the apex of her thighs, and the unmistakable mark on her breast where his teeth had bruised her perfect skin…
And yet it was the look in her eyes that had burned deeper than any memory. Wounded and hurt as he’d banished her from his bed and from his life.
He
