Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

O DESSA WAS TOO consumed by the sensation of his near-naked body against hers to form words. And, really, what could she say that wouldn't tip this man still hovering on a dangerous precipice over the edge?

Was it only a few hours ago she'd teased him about his Neanderthal tendencies? She was witnessing them in full effect now. And, since they both needed time to come to terms with a day filled with glorious highs and disturbing lows, she let him work his way through his emotions.

He did that by first cleaning her grazes and then, leaving his boxers on, urging her beneath the warm shower. He washed her with a gentleness that brought another lump to her throat, quickly washing himself thereafter. Then he towelled her hair dry and wrapped her in a soft, thick cotton robe.

Once again taking her in his arms, he returned to the bedroom.

A tray had been delivered while they were in the shower.

Ares placed her in the middle of the bed and tugged the covers over her just as his phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen, and grimaced. She followed his gaze, saw it was his father.

His reluctance to leave her evoked a melting sensation she couldn't for the life of her harden. But perhaps it was okay, just this once, not to fight it so much. To bask in his care and attention to ease her ordeal.

‘It's okay. Answer him. I don't want him to worry.'

A layer of his tension visibly evaporating, he nodded.

Their conversation was mostly in Greek, but Odessa didn't mind. It gave her time to collect herself, to permit the hovering relief that she was safe. That her baby was safe.

A soft sound left her throat as she collapsed against the pillows, unable to quite shut out the worst-case scenarios whizzing through her brain. Her hand sliding over her belly, she sent up a fervent prayer of gratitude that none of them had come to pass.

It took a moment for her to realise that Ares was silent. That his gaze was fixed on her, and the same emotions she'd felt were reflected in his face.

She struggled upright, her heart thumping at the force of his reaction. An emotion she absolutely didn't want to read into for her own peace of mind.

‘Is he okay?' she asked instead, deflecting the heightened atmosphere between them.

A rough, bewildered sound left his throat. ‘You're asking after him when you should be concerned for yourself?'

She shrugged. ‘He's a worrier. And I suspect it's not fun when the people you care about are in trouble, but out of your reach. Besides, I can multitask quite well.'

Her attempt at humour fell flat, but she was beyond caring. What absorbed her attention was Ares, ambling closer, that gaze never straying from her for a second.

‘No, it's not fun,' came Sergios's disembodied voice.

Her jaw dropped when she realised the call hadn't been concluded. Ares's mouth twitched as he held out the phone.

‘He wouldn't hang up until he'd seen you.'

She took the phone, her smile wobbling a little when Sergios's worried face filled the screen.

‘Mikros?'

‘I'm fine. I promise.'

He nodded, but the reminder of what he'd been through was reflected in his sombre eyes. ‘It's my turn to say a prayer for you, like you did for me five years ago.'

She inhaled sharply. ‘How do you know about that?' she whispered.

‘Know about what?' Ares enquired.

She pressed her lips together, shaking her head at Sergios.

His was warm, benign, his smile all-encompassing. ‘Tell him, mikros .'

She raised her gaze to Ares. ‘When I found out about the accident I said a prayer for your father,' she confessed, and then, after a moment, she added, ‘And for you.'

Myriad emotions flashed across his face, too quick to read but all heavily weighted.

‘She did more than that. She lit a candle every morning and every night. And she petitioned the staff to do the same.'

Mortification and panic at this exposure of her emotions weakened her. ‘Sergios...'

The old man shook his head at her protest. ‘No, my dear. I won't be quiet about it. You defied your father to spend hours in the chapel, praying for me and my son. He deserves to know it.'

Her face heated and emotion clogged her throat, sending prickles to her eyes.

Ares's eyes flared, searched harder, then blazed with whatever emotions were moving through him. ‘Is that true?'

‘Do you want it to be?'

He looked poleaxed for a second, then fiercely intent. ‘Answer the question, Odessa.'

‘Yes. It's true,' she confessed in a whisper, dragging her gaze away, because the reminder of those three awful weeks when his life had hung in the balance was still viscerally heart-wrenching and something she didn't like to revisit often.

He took the phone from her, said a few words to his father, then ended the call. ‘Look at me, Odessa,' he commanded, his voice gruff and uneven.

She raised her head, boldly met his eyes even though she wanted to run. Shield herself from further exposure.

But that wasn't what she witnessed. He looked...nonplussed. Unsettled. And, probably for the first time in his life...uncertain.

As if she...Odessa...had shaken his foundations.

‘Why?' he rasped after several heartbeats.

Several unguarded reasons rushed to the tip of her tongue. She barely managed to bite them back. She'd revealed too much already.

She pursed her lips, debating not answering, then... ‘Because, whatever you think of me, I'm not a monster.'

For an eternity, he simply stared at her. Then he rose, strode away to the other side of the room. She should have been relieved he was dropping the subject, but all she felt was deflated. Then that charge he carried with him, that sheer vitality, infused her again when he reversed his course. Kept coming until he reached her.

Crouching beside the bed, his eyes teeming with the indecipherable emotions he seemed to be grappling with, he reached out, brushed his fingers down her hot cheek. ‘You're many things, agapita . Some I'm yet to fully discover, because it seems you can throw a wrench in my beliefs, but one thing you're most definitely not is a monster.'

He stared at her for another age before, leaning forward, he dropped a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

‘Efkharisto.'

‘Parakalo,' she answered, the response natural and automatic now.

But inside she was a mess, and the feeling that they'd turned a corner was unwilling to leave her frantic brain.

‘I can't believe Sergios got the butler to tell him about that,' she blurted, eager for a distraction.

‘He cares for you,' Ares said, his tone gruff.

That melting feeling grew warmer. Comforting. But it lacked something vital. Something she was fearful to hope for.

‘I know.'

‘He wants to return to Athens. I told him not to.'

She nodded. ‘It's not necessary if we're going back to Ismene soon.'

A look crossed his features, too quick for her to decipher. Then he was placing the tray on her lap.

‘You never got around to eating,' he drawled.

But she caught the trace of wicked humour in his tone. He, too, was attempting levity.

A small chuckle broke free before she could stop it. Then she curbed it when she heard the tinge of hysteria tingeing it.

Her eyes widened when she saw what was on the plate.

Souvlakis.

She wasn't going to question how this had been whipped up so quickly. Maybe it was relief, residual adrenaline, or knowing she was eating for two now, but her stomach growled again as the aromas hit her.

Folding warm bread around the slices of meat and gooey sauce, she bit into it.

At her soft moan of appreciation, Ares's eyes darkened.

He watched her eat two, then nudged a third towards her when she hesitated. She took it, eating more slowly this time.

When she was done, he removed the tray and tucked the covers over her. He watched her for another second, then brushed a kiss on her temple. ‘Rest now.'

The combination of life-changing news and the awful event that had followed had sapped her energy, and although it was barely evening, Odessa sagged against the pillows, her eyes already drooping by the time Ares's broad form disappeared through the bedroom door.

She slept fitfully, her rest disturbed by choppy dreams. Twice she felt hands soothing her, running through her hair, calming her as she fell back into sleep. When she woke a few hours later it was to find Ares pacing the terrace outside his suite, the phone plastered to his ear as he conducted a low, heated conversation.

Sensing her regard, he ended the call and entered.

‘Is everything all right?' she asked.

He glanced down at the phone with a frown, then slotted it into his pocket. ‘Not entirely, but I'm working on it.'

‘Was that the police?'

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. ‘The police chief is a friend. He's assured me that the idiots Bartorelli hired to assist him have ratted on his intention to kidnap you. He also made the mistake of committing the crime in Greece, not Italy. He has significantly less sway in my country, and I've ensured that his assets are not available to him. Your uncle, too, has been put on notice that if he lifts a finger to help Bartorelli he stands to lose substantially. Not that he needed much persuasion... Bartorelli out of the way suits him just as much as it does me.'

The speed of his retribution while she'd been asleep made her grip tighten on the covers. Was it the same swiftness with which he would remove her from their child's life?

‘So, in essence, you threw your weight around?'

His arrogant nod was unapologetic. Determination blazed high and formidable in his eyes. ‘Indeed. And I won't hesitate to throw even more around to get what I want.'

For her or for his child?

While she knew the feminist in her should rail against it, for the sake of keeping her child safe Odessa fully embraced that ruthless fortitude. But she vowed to herself that if—when—he attempted to use it against her, she would fight with everything she had. For now...

‘For what it's worth, thank you,' she said.

For some reason her words drew a dark frown, which he visibly shook off as he perched on the side of her bed. Her breath caught as he reached out to brush back her hair and caress her cheek.

‘How do you feel?' he rasped.

Odessa swallowed before she could speak. ‘I'm fine. I'm glad it's behind me.'

Again, shadows chased across his face. Then he stood. ‘Is there anything you need before we leave?'

Reminded that they were only supposed to be in Athens for her appointment, she shook her head.

‘ Kalos. We'll leave within the hour,' Ares said, and then, with another prolonged look, he returned to the terrace.

She got up and, ignoring the discomfort in her knees and arm, went to her own side of the suite.

Her ruined dress had disappeared—thankfully. Going to the closet, she selected a pair of wide palazzo pants and a white batwing top made of cotton so soft and luxurious Odessa was certain it had cost the earth.

But it covered her bruises, and with her deepened tan the colour looked good on her, and she greedily took the boost it provided, sliding her feet into heeled gold mules before adding gold hoops to her ears. A quick brush of her now dried hair before containing it in a loose bun, a spritz of her favourite perfume, and she was ready.

Returning to Ares's suite, she momentarily panicked—until she saw her bag and the sketchbook tucked into it.

Ares was waiting in the foyer when she came downstairs, his gaze latching on to her as if he needed to read her every expression. Odessa's face reddened and, forcing her gaze away, she smiled reassuringly at the hovering housekeeper.

Outside, the sight of an additional SUV full of mean-looking bodyguards made her grimace.

‘Is that really necessary?' she asked Ares.

A grasp of her hand, which he settled on his thigh, then a solid, implacable ‘yes' was all she got.

Until, after staring out of the window as the SUV bypassed the helipad and headed for the private side of the airport, she turned to Ares as the vehicle stopped in front of a large, sleek-looking jet.

‘Why the jet? Are we not taking the chopper to Ismene?'

He shook his head. ‘No. Change of plan,' he stated grimly.

‘Are you going to tell me what that plan is?' she demanded when he didn't explain.

His face was shuttered for longer this time. ‘Did you like it on Ismene?'

Unable to deny it, she nodded. ‘Yes.'

‘Then be assured you'll like where we're going just as much. Maybe more.' He held out his hand and beckoned her. ‘Come.'

Intrigued despite herself, Odessa took a deep breath and went.

Several hours later, she turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees on a lush green lawn, unable to catch her breath at the beauty that surrounded her.

They'd flown south, to the island of Zanzibar. A slice of heaven just off the coast of Tanzania, to her it had been a paradise destination only ever longingly explored on a map. Until now.

The long journey from the airport, with the windows down in their Jeep, had given her a breathtaking glimpse of the exotic island that offered an intriguing blend of African, Arabian and European cultures.

Like on Ismene, Ares's sprawling villa was poised on a glorious beach. But, unlike on Ismene, the swaying palm trees that bordered the Zanelis estate, the powdery white sand beneath her feet, the turquoise beauty of the Indian Ocean, the promise of exploration of coral reefs and the knowledge that there were now a few thousand miles between her and Vincenzo washed away her worries.

Well...most of them.

Ares had grown more brooding, insisting she rest, and absenting himself when she refused. And, unlike on Ismene, they didn't share adjoining suites. A sombre part of her turned downright despondent when she discovered that his suite was in the opposite wing from hers.

Deliberate or unintentional?

Odessa wanted to berate herself for reading too much into it, but since nothing was settled between them, and her instincts were clamouring more strongly than ever, she couldn't very well dismiss it.

And yet, over the next few days, every time she tried to broach the subject Ares knocked the wind out of her sails by snapping out of his mood and displaying the same disarming gentleness he'd provided the evening of her attack.

It toyed with her heart and emotions, making her doubt her own inclinations.

Thoroughly fed up, it drove her into his study a week after their arrival.

He'd left to make some work calls after their light lunch overlooking the ocean. But lying in bed, her senses refusing to settle as she stared up at the heavy saffron silk canopy surrounded by dreamy white muslin curtains that made up her gorgeous four-poster queen-sized bed, she'd suddenly snorted her impatience at herself and searched him out.

Botticino marble floors cooled her feet, but her palms were clammy when she lifted her hand to knock, her heart thumping hard in her chest when his deep, roughly husky voice answered.

He sat behind a desk, building plans and files strewn all over the massive surface.

‘Odessa.' Her name was tinged in surprise as he rose and met her halfway. ‘I thought were going to take a nap.'

‘So did I. Turns out I can't sleep when I have things on my mind.'

His brows pleated. Taking her hand, he led her to an armchair. Thinking he wanted to see her seated, Odessa was once again disarmed by his sitting down and settling her in his lap.

‘What things?' he asked.

Up until then, she hadn't even known how to broach the subject, or what to bring up first. Turned out her psyche was fully prepped.

‘Would you have sent me back to Vincenzo and Flávio if I hadn't agreed to have your baby?'

He tensed beneath her, but she refused to take back the question.

‘That doesn't matter now,' he said.

‘But it's not a no. Or a yes. Would you really have sat back and watched Vincenzo force me into marriage?'

Face set, his fingers absently brushed the almost faded grazes on her knee. If he sensed that it toyed with her breathing, he didn't give any sign of it.

‘No, I wouldn't have sent you back,' he admitted after a tight stretch of silence. ‘Does that satisfy you?'

She tried to stop her heart from singing. She failed. ‘Yes, it does.'

He caught her wrist and tugged her close, until she tumbled against his chest. Then his fingers spiked into her hair, training her attention on him.

‘Don't think that gives you any upper hand,' he rumbled in warning.

‘I wouldn't dare.'

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why do I suspect you don't mean that? That you're simply saying what you think I want to hear?'

It took monumental effort to curb the smile fighting to slip free. Just as it did to remain still within the magnetic forcefield of his arms.

‘Because you have a very suspicious mind?'

‘Stop wriggling,' he growled, his eyes dark and smouldering with so much heat she wondered why she wasn't engulfed in flames.

‘Then let me go,' she countered.

He didn't.

Instead, those eyes dropped to her mouth, and a groan slowly rumbled from deep within his chest. His lips parted and his warm, minty breath washed over her.

Everything tightened within her in howling anticipation. But just when she thought he'd claim a kiss, devour her in the way they both so blatantly wanted, Ares released her.

Her limbs were too leaden for her to scramble off his lap as fast as she'd fallen into his hold. Or perhaps it was the sting of rejection, despite her visceral awareness of his arousal pressing hot and heavy against her hip?

‘Do you not want me any more?' she blurted, before she could stop herself.

He stiffened, his eyes darkening dramatically. ‘What gives you that idea?'

‘Besides the very obvious altered sleeping arrangements?' she scoffed, although her voice emerged a little shaky.

For a long time he remained silent, his eyes hooded, his jaw set. Then he exhaled harshly.

‘You were attacked, agapita . Right under my nose. On the day I found out you are carrying my child. The day I discovered you prayed for me when I was...incapacitated. I feel that does indeed alter things a little between us.'

Her heart lurched. Did that mean he'd changed his mind about her?

‘In what way?' she asked, hope making her breathless.

His hands returned to her hips, tightened on her flesh momentarily before, almost reluctantly he released her again.

‘At the very least I don't want to visit my...needs on you. Unless you expressly wish me to.'

‘So you're saying the bedroom ball is in my court?' she ventured, at once touched and disappointed.

It was a hard thing for the domineering man she knew him to be to admit to, thus explaining his recent brooding. But Ares, after several moments, gave a grudging nod.

‘Ne.'

It wasn't entirely what she'd hoped for...but it was progress. She could build on it. And, while she wanted to throw caution to the wind and jump his bones immediately, she managed to rise, stay steady on her legs as she walked to the door, keenly aware of the need pulsing between her thighs.

But, more than that, she was entirely too conscious of the warmth burrowing deep into her heart. Those two profound sensations should have kept her moving, and yet her feet slowed at the door, her hand braced on the frame as her body pivoted to face him.

‘Ares?'

His eyes darted up from where he'd been staring at her bottom. ‘Ne?' he responded gruffly, the faintest flare of heat colouring his cheekbones.

‘For what it's worth, I appreciate you coming to my rescue then, too. Thank you.'

For the longest time he simply stared at her. Then he nodded abruptly, jerking forward and reaching for his tablet. ‘Close the door on your way out,' he rasped.

She left with her heart only just a touch more at ease. And, yes, she did realise how easily he'd regained the upper hand.

There were more subjects to discuss, of course. But they'd resolved one. She had over eight months before the baby came. The remaining obstacles would be tackled in time.

The tiny voice that taunted her, saying that she was burying her head in the sand, she strongly ignored, heading for the kitchen.

Most of the French doors and windows were thrown open during the day, letting the light, salty breeze weave its magic through the room. Odessa breathed in deeply and entered the kitchen, a strong yearning filling her heart.

The resident chef looked up, his friendly smile turning a touch wary, then almost comical as she relayed her request.

She was elbow-deep in her preparations when her skin began to tingle. She didn't need to look up to know who was striding towards her. His scent alone easily gained superiority over the aroma of rich bechamel sauce and ragu.

For a long moment Ares leaned against the marble counter, only raising an eyebrow to address her when her compulsion to look at him won.

‘What are you doing?' he asked.

‘What does it look like? I'm making lasagne.'

‘I have a house full of staff, including a Michelin star cook. Whom I'm told you have sent away?' He looked around, his brow twitching at the mild chaos around him.

‘Yes, I did. He's French. He doesn't make lasagne like my mother did.'

‘Your mother?' he echoed, with a slight softening in his eyes.

She nodded. ‘It's one of the few memories I have of us,' she whispered, then shook off the shaky emotion. ‘Anyway, she used a secret recipe I intend to pass on to my son or daughter. I can't have your chef around.'

She passed her hand over her stomach and his expression changed again. He looked disarmed. Shocked. Affected.

But a moment later his feelings were back under tight control, his gaze sliding to the melting, mouth-watering bechamel and the meat sauce bubbling gently on top of the stove. His tongue slid to the tip of his lower lip and Odessa was sure he didn't realise he was doing that.

She curbed a smile and didn't revel too long in the satisfaction welling inside her. Picking up a spoon, she scooped up a taste of sauce, blew on it, then held it up. ‘Try it.'

He tasted it, and cursed under his breath.

She bit her tongue to keep from smiling openly. ‘Is it that bad?'

His mouth twitched. ‘It's adequate.'

‘Hmm... Well, I'm guessing that's why you're licking your lips?'

He harrumphed. And Odessa knew she was at high risk of being lost when she realised that she thought it the sexiest sound in the world.

He remained silent as she finished layering the pasta and sauces and slipped it into the oven. Then... ‘Is this to be a regular occurrence?'

‘Why? Let me guess... You're going to object to me lifting a finger?'

He shrugged. ‘Lifting a finger, no. Exerting yourself too much, yes.'

She sighed. ‘I'm not going to be lounging about drinking fruit punch and demanding pedicures for the next nine months, so kill that idea immediately.'

Deeper amusement flitted over his lips before he shook his head. ‘I didn't think you would be. But I have an idea.'

She paused in tossing the salad, setting the tongs down almost warily. This was the first time they were having a conversation that wasn't either fraught with past recrimination or thick with sexual tension. It was almost...congenial. So much so Odessa was concerned the slightest wrong move would shatter it.

She followed his gaze to the timer on the oven clock, then he held out his hand.

‘We have time. Come.'

Her wariness morphed into a different sort of apprehension. They hadn't touched properly recently, besides the occasional brushing of fingers when he helped her up or down the stairs. Deliberately holding his hand felt...far too intimate.

He started to frown.

Not wanting to lose this lightness between them—because it was new and, yes, because she wanted it to remain a little too desperately—she slid her hand into his.

The almost pained glance he sent their clasped hands a moment later swelled a sensation far too close to her heart.

She was still grappling with it when he walked her into his study and over to the mini-conference table set beneath the window across from his desk. As she neared it, she saw several miniature replicas of Zanelis buildings.

As impressive as they were, it was seeing her sketchbook on the table that rattled her.

‘I had it brought down,' he said as he intercepted her expression.

‘Why?'

‘Because I could use your drawings—if you're willing to share your talent?'

Her heart jumped into her throat, along with surprise and shock. ‘Really?' she echoed, her voice husky with overflowing feelings.

His nod was brisk, and yet he studied her with his usual intensity that said he was invested in her response. ‘They're too good to sit around collecting dust.'

The fervent yearning and joy gripping her was almost overwhelming. She tried to tamp them both down. Her life had so far been a series of wrenching transactions sucking at her soul and her emotions.

‘Behave and you'll not be punished.'

‘Atone for not being born male and you'll be spared my wrath.'

‘Make friends with this family so we can benefit.'

‘Marry me and I'll save you if you have my children...'

Sure, the first part of the deal with Ares had been at her instigation. Was this offering now out of the goodness of his heart? Or was there a hidden agenda?

‘You're overthinking it,' he said when the silence lengthened.

‘Am I?' She saw his eyes darken. She waved a dismissive hand, hoping her torn feelings weren't plastered on her face. ‘Okay, tell me what you mean.'

He stared at her for several seconds before nodding at the tallest structure. ‘My latest project in Abu Dhabi will be completed in six months. The top forty floors are residential, including five penthouses. The remaining floors are retail and business. My team is in the process of head-hunting interior designers. I can tell them to stop searching if you're willing to take on the job and work from here.'

Her jaw gaped, and then she shook her head. ‘I couldn't—You—' She bit her tongue as heat rose in her face.

‘Speak your mind, Odessa.'

‘You don't need to throw me a bone just because I'm carrying your child.'

His lips twisted, half amused, half sardonic. ‘I didn't get where I am today by making decisions based on sentimental whims.'

Why didn't that surprise her?

‘So you're not worried about being called out on possible nepotism?'

A conceited shrug moved his muscled shoulders. ‘I'm in the prime position of being rich and powerful enough not to care what people think of me. And you being this worried means you'll provide a premium service. The job is yours if you want it.'

She almost swallowed her tongue. ‘Just like that?'

‘Ne.'

The confirmation was simple. Immovable.

Several seconds passed, and then, registering he was serious, she stared down at the perfectly crafted miniatures. Luxury skyscrapers. Warehouses. A sports complex or three. Whole streets of residential properties with cute little parks.

They all had names—seemingly with a theme she couldn't quite fully grasp yet—except for the building he'd just been talking about.

‘What's this one called?' she asked, more to give herself time to digest his offer and feel how much her heart yearned to embrace it than anything else.

When he didn't respond immediately, she looked up to find a quizzical expression. As if she'd caught him in an uneasy, vulnerable moment.

A moment later, his jet lashes swept down. ‘I haven't decided yet.'

Odessa suspected that wasn't the complete truth, but since she didn't want to add to the tumult now occurring inside her, she let it go.

‘So?' he pressed a minute later.

She gulped down the knot building in her throat. ‘I... I'll put together some samples and we'll take it from there.'

He nodded. ‘Good. But that means allowing the chef back into his kitchen to do his job, yes? I suspect he'll throw a tantrum if he's kept away much longer.'

Odessa couldn't stop the smile that tugged at her lips, or the buoyant feeling that built and built inside her as she returned to the kitchen, Ares prowling lazily behind her. Or the simple contentment that gripped her when he devoured a helping of her lasagne and immediately demanded seconds.

She couldn't escape the pressing confirmation that her feelings for her husband were far from platonic. Hell, had they ever been?

With the no echoing in her head, she admitted, too, that his offer just now had touched her more than she'd expected it to. For the first time in her life she was embracing a true sense of accomplishment that was reawakening the fire in her soul.

The career and the family she'd only ever dreamed of was creeping tantalisingly closer...

There was still the problem of Ares's deep mistrust and full custody plans hanging over her head, but she decided with a firm promise to herself that she would tackle that too. Or at the very least put contingencies in place in case she needed them later.

Because the subject of her child—her children —was too precious to leave to chance.