Had he really been that unlovable?
But it was good to remember these things, no matter how painful it might be. It helped him put things in perspective. It stopped him from painting reality with unrealistic shades of longing. It reinforced his certain knowledge that there was no such thing as love.
‘Wrong,’ he corrected caustically. ‘She figured that, of the two of us, I stood a better chance of survival on my own than she did—since she was totally dependent on her husband financially and had no money of her own. So I was kicked out of the house and told to fend for myself.’
She turned onto her side, propping herself up on her elbow so that a stream of dark waves tumbled over her bare breasts. ‘How did you survive?’
He shrugged. ‘I already attended a very prestigious school in New York City who were reluctant to see me go, though it wasn’t unusual for boys to have to leave the school due to reduced circumstances. But they arranged for me to take a scholarship exam and I ended up staying there as a boarding-school pupil.’
She twirled the end of a strand of hair round and round her finger. ‘But what about school holidays?’
‘I had some very wealthy friends and one in particular. His name was Brad Wilson and I used to stay with him and his family.’ But Xanthos had been a cold, proud youth, suspicious of kindness—mainly because he had experienced so little of it. Hadn’t his willingness to accept what he perceived as charity from the Wilsons been because their East Side reserve had meant they never asked him any painful and personal questions? And hadn’t one of the principal reasons they had taken him into their family been because hehadn’temoted?
‘And was that...okay?’
He thought about it.Okayseemed a pretty accurate description of a period of his life at that time—because he had been obsessed with his own independence and wondering when he would be able to gain it. ‘I was grateful to them,’ he said at last. ‘But it reinforced my belief that family life is claustrophobic. Soon after that I went to Stanford to do computer science and dropped out after two years to start my video gaming company.’
‘And do you still see Brad?’ she said slowly, as if it mattered.
It was a curveball of a question and the punch of pain was unexpected. It reminded him of why he functioned best when he avoided any kind of emotional attachment. ‘That would be impossible, I’m afraid,’ he said slowly. ‘He and his father died in a boating accident soon after he left college. His mother never really recovered from the blow, and she died within the year. Within the space of eighteen months, they were all wiped out. Gone.’
Bianca saw the sudden tension in his face as he lapsed into an uneasy silence. She was deeply moved and taken aback by what he had told her, which just went to show that you never knew what anybody was really like on the inside. Who would have thought the outrageously sexy billionaire should have had such a tragic upbringing? That he should have endured so much pain and sorrow, as well as a mother who had chosen her husband over her only son. Couldn’t he be forgiven some of his harsh arrogance in the light of this new knowledge?
‘And did you ever ask your mother who your real father was?’
‘No.’
Something about the flat delivery of his reply made her ask her next question. ‘Do you still see her?’
‘I haven’t seen her since that day she kicked me out. I have no idea where she lives.’
‘And don’t you...?’ She hesitated, recognising that this might be overstepping the mark. ‘Don’t you think maybe you should try to find her?’
‘Why the hell should I do that?’ he demanded.
She shrugged. ‘It might help you move on, if you could see her again, understand her perspective more.’
‘No.’ The single word was clipped out like a bullet and as his features became cold, he looked so different from the man who had taken her into his arms and told her how much he wanted to kiss her. Was it that which made her reach out to frame his cheek with her palm, mirroring what he’d done to her just before they’d had sex? She thought how wonderful his lovemaking had been. How he had managed to help create the most magical Christmas Eve she could remember and made her feel properly alive for the first time in her life. She didn’t want the night to end with him looking angry and bitter as he recalled the acrimony of his past. She wanted to hear him moan with pleasure again.
Tentatively she let her thumb rove over the strong curve of his jaw and he stirred in response, the stoniness leaving his face and making it flesh again. His eyes gleamed with sudden fire—as if he had just remembered there was a naked woman in his bed. And maybe he was as loath to miss this opportunity as she was, for he pulled her into his arms, bringing her to lie on top of him.
‘I don’t want to talk about it any more,’ he gritted out.
‘I sort of guessed that for myself,’ she whispered back.
‘In fact, talking is the last thing on my mind right now.’
And Bianca nodded, because she was right there with him. All she cared about was the hardness nudging so insistently against her thighs and the answering rush of heat as her hungry lips sought his.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WEWILLSHORTLYbe coming in to land in London. The captain hopes you have both enjoyed a pleasant flight.’
The flight attendant’s smile was wide, and the glass of wine she had recently served had been cold and delicious, but Bianca’s heart was pounding with anxiety as the plane began its descent through the wintry bleakness of the English morning sky. Everything was happening so fast that it felt like being on a non-stop merry-go-round and she thought, not for the first time, that this was turning out to be the most bizarre Christmas morning of her life.
Opposite her sat Xanthos, his long-legged frame reclining in the leather seat of the private jet he’d hired to fly them from Vargmali where, earlier today, they had left the tiny village of Kopshtell. With the Christmas bells peeling in their ears and big fat flakes of snow beginning to fall, many of the friendly villagers they’d met last night had turned up to wave them off. Bianca’s heart had leapt as she had hugged Ellen and promised that they might try to come back one day. Had it been presumptuous of her to include Xanthos in her impulsive declaration to the local doctor’s wife? Was that why he had been sodistanttowards her during the two-hour flight back to London?
After a long night of rapturous lovemaking when she had thought they were as close as two people could be, she had been given a short, sharp shock this morning. Because once they had dragged themselves from their rumpled bed at a hellishly early hour, there had been no touching, or complicit eye contact—no physical contact at all. For a start, Xanthos had dressed in an immaculate city suit and silk tie and that too seemed to set him apart since her own outfit was decidedly casual. Then he’d spent the entire journey working, giving no hint to the crew—or even to her—that they had been lovers. Looking at their body language, no one would have guessed that he had introduced her to pleasure after pleasure, or confided some pretty disturbing things about his childhood before clamming up completely—confidences she suspected were rare. Was he now regretting having made such frank disclosures to a woman who was little more than a stranger?