Chapter Sixteen

Ari

I wake with a warm body curled in my arms and the sound of my phone ringing. Irritated, I roll over and grab it as Diana murmurs.

“Yes?” I bark.

“Good morning to you, too.”

I slowly disentangle myself from Diana and move to the far side of her hotel room.

“Hello, Xenakis.” I pause, the sound of his voice registering. “You sound happy.”

“I am.” I can hear the man’s smile from several thousand miles away. “I have a granddaughter. A beautiful granddaughter.”

I smile slightly. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” His sigh is deep, relieved. “My daughter made it through, too.”

I still. “Were there concerns?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. And then, quietly, “Yes. She was diagnosed with a condition a month or so ago that made this last stage of pregnancy challenging. The same condition my wife passed from a few weeks after our daughter was born.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Xenakis’s behavior suddenly makes sense. Had I allowed my past experiences and prejudices to guide my decisions the past few weeks, the outcome of my deal with Hellas Shipping would have looked very different.

I glance back at the still-sleeping form curled under the sheets. Diana is truly a wonder at her job. But will she be able to take her own advice when it comes to her personal life? Let down her barriers and trust that I’ll accept her?

“I’m glad she’s all right.”

“As am I.” His voice lightens. “I was too excited last night to sleep, so I reviewed the contract. Are you free to fly to Athens today or tomorrow?”

I pause, tamp down the surge of satisfaction before I reply. “I am.”

“I’d like for Hellas and Aura to sign the contract.”

Pride floods my veins. “I’d like that, too.”

I hang up, move to the window and gaze out over the harbor. Think about what this will mean for the company, for expanding what we do.

For honoring my mother and the grandfather I never knew. The legacy he created and she fought for.

“Ari?”

Diana’s soft voice flows over me. I turn, my heart stilling as she smiles at me, her face soft and glowing from sleep and a night of lovemaking.

“Was that what I think it was?”

I cross over to her, kneel on the bed, and kiss her. “It was. Come with me.”

Her eyes widen. “What about your team—”

“They’ll come, too. But I want you there. This wouldn’t have happened without you.”

She meets my eyes. Hope fills me as she slowly nods. “All right.”

Hours later, Diana and I walk into the soaring hall of a seaside villa just outside Athens. One of several vacation homes Xenakis maintains for international visitors, set on the far end of a resort with stunning views of a jewel-toned sea and white beaches. The other members of my team, including my chief financial officer, public relations head, and lead legal counsel, are flying in later this afternoon. A strategic move that gives Diana and me a little more privacy, a little more time to figure things out between us after the dust settles on the contract.

I follow her through the villa, watch her as she explores each room, fingers lingering on the azure-colored furniture or stroking the marble banister that leads up to the second floor.

She saves the main bedroom for last, eyes roaming over the Grecian columns, the arched windows overlooking the sea, and the massive bed dominating one wall on a raised dais.

“Cozy.”

She smiles at me, but her face is strained.

“Everything all right?” I ask as I move to her side.

“Yes.” She clears her throat. “Yes, of course.”

“You told me to talk to Xenakis. Let him in.” I reach out, tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Why can’t you do the same to me?”

She leans into my touch, just for a fraction of a second, before standing and walking toward the window. I clench my fingers into a fist, force myself to stay seated.

“Do you know why I left your hotel that morning?”

I think back to the moment I woke up, reaching for her, only to find cool sheets. Surprise, then shock, then anger.

And beneath it all, pain.

“No.”

“Because I didn’t want to leave.”

I give up fighting. I stand and cross to her, stopping just a couple feet behind her. Close enough to feel the warmth of her body. Far enough away not to crowd.

“Do you like to deny yourself what you want?”

“When it comes to relationships, yes.” She crosses her arms over her middle, a physical shield against whatever she’s confronting. “Liam and Aislinn are the only two people I’ve been able to trust, ever since I was a child. That trust came out of something traumatic and ugly.”

I’ve never been a violent person. But every time I’ve thought of Dale Cliffton, it’s been closely followed by vivid images of what I would do if I ever saw that man face-to-face. He should be grateful he’s in prison.

“And there’s no room for anyone else.”

She rubs her hands up and down her arms even though the evening is warm. I take a step closer, inhale her scent.

“It’s not that.” Her voice is so soft I have to strain to hear it. “I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of me?”

“No!” She whirls about, her eyes flashing with russet fire. “I’ve never been afraid of you, Ari.” She reaches out and grabs my hand. “Not once.”

I swallow past the tightness in my throat. Even when she’s hurting, she’s thinking of others. Thinking of me.

“I’m glad.”

She drops my hand, steps back. The fear returns. The fear and a shimmer of frustration.

“Then what?”

“I told you about my mother.”

“You did.”

She curls in on herself, shoulders hunching, chin dropping to her chest. The strong, confident woman I know disappears. When she looks at me through the waterfall of her hair, I see the abandoned child, the broken teenager.

I gather her in my arms. For a moment she’s stiff, unyielding. I do what she did for me the day I stalked out of AuraGeothermal to drive south; I wait.

Slowly, her body relaxes. Her arms come up, tentatively at first, and then she wraps them around my waist with a fierce need that rocks me to my core.

“I thought we were going to be a family again.” The words are muffled, murmured against my shirt as she buries her face in my chest. “I’d been in care for a year. She came to visit. She was supposed to take me to my first dance lesson that day. My foster family bought me a ballet dress. My mom told me I looked like a princess.”

Her voice catches, trembles. I hold on, stroke a hand over her hair.

“She asked me to wait in the other room while she talked to my foster mom. I knew something was wrong.” She leans back and my heart cracks at the tears glinting in her eyes. “I knew. So I snuck into the kitchen. I heard my mom tell my foster mother she was terminating her rights as a parent. She didn’t want to do this anymore.” She closes her eyes, scrunches them tight. Tears escape, tracing their way down her cheeks. “My foster mom asked if she had any idea what this would do to me. My mom said…”

She shudders. Her voice trails off. I keep one arm banded around her waist, cup her face with my other hand and kiss her on the forehead.

“…she didn’t want me anymore.”

She breaks. Deep, heart wrenching sobs as she cries into my shirt. I hold her through it all, cursing myself for not being able to fix it, aching for the girl who never knew a mother’s love.

Her cries subside a minute later. She leans back and swipes a hand across her cheek.

“I’m always afraid there’s something about me, something wrong with me, and when others finally get to know the real me, they’ll leave. My mom did. I never got adopted. The guy I dated in college wanted to move so fast, and when I wouldn’t match his pace, he broke things off. Dale beat me. And now Aislinn…” Her chin drops. “I’ve texted her every week since she left. Not once has she replied. The invitations to the wedding and the funeral came from her adoptive parents.”

A deep, shuddering sigh escapes before her voice quiets to the point I have to strain to hear her next words.

“What if it’s me, Ari?”

I slide a finger under her chin, slowly tilt her face up until she meets my eyes.

“You told me at Reynisfjara my father didn’t define me. Your mother doesn’t define you.”

“I know. I know that,” she repeats, but I still hear the note of desperation, the fear. “But what if…”

She shakes her head. Then she looks up at me. Her hands slide up my chest, around my neck. Blood stirs. Desire kindles.

“I want you.”

I lay my hands over her wrists, try to grasp on to some semblance of control.

“Diana…”

She leans up and grazes her lips across mine.

“Please.”

I surrender. One quick movement and she’s in my arms, her head tucked in the crook of my neck, one hand on the back of hers, and the other resting over my heart. I walk to the bed, lay her down. She watches as I unbutton and shrug out of my shirt, her eyes fixing on my chest and then lower as I take off my pants. My cock’s already hard for her, my body aching. It’s been twenty-four hours, but it feels like it’s been years.

She shifts, gets to her knees.

“Touch yourself.”

The softly uttered command sets fire to my blood. I wrap my hand around my cock, stroke. Every muscle in my body hardens as she unzips her dress. With one shrug, the straps fall down her arms, the bodice to her waist.

No bra. Just her incredible breasts, her nipples hard, her skin glowing in the dim lighting of the cabin.

“Don’t stop.”

I clench my teeth and keep moving my hand. How was I ever satisfied with something so mundane as touching myself? After having Diana, after being inside her wet heat and experiencing not just the physical satisfaction but the pleasure of being with someone I care about, I know I’ll never find anything like it again.

Don’t want to find anything else.

She slithers out of her dress. My brain nearly short-circuits at the sight of a thin band of black lace barely covering the skin between her thighs, tiny straps looped over her thighs.

“Diana.”

One corner of her mouth curves up. I see her confidence in the lustful glint in her eye, the upward tilt of her chin, the proud set of her shoulders that make her breasts jut out toward me.

She holds out a hand.

“Make love to me, Ari.”

I’m on the bed before the words are out of her mouth. I ease her back onto the silk sheets, slant my lips over hers and claim her with a kiss that has us both groaning into each other’s mouths. My hands are sliding up her sides, my fingers grazing her breasts, my cock straining against the tiny scrap of fabric. Her fingers slide into my hair, anchoring my head as she kisses me with an uninhibited passion I greedily take.

I finally tear my mouth from hers. Her huff of protest turns into a long, drawn-out moan as I trace my tongue down her neck, place an open-mouthed kiss to the sensitive dip at the base of her throat. I trail farther down still to her breasts. One graze of my lips on the swell of her breast. A gentle nip on one hardened tip. A long, slow lick of the fullness beneath.

“Ari.”

I suck her into my mouth, feel like a god when she arches up against me. I alternate between gentle and demanding, drink in her cries as our thighs press together, our hips undulating in rhythm.

I do the same to her other breasts before kissing my way down her belly. Her breathing quickens as I reach her hips. I trace one finger over the material and nearly embarrass myself when I feel the wet heat, inhale the scent of how much she wants me.

“God, Diana.” I clamp my hands down on her hips, trapping her in a vise as I capture her eyes with mine. “Do you know what you do to me?”

Her throat bobs. Doubt intrudes.

And then she lets out a shuddering breath.

“The same you do to me.”

Humbled, burning, I lower my head. Breathe her in. Then, slowly, I run my tongue over the fabric, taste her through wet silk. Her hips bow off the bed as she cries out.

“Ari!”

I turn my head, lick the skin just beyond where the fabric ends. I continue to taunt her, tease her, until all I can smell is her and I’m so goddamned hungry for a taste I can’t take it anymore.

I hook my fingers in the fabric, pull it aside, and feast. Her scream of pleasure fills me, spurs me as I lick, suck, nibble, kiss every inch of her. Her hips pump faster. Her breathing is coming in rapid gasps. Her hands grasp the sheets, move to my hair, pull at my shoulders.

When she comes apart, I drink her in, savor every drop until she’s limp and trembling. I start to move up her body when she raises her head off the pillow.

“My turn.”

My harsh exhale has her grinning. She rises up, her breasts grazing my chest before she plants a hand just above my stomach and pushes. I lie back, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under my head as I watch her.

God, she’s beautiful. It’s not just the stunning slash of her cheekbones or the elegant shape of her face. It’s the fire in her eyes, the sweetness in her smile even as she shoots me a look that’s anything but innocent.

It’s her. Diana. And I’m in love with her.

Before I can even begin to recover from that realization, she wraps a hand around my cock and gently squeezes. I suck in a deep, harsh breath.

“I don’t think we got around to this last night.”

Her husky voice wraps around me, slides over my burning skin as her fingers caress, glide, stroke.

“We got a little distracted.’

“Just a little.”

She leans down, her hair falling over her shoulders and around her face.

“Wait.” I reach out, grasp her hair in one hand and gather it to one side. “I want to see you.”

Roses bloom in her cheeks, but her smile is pure feminine power. She trails teasing kisses down my hard length, one hand wrapped around me and the other braced on my thigh. The more she taunts with quick flicks of her tongue and slight grazes of teeth, the harder it becomes to not simply tumble her back onto the bed and slide inside her.

Her lips part. She takes me into her mouth and I nearly come right then and there.

“Diana.”

Her name is a groan, a prayer. Every touch brings me closer to the edge.

“Now.”

I sit up, ready to push her back and take her. But she stops me, puts a hand to my chest.

“Ari.”

Did I think stopping myself from following her out of the living room took effort? Because holding myself back now is pure torture.

And then she does the last thing I ever thought she would do.

She turns her back to me.

I see them through her hair. Four scars. Thick, raised, discolored. Evidence of one man’s derangement. Evidence of a young woman’s bravery and giving heart.

Slowly, I reach out. Lay one finger on the top of the first scar. She sucks in a breath and I snatch my hand away.

“Diana—”

“Don’t stop.”

Her voice is thin but determined. I reach out again, trace my fingers up and down. One scar, two, three. Then down the fourth, shorter than the rest. The one interrupted by the two people who saved Diana’s life.

“It’s a mystery to me,” I say quietly, “how you think you’re not enough.” I lower my head, kiss the back of her neck. “Thank you.”

She looks back over her shoulder at me. The fear lingers. But so does the desire. She leans forward, plants her hands into the mattress. Need slams into me as she arches her back and pushes her hips back against mine.

I clamp my hands down on her, the heat of her skin searing my palms. One thrust and I’m inside her. Her body tightens around me, pulls me deeper as I struggle to draw the pleasure out. Hard to do when she’s pushing back against me, back arched and skin gleaming in the moonlight.

“More.”

Her command rips away the last of my control. I reach around and press a hand to her stomach, urge her to arch up until her back is flush against my chest. My hand drifts up, cups the weight of her breast as she turns her head and I capture her mouth with mine. Each thrust drives us both higher. She moans into my mouth, pushes back against me as she takes me deeper.

Then she’s coming apart, her body demanding more even as she spirals up and over. I follow moments later, groaning her name against her lips as I keep her body pinned against mine.

It takes a few moments to regather my strength. To remember to ease her down onto the mattress and collapse on the sheet next to her. I reach out and wrap an arm around her waist, pull her back against my chest. I’ve never been a touchy lover after sex. Once it’s over, it’s done.

But making love with the woman I love… Even though I’m temporarily spent, I can’t stop touching her.

“That was…”

“Incredible,” I finish for her as I press a kiss to her neck.

“Yeah,” she murmurs sleepily. “That.”

Thirty seconds later and she’s out, her soft breathing punctured by the occasional snore that makes me grin.

A grin that quickly disappears when I remember what precipitated our lovemaking.

I brush another strand of hair from her face, stare down at the woman who has quickly become more important to me than anything else in my life. The dark contrast of eyelashes against fair skin. The lips parted in sleep.

I draw her closer still, needing to feel her in my arms as I pull a sheet up over both of us. She didn’t just show me her scars; she trusted me with them. A massive step for us.

But I also remember the pain, the fear just before she asked me to make love to her. I know the kind of power those emotions can wield. How they can drive even the most logical person to make mistakes they never thought they would.

I stare at her for as long as I can before sleep finally pulls my eyes shut.