That he wasn’t, disconcerted him on a level he didn’t understand.
His physical need for her and only her, and the fact that neither the sweet Stella nor any of the women who had readily offered him a place in their bed in the nine months since Valentina had walked out on him had remotely even tempted him, he could still somehow explain.
Like she had so crudely pointed out, Valentina was explosive in bed. He had been more than surprised when he’d discovered her virginity on their wedding night.
Valentina, as he’d quickly learned to his tremendous satisfaction, was an utterly sensual creature. Whatever he had taught her in bed, she’d not only taken to it enthusiastically but her innate curiosity for his body, her relentless eagerness to return every pleasure he had shown her. That she had remained untouched had been a shock.
She possessed a quick temper and an even quicker sexual trigger, and Christos, he’d reveled in making her explode to his slightest caresses. Tender and drawn-out, or explosive and fast, her passion had matched his own.
No man could be blamed for becoming obsessed like he had.
He needed Valentina with a fervor he didn’t care or need to understand, and he would have her.
But the hurt in her eyes as he had dealt one cruel statement after the other, hoping to get her temper to rise, festered like an unhealed wound in the hours since he’d arranged for them to travel to Greece.
He should be grateful that the blinders were torn from her eyes. That she would not look at him anymore as if he were her knight in shining armor. Or the man who’d fulfilled all her romantic fantasies.
Whether they divorced or not, it was a good thing she had finally learned the truth.
He had no familiarity or place in his life for tender feelings or love. They demanded a price he couldn’t afford, however wealthy he had become.
But the sight of her huge brown eyes as he’d torn her into shreds with his words wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t pulled any of his punches and she had taken them as if they were her due.
He didn’t believe for a second that Valentina would stick to her chosen path or that she had what it took to succeed in her career.
She was just too undisciplined, too impulsive, too spoilt for the hard work it entailed. But still, for the first time in his life, Kairos felt as if he had stood up to the title that had haunted him all his childhood.
Bastard.
He was a bastard.
For even knowing that she would end up in his bed, even acknowledging that something intrinsic had changed in Valentina and he was the one who had caused it, knowing that he would hurt her, he still couldn’t walk away from her.
Neither would he keep her.
For all that she’d professed her love for him, she had proved that she was like the rest—using love as manipulation, and then breaking her word.
No one was important enough for him to risk that, to forget the lesson he had already learned.
Love was nothing but a game.
* * *
For all your avowals, you left. You proved how little your words mean.
The words and the sentiment behind them stung Tina as she lathered up in the small shower cubicle.
Had there been an infinitesimal thread of complaint in Kairos’s tone? Was she just reading too much when there was nothing again?
She had, at every available moment and opportunity, prostrated her feelings at his feet. Made a spectacle of herself.
How dare he think she’d given in too easily?
She wrapped a towel around herself, and stepped out.
Designer-label bags in every size and color covered the bed.
Mothership to Valentina... Calling now.
A soft sigh emerged from her lips.
She lasted nineteen seconds before she pulled the soft tissue out of the first bag and discovered a black cold-shoulder blouse and white capri pants. More casual pants and blouses. She counted four dresses ranging from a cocktail dress to a pale pink ball gown that would show off her tan beautifully.
Small, silky tissue bags of underwear and everything in her size. Makeup bags with her favorite lipsticks and perfumes with designer labels.
The bras were from the designer label she loved and sinfully expensive—two of them she had discovered recently would pay for her food for a month. And of the push-up kind she’d always preferred to make the most of her nonexistent boobage.
Sliding to the bed in her towel, Tina fingered the butter-soft cushioning of a push-up bra. In some throwaway remark he had made once when they’d watched an old Hollywood movie, she’d realized her husband had a thing for big breasts.
And hers were meager at best. So, like an idiot female, she’d gone on a rampage with lingerie, bras especially, and in the end there had been more cushioning and padding in her bra than flesh on her body.
One evening, she’d gone with an extreme push-up bra to a party—her boobs, exposed by a low neckline, almost kissing her chin and barely covering her nipples. Kairos had blown his top and called her entire outfit trampy—the first time in their marriage that he’d lost it.
He’d said, in clipped tones, that her need for every man’s attention made her the shallowest woman he’d ever met. And then he’d walked out for the night.
She frowned.
For all his smarts, hadn’t Kairos realized that she’d gone from one outrageous outfit to the next to get a rise out of him? To make up for what she thought she was lacking, for him? That from the moment Leandro had introduced her to him, she hadn’t thought of another man ever again?
Why did she have to go to such extremes to please him?
Why was she even now, making such a big deal about the fact that he’d remembered the size of her underwear, of all things?
Kairos had a mind like a super computer, remembering every small detail that went in. It had no significance.
“A starved dog would look at meat scraps with less hunger,” said a dry voice from the doorway.
Tina stood up and tugged the towel up.
He had also changed—a gray V-necked sweater that hugged his biceps and chest and dark jeans that caressed his muscular thighs. She had to swallow the feminine sigh of appreciation that wanted to come out.
“Old dogs can learn new tricks,” she said repressively.
His laughter pervaded the small cabin. Grooves etched in his cheeks, his eyes alight with humor. “I think the saying says the opposite.”
“I don’t want the clothes.”
“No choice. My wife, the fashionista of Milan, can’t dress in trashy clothes that better suit a street walker or...” he picked up the worn-out denim shorts and loose T-shirt that she had put out “...hand-me-downs. Wow, you have really taken this role to heart, ne? You would have turned your nose up at these a few months ago.”
“I would have, si. But it is not a joke, Kairos. Those are clothes that I could afford on what I made.”
He threw the shirt carelessly aside. “You have to look the part, Valentina. Believe me, you’re going to need the armor.”
She frowned at the thoughtful look in his eyes. Armor for what? She’d been so caught up in staying strong against his onslaught she hadn’t delved too much into the details. “I want to discuss this after I dress.”