"I hope you do," he said, an edge of steel in his words, "because I had my share of emotional game playing with Cecily, and I'm not interested in going another round with you. I don't lie, Brianna, and I don't expect you to lie, either. For what it's worth, Noelle was calling to let me off the hook on both occasions, especially the garden party. But as you won't know many people, I told her to leave things as they stand. I don't see a problem with that, but if you do, I won't press you to attend. For my part, though, I've made a commitment and I intend to keep it."
"I'd like to be there," she said, ashamed. In her own way, she was as much a mass of insecurities as Cecily had been, and for the same reasons. Valued by her mother for her looks and what they earned. The trophy girlfriend, desired by men for her glamour. But until Dimitrios, never loved for herself; for the woman inside the body, the brain behind the face.
"You're sure?"
"Yes. And I'm sorry I responded badly just now. It was a stupid, knee-jerk reaction."
He caught her hands and pulled her to him. "Old habits die hard, and we've both been burned. But sweetheart, dragging all that old baggage with us will kill any chance we have of a successful future together."
"You're right, but sometimes that's easier said than done." She leaned against him. Felt the strong, unhurried beat of his heart. Everything he said made sense, so why was it, now that they'd cleared up the misunderstandings of the past, that she persisted in looking for flaws? "You know, Dimitrios, for all that I've defended her to you, I'm still having a hard time getting past what Cecily did. I knew she resented me at some level, but I had no idea she'd take it that far."
"Mana mou, I don't say this to hurt you, but Cecily resented anyone she perceived as having more than she did, whether it was to do with money or business or relationships. No matter how much you gave her, how much she already had, it was never enough. She couldn't stand knowing someone else might have more. That was reason enough for her to try to take it away and keep it for herself."
Deep down Brianna knew that to be true. "You're right again," she said bleakly. "I guess I just haven't wanted to admit it."
"You always gave her the benefit of the doubt. It's what families do for one another. And that's why it cuts so deep when family betrays you. Trust me, I ought to know."
"What do you mean?"
His expression changed. Grew guarded; forbidding almost. "It's a long story that can wait for another day. Go to bed, Brianna. You look worn-out."
He went to drop a kiss on her cheek, but just as the fragments in a kaleidoscope could assume a different pattern with the merest twist of the wrist, so her connection with him underwent swift change. In the brief second before he'd masked it, she'd glimpsed pain in his eyes, and a loneliness that matched her own.
Unable to help herself, she cradled his face and turned it so that their parted lips met. And meshed. And lingered.
At first he resisted. Held her firmly by the shoulders and tried to step away. But his determination was no match for hers. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hung on tight and refused to let him go.
He tasted of coffee and wine and sexual hunger kept severely in check; a potent aphrodisiac that shot straight to her bloodstream and surged through her veins like wildfire. With an inarticulate whisper, she sank against him, pressing her breasts to the solid plane of his chest and tilting her hips so that her body nested against his where he was most susceptible.
He almost weakened. His hand slid down her spine to cup her bottom and hold her hard and fast. His fingers plucked at her skirt, inching it high enough to give him access to the smooth bare skin of her thigh.
She felt a shock of damp warmth at her core. A trembling weakness in her limbs. An aching in her breasts. A bone-deep hunger that had waited years too long for satisfaction.
And then it was over. Cool night air replaced the heat of his mouth, his hands. "I'm trying my utmost to do the decent thing and abide by your rules," he ground out savagely, "but if you persist with this, I'm going to take you right here on the floor, and if you wake up tomorrow full of regret, you'll have only yourself to blame."
"I thought you wanted me," she quavered.
"I've always wanted you, Brianna, and not just because I desire you sexually. I want you in my life and in my daughter's. I want you to wear my ring and bear my children. In other words, khriso mou, I'm in this for the long haul. When you can tell me you feel the same way, we'll make love, but not before."
She bit her lip, humiliated. "I don't make a habit of throwing myself at men."
"That's good to know, because I'd break the neck of any man I saw as competition, and I don't relish the idea of spending the rest of my life behind bars. Greek prisons aren't known for their creature comforts." He turned her around and gave her a smart swat on the behind. "I'll see you at breakfast. Now get to bed before my baser instincts get the better of me."
In the week following, they established a routine that allowed them to take care of business, maintain an uninterrupted schedule of visits with Poppy and still leave enough time for their unhurried rediscovery of each other.
Each day, he drove them both into the city and dropped Brianna off at the clinic where she spent sweet, tranquil hours with her niece. Sometimes she read to her, or sang, or wound up the music box, or set the mobile in motion. Other times she'd carry her to the window and they'd wave to people in the gardens below and wait for Dimitrios's car to turn into the forecourt. And sometimes, she'd simply sit and watch her as she slept, and pray that she'd be able to save this precious child's life.
Whenever they could steal time for themselves, Dimitrios showed her Athens. Not just the popular sights, but places the tourists seldom discovered. Tiny tavernas tucked away behind bougainvillea-draped walls, that served wonderful intimate dinners by candlelight. Narrow streets lined with ateliers full of exquisite paintings and sculptures by little-known artists who loved what they created more than they cared about fame and fortune. Out-of-the-way little churches in dusty squares, where old women knelt on their bony knees and prayed for their dead husbands and new-born great-grandchildren.
To preserve the privacy she and Dimitrios treasured, Brianna hid behind large concealing sunglasses. With her hair tied back, and her casual skirts and tops and flat-heeled sandals, she blended in with the crowd, another unremarkable woman wandering the city with her man. Only once did a photographer recognize her, and Dimitrios made short work of him.
One morning, he took her to his corporate headquarters, just off Syntagma Square, and introduced her to his colleagues. Not surprisingly, that day she caused a stir.
"Did you see their faces?" she exclaimed, afterward.
"They'd better get used to it, is all I can say, because if I have my way, they'll be seeing a lot more of you."
They were alone in the elevator at the time, and he seized the opportunity to back her up against the padded leather wall and kiss her so thoroughly that she turned liquid with pleasure.
If the warning ping! of the doors opening to admit another passenger hadn't interrupted the moment, what might have happened next didn't bear thinking about. Bad enough that she was all rosy and breathless, with her nipples visibly advertising their presence under her cotton blouse.
"You're so bad!" she muttered, slipping her sunglasses in place as they left the building and stepped out into the midday sun.
He grinned unrepentantly. "Small wonder, my dear. The novelty of my self-imposed chastity is taking a terrible toll."
For her, too. His smile, his touch, his kiss, his every glance, filled her with a riot of sensation. She melted in the warmth of his smile. Went weak at the knees when he kissed her. Ached for him in the lonely luxury of her bed.
Yet she worried they were hurtling along at too fast a pace when they should have been taking the time to be sure, really sure, they were getting it right this time. Because it was no longer just about the two of them. Poppy was part of the mix, and she'd already lost one mother. She didn't deserve to lose another. No child did.
On the Thursday she met again with Noelle and began the round of preliminary tests at the clinic. For the next two days, she was weighed, measured and X-rayed. Poked and prodded by an endless stream of technicians and doctors who took endless blood samples. Quizzed about everything from her childhood ailments, to her diet, to possible allergies, to her menstrual cycle.