Heady anticipation coursed through him at the image of Tessa locked in a bedroom, awaiting his convenience. It evoked intriguing possibilities. His blood heated to sizzling awareness at the mere idea.
He frowned as he walked down the hall. He’d avoided her ever since that mind-blowing kiss had obliterated his control. One kiss had him desperate for another taste, eager for the exquisite release that he knew instinctively she could give him.
He’d been betrayed by his own body. By lust for a woman he knew was just as calculating as his stepmothers.
No wonder his fury had known no bounds and he’d lashed out, throwing all his guilt and disillusionment into the barbs he aimed at her. He’d been almost beyond reason, scared above all by his own weakness.
His gut clenched hard in shame. There was no excuse for the barbaric way he’d treated her.
He’d avoided her lest he find himself unable to behave like a rational, civilised man. Where Tessa Marlowe was concerned he’d developed the instincts of a Neanderthal. It was ownership he felt, possession he wanted.
She thought him an uncouth lout. Yet better that than have her discover her power over him. All she had to do was turn her beguiling green eyes on him, soften her pouting lips just so, or let him close to her delectable body and he was lost, raw instinct taking over from careful logic.
Sto Diavolo! He almost wanted to believe in her. He was a fair way to becoming a fool. Just like his father.
Carefully Tessa poured the rich, pungent coffee from the beaker into two tiny cups.
‘It looks good,’ Vassilis said from the other side of the table, leaning forward to inspect it. ‘Much better than that first attempt of yours.’
She laughed, her lips stretching easily into a smile that only a few days ago had felt stiff and uncomfortable. Her first effort at making Greek coffee had been disastrous. Now, after days of practice, the brew was drinkable.
‘Nothing could be that awful.’ She passed him the demitasse cup with the obligatory glass of water and sat down. ‘Well, taste it. Or do you think it’ll poison you?’
Steely dark eyes under black brows looked up at her and for an instant her breath snagged. Sometimes the similarity between Vassilis Denakis and his son was devastating. The same eyes, same large frame, same decisiveness and impatience. She wondered if, like his father, Stavros had a softer side, carefully hidden from public view.
She’d never get close enough to find out. A pang of crazy regret sheared through her at the knowledge.
‘Not bad,’ Vassilis said, cutting across her thoughts. ‘In fact…’ His brows rose as he stared over her shoulder, his words petering out.
A prickle of sensation lifted the hairs at her nape and a tingle of hot awareness spread over her skin. She’d only ever felt that when Stavros looked at her.
He was here, his hot, disapproving gaze ready to devour her, his tongue primed to lash at her feeble defiance. No doubt he’d decided it was time to take her to task for daring to visit his father without express permission.
Her mouth dried. Was she ready for the confrontation?
‘How nice to see the family gathered together. The pair of you look quite…domestic.’
Despite his sarcasm, a tiny thrill shivered through Tessa at the very masculine sound of that voice. As always, her body revved into heightened awareness when he was near.
‘Stavro! What are you doing here?’ Vassilis asked. ‘Is something wrong at the office? You’re back early.’
‘Nothing is wrong, Patera. I just decided to come home.’
Vassilis’ rounded eyes told Tessa how rare that was. She braced herself and turned to face Stavros. Inevitably his impact, those keen eyes and the aura of energy about the man, made her glad she was sitting down.
Heat rocketed up to her cheeks as his gaze moved to her, slowed and fixed on her face, her mouth. He was remembering too. The combustible desire, the almost violent passion. That kiss. The accusations that had flayed every defence, leaving her vulnerable and in pain.
She turned her head away and sipped from her cup. Her hand shook so she had to hold it with both hands to prevent the liquid spilling.
‘Would you like coffee?’ she heard Vassilis ask. ‘Tessa makes a passable metrio.’
‘No, thanks. I’ll save that pleasure for another time.’
Tessa shivered as he lingered on the word pleasure. Unbidden, memories engulfed her of the ecstasy she’d felt in Stavros’ arms, ravished to within an inch of her sanity, just by his mouth, his heat, the urgent hardness of his rampant body so close to her own.
In the silence that followed she tried to focus on the coffee in her hand, on the lovely light-filled room. But some unseen force compelled her to turn, till his darkening gaze snared hers and everything else fell away.