and Sofia? She hated the thought.
Sighing she turned to her bedroom, only to still when she heard Angelos’s voice, soft and disembodied in the darkness, coming from down the upstairs hallway.
‘Thank you, Talia.’
‘For what?’ She turned around, her heart bumping hard as she saw him standing in the darkened corridor. Moonlight streamed through the high windows, touching his hair with silver. She couldn’t see the expression on his face, but she felt his sincerity.
‘For making this day possible,’ he said. ‘For making me realise it was necessary. I do take your point, you know. Sofia needs me, even if I’m not...’
‘Not what?’ Talia prompted softly when he’d trailed off with a little shake of his head.
‘Not the father I want to be. The father I should be.’ He’d stepped closer to her, close enough that she could touch him if she simply reached out one hand. Her fingertips tingled with the need to do so, to feel his solid strength beneath her palm, to comfort him as well as herself.
‘You’ve said that before, Angelos, and I don’t understand it. I’m not sure I believe it. I know you love Sofia. Why can’t you be the father you want to be? The father Sofia needs?’
‘Too much has happened,’ he murmured. ‘Things that can’t be forgiven.’
‘Anything can be forgiven.’
‘Do you really believe that?’ His voice had sharpened. ‘Could you forgive the men who kidnapped you?’
Talia blinked, startled. ‘How can you compare yourself to those brutes?’
‘You don’t know me, Talia. You don’t know what I’ve—’
‘I do know you,’ she interjected, her voice turning ragged with the force of her conviction. ‘I’ve seen you these last few days, Angelos, and I do know you. I know you love Sofia. I know you can be the father she needs, the man I—’ She stopped suddenly, horrified by what she’d been about to blurt. The man I love.
‘The man you what?’ Angelos asked. He took a step closer to her, heat and intent evident in his hard stare.
‘The man I’ve—I’ve come to know,’ Talia answered, stammering in her embarrassment and anxiety. ‘I have come to know you these last few days, Angelos. And I... I like the man I know.’ And so much more than that. But she’d admitted more than enough already.
‘Talia...’ Angelos’s voice broke on her name, and then, before she could even process what was happening, he pulled her towards him, his hands hard on her shoulders as his mouth crashed down on hers.
It had been ten years since she’d been kissed, and then only a schoolboy’s buss. She’d never been kissed like this, never felt every sense blaze to life, every nerve ending tingle with awareness, nearly painful in its intensity, as Angelos’s mouth moved on hers and he pulled her tightly to him.
His hard contours collided against her softness, each point of contact creating an unbearably exquisite ache of longing as she tangled her hands in his hair and fit her mouth against his.
She was a clumsy, inexpert kisser, not sure what to do with her lips or tongue, only knowing that she wanted more of this. Of him.
She felt his hand slide down to cup her breast, his palm hot and hard through the thin material of her dress, and a gasp of surprise and delight escaped her.
That small sound of pleasure was enough to jolt Angelos out of his passion-fogged daze, for he dropped his hand and in one awful, abrupt movement tore his mouth from hers and stepped back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, his voice coming out in a ragged gasp.
‘No...’ Talia pressed one shaky hand to her buzzing lips as she tried to blink the world back into focus. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ she whispered. ‘It was wonderful.’
‘I shouldn’t have—’
‘Why not?’ she challenged. She felt frantic with the desperate need to feel and taste him again, and more importantly, not to have him withdraw from her, not just physically, but emotionally. Angelos didn’t answer and she forced herself to ask the question again. ‘Why not, Angelos?’
‘Because you are my employee, and I was taking advantage of you,’ he gritted out. ‘It was not appropriate...’
‘I don’t care about appropriate,’ she cried. She knew she sounded desperate and even pathetic but she didn’t care. She wanted him. She needed him. ‘I care about you,’ she confessed, her voice dropping to a choked whisper, and surprise and something worse flashed across Angelos’s face. He shook his head, the movement almost violent and terribly final.
‘No, Talia,’ he told her flatly. ‘You don’t.’
And without giving her a chance to reply, he turned and strode towards his bedroom.
Talia remained in the darkened hallway, her body still throbbing with the need Angelos had lit inside her. She heard his door close, a soft, final-sounding click, and then with a shuddering sigh she turned towards her own bedroom.
She peeled off her clothes in the dark, gasping as the simple movements made the ache of need flare up inside her. She wanted Angelos to be the one to undress her, to touch her in ways she’d never been touched but now felt as if she couldn’t live without. His mouth on hers, his hands on her skin...
But he obviously didn’t feel the same way, and she’d humiliated herself in practically begging him to keep kissing her. In telling him she cared.
Cringing at the memory, Talia curled up on her bed, her knees tucked to her chest, and tried to will herself to sleep. It seemed to take an age before she finally fell into an uneasy, restless doze, only to wake to sunlight streaming through the shutters and the staccato sound of a helicopter whirring in the distance.
ANGELOS LEANED BACK against the seat in the helicopter and closed his eyes, forcing back the memories of last night, of Talia pressing herself against him, her mouth opening under his like the sweetest of flowers. It was better this way. It had to be.
‘Sir?’ The pilot’s voice broke into his thoughts and he opened his eyes, blinking in the bright sunshine of a summer morning.
‘Yes, Theo?’
Theo waved towards the tarmac surrounding the helipad, raising his voice over the loud whirring of the helicopter’s propeller. ‘There is a woman...’
Angelos leaned forward, stiffening in surprise at the sight of Talia, wearing nothing but one of her huge T-shirts and a pair of skimpy boy shorts, striding towards the helicopter, a look of fury on her face.
‘Cut the engine,’ Angelos said tersely. The last thing he wanted was for Talia to be hurt. The wind generated from the propeller’s blades was whipping her hair about her face in golden tangles, and her T-shirt to her body so Angelos could see every perfect, slender contour—and so could his pilot.
A
