Annie West - The Greek's Forbidden Princess

At the movement something flickered in those deep-set eyes, but he said nothing.

So be it. He might be rugged up in a massive coat but Amelie wasn’t dressed for this unseasonably early snowstorm. Her clothes were chic rather than warm. The weather on the Mediterranean island of St Galla had been summery. The cool weather wouldn’t begin there for another couple of months and snow was rare.

Amelie turned to open the rear car door.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice was deep and resonant. She felt it circle her ribs then burrow low, making her insides soften.

Suddenly, gloriously, anger welled, burning bright in veins turned sluggish with cold and the prospect of defeat. She would not let this man with a voice like hot whisky, so at odds with those glacial eyes, turn her inside out.

‘Since a civil greeting is out of the question, I’m getting back in the car, where at least there’s some warmth.’

‘Stop.’ He stretched out one arm, his big, square hand just a hairsbreadth from hers. Then, abruptly, rejecting the idea of physical contact, he let it drop.

Somehow, more than anything, that hurt.

She didn’t want him to touch her. But that infinitesimal rejection felt like a tipping point. Amelie assured herself this foolishness was just the aftermath of a hellish time, of stress and trauma and worry.

‘Why? Do you have something to say that I want to hear?’ Her chin hiked up and to her amazement she caught sight of a tiny twist at the corner of that stern mouth. It was nothing like a smile, nothing so human. But it was something.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘This is public property. I’ve every right to park here while I wait to be let in.’

Those long fingers twitched at his sides and Amelie wondered on a snared breath of icy air whether he fought the impulse to shake her or move her bodily.

‘There’s nothing for you here.’ He said it slowly, enunciating each word with a precise perfection that reminded her English wasn’t his native language.

‘I didn’t come for myself.’ Amelie kept her voice even, betraying none of the pain she repressed. She was a master at hiding emotion in public. She did it so well she wondered what it would be like to let go—to cry and complain and rail against the cruelty of fate. But that wasn’t her way. She didn’t know how.

One sleek eyebrow cocked high in silent interrogation.

‘I’ve brought my nephew.’

Silence. More of that absolute, unnerving stillness. Had he trained in being impenetrable? Or just in being unfeeling?

Surely even this dour man, who’d already made it clear she wasn’t welcome, had some kernel of softness for a little boy.

Slowly, as if not trusting her to dash past him and scale the huge gates, he bent and peered into the car. When he straightened his face was unchanged. Clearly little Seb’s presence made no difference. They could stay here in what appeared to be a full-scale snowstorm and there’d be no offer of shelter.

Amelie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent the indignant outburst jammed in her mouth.

The sensible thing would be to admit defeat, start the car and drive back to the nearest village, looking for accommodation. She’d do that. Soon.

But her hands shook too much to drive down that winding, slick road. Infuriated, with him and herself, she hauled open the rear door and moved to get in.

Instantly a vice clamped on her shoulder. A hot vice with fingers that dug into her flesh through her thin sweater. His heat after the stinging cold surely explained the rush of energy raying out from the spot.

Amelie turned, meeting that gunmetal stare head-on.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Or?’ This time both jet-black eyebrows rose.

‘Or I’ll bring a case of assault so fast your head will spin. And, in case you think I’m bluffing, let me warn you I’ve reached my limit.’

‘Even if it means inviting media attention?’

Because he knew—how could he not?—that she’d only made it this far by avoiding the media.

Carefully Amelie closed the door and turned fully to face him. He was so close he ate up her personal space. He was so big she’d feel crowded and intimidated if she weren’t past caring.

‘That’s one thing about reaching the end of your options. I don’t give a damn.’ She smiled and this time actually felt pleasure, for she saw the shadow of doubt in his stern face. He’d thought she’d be easier to bully.

‘I could call a reporter now. By nightfall we’d have a posse of them here, eager for developments.’ Amelie rested her hands on her hips, enjoying the fleeting sense of power that flooded her freezing body.

Yet still he didn’t take the bait.

She waited as the seconds ticked into a full minute and more. Still he didn’t move or give in.

Even if she followed through and made a formal complaint, or brought in the press, she’d be the one to lose. She and Seb.

They had lost.

She’d gambled against the odds with Seb’s future and failed. Now time was running out.

The enormity of it was a body slam, jarring her from head to toe. She had to stiffen her knees to stop from crumpling as she unravelled inside. All her hopes shattered and little Seb... No, she couldn’t think about it now, with this man watching her like a bird of prey spying on a mouse. She needed privacy when she finally crashed.

Whiplash fast, she shoved his hand off her shoulder and moved towards the driver’s door.

‘Where are you going?’

Amelie didn’t answer. This was probably the first time in her life she’d ignored a direct question. It should have felt liberating, but all she registered was choking misery.

She ripped open the driver’s door. They couldn’t stay here. If she was to get them safely back down the mountain they had to go now.

The sound of swearing stopped her. Low and soft, his rich voice turned even the tumble of foreign swear words into a stream of velvet heat.

‘Just tell me what you want, Princess.’

Amelie didn’t let herself flinch at his bitter use of her title. He said it as if they were strangers. Nor did she turn.

She didn’t want to see the steely face of Lambis Evangelos, the man who’d shattered her dreams and now held her hopes for little Seb in his brutally hard palm.

‘You.’ Her throat closed so it came out as a whisper. She swallowed and tried again. ‘I want you.’

CHAPTER TWO

I WANT YOU.

Hell and damnation.

Her words shouldn’t have any effect.

They didn’t. She’d just taken him by surprise. How had she managed it? Where was her retinue of officials and paparazzi?

More important—why did she want him?

There was nothing here for her. He’d made that plain three years ago. Besides, Amelie had pride; she wouldn’t come after him again.

Lambis scowled. The past was a place he refused to visit.

‘You’ll need to be more specific. What do you want me for?’

Lambis stared down at her slim form as she slowly turned, her hand white-knuckled on the door, her upswept blonde hair and stunning green eyes the only colour in the scene before him. Her whole body trembled from the wintry blast she refused to acknowledge. She wore pale trousers and a matching sweater that clung elegantly and expensively to her lithe frame but did nothing to keep out the cold.

His instinct on seeing her had been to tear off his coat and wrap it around her slender shoulders. But he’d resisted. Better to kill her hopes so she left immediately than let her believe she had a chance of staying.

‘Seb needs you. As you’d know if you bothered to check my messages.’

Messages he’d left unopened. Returning to St Galla for the funeral had been tougher than even he had imagined. He didn’t want reminders of the tragedy and his own guilt. Or of her.