Gorgeous Greeks: Seductive Secrets

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHE must have dozed, for when Eleanor woke up, blinking groggily, she could tell some time had passed. How much she had no idea, but Jace was no longer sitting next to her, and her hair, when she patted it experimentally, was sticking up in several different directions.

Great. So much for her poised, polished, professional appearance. Yet hadn’t that been a charade anyway?

I want to figure out what this is befween us, and the only way I know of doing that is seeing you. Being with you.

Jace’s words echoed through Eleanor’s mind, still surprising her with their honesty. Her reaction, fizzing with excitement and uncertainty, surprised her too. She’d been so careful to be professional with Jace, and her ever-captive heart had betrayed her. She still wanted him. Maybe she even loved him. Yet how could you love someone you didn’t even know, weren’t sure you ever really knew? And if she didn’t love him, then this whole thing was nothing but immature infatuation, and she needed to get it out of her system. Return to New York a freed woman. Maybe that was what Jace wanted as well. Freedom, not love.

‘You’re awake.’

Eleanor turned around in her seat to see Jace standing in the aisle. He’d exchanged his business suit for a casual polo shirt and khakis, and he looked wonderful. Relaxed and confident and approachable, like the old Jace. Not the harsh, hardened, businessman she’d already become accustomed to.

‘Sorry to conk out like that. How long did I sleep?’

‘Nearly four hours. We’ll be there in another couple of hours. Do you want something to eat?’

In answer Eleanor’s stomach rumbled audibly, and Jace grinned. ‘I remember how loudly your stomach growls when you’re hungry. I always knew it was feeding time.’

‘I am hungry,’ Eleanor admitted. It still made her feel uneasy—vulnerable—for Jace to recall those sweet, forbidden memories. Little things, silly things, and yet so achingly precious.

Jace raised a hand, and within seconds a staff member arrived with a tray of food. Eleanor took in the fresh fruit, the plates of salad and sandwiches, and realised she wasn’t just hungry, she was starving.

‘Dig in,’ Jace said, and she did.

‘So where exactly are we going?’ Eleanor asked after she’d finished most of her sandwich and salad. She toyed with a bit of pineapple on her plate, shredding the succulent fruit with the tines of her fork.

‘My island. It’s near Naxos. Like I said, very small.’

Eleanor looked up, her eyes narrowing speculatively. ‘How small?’

Jace waved a hand in dismissal. ‘A couple of kilometers, no more.’

‘And there’s nothing on it but your villa?’

‘A few staff houses, an airstrip.’

‘Really.’ She let out a reluctant laugh. ‘I always knew you were rich, but I didn’t know you were Fantasy-Island-type rich.’

Jace arched his eyebrows. ‘What does that mean exactly?’

‘Private jet, private island.’ Eleanor shrugged. ‘It’s like a soap opera.’

‘They are conveniences as well as luxuries. And I have worked hard to earn them, I must admit.’

‘You have?’ Why did this surprise her? She supposed it was because after Jace had left, she’d painted him in her mind as the spoiled son of a shipping magnate. It was easier to accept his abandonment that way. Over the years she’d embroidered that image, yet now she realised—of course—that might not be who Jace was—or ever had been—at all.

She really didn’t know him.

She popped the piece of pineapple in her mouth. ‘So what did you do to earn it?’

‘Investments. Financial management.’

‘I thought your father was in shipping.’

‘He is. But I did not go into my father’s business.’ A new, steely note had entered Jace’s voice although his posture and expression were both still easy and relaxed. ‘He wanted a dynasty, and neither of us believed that to be a possibility.’

Eleanor straightened in her seat. She cleared her throat, wanting to ask the question that remained unspoken between them yet knowing there was so much more to Jace’s alleged infertility than the condition itself; years of heartache and family strife seemed to accompany it. ‘Did you… get tested again?’ she finally asked. Jace’s expression didn’t change. ‘For fertility?’

‘Yes.’ He gave a little shrug, as though the matter was of no consequence. Perhaps it wasn’t. ‘I have limited fertility, the doctor says.’

Eleanor’s heart twisted, a little wrench she should have long become used to when the topic turned to children. ‘That’s pretty good, isn’t it?’ It was possibility, hope. More than she would ever have. Limited was better than nothing.

Jace shrugged again. ‘Whether or not I can have children has not been a pressing issue for me as of late.’ The news should have reassured her, especially considering her own situation, yet somehow it just made her sad. So much lost. So much gone… for both of them.

Jace gave her the ghost of a smile, no more than a shadow passing across his face. ‘Apparently, after childhood mumps, limited fertility can return in later years.’ He shook his head and laughed softly, although the sound held little humour. ‘Amazing, a simple Internet search could have saved us both so much heartache.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Eleanor said, and Jace stilled, his expression becoming alert and a little wary.

‘What do you mean, Eleanor?’

She shrugged. ‘Even if you knew the baby was yours, Jace, would you have stayed?’ The question seemed to drop into the stillness, tautening the very air between them.

Jace tensed, and Eleanor saw in the steely silver glint in his eyes, the thinning of his mouth, that he was angry. She’d made him angry with her question. ‘Of course I would have. I would never walk away from my own child.’

She didn’t want to have this fight. She didn’t want to feel this hurt. Shrugging again, Eleanor turned to look out of the window, sunlight shimmering on the faint wisps of cloud. ‘You didn’t trust me enough to give me a chance to trust you,’ she said quietly. ‘No matter what might be between us now, Jace, there will always be that.’

‘Then you can’t forgive?’

‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that we’ve never had a chance to trust each other.’ She turned back to look at him directly, compelled to honesty even though she’d wanted to avoid this conversation. ‘It’s not something that ever comes easily, and it certainly won’t now, with our history.’ Not, she added silently, when I’m scared to trust you. To love you.

Jace was silent for a long moment, and Eleanor waited and watched. It was only when he spoke again that she realised she’d been holding her breath. ‘Then I suppose we’ll just have to see what happens,’ he finally said, a faint smile curving his lips even though his eyes looked shadowed and sad. ‘And what we allow to happen.’

They steered clear of such intense topics for the rest of the flight, chatting about the weather and films and other innocuous things, until Jace excused himself to finish his work before they landed on Naxos to transfer to a smaller plane that would take them on the short flight to his island.

Eleanor didn’t bother to pretend to work; her nerves were leaping and jumping inside her too much to make sense of anything. She felt an unsettling mix of anticipation and alarm. The sun had set and the sky was a deep and endless black, the pinpoints of a million stars reflected in the sea below. As the island came into view, Eleanor saw the lights of Naxos’s main village shimmer along the harbour.

The plane taxied to a stop and Eleanor reached for her things. Jace shepherded her out of the plane, and she barely had a chance to view the huddled whitewashed buildings of Naxos in the distance as she walked across the tarmac to a much smaller plane.

The flight to Jace’s island took all of ten minutes, and when the plane landed there were no friendly village lights to welcome them. The island was dark, lost on a sea of night, and despite the balmy air Eleanor couldn’t quite keep from shivering.

She tilted her head up to take in the endless sky, spangled with stars. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.’

‘I don’t think you can see a single star in New York,’ Jace agreed. ‘Come. My staff will see to our bags.’

Eleanor followed him into an open-topped Jeep. She was conscious of so many things: the emptiness all around them of sea and sky, the deep darkness of the night, and the fact that, despite the discreet staff moving their luggage into another waiting Jeep, she felt as if they were the only two people left on earth.

Jace started the Jeep, flicking on the headlights, which barely pierced the darkness, unrelieved by the flicker of a single street lamp or house light. They were alone. On an island. In the middle of the sea.

Eleanor swallowed and glanced sideways at Jace. As she did she became conscious of yet another thing: how different he was here, in his casual clothes, navigating the rocky, rutted road that skirted the sea as it wound round an outcropping of rock. Here he wasn’t the college student or the businessman; he was someone else entirely.

She wondered just who that was.

‘It’s after eleven o’clock at night,’ Jace told her, ‘but it’s still early in East Coast time. Would you like something to eat?’

‘Maybe,’ Eleanor allowed. She felt tired and yet inexorably, impossibly alive, thrilled and alarmed and wary of all these new sights, sounds, and changes. ‘Something small would be nice,’ she decided, and Jace flashed her a quick smile.

‘I’ll have my cook prepare something. You can freshen up and change if you like. The luggage is right behind us.’

Jace drove the Jeep around another curve and the villa came into view: a huge, sprawling whitewashed structure, every window and doorframe spilling a riot of bougainvillea, lights glimmering from inside. Jace killed the engine on the Jeep and turned to Eleanor.

‘Welcome.’

A smiling, red-cheeked woman with her hair caught up in a headscarf met them on the doorstep.

She spoke rapidly in Greek, and Jace nodded and smiled his approval. Then, in halting English, she spoke to Eleanor. ‘Welcome, Miss Langley. We are happy to see you here.’

‘Thank you,’ Eleanor murmured. Jace touched her shoulder.

‘This is Agathe. She takes care of just about everything for me.’ He smiled again at Agathe and then Eleanor followed her upstairs.

Agathe led her to a spacious suite of rooms overlooking the gardens at the back of the villa, bathed in moonlight; Eleanor could only make out the twisted trunks of olive trees and the glint of the sea at their edge.

Her luggage arrived moments later, and she took the opportunity to change her clothes and wash her face. Even though it was now nearing midnight, she felt energised and awake and alive.

Agathe had gone to see to their dinner preparations, and, dressed in a pair of cotton capris and a loose, flowing top in pale green, Eleanor stepped out to explore the villa… and to find Jace.

The air was dry and smelled faintly of lavender and thyme; through the open windows Eleanor could hear the gentle shooshing of the waves on the sand. She walked down the tiled hallway to the front stairs, her hand skimming the wrought-iron bannister. The foyer below was empty, and once downstairs she peeked into a large, comfortable-looking living room and a dining room with a table that looked to seat at least twenty. Both were dark and empty.

She wandered towards the back of the house, drawn by the light spilling from an open doorway and the tempting aroma of lemon and garlic.

She stepped into the kitchen to see Agathe busy at the stove, and, to her surprise, Jace setting the table in the alcove that overlooked the water. He’d changed as well, and showered if the damp hair curling at his nape were anything to go by. Eleanor swallowed. He looked wonderful.

Jace glanced up as she stood in the doorway, and smiled easily. ‘Come in! Agathe has made a feast, as always.’

Agathe protested even as she placed dish upon dish on the table. Eleanor took in the Greek salad bursting with plump tomatoes and cucumber, a thick wedge of feta cheese resting on top, and the freshly grilled souvlaki, still on its skewer. There was a lentil soup garnished with olives and crusty bread, and several traditional Greek dips to accompany it.

‘I can never eat all this,’ Eleanor produced, laughing a little.

‘You must try,’ Jace replied as he pulled out her chair. ‘After all, food is love.’

Love. Eleanor swallowed again. That was a word they’d never talked about, not ten years ago and certainly not now. Oh, she’d thought it plenty of times; she’d certainly believed it before Jace had walked away. Yet now just the idea of love—the mere mention of it—made her palms slick and nerves flutter from her belly to her throat.

‘Thank you for this, Agathe.’

Agathe made more protesting noises before discreetly disappearing into another room. A candle flickered on the table between them, and the room was silent save for the sound of the sea coming from the open window.

‘This is lovely,’ Eleanor said. ‘Thank you.’

Jace gave a little shrug. ‘I’m afraid I’m spoiled by Agathe. She was my childhood nurse growing up, and I employed her here when she had no more charges at my family home.’

‘She loves you very much.’ The words popped out inadvertently, even though Eleanor didn’t want to mention that dreaded L-word. Jace just smiled and spooned some tzatziki onto her plate.

‘She is a good woman.’

Eleanor took a spoonful of the hearty bean soup; it was delicious. ‘So do you live here most of the year?’

‘When I can. I have a flat in Athens for business, but this is really my home. Or at least my escape. I’ve had to travel so much for work, I don’t know if I could call any place my home.’

‘Those corporate takeovers,’ Eleanor murmured. She took another sip of soup. ‘What’s the real story behind you taking over Atrikides Holdings?’

Jace looked up, surprised. ‘The real story?’

‘I don’t think it was the heartless takeover you made it out to be.’

‘I try not to have any takeover be heartless.’

Eleanor raised her eyebrows. ‘I had no idea you were so sensitive.’

Jace only looked amused. ‘Sensitive? No. It’s simply good business. Unhappy workers are never very productive.’ He gave her the glimmer of a smile. ‘I don’t like to lose money.’

‘Ah.’ She reached for a piece of bread. ‘And Atrikides?’

Jace shrugged. ‘It was a favour to Leandro. His son was embezzling from him and he didn’t have the strength to deal with it himself. He’s an old man, and he doesn’t have much longer to live.’

‘So it was a mercy mission.’

Jace just shrugged again, and Eleanor glanced down at her plate. ‘There’s so much I don’t know about you.’

A tiny, telling hesitation. ‘Then ask.’

She didn’t know what questions to ask. Where to begin. She didn’t even know enough for that. ‘Were you always interested in finance?’ she finally asked. ‘Starting your own company?’

‘Yes,’ Jace answered, then added, ‘but it became more important to me.’

‘When?’

He paused. ‘Ten years ago.’

Eleanor nodded slowly in acceptance. Ten years ago. Of course. The same time her work had become more important to her; it had filled the empty spaces in her heart, her womb. Jace, in his own way, had suffered a similar loss.

‘Well,’ Jace said when she didn’t reply, ‘if you won’t ask questions, I will. What made you decide to become an event planner?’

‘I needed to do something, and my mother suggested the internship. Premier Planning was her company before she retired.’

‘So you’re the boss’s daughter?’

Eleanor shrugged. ‘She certainly didn’t give me any handouts. I had to apply for the internship like anyone else, and work my way up.’

‘And what about your degree in restaurant management?’

Eleanor gave him a small smile even though his question—his ignorance—hurt. ‘I never finished my degree.’

‘You didn’t? Why not?’

She shook her head, exasperated now. Jet lag must have caught up with her, for she suddenly felt unbearably weary. ‘I was pregnant, and I intended to keep the baby. I dropped out.’

Jace looked startled, a streak of something like pain flashing in his eyes, and Eleanor knew he was realising how much he didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Just as she felt with him. They really did need to begin all over again—if they could.

‘But after?’ he persisted after a moment. ‘Couldn’t you have gone back?’

‘I didn’t want to,’ Eleanor said flatly. ‘Everything had changed.’ She didn’t want to talk about it with Jace, even though at least part of her acknowledged they would have to talk about it some time… if they wanted to have any hope of—anything—in the future. ‘My turn for questions,’ she said. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’

Jace looked startled again, but then his face relaxed in an easy smile and Eleanor knew he was as glad as she was for a safer topic of conversation. ‘Purple.’

‘No way.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘What? Not manly enough?’

Eleanor let out a reluctant laugh. ‘There’s no way purple is your favourite colour. I may not know you that well, but I know that.’

He sighed in mock defeat. ‘All right, you win. It’s blue.’

‘Light blue or dark blue?’

‘Dark. And you?’

‘Orange.’

‘Really?’

Eleanor smiled. ‘Yes, but I picked it as my favourite colour in first grade because no one else liked it. I guess I wanted to be different.’

‘You always were stubborn.’

‘Determined, I call it.’ Sometimes it had been the only thing that had kept her going. Another wave of fatigue crashed over her and she pushed her plate away. ‘This was delicious, but I think the flight is finally catching up with me. I’m about to fall asleep in my chair.’

‘Then we’d better get you to bed.’

His words, given with such lazy amusement, made awareness race through Eleanor’s veins so she suddenly felt rather unbearably awake. She stood up awkwardly. ‘Thank you for the meal—’

‘Let me show you to your room.’

‘I remember—’

‘I’m a gentleman.’

Wordlessly Eleanor let him lead her from the kitchen. Her heart had begun thudding hard against her chest, and she wondered what might happen. What she wanted to happen.

Upstairs the hallway was dark, lit only by a wash of moonlight from the windows at its end. Jace led her to her door and she placed her hand on its knob, turning around so her back was pressed against the wood. ‘Thank you.’ The word ended in a whisper of breath for Jace was close. Very close. And she had a feeling he was going to kiss her.

She wanted him to kiss her.

He smiled at her and brushed a strand of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear so his thumb skimmed her cheek. Eleanor closed her eyes. The moment before his lips brushed hers seemed endless, agonising, because she wasn’t sure he was even going to do it and she didn’t want to open her eyes to find out.

Finally, finally his lips touched hers in a feather-light kiss that seemed to be more of a promise than a possession, because before Eleanor could part her lips or respond in any way—it was so sweet—he had stepped away.

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him. He gazed back at her with a rueful, almost sad smile. ‘Goodnight, Eleanor.’

Before she could respond—or even think—he was already disappearing down the hallway, lost in the shadows.

Jace strode out of the villa, frustration and fury and even fear all warring within him. What had he done? And why had he done it?

He made his way down the track to the beach, awash in silver in the moonlight. A few metres away the waves crashed blackly onto the shore. Jace yanked his shirt over his head and kicked his trousers off and then, with one deep breath, he dived into the surf.

The water was cold—it was still early spring—and it made his head ache as he swam through the waves, breaking to the surface only when his lungs hurt and his head pounded.

He treaded water as he gazed up at the ink-black sky scattered with stars and wondered just why he’d brought Eleanor to Greece.

It had seemed like such a good idea when he’d spoken to Alecia. It had made sense when he’d flown to New York on the pretence of needing to visit Atrikides Holdings, which was managing just fine under Leandro’s nephew. He’d justified it to himself because he’d needed to see her, because his body was hungry and his soul restless knowing she was there, knowing she’d never lied to him, thinking that maybe there could have been something between them all these years. Maybe there still could be.

Yet what he hadn’t counted on was how risky it was. Eleanor wasn’t interested in an emotionless affair. He’d known that, and yet he’d still brought her here as if they could have something else. Something more. As if he wanted that, which, God help him, maybe he did.

Even though he’d determined for ten years—and longer than that, for ever—never to lose his heart to anyone. Never to even have a heart to lose.