Amy. If anything, that would have been a reason to keep his distance. No, this was something else. A kind of sexual starvation that he supposed was only natural, given he’d denied himself this pleasure and release for such a long time. But, Theos, a virgin?
He hadn’t wanted that! He had wanted meaningless, empty sex. A quick roll in the hay to satisfy this part of him, to obliterate his grief, to remind him that he was a man, a breathing, living man with blood in his veins.
And instead, he’d taken a young woman’s innocence. He’d been her first.
A sense of disbelief filled him as he watched her sleeping, her gentle inhalations, her lips that were tilted into a smile even in her sleep.
He’d always be her first. No matter what happened, no matter who she slept with, he was that to her.
It wasn’t meaningless; it never could be. Thank God he’d remembered protection. He’d have put money on the fact she wasn’t on birth control—why would she be? He could think of nothing worse than that kind of consequence from a night of unplanned pleasure.
And it had been a night of pleasure, he thought with a strong lurch of desire in his gut. Despite her inexperience, she had matched him perfectly, her body answering every call of his, her inquisitiveness driving him wild, the way she’d kissed and licked her way over his frame, tasting all of him, experimenting with what pleased him, asking him to tell her what he needed.
He groaned, a quiet noise but she stirred, shifting a little, so the sheet fell down and revealed her pert, rounded breasts to his gaze.
His erection throbbed against his pants. He took a step back from the bed.
One night, and dawn was breathing its way through the room, reminding him that this was not his life.
Hannah was an aberration. A mistake.
He had to leave. He had to forget this ever happened. He just hoped she would, too.
Hannah woke slowly, her body delightfully sore, muscles she hadn’t felt before stretching inside her as she shifted, rolling onto her side.
A Cavalcanti masterpiece was on the wall opposite, the morning light bathing its modernist palette in gold, a gold she knew would be matched by the sheer cliffs of this spectacular island.
But none of these things were what she wanted to see most.
She flipped over, her eyes scanning the bed, looking for Leonidas. He wasn’t there.
She reached out, feeling the sheets. They were cold. Her stomach grumbled and she pushed to sitting, smothering a yawn with the back of her hand. When had they finally fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember.
A smile played about her lips as she stood, grabbing the sheet and wrapping it toga style around her, padding through the penthouse.
‘Leonidas?’ She frowned, looking around. The glass doors to the balcony were open. She moved towards it, the view spectacular, momentarily robbing her of breath for a wholly new reason.
He wasn’t out there.
She frowned, turning on her heel and heading back inside. It was then that she saw it.
A note.
And there was so much to comprehend in that one instant that she struggled to make sense of any of it.
First of all the letterhead. It was no standard issue hotel notepad. It bore the insignia of the hotel, but the embossed lettering at the bottom spelled ‘Leonidas Stathakis.’
Leonidas Stathakis? Her heart began to race faster as she comprehended this. She didn’t know much about the Stathakis brothers—she wasn’t really au fait with people of their milieu, but no one could fail to have at least heard of the Stathakis brothers. To know that they were two of the richest men in the world. There were other facts, too, swirling just beneath the surface. Snatches she’d heard or read but not paid attention to because it had all seemed so far away. Crimes? The mob? Murder? Was that them? Or someone else?
She swallowed, running her finger over the embossing, closing her eyes and picturing Leonidas as he’d been the night before. As he’d stood so close to her and their eyes had seemed to pierce one another’s souls.
Her pulse gushed and she blinked her green eyes open, scanning the paper more thoroughly this time, expecting to see a few lines explaining that he’d gone to get breakfast, or for a workout—those muscles didn’t just grow themselves—or something along those lines.
What she wasn’t expecting was the formality and finality of what she read.
Hannah
It shouldn’t have happened. Please forget it did. The penthouse is yours for as long as you’d like it.
Leonidas
She read it and reread it at least a dozen times, her fingers shaking as she reached for the coffee machine and jabbed the button. Outrage warred with anger.
It shouldn’t have happened.
Because she hadn’t been what he’d expected? Because she hadn’t been any good?
Oh, God.
Was it possible that the desire she’d felt had been one-sided? Angus had been engaged to her and been able to easily abstain from sex, yet he’d been fooling around behind her back.
Had she been a let-down?
Hurt flooded inside her, disbelief echoing in her heart.
She’d wanted to come to Chrysá Vráchia almost her whole life, but suddenly, she couldn’t wait to leave.
A WEEK AFTER leaving the island, Leonidas awoke in a cold sweat. He stared around the hotel room, his heart hammering in his chest.
Hannah.
He’d been dreaming of Hannah, the woman he’d met on Chrysá Vráchia. He’d been dreaming of her, of making love to her. His body was rock hard and he groaned, falling back onto the pillows, closing his eyes and forcing himself to breathe slowly, to calm down. To remember his wife.
And nausea skidded through him, because he knew he would never forget Amy. But for those few moments, when he’d lost himself inside Hannah, when he’d pierced her innocence, and possessed her so completely, he had felt…
He had felt like himself.
For the first time in many years he had felt like a man who was free of this curse, this guilt, this permanent ache.
He had lost himself in Hannah and, just for a moment, he had lost his grief.
He swore under his breath,
