His knuckles were white again through the tan of his skin. Tension screeched through the car, and only the sound of Claudia’s labored breathing could be heard above the low rumble of the powerful car’s engine. She stared resolutely out of the window, outrage making it impossible for her to speak.
Her chest moved rapidly, and Stavros’s dark gaze moved from the road before them to his ward’s face, and then dropped lower. She was slim, and yet voluptuous. The hint of cleavage was exposed by the low scoop of her shirt, and he remembered every detail of how she’d felt when she’d wrapped her arms around his waist, gluing her young body to his and asking him to make love to her for her eighteenth birthday gift.
A muscle in his jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus on driving, but his mind was on that night, on the way he’d been equally angry and tempted. He’d wanted her. He’d wanted to be the one to teach her body how to feel, to show her what desire was and yes, damn it, he’d fantasised about giving his ward her first orgasm.
And the fact he’d even thought about it was a weakness that disgusted Stavros Aresteides to this very day.
Claudia was the daughter of his dearest friend and Stavros had been trusted with looking after her. With keeping her safe. He would have put money on the fact Christopher La Roche meant from men like him, as well as from any other multitude of disasters that would await the billion-pound heiress.
So he’d rejected her and he’d focused the anger he’d felt at himself squarely onto her. He winced as he remembered the charges he’d thrown at her, the disgust he had imbued his words with. He’d crushed her that night.
His lips twisted wistfully. He thought he had, anyway, but Claudia had bounced straight back. It had been only weeks after that she’d first appeared in the papers, wearing a dress he could still see clearly in his mind. It was burned into his memories, the way the white cotton had been almost transparent, the fabric had been so fine. It had scooped low over her breasts and had barely covered her arse. She’d been laughing at something someone had said, her head was tilted back, her fingers curved around a glass of champagne, and her nipples had been visibly erect.
It was the image that had captivated the nation and cemented her place as an up and coming ‘it’ girl. Who knew such a thing existed? Who knew it was possible to make a career out of being ‘famous’, though thank God she hadn’t turned up on any of those dodgy reality TV shows for washed-up newsreaders. Yet.
His lips were a grim line. He had to act, no matter how little this duty pleased him.
“We are still almost two hours from Barnwell,” he said coldly. “Why don’t you rest.”
“Rest?” She repeated with obvious incredulity. “You think I could rest after this?” She spun in her chair once more, pinning him with her outraged glare. “You think I should just go quietly with you? No way, Stavros. If you’re going to kidnap me then you’d better believe I’m going to make you know I’m here.”
He tossed her a look that hinted at barely-concealed impatience. “Stop being so childish,” he said. And the insult hurt. It hurt deeply, because he had said exactly that to her that night. “I am not kidnapping you. I am saving you.”
“Saving me?” She responded with a laugh. “From what?”
“From yourself, apparently,” he muttered, then slid her a sidelong glance. “From the hordes of photographers who have laid siege to your apartment. From your so-called friend Artie who is happy for you to be at the centre of his little drama.”
“This isn’t his fault.”
Stavros laughed and shook his head. They reached the motorway and he merged onto it, pressing his foot down so that the car growled with agreement as it sped up, moving into the fast-moving lane and beginning to devour the miles that stood between her normal life and captivity.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this.” She glared at him. “I’m just going to get an uber back to London as soon as we arrive.”
“We both know you won’t.” He passed a lorry and continued onwards. “You might think you don’t need your father’s money enough to stay. Fine. That’s your decision. If you want to try to make it in the real world like a big girl then, by all means, be my guest.” He narrowed his eyes slightly, still looking straight ahead. Tiny little lines of concentration formed and Claudia’s gut twisted.
He was outrageously handsome, given what a bastard he was. What a waste of such fantastic looks.
“But I do think you care about earning his approval. I think you care about the fact that your father trusted me to guide you morally and that you are badly in need of moral guidance.”
Colour drained from her face. “You’re not actually suggesting you’re fit for that role.”
He eyed her speculatively.
“I gather this is like a ‘do as I say, not
as I do’ kind of mentorship?”
He arched his brows then gave his full attention back to the motorway. “In what way do you think I lack the ability to guide you?”
“You’re … you run through women faster than I change shoes,” she said thickly, wishing she could do a better job of concealing how his sexploits affected her.
“That was a long time ago,” he said seriously. He thought of Riannon and anger churned his gut. Anger directed at the woman he’d been intending to marry and his brother, who was now to be her groom. Anger at the fact they were spending Christmas with his family, and everyone was happy with the substitution.
“Yeah, well, like you said. I’m twenty-one. Isn’t this my time to live a little?”
“A little,” he responded dryly. “Have a taste of the wild life, certainly. Not to eat the whole damned buffet as you are. When was the last time you had a quiet night in?” He prompted unrelentingly.
“It’s a busy time of year, I told you,” she murmured. “My calendar for December books up months in advance. I’m meant to be going to see the London Symphony tonight, in fact.”