Kizzy moved toward the French windows that stood open, invitingly, onto a balcony with a delicate black wrought-iron rail, and paused for a moment to run her hands across the rough stone that framed it. Its cold grayness contrasted beautifully with the thick, buttery cover surrounding it and the apricot blue of dusk outside.
Her eyes drifted to one of the imposing black picture frames that hung on either side of the door. Beneath the glass was a watermarked piece of fabric embroidered with a sweeping arc of simple flowers tied at the stem with a blue bow. Its bright ensemble of clashing colors and incorrect botanical structure was as delightfully naïve as the sepia photograph it surrounded was severe.
A stiff, unsmiling woman sat with hands primly folded in the lap of her black floor-length dress. Behind her was an equally stern, mustachioed man in a suit who was gripping a bewildered-looking child in a white dress on his knee.
“Those were the days.”
Kizzy jumped as Andreas’s words cut through the silence and turned to see him leaning nonchalantly against the doorjamb, his powerful shoulders almost filling the width of the frame.
“They all look terrified,” she said, and glanced back at the framed photograph. “Are they family?”
“No.” He eased himself upright and took a few steps into the room, bringing him uncomfortably within touching distance. “If you look closely there are a couple of lovebirds hiding in the flowers, not the sort of symbolism most of my dreadful ancestors would think to incorporate. They’re descendants of the original owners, I believe. There was a ton of old stuff lying around when I bought this place. Most of it had to go, but a few pieces, like that one, I’ve kept. Lends a certain ambience to the building, don’t you think?”
“Definitely,” Kizzy agreed, folding her arms across her chest and gripping tightly onto her elbows, a defense against the proximity of his body. She didn’t dare turn around and face him, he was just too close, and one more lungful of his fresh scent would be her ruin.
There had been no mention yet of the absurd “mistress” proposition from the night before—he had clearly given up quite quickly on that idea—so it was vital that she didn’t even think about how much she wanted to kiss him.
In a physical sense, at least, Andreas was everything she could ever have imagined her perfect man to be. Just the memory of his touch made shivers run like wild electricity up and down her spine until she could hardly think straight.
She only prayed he couldn’t hear the catch in her breath.
They were together in her bedroom.
Alone.
“Can I assume you have recovered from my handling of the helicopter?” Andreas asked.
He reached around her to close the French doors, brushing his forearm against her bare shoulder as he did so.
Kizzy felt her eyes flutter shut for a second in direct reaction to his touch. She was forced to moisten her dry lips with the tip of her tongue before she could reply. “I can’t pretend I enjoyed it all that much—very noisy.”
“I’m sorry about that. I was very keen to get here before dark, that’s all.”
“You’ll have to excuse my nervousness, Andreas. You’re used to all this, but for me it’s quite overwhelming.” Kizzy continued to stare out of the window, willing the pounding of her heart to ease up. “Yachts, jets, helicopters—I guess that just leaves me the hideously expensive sports car to get accustomed to, right? No, don’t tell me—Lamborghini? Ferrari?”
“Neither of those.”
She turned to face him but her playful smile faltered at the shadowy expression on his face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I just assumed it was all part of the image.”
“The idle, reckless, playboy billionaire image, you mean?”
“I suppose so,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to be rude, but you obviously drive something, so I assumed it would match everything else about you.”
“Such as my ego and heartlessness?”
Kizzy looked away, embarrassed. He clearly hadn’t forgotten the vitriol she hurled at him before she discovered the truth about the little beggar boy in Rhodes.
“It was wrong of me to say that about you,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said smoothly. “It’s quite refreshing to have someone tell me what they think of me—even if it isn’t palatable. I appreciate your honesty, Kizzy.”
“Besides,” he continued, “I’ve given up driving. Lindos village is a World Heritage Site and vehicles aren’t permitted here so I couldn’t anyway. I prefer sailing down from Rhodes rather than taking the road. It’s also a lot easier to get chauffeured about when I’m overseas—not driving is better all around.”
He let out a low breath.
“But my last car was a Lamborghini. It was the most beautiful piece of machinery I have ever seen and the first expensive item I bought for myself once the serious money started coming in. But,” and his whole body seemed to twist in on itself in response, “it wasn’t such a pretty sight when it was written off.”
“Showing off with handbrake turns, were you?”
“No—my little sister crashed the bloody thing,” he replied starkly. “Callista was already dead when it caught fire. Or that’s what the inquest said.”
Kizzy felt a sensation similar to a gigantic boulder plunging to the bottom of her stomach and her mouth dropped open into a silent, painful apology. She took a hesitant step toward him, then stopped herself as she saw the raw emptiness in his face, the way his shoulders were hunched around his folded arms.
“I’m so very sorry,” she began. “It was a thoughtless thing for me to say—”
“That’s okay. No need to feel awkward about it, Kizzy.” Calmly, he unfolded his arms. “It’s not something I usually discuss, so we’ll let the subject drop. But you could always make it up to me if you wanted to.”
“Name it,” Kizzy replied quickly, then realized how dangerous such an open invitation could be to a man like Andreas Lazarides.
He leaned back against the wooden post of the bed behind him and tipped his head toward the ceiling for a moment as though deep in thought.
The seconds ticked agonizingly away. It was almost as if he were deliberately calculating the exact period of silence it would take to stretch Kizzy’s nerves to the limit.
“Kiss me,” he said finally.