Brax to the playground. What chance did either of their bodies stand against that hunk of metal, commanded by a madman?
Hair that had been a vibrant russet with eyes that were the same shade as the ocean beyond this hotel; he saw her as she’d been in life, and then, as she’d been in death.
He would never forget Amy Stathakis, nor the violent fate that had awaited her, murdered because of his father’s criminal activities.
Dion Stathakis had destroyed their family, and, with Amy and Brax’s death, had destroyed Leonidas’s life.
Anger surged inside him and he curved his fingers more tightly about his Scotch glass, wondering how many of these he’d had. Not so many as to dull the pain yet, though in his experience it took more than a few quick drinks in a bar to get anywhere near the obliteration he sought. Especially at times like this, when his memories were at their clearest.
Happiness surrounded him. Loud, exuberant noises of celebration. People seemed to love marking the close of a year, celebrating the arrival of a new one, and he could understand that. At one time, he’d felt just the same—he had celebrated life with Amy.
Now, every day was something to be got through. Every year was simply something he survived—without them. His very existence was a betrayal. How many times had he thought he would give his life to return theirs? He was the son of the criminal bastard—he, Leonidas, should have paid for his father’s crimes. Not his innocent wife and their beautiful son.
Bitterness threatened to scorch him alive.
He threw his Scotch back and, without his signalling for another, a hostess arrived at his table, replacing it with a substitute, just as he’d requested. There were some perks to being the owner of the place, and this was one of them.
He lifted his head towards her in acknowledgement, noting dispassionately how attractive she was. Blonde hair, brown eyes, a caramel tan and pale pink lips that were quick to turn into a smile. A nice figure, too. She had the kind of looks he had once found irresistible.
But not any more.
Yes, he could have opened himself to the hint of desire that stirred inside him. That started in his gut and, as his eyes dropped to her breasts, to the hint of lace he could see beneath the cotton shirt she wore, spread like flame, threatening to make him hard right there in the skyline view bar of his six-star hotel on Chrysá Vráchia.
But he refused the impulse. He turned his attention to his Scotch, taking pleasure in denying his body any hint of satisfaction on that score. It had been four years. Four years without Amy, four years without knowing the pleasure of a woman. It was a habit he had no intention of breaking…
HANNAH HADN’T COME to Chrysá Vráchia to lose her virginity.
She hadn’t come to this stunning Greek island for any reason other than she’d been in shock and needed to escape Australia. Her controlling aunt, uncle, and the cousin she’d thought of as a sister—who’d been sleeping with Hannah’s fiancé.
She’d discovered them in bed together and been at the airport two hours later, booking the first available flight—which just happened to bring her here.
This stunning paradise she’d heard of all her life and wanted to visit. Golden cliffs, white sand beaches, turquoise waters, lush green forests—it was paradise on earth and the perfect place to chew through her honeymoon savings and rebuild her heart.
So apparently even the darkest storm clouds had silver linings.
No, Hannah hadn’t come to Greece to lose her virginity but as her eyes kept straying to the man across the hotel bar, she felt the pull of desire deep in her chest, and something more.
Vengeance? Anger? No. It was less barbaric than that, less calculated.
Fascination.
She looked at the man across from her, cradling his Scotch with a brooding intensity that tied her tummy in knots, and she felt a surge of white-hot desire that was as unfamiliar as it was intriguing.
Waiting until they were married had been Angus’s idea, but she’d gone along with it. She loved Angus, she liked the way he made her feel, the way he kissed her and held her tight. But she’d never really longed for him. She’d never trembled at his touch nor fallen asleep imagining his kisses.
And the idea of carelessly giving something away to a stranger, sleeping with a man she didn’t know, felt like the perfect way to respond to her fiancé cheating on her with her cousin.
Hannah’s chest tightened as flashbacks of that moment sliced through her. It was too raw. Too fresh.
Still…he looked like a man who wanted to be left alone. As she watched, a blonde waitress approached and said something sotto voce. He didn’t even meet her eyes when he responded, instead looking towards the view beyond them, the dark night sky inky for now—though it would soon be illuminated with the fireworks that marked the conclusion of one year and the start of another.
Midnight ticked closer and Hannah sipped her champagne thoughtfully.
She’d never approached a man before. She had no idea what to say. And it was a stupid idea. Hannah was twenty-three years old; there was a reason she was so woefully inexperienced with the opposite sex.
She was completely clueless.
No way could she click her fingers and change her personality, even if she wanted to.
Suppressing a sigh, she stood and moved towards the bar. If she wasn’t going to do something really out of character and have a random one-night stand with a stranger, then she could do something slightly out of character and get a little bit tipsy.
She stood and looked about for a waiter, moving to the other side of her table, and deciding to go direct to the bar when she couldn’t find one. But as she spun to the bar she connected with something impossibly hard and broad.
Something strong and firm, like concrete. Something that almost sent her flying across the room for the latent strength contained within its frame.
A hand snaked out to steady her and Hannah lifted her gaze, right into the obsidian eyes of the man she’d been unable to look away from for the past hour. He was rubbing his shoulder distractedly and a little pain radiated from her own, so she presumed they’d bumped into each other—hard.
‘It’s you,’ she exhaled on a tremulous breath, trying to swallow even when her mouth was bone dry.
‘It’s me,’ he agreed, his expression unchanging.
‘You’re like a brick wall,’ she said before she could stop herself. The man’s brows furrowed, and, if anything, he looked even hotter when he was all handsome and forbidding.
‘Are you hurt?’
My pride is hurt. My heart is hurt. But this was not what he was asking. ‘No, I’m fine.’ And something like courage lashed at her spine, so she heard herself say, ‘But I should at least buy you a drink. For getting in your way.’
A stern expression crossed his face and she felt the beginnings of embarrassment, certain he was going to say ‘no’, that she’d just made a complete fool of herself.
She bit down on her lower lip, wishing she could recall the words to her mouth. He stared at her for a long time, saying nothing, and with every second that passed her heart rate accelerated; she was drowning.
‘That is not necessary,’ he said, but made no effort to move. That alone was buoying. At least, Hannah hoped it was.
Her fingertips shook a little as she lifted them to her hair, straightening the auburn mane behind her ear. His eyes followed the gesture, a contemplative frown on his face.
‘I