Bought: The Greek's Baby(42)

“Eve!” He cradled her back against his naked chest, trying to see her face. When she finally rolled back to face him, her beautiful face was streaked with tears.

“I had another memory.” Her voice was like a whimper.

The chill of fear struck through his heart. “What was it?”

She blinked up at him, her lovely eyes the chilling blue of ice. “I remembered stealing the papers from your safe. I gave them to Jake Skinner at that restaurant, just like you said. Then I ran away from Athens and kept running. I never wanted you to find me. I hated you.” Her face looked shell-shocked, bewildered, her eyes filling with tears as she pleaded, “Why? Why did I hate you so much?”

His heart rose in his throat. He stared down at her, unable to speak.

“Tell me why I hated you,” she cried.

“I…I don’t know,” he lied, wanting to protect his wife.

Covering her face, she pushed away from him, curling her body into a fetal position.

“It doesn’t matter.” He forced her to roll back. He looked down at her. “The past doesn’t matter. Not anymore. All that matters is the future. Our baby.”

Naked, she stared up at him.

“Do you love me, Talos?” she whispered.

He hadn’t expected that question.

Yes, he started to say. I love you.

But the words got stuck in his throat. He’d never said them before to anyone.

I love you. And I’m terrified I’ll lose you.

When he didn’t answer, she sucked in her breath. He saw the misery on her face and knew he’d hurt her at the moment she most needed comfort.

“Eve…” he whispered. He leaned forward to kiss her.

Then stopped himself.

He’d thought by bringing her to Mithridos, a place she’d never been before, he could protect her from the memories.

But it hadn’t been seeing the sights of Venice or Athens that had made memories return. She’d had her first memory after kissing him on the Rialto Bridge. Immediately after making love to him in Athens with such joy, she’d been crushed by dark memories of her father’s death. And now, just as they’d made love a second time, she remembered hating him.
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Memories returned after he kissed her.

Memories returned when he made love to her.

That night, he held her in his arms as she cried herself to sleep. He knew it was woefully inadequate, but he was unable to do more. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted to tell her the truth.

He could do neither.

Finally, after she slept, he could take it no more. Rising from the bed, he stared out the open French doors to the terrace, as the warm breeze whirled the curtains. He stared at the full moonlight floating against the black waves of the Aegean, like lost ghosts caught and trapped in dark, invisible webs to the earth.

He’d thought he could keep them safe here, hidden far from the world.

He’d been wrong.

If he wanted to save his family, he could never make love to his wife again. He could never even kiss her. Because if he did, she would remember everything and he would lose her.

Pain racked through Talos, catching at his breath. He gave one last longing look at his naked, pregnant wife sleeping in his bed. He reveled in her sweet beauty, even as his soul anguished over the tearstains on her face. He watched the pink of sunrise creep slowly over the room.

Then, with his hands clenched into fists, he left her to sleep alone.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


HOW had it all gone so wrong?

A month later, Eve still couldn’t understand it. She lived in an amazing Greek villa on a private island. She was married to the handsomest man on earth and expecting his child. She was happy, healthy, living in blissful luxury beneath the Aegean sun as servants waited on her hand and foot.

But for the last month, Talos hadn’t touched her. She’d been alone in her marriage. Alone in her life.

She’d never felt so miserable. Though they lived in the same house, they lived separate lives. Talos worked nights in the office, coming to bed only long after she was asleep, or worse—not coming to bed at all, just sleeping on the couch in his office. She spent her days decorating the nursery, organizing the house, taking the helicopter to the nearby island of Kos to visit the doctor.

She’d done everything she could think of to try and regain his interest. She dressed in pretty clothes, like the pink cotton dress she was wearing now. She’d learned to cook his favorite meals. She read newspapers to learn about his interests—basketball and business—trying to please him, to start conversations, to be available when he wanted her.

All in vain.

The problem was that he didn’t want her.

Since the first day they’d come to the island of Mithridos, when they’d made love so passionately and exquisitely by the balcony overlooking the sea, he hadn’t touched her. Hadn’t hugged her. Hadn’t come up behind her and embraced her, kissing her neck. He hadn’t held her or kissed her.