Bound to the Greek (8 page)

Eleanor felt her face drain of colour. Her fingers, clutching the strap of her attaché so tightly, were aching and numb. She hated that Jace had assessed her so thoroughly, so damningly. She hated that he was right.

‘You don’t know anything,’ she said, the words forced out of a throat that had closed in on itself, tight with tears. She hated too that he’d made her so emotional, when for ten years she’d managed to be as cool and professional and feelingless as ice. As snow.

‘Don’t I?’ Jace took a step closer. Eleanor saw compassion on his face, softening those taut lines, turning his eyes to a soft, sympathetic grey. ‘What made you change so much, Ellie?’

A single stab of fury streaked through her, startling her out of numbness. ‘Even now you don’t know the answer to that question?’ she demanded, her voice harsh with accusation. ‘I’ll tell you what changed me, Jace. You did.’

His eyes widened, his jaw slackening for the briefest of seconds. ‘Ellie—’

‘And I told you, don’t call me that. I stopped being Ellie the day I went to your apartment building and nobody was there.’ She saw him give a little shake of his head, and she wanted to scream at his arrogance. He had no idea what she’d been through. No idea at all. He’d chosen to damn her and miss it all. ‘So don’t call me that again,’ she informed him
brutally, ‘because that Ellie? The one you think you knew so well? She no longer exists. She hasn’t for ten years.’

And with that, leaving Jace still shocked and speechless, Eleanor turned and left the room.

E
VERYTHING
was ready. Or, Eleanor amended silently, as ready as it ever would be. She glanced around the dining room; the first guests were scheduled to arrive in just ten minutes.

She’d spent the entire day at the boathouse, arranging centrepieces and party favours, checking to make sure the sound system worked and the band, who had arrived an hour ago, had everything they needed. She’d visited the kitchen several times to check on the food, and just fifteen minutes ago she’d finally retired to the Ladies to freshen up and change into her cocktail dress. She’d bypassed her standard LBD, classic but boring, in favour of a spangled silver sheath dress that glittered when she moved. By the time the party rolled round, event planners were meant to fade into the background, not take centre stage. Yet Eleanor hadn’t been able to resist this dress. It made her feel like a snowflake. And she needed to feel good, craved that little pleasure because ever since she’d seen Jace last night she’d been out of sorts, emotionally edgy and drained at turns. He’d thrown her completely off balance, and she hated it. One minute she felt coldly furious, the next aggravatingly aware. She hated the flip-flop of her moods, her own body. She hated that Jace had caused this, that he was the source of her weakness.

She straightened a few napkins, moved a few of the freshly cut pussy-willow branches that made the stark yet elegant
centrepieces for the table. The colour of the soft grey buds reminded her of Jace’s eyes.

Forcing her mind away from that train of thought, she glanced outside at the terrace, where snow had been carted in to make playful mounds, ready to be turned into snowmen and igloos. A special kids’ cocoa bar with four different kinds of hot chocolate and several flavours of marshmallows and whipped cream had been set out by the electric heater.

Family-friendly.

She didn’t normally do parties with children, and she’d been surprised how much she had enjoyed it. Surprised and a little sad, for children surely were not in her future. She’d accepted that long ago, had had years to live with it, yet now, with Jace back in her life—for however short a time—the pain was fresh again. Did you ever
truly
heal?

She heard a sound at the door, and with both relief and a little anxiety she realised the first guests were arriving. The party had started.

Jace stood at the threshold of the Lake Room, gazing in amazed wonder at the transformed space. The dining room was the epitome of understated elegance, strung with fairy lights, everything silver and white and crystalline. Like snow. He took in the long, graceful branches of pussy willows in their crystal vases, the snowflake ornaments at every child’s place, and then glanced outside where children were delighting in playing with the mounds of snow, their faces already happily smeared with chocolate.

It was perfect.

He was only sorry to have missed the beginning, both for Eleanor’s sake and that of Leandro Atrikides. Already he saw the speculative, sideways looks employees slid him, wary and uncertain. It had been Leandro’s damn son Talos who had kept him from being prompt; the greedy bastard was still angling for a bigger payout.

Jace suppressed a sigh. Sometimes he wished he’d never involved himself in this unholy mess; Leandro’s avaricious
children had made a near ruin of his company. Jace’s buyout had been little more than a mercy mission.

Yet if he hadn’t come to New York, he wouldn’t have seen Eleanor again…

And he was glad he had.

Wasn’t he?

He realised he was searching for her through the crowds, had in fact been doing so since he’d arrived. He’d been thinking about her since he’d seen her last night, since she’d damned him with those words:

That Ellie? The one you think you knew so well? She no longer exists.

And it was all, utterly his fault. He was to blame for making Eleanor Langley the woman she was now.

You’re the kind of person you never wanted to be.

Harsh words, and he knew he’d hurt her by saying them. But he couldn’t take them back. He wouldn’t. Yet what could he do about it? How could he help her?

And even if he did help her, somehow, wasn’t he just doing it to make himself feel better? Still selfish.

Jace moved through the crowds, scanning the throng for a glimpse of Eleanor.

And then he saw her, and his head emptied of thoughts. She stood by the window, surveying the party scene with a preoccupied air, and yet despite the tiny frown between her brows she looked lovely. Breathtaking in a shimmery dress that moved like liquid silver, encasing a slender body Jace remembered and knew so well. His palms suddenly itched to slide along that silky material and find the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. To pull her towards him, to have her come to him, unresisting, unrepentant.

To feel Ellie in his arms again.

‘Eleanor!’

Eleanor turned, nerves fluttering low in her belly as she saw Jace coming towards her. It was a feeling that was both familiar and strange, for the nerves were not caused by
anxiety, but anticipation. Even though they’d parted on such harsh terms last night, her body still leapt when she saw him. Almost as if she were
glad
to see him. Even though she shouldn’t be.

He stopped in front of her, reaching out with both hands to clasp hers. Eleanor accepted his touch—his hands were warm, dry, and strong, his fingers folding over hers—without even thinking about what she was doing. Part of her brain knew she should step back, smile coolly, and remain safely distant. Yet that part of her had fallen silent and still. She did nothing.

He was smiling at her with warm admiration, his gaze sweeping her from the top of her elegant chignon to the tips of her rhinestone-encrusted stiletto sandals, and it did something rather pleasant and shivery to her insides. It also kept her from forming a single coherent thought.

‘You look magnificent.’

‘So do you,’ Eleanor blurted, and then blushed. But he did, she couldn’t deny it. He wore a dark grey silk suit, his crimson tie a festive splash of colour, the expensive material emphasising his powerful frame, a body she knew and remembered. A body she had once loved.

‘And this party is wonderful,’ Jace continued in that same warm voice, a voice she also remembered, low and honeyed, sliding over her senses.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and slipped her hands from his. Her brain was reminding her why this wasn’t a good idea. Why she needed to remain poised, polished. Professional.

‘Very unique.’

‘That’s what you wanted.’ She realised she sounded a little sharp; she felt sharp, as if she were nothing but edges. She softened her words with a smile even as she took a step away. ‘Everyone is about to sit down for dinner, so I should go see to a few things—’

Jace nodded his acceptance. ‘I’m sorry I was late.’

‘You can be late to your own party if you want.’ Damn, she still sounded defensive. Why did Jace still affect her in
so many ways? Her hands tingled from his touch. Her heart hurt. And the fact that he had been late hurt too. It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care. She’d spent ten years making sure she didn’t care.

Yet apparently she still did.

‘I’d better go,’ she said, and turned quickly away before Jace could say anything more.

A minor dilemma in the kitchen—a shortage of vegan meals—kept her occupied for the next while, and she managed to avoid Jace as she moved around the room, making sure everyone was happy and fed. Yet even so her gaze kept sliding to him of its own accord. He was seated at the head table, his head bent as he chatted and laughed with the guest on his right, a curvaceous brunette poured into an emerald-green cocktail dress. She was, Eleanor knew from the guest list, Leandro Atrikides’s daughter, Kristina. She looked as if she wanted to gobble up Jace in one delicious bite.

And, Eleanor told herself, so what if she did? She was
not
jealous. Jealousy would be both pointless and absurd. She didn’t
care
what Jace did, or with whom he did it. She couldn’t. Eleanor turned away, smiled and chatted with a young couple five tables away from Jace and made sure not to look at him again.

At the end of the meal, just before Eleanor was about to cue the music for dancing, she heard the sharp, crystalline clang of a fork tapped against a wine glass and the room fell warily silent.

Jace rose from his seat.

Eleanor held her breath.

‘Thank you all for coming,’ Jace began in a melodious voice that flowed over her and the rest of his audience. ‘It is a pleasure and an honour to be among you today.’ He let his gaze rove over the room, warm and smiling. Eleanor stepped back away from the table, into the shadows. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want Jace to see her—or if he even would? but she felt safer against the wall, away from the light. ‘I’m very grateful for your presence,’ Jace continued, ‘especially
in this difficult period of change.’ Eleanor saw people shift in their seats, heard a few murmured whispers. Jace must have felt the sudden, palpable tension in the room, although he gave no sign of it. He smiled easily and kept talking.

‘I want to assure you that I will do everything in my power to ensure a smooth transition, and that it is my first concern to uphold the integrity of this company, which Leandro Atrikides instilled nearly half a century ago.’ He paused, letting his gaze linger on a few faces, then looked up to scan the entire audience. Eleanor retreated even further, so her back came up against the wall. ‘But this evening is a time for celebration, and I am delighted to see all of you—’ here he smiled at a sleepy child lolling against her mother’s arms ‘—enjoying yourselves. So let me take a moment to thank the person who made it all happen, and in the space of a single week. Eleanor?’ Her name was a question, and Eleanor blinked, stunned, speechless.

She’d been thanked before, although not very often. Event planners were meant to be invisible, as if the party magically put itself together. That was the goal. Yet here was Jace, extending his hand, smiling warmly, and looking right at her.

Somehow, even though she was skulking in the shadows like some shamed wallflower, he’d found her. And under the admiring heat of his gaze, Eleanor felt as if she’d stepped straight into the spotlight.

She heard people shift and murmur yet again, and knew her silence was becoming ridiculous. And so unlike her. She was professional. This was professional.

Even if it didn’t feel like it.

Clearing her throat, she stepped away from the wall as a patter of applause fell around her like rain. She gave a little nod of acceptance. ‘Thank you, Mr Zervas.’ His name stuck in her throat.

‘And thank you,’ Jace replied. ‘This couldn’t have happened without you.’

She nodded again, jerkily this time, and stepped back into the shadows. To her relief the conversation resumed, and she
was forgotten. Yet when she looked up she saw Jace was still gazing straight at her, and the look in his eyes—something both fierce and primal—made her legs so weak that she sagged helplessly against the wall once more.

She managed to avoid him for the next hour, although why she was avoiding him at all, Eleanor had no idea. What was she scared of? They’d parted so harshly last night, and while her mind reminded her of that painful conversation, her body tingled with awareness and memory. Desire, even.

Eleanor stopped in mid-stride on the way to the kitchen and blew out a long, slow breath as she acknowledged her attraction to Jace. Her aggravating and overwhelming attraction. It shouldn’t even surprise her, really. Ten years ago she’d been overwhelmed by desire for him from the moment he’d entered the coffee shop where she’d been a barista and asked for a latte in that delicious Greek accent. Even after they’d been dating for several months, he’d still had the power to leave her speechless and desperate with longing in a matter of minutes. Why should that change?

As long as she reminded herself that her body’s reaction to Jace was purely biological, chemical, nothing more than hormones or pheromones or whatever those things were—

‘I’m almost starting to think you’re hiding from me.’

Eleanor stiffened. Ahead of her the kitchen loomed, bustling, bright, safe. The hallway was narrow, dark, and empty. Except for her and Jace.

She turned around slowly, taking in his powerful frame, his immaculate suit. He smiled, that sleepy, suggestive smile she knew so well. She’d teased him that he knew it, and he always acted innocent and even affronted. Now she had no doubt: he knew. He knew the power of that smile, how it made her feel. What it had once made her do. And perhaps what it could make her do again. That was why she was avoiding him.