And why did she care? With a small groan, she began to move back towards the house, deciding coffee was in order. She scooped down to pick up her sandals from where she’d slipped out of them and carried them the rest of the way. On the terrace, she moved her feet back and forth, trying to get the sand off, before looking around for a tap.
‘It’s over there.’ His voice ran down her spine, seductive and warm, but despite that she shivered, an involuntary tremble that made her legs a little unsteady. She looked at Santos as he gestured towards a tap, only his eyes remained on her, tracing the outline of her legs that must have been visible beneath the flimsy fabric of her dress.
‘Thank you.’ Her heart was rabbiting hard against her ribcage but she kept walking until she reached the tap, then switched it on, slowly cleaning her feet of all sand and sucking in air before she lifted to standing and spun to face him once more. He’d been angry the night before, rude and hostile.
Remember that, she cautioned herself, even as her body was already responding to his.
‘I didn’t know anyone else was up,’ she explained a little caustically. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
He turned to face her, pinning her with the full force of his crystal-clear ice blue eyes. ‘Didn’t you?’
She pressed her teeth into her lower lip. ‘Of course not.’
His response was a small shift of his mouth—she might have called it a sneer, except it lacked acerbity—and then lifted a coffee cup. ‘Join me. The pot is still warm.’ In truth, she was desperate for a coffee, but with Santos?
Perhaps her uncertainty expressed itself because he made a small sound of impatience. ‘It’s just coffee.’
Her eyes flared wide, clashing with his, and her stomach rolled in response. ‘Fine. Thank you.’ Her smile was strained. ‘I can’t function without the stuff.’
He nodded in agreement, moved inside for a moment to retrieve another cup then returned, filling it and handing it to her. She was careful not to allow even a hint of contact between their fingers when she took it from him, and at close proximity didn’t quite meet his eyes.
She took a drink and then pulled a face, looking at him to see mirth in his eyes.
‘It’s very strong,’ she said unnecessarily.
‘It’s Greek.’
‘And all Greek things are strong?’ She’d intended it to come out as a joke, but the close proximity to Santos had robbed her of the ability to sound anything but breathy. What was happening to her? Amelia had lectured at Ivy League schools when she’d been fifteen years old. Why did the presence of this man turn her into someone who could barely speak?
‘And irresistible.’ His words were teasing but there was an undercurrent to them that pulled at her belly, making it impossible to smile in response. She took another sip of the coffee, grateful for having something to do with her hands, anything that might make it look as though she wasn’t affected by being this close to him; as though she didn’t wish she’d stayed in his office that night rather than high-tailing it out of there as quickly as she could.
For goodness’ sake! They hadn’t even kissed that night! He’d moved close to her and he’d looked at her as though he’d wanted to. But for Santos Anastakos, famed playboy bachelor, that was probably just how he was wired. The kind of encounter that happened to him often. It was highly likely he’d put her from his mind as soon as she’d left his office—why in the world would she expect otherwise? Just because he’d become a constant figment of her thoughts and fantasies ever since was no indication of how he’d been affected by...by what? Standing close to one another in his office? She felt completely juvenile to have invested such a simple thing with so much importance.
He’d had a beautiful woman waiting for him—Amelia had had to scurry past her to vacate his home. Had she spent the night with him? The thought eroded the lining of Amelia’s stomach, filling it with a hint of acid, and now her eyes did lift to his, staying there for several seconds. Of course she had! This was Santos Anastakos. The man was rumoured to live and breathe affairs.
‘Who was that woman?’
Had he moved closer? She felt as though he was pressing to her, but he wasn’t. It was just an atmospheric compression—not physically possible, given their matter states, but she could have sworn it was happening. ‘Which woman?’
‘Maria,’ she supplied, conjuring a mental image of the stunning creature, all long legs and glossy hair.
A small frown pulled at his lips. ‘A friend.’
Something a lot like relief burst through Amelia. It spelled trouble and disaster and a thousand other portents of ill that she knew she should pay attention to. Standing here with him like this was madness—nothing good could come from indulging a desire to be close to him. She was fighting with fire, but found she couldn’t step away.
‘Just a friend?’ she asked, wondering what he must think of her, seeking reassurance over something like this.
Another small frown brushed over his features. ‘Yes.’
She bit down on her lip, wishing that revelation didn’t affect her.
‘We were seeing each other for a time. We catch up occasionally, when it suits us both.’
Amelia had barely any experience with men, and precisely zero with men like Santos, but she gathered ‘seeing each other’ and ‘catch up’ were euphemistic terms hinting at a physical relationship.
Amelia’s face was unknowingly expressive, her features contorting to show her discomfort. Only someone completely lacking in intuitive skills would have failed to understand the direction of her thoughts.
‘I had my driver take her back to London after dinner,’ he said quietly, and now she knew she wasn’t imagining it. He moved closer, his legs brushing hers, the small cup filled with thick Greek coffee the only barrier between them. ‘And dinner was somewhat rushed.’ A smile that was hard to analyse. Self-deprecating? Annoyed?