Lizzie’s father had almost destroyed.
‘Stop,’ he warned, reading her. ‘No one, least of all me, blames you for your father’s crimes. The only thing that does puzzle me,’ he admitted, ‘is that you always had what it took to get ahead, but for some reason it hasn’t worked out for you as well as I expected. Obviously I’m curious to know why.’
She brushed his remark aside with a casual gesture, though everything inside her had tightened in a knot. ‘I wouldn’t waste your time investigating me.’
He huffed a laugh, but she didn’t kid herself that this was over. Damon’s interest in her life over the past eleven years had been well and truly stirred, and he wouldn’t let go now. Nothing would satisfy him but a full explanation.
‘In case you hadn’t noticed,’ he said in excuse, ‘you interest me. No one had ever taken me on as you did outside that courtroom. You were only just eighteen and, apart from your fair-weather friends, you were on your own. I was older, surrounded by family and a legal team, but nothing stopped you. There’s nothing wrong with asserting your rights and showing loyalty to your family—that’s something I really get. You were right to stand your ground—and right to rage at me. I was a bastard.’
‘You admit it?’ Amusement cut through her anxiety for a few moments. ‘Maybe there’s hope for you yet.’
She should have known that Damon would take advantage of this lighter mood. He jumped straight on it.
‘So, are you going to tell me what happened to the promises you made to yourself about developing your painting and your cooking, and all those other dreams?’
‘What is it they say about promises?’ she countered. ‘Aren’t they like pie crusts, made to be broken?’
Damon’s gaze sharpened on her face. ‘If there’s one thing I won’t believe it’s that you gave up your dreams easily. There must be something big you’re not telling me.’
‘There is,’ she agreed. ‘It’s called life.’
He looked at her sceptically.
‘Life moves on, Damon, and we have to move with it.’
Eleven years of fighting, with her only goal being to make a good life for Thea. Her goal remained the same today, and it didn’t allow for dreams.
‘That’s enough,’ he declared, swinging her into his arms. ‘I won’t send you back with a frown on your face.
She laughed. It was such a relief to escape the dangerous topic.
Damon carried her across the shells to the sea so they could swim back to the boat. She exhaled raggedly when he set her down at the water’s edge and his hands skimmed her breasts. She stared into his eyes, wondering if it was wrong to feel this happy, and if she’d be made to pay. If happiness was an indulgence she didn’t deserve she was going to be in debt for the rest of her life, because she was drowning in the stuff.
She sucked in a breath as Damon’s hands touched her breasts. ‘Your breasts are fuller than I remember. And your nipples are a deeper, rosier pink—’
Pregnancy, she thought, immediately tensing. She was right not to count on happiness lasting. It hadn’t even made it back to the boat.
‘I’m older,’ she dismissed with a shrug.
He huffed a laugh. ‘So old,’ he agreed dryly, adding, ‘You never could take a compliment, could you, Lizzie?’
As Damon stared into her eyes, as if searching for the truth he knew she was hiding, she grew increasingly anxious. ‘What time is it?’ she asked, worrying about Thea, worrying about Damon, worrying about everything…
‘Time enough,’ he soothed, running his fingertips down her cheek to her lips. ‘We’ll be back before two. We can see the house another time. I blame you for being so irresistible.’
As he took Lizzie’s face between his hands he felt her tremble. His fingers ploughed into her hair, his thumbs caressed her jawbone just below her ears, but she couldn’t be soothed and when he kissed her he felt tears on her face.
He blamed himself. He’d been so busy driving forward after the trial, trying to make everything right again for his father, that he hadn’t spared a thought for Lizzie, and now he could only imagine what she’d been through.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered as her shoulders shook beneath his hands. ‘This is my fault. The way I treated you was—’
‘No. Please don’t say that,’ she argued fiercely. ‘You’re a good man, Damon. If your father hadn’t spoken up mine would have destroyed even more people. I didn’t want to see his faults then, but I can see them now.’
‘We should get back,’ he murmured.
‘Yes,’ she said, staring into his eyes.
Damon’s kisses were drugging reminders of a time she would never forget. His body pressed against hers was a reminder her of how safe she felt in his arms. Fate was cruel—acting as if they were meant to be together, meant to have had Thea, meant to meet again in Stavros’s restaurant and here on the island. Fate was taunting them, she suspected.
Damon pulled away first and glanced out to sea at the powerboat in a silent signal that their idyll was over. They both had to return to their lives and to reality, and to all the problems that lay ahead of them.
Lifting her chin, she said, ‘I’m ready if you are.’
The first thing she did when they were back on the powerboat was check the clock, to make sure she would be in good time to catch the local bus to Thea’s concert. She felt embarrassed when Damon caught her looking, and wondered if he thought she was trying to hurry the time away.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
He made a sound of acknowledgement, but there was plenty to do as he prepared the powerboat for leaving, and no more time for conversation. Not that there was anything left to say—not before she’d spoken to Thea.
He was frustrated by Lizzie’s reluctance to admit that there was something troubling her. She trusted him enough to have sex with him, but not enough to allow him to help her. What could be that bad?
After eleven years he would have been more surprised if they didn’t have things to tell each other, but if it was another man, and that was why she couldn’t say anything, then she was no better than her father. He refused to believe that of her.
He should have asked her straight out—would have done if they had devoted more time to talking and less time to sex. He might expect the Greek community to close around her, but why hadn’t Stavros said something? Why hadn’t Iannis? Didn’t they trust him either?
He respected their silence—he was forced to admit that. He just hated being in the dark, and apart from hearing third-hand while he was in the desert that Lizzie’s father had died in prison, and that her stepmother was living with another man, he knew next to nothing about those eleven years where Lizzie was concerned.
They had an uneventful journey back to the other side of the island. They disembarked, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and then he drove her to the door of the restaurant. But everything had changed; she was tense now.
‘Thank you,’ she exclaimed with relief. ‘You said you had somewhere to be too? I hope I haven’t made you late?’
He shrugged. ‘A visit to my parents’ home to discuss the last-minute arrangements for my father’s party can be delayed