‘No, you don’t need to remind me.’ That was why they were here, instead of in Athens or anywhere else. He wanted power to go with his wealth and success, and the added authenticity of doing it here gave him the best chance of getting it. She missed his grimace.
‘Then—tricky as this may be for you—try for a moment to think yourself into the mindset of someone living in the old town. Wouldn’t you be inspired to see a man who started in the same place as you are now returning home a success?’
Libby thought about it, and about the announcement that he intended to plough his own wealth into hospitals and houses too. She had to admit that if she didn’t know he was only in this for the power and the thrill of winning then she probably would. In fact, she didn’t know why for a minute she’d supposed the people would think anything else; he’d painstakingly considered every aspect of his image and made sure it was tailored towards gaining maximum support, hadn’t he? That was why she was here. But what was wrong with showing people that he was a human being as well as a success story?
‘So, if you’re so keen for the people of Metameikos to feel an affinity with you, how can you possibly be angry about what happened back there?’
Rion pulled onto the driveway and killed the engine. How could he be angry about what happened back there? Oh, there were of plenty of ways: he could be angry that he’d allowed his desire for her to weaken his faculties; that for a moment she of all people had held his fate in her hands whilst he’d looked on powerlessly; that he hadn’t even slaked his goddamned desire for her yet!
He flung open the car door. ‘I am needed in a conference call with Delikaris headquarters.’ He looked down at his watch. ‘Now.’
Libby scrambled after him as he unlocked the front door, desperate to force him to see how unreasonable he was being. ‘If you can’t think of an answer then why not consider the fact that maybe there isn’t a reason? I could have told everyone exactly how you’re capitalising on my return, but I chose to help you, and yet you still look like you’re about to explode.’
The second the words were out of her mouth Rion turned so sharply back on himself that she almost crashed straight into him. ‘You’re right,’ he breathed, stretching out his arm and pushing the front door shut behind her head. For a second she froze, her eyes wide with hope that he was about to announce that he’d been wrong to try and use her in this way, to reveal that he was still the old Rion she’d fallen in love with. But then he continued. ‘I am about to explode. And so are you.’ He reached down for her hand and then raised it to his chest, placing it at the exact point where the fabric of his shirt gave way to flesh.
It was so unexpected that for a second she just stood there, feeling the heat of his hair-roughened chest, the pounding of his heart which began to reverberate through her body so she couldn’t tell which was her rhythm and which was his, almost as if they were—
‘No!’ she gasped, wrenching her hand away and drawing in a fast, deep breath, hoping the rush of oxygen would kick her brain into gear, remind her that he didn’t really want her, that he wasn’t the same man any more, that it would only lead to heartache. She tried to take a step backwards, but she was already up against the front door, and when she took a side-step to the right he mirrored it, keeping her hemmed in.
‘No?’ he said huskily. ‘That isn’t what you want? Then why is your body temperature soaring? And why tear your hand away as though you’re terrified of what you might do next?’
‘I’m not terrified—’
‘Good—then there’s no reason to remove it, is there?’ He reached for her hand again and placed it back inside his shirt, his eyes never leaving hers.
Libby’s breath caught in her throat. So now she was damned if she removed her hand and damned if she didn’t? She lowered her eyes, desperate to reduce the effect that touching him was having on her by blocking out the sight of him, knowing her only hope was to try and convince him she felt nothing whatsoever.
Gently he ran his forefinger along her outstretched right arm and softly up her neck. Libby closed her eyes and shook her head, so that the short length of her hair fell forwards. For the first time since she’d had it cut, in a bid to start afresh upon arriving in Manchester five years ago, she wished she hadn’t—just so she had something more substantial to hide behind.
‘Don’t you know that trying to look away says even more than if you just drank me in with your eyes, as I know you’re longing to do?’ he murmured. ‘Do you think I don’t remember how you always hid behind your hair…’he smoothed the wisps away from her face now, tucking them behind her ear in a gesture which made Libby’s stomach lurch in painful remembrance ‘…when you wanted me most?’