Heiress's Defiance (13 page)

She clenched her fists on the railing. Oh, it hurt to love. She’d never been in love with anyone before. She’d loved her family, but she’d sacrificed so damn much for them. She’d sacrificed all her youthful dreams, her hopes, even her thoughts of love and happiness
and children with a man. She’d never allowed herself to fall before—or maybe she hadn’t been capable of it.

But she was now, and she had, and for the worst man possible. Christos did not love her. If he did, he wouldn’t have been so cold and unemotional just now. He only cared about the job—and she thought too much of herself to beg him for even a crumb of affection.

She would not do that. Not ever. He clearly wanted it to be over. He wanted her to return to London and run the company while he toured the locations alone. She hadn’t expected that. She put her hands to her hot cheeks and vowed not to cry.

Dammit, what
had
she expected? That everything would go back to normal, with the exception of their relationship? That they’d need one room while they toured rather than two?

What an idiot she was. Christos was the ultimate manipulator, bringing her here and forcing her to confront the circumstances of his youth. He’d known how she would react, she had no doubt. Because that’s what he did. He observed and cataloged and calculated. And he’d made himself into a spectacular businessman because of it.

No, she would not expose him now. She
couldn’t. What was there to expose? That he’d been another person? That his father beat him so badly he still bore the scars? That he’d gone to juvenile detention for nearly killing a man who would have killed him and his mother eventually?

Only a cruel person would do that. And she was not cruel. Perhaps that was her downfall. Perhaps she wasn’t willing to do whatever it took to succeed. She sniffed. At least she could live with herself.

But she could not stay here. Not for another moment. She went back inside and changed into a pair of jeans and a comfortable silky shirt. Then she grabbed a sweater, picked up her purse and briefcase and headed downstairs.

The doors were open to the terrace and she went outside, found Christos standing beside the pool with a glass in one hand. He looked lost and alone, but she hardened her heart and swore she would not try to soothe him. He did not want her comfort. He did not want her.

He turned as he heard her feet falling on the stone. She did not give him a chance to speak.

“I want to leave now.” Her heart hammered and her pulse beat wildly in her ears. She thought she probably sounded a touch desperate,
a touch insane, but she couldn’t spend another night in this house, not with him in another room and her knowing that she would never spend a night in his arms again. That it was over and she was the fool for falling.

“Now? It’s after eleven at night.”

“So? You said I could go when I was ready. I’m ready. Call a helicopter, Christos. Call a damn speedboat. I don’t care, but I want to leave.”

“Lucillitsa—”

“Don’t you dare,” she bit out. Her chest heaved with emotion. “Don’t you dare call me anything other than Lucilla or Ms. Chatsfield
ever
again. You’ve made it very clear that we are done, so no more cutesy names. No more intimacy. It’s over, Christos, and I want to leave.”

“You are overreacting.” He sounded cool, emotionless. Mechanical.

“Am I?” She felt wild inside, crazy with emotion. She wanted to slap him again, and that was an awful thing to feel. And she wanted to wrap her arms around his waist and beg him to love her. That was perhaps a
worse
thing to feel. She’d been at low points in her life, at points where she felt no one cared or understood, but none of those moments compared to this one.

To standing here in front of the man she loved and knowing he didn’t feel the same for her. To trying to hold herself together while simultaneously knowing she
had
to get off this island before she exploded.

“Morning is soon enough,” he began.

“No. Now, Christos. You brought me here against my will and now I want to go.
Right now
.”

He stared at her for a long minute. For one wild moment, she hoped he would relent, that his stony facade would crumble and he would drag her into his arms and kiss her. That he would tell her he was a fool and beg her forgiveness.

Those things did not happen.

“Very well,” he said, fishing into his pocket for his phone. “I’ll make it happen.”

L
UCILLA COULD HARDLY
believe she was back in London. She’d been home for a week, and she’d been battling a sense of unreality ever since. It was as if her life could be divided into two halves: before Greece and after Greece. As if it were that simple. As if it came down to a single moment where everything had changed when in fact it was a vortex of change that spun her apart and then put her back together again.

Though not the same as before.

The world was sharper now, crueler, and she was battered and bruised. But she was still here, dammit, and she would survive. No one knew how her life had been ripped apart at the seams and she had no intentions of letting them know.

Just like always, she was Lucilla Chatsfield, the rock upon which her entire family could rely. She had met up with Cara recently
at the Demarche event, but seeing Cara hadn’t grounded her in the way it used to. That her siblings no longer seemed to need her as much as they once had was not a problem for her. She would be available, like always. For a brief time, Christos had made her think of herself—her wants and needs and desires—but she was over that now.

It hurt too much to put herself first, so she would bury herself in work again and hope the sharpness of her agony would settle into a dull roar.

Lucilla sniffed as she scrolled through the morning reports. Since Christos was off gallivanting around the world, she’d taken over his office. It was a nice office. It had almost been hers, until she’d been foolish enough to accept his offer. Lucilla pinched the bridge of her nose. Dammit.

She could still see him standing in front of the ossuary, still hear the trauma in his voice as he told her about his mother. If only she was as heartless as he was. If only she could have walked out of his house that morning and told him to hell with it, that she’d pay him his severance package and be glad of it.

But she hadn’t. She’d stayed and she’d listened. Strangely, she was happy she had. Because she wasn’t the sort of person who could
ignore anyone’s pain. Maybe that meant she wasn’t as hard or cold as she needed to be, but she’d made her peace with that. If being ruthless meant she couldn’t sleep at night, then she didn’t want it.

She continued with the reports, then sent out some orders to the department heads and turned to look out at the park across the street. A smiling man and woman played with a toddler, and Lucilla’s stomach ached with the knot of pain that had lodged inside it. Why did it hurt so much to watch others be happy? She was accustomed to it, wasn’t she?

The door swung inward and she turned, ready to ask Jessie why she was barging in without knocking—Lucilla had learned that lesson, after all—but it wasn’t Jessie standing in the doorway.

Lucilla’s heart squeezed tight in her chest. Christos looked as handsome and remote as always, dressed in a pair of dark trousers and a crisp white shirt with gray pinstripes. His hair was mussed and his eyes were bloodshot. Her first instinct was to go to him, but she forced herself to remain seated as she let her gaze roll over him.

“We did not expect you back so soon,” she said coolly, her heart thrumming an impossible
rhythm. “In fact, I thought you were in Moscow today.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I was.” He tossed his briefcase on a chair and stalked toward the desk. Lucilla swallowed hard. He stopped in front of her and she realized that he hadn’t shaved this morning. Or, apparently, slept.

Lucilla got up, her heart lodging in her throat. “What’s wrong, Christos? Has something happened?”

There had been no drama that she was aware of.

“I don’t know,” he said. He passed a hand over his face and then his eyes were hot on hers. “I miss you, Lucilla. That’s not supposed to happen.”

Myriad emotions washed over her then. Hope. Love. Anger. Fear. Despair.

“I don’t know what that means, Christos. You’re the one who decided we were finished.”

“Perhaps I made a mistake.”

Her pulse skipped. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on her skin. It was what she wanted, and yet …

It wasn’t enough. This past week had been torture for her, knowing she’d been so bloody stupid as to fall for him when he wasn’t very
likely to fall in return. She knew what he was, what he did. Christos was a lover of women—many women. And she couldn’t take just a piece of him when she wanted everything.

She deserved everything, damn him.

“What do you propose? That we take up where we left off? That I fall into your arms and be grateful for whatever scraps of affection you deign to give me?”

His brows drew together. “I did not say that.”

“Then what are you saying?” She sounded shrill, and she did not like it. She modulated her tone. “Because I’m afraid I don’t understand what you want.”

He looked as if he were in pain. And then, just like that, he wiped away the look of uncertainty and became once more the cool, efficient Greek tycoon. “Isn’t it obvious? I want you in my bed, Lucilla. I want more of what we had together in Greece.”

“What did we have? Because I’m not sure.”

He looked puzzled. “Sex. Heat. Companionship.”

She was trembling. “I think you can get that anywhere. You don’t need me for sex when you have a legion of women willing to provide it for you.”

His jaw worked. “But I don’t want them. I want you.”

Lucilla’s stomach went into free fall. It was what she wanted to hear. And yet … not. She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “Do you love me, Christos?”

He looked puzzled. And then he looked stunned, and her heart fell to the bottom of the chasm in her soul, where it shattered into a million shards of cut glass.
Well, what did you expect?

“I am … fond of you.” The words seemed to be dragged from him and she didn’t know whether to be flattered or angered.

She came around the desk and stopped in front of him. She could feel his heat, smell his skin, and she wanted to melt into him the way she had countless times in Greece. But she had to be strong.

“Fond? I’m afraid that’s not good enough.” She tried not to get teary, but she could feel tears welling up behind her eyes. She lifted her hand to his jaw, smoothed it against his stubble-roughened skin. He turned his cheek into her palm and her heart throbbed painfully.

“I need more from you.” She had to push the words past the tightness in her throat.

He looked wary. “More?”

She put her other palm on his cheek, cupped his face in her hands. “Yes, more.” She sucked in a breath and plunged onward. “I can’t be your temporary mistress. I can’t be a hot office romance that’s convenient for now. I can’t be with you and wonder when it’ll be over the next time, when you’ll close yourself off from me and tell me you have to take a trip somewhere while I stay behind. I can’t watch you arrive at a Chatsfield event with another woman on your arm. I won’t do any of those things, Christos. So unless you can give me more, I think it’s best we keep things the way they are.”

His jaw worked. His eyes glittered. And then he tugged her against him and crushed his mouth down on hers. Her body dissolved as his beloved lips moved over hers. His tongue slid into her mouth and she moaned as she clung to him.

But that voice in the back of her head wouldn’t let her enjoy the moment. It kept telling her she had to stand up for herself, that he was trying to kiss her into compliance without really giving her a thing. That he was imposing his will on her and trying to make her bend to it.

She pushed her palms against his chest—once, hard—and he let her go.

“Lucillitsa …” He swallowed. “I can’t be what you want. I can’t promise you anything. I can only be what I am, and I can only give you what is in my heart right this minute. I want you. I’ve tried not to, but I do. And that’s more than I’ve given any woman.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s not enough.” Her throat ached. Hadn’t she been here before? In so many different ways than this one, she’d accepted less than she deserved because others claimed it was all they were capable of. “I’m tired of doing the best I can and it not being good enough. I’m tired of giving my all and having others give me a portion in return.” She shook her head back and forth almost violently. “No, I won’t do it. I won’t accept it. It’s all or nothing, Christos.”

He stood there staring at her for so long, his eyes gleaming hot. And then he reached for his briefcase. “I have nothing to give you, Lucilla. Nothing.”

Christos was bitterly angry. His life had always made sense to him, but now he couldn’t find his equilibrium. He’d let Lucilla leave him in Greece. He’d watched her climb onto the helicopter, telling himself it was the right thing to let her go. She’d looked upset. There had been dark shadows under her eyes, hollows
that he knew he’d put there, and he’d told himself it was best if he complied with her request to leave.

He’d intended to return to London with her, and then to begin his tour of the Chatsfield locations. But he couldn’t make himself get on that helicopter, couldn’t endure a long flight where he no longer had the right to touch her or kiss her or lose himself in her warmth.

The next day, rather than return to London, he’d begun his tour. And it had worked for the first few days. He’d thrown himself into the job, evaluating the businesses and making much needed changes in New York and San Francisco. He’d congratulated himself on his ability to focus on work.

But the nights were hell. He kept thinking of Lucilla, kept imagining her there with him, her beautiful smile, her lush body, the sounds she made when she shattered, the way her body pulsed around him. He’d wanted her and he’d missed her, and that both stunned him and angered him.

Christos did not need anyone. He’d spent a lifetime not needing anyone. He’d learned, in the hell of his youth, that needing made you vulnerable. He couldn’t go there ever again. It was too dangerous, too frightening.

It was so much easier not to love people.
They couldn’t disappoint you when you expected nothing from them. They couldn’t hurt you when you didn’t care.

He rubbed a hand over his chest, wondering why it ached when it wasn’t supposed to. Lucilla was nothing special. She was a woman, like all women. Yes, he was intrigued by her. Yes, he wanted her still. He wanted her beneath him, wanted her voice in his ear, his name on her lips.

But how was he supposed to have these things when she wouldn’t comply? When she demanded he give her things he would give to no one? Things he no longer possessed?

He didn’t have a heart, dammit. He’d carved it out in juvenile detention, and he’d kept the space where it was supposed to be empty as he’d moved through his life, ruthlessly slashing and burning everything in his path.

He was precisely what he’d wanted to be. Successful, rich, emotionless, unattached to anyone or anything. It was safe.

He let himself into his apartment and dropped his briefcase on the floor. It was quiet, empty, and for the first time he could ever remember, he didn’t like the emptiness. Maybe he would get a cat. Not a dog, because
dogs needed to be walked, but a cat, a creature wary and remote like himself.

Christos swore as he went over to the liquor cabinet and poured a finger of Scotch into a tumbler. He was thinking of cats now? Of acquiring one and spending his nights cooped up with the creature in this apartment? Had it really come to this?

He stalked through the apartment and into the library where an easel stood draped in cloth. He stared at the cloth, wondering why he’d bought the damn thing beneath it and if he dared to look at it.

Furious with himself, he whipped the cloth away from the painting. A woman laughed at him from the canvas. A woman who looked very much like the one he’d left standing in his office at the Chatsfield.

She was lovely, but not as lovely as Lucilla. He looked at the way her head tilted, at the way the artist had painted her laughter. She seemed happy, yet she’d harbored so much unhappiness that she’d abandoned her family twenty years ago and never returned. He understood that kind of unhappiness.

Christos tossed the liquor back and it scalded his throat as it burned a path into his belly. He turned away from the portrait and stalked out of the library. He’d learned a
long time ago that the only way to deal with pain was to confront it head-on. And then to obliterate it.

Lucilla did not see Christos for the next several days. He returned to the office, but she avoided him completely. She didn’t even make the morning staff meetings. And Christos did not summon her. He sent her emails. She replied to the ones she had to reply to and let Jessie answer the rest. Jessie had been handling everything well enough in Sophie’s absence that Christos insisted he didn’t need another assistant just yet.

Christos rescheduled the shareholders’ meeting and Lucilla accepted it on her tablet’s calendar, already thinking of possible excuses to miss it. But she knew she could not. It was the one meeting where she had to face him and she would do so with steel in her spine.

But, oh, how she missed him. She was so furious with herself, and furious with him. He’d told her he missed her, but he clearly did not miss her enough. She was replaceable in his life and she kept waiting for the moment when he would appear in the tabloids with another woman on his arm. It was inevitable and she told herself she would survive it.

Though she’d been looking at vacation
packages just in case. She had brochures for Mallorca, Hawaii, Tenerife, Saint Kitts. Any of them would do in a crisis, though Hawaii was the most remote and perhaps the best fit because of it. She fingered the brochure again, stroked the glossy photo of a palm tree at sunset and a woman in a grass skirt. Paradise. Peace.

If only it were that easy.

The morning of the shareholders’ meeting dawned and Lucilla dressed carefully in a tailored suit the color of eggplant. She put on a pair of tall nude heels, swiped on fresh lipstick and started to wind her hair into a bun. But as she looked at herself in the mirror, she made the decision to leave it down. Christos liked it down. Not that she was doing it to please him. No, she was doing it because she wanted to. Because she liked the way the color looked against her suit jacket and because it made her feel pretty.