‘I will,’ she murmured, her eyes drifting to his muscular thighs, barely contained in his chinos.
‘Can I ask you a personal question?’
His voice had taken on a serious hue that made her twist on the seat to face him properly. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘Why did you wait until you were twenty-five before having sex for the first time?’
It was the question she’d been waiting a fortnight for him to ask. She was still no more prepared with an answer.
She pressed her cheek to the back of the seat. If she couldn’t touch him she could at least look at him.
‘I never set out to stay a virgin, but I avoided relationships where lust and desire were the driving forces—I’ve seen my mother’s heart broken too many times to have any faith in passionate love. The flame is too bright and burns to ashes too quickly. I didn’t understand it was possible to have a passion for someone that is purely about sex.’
‘Is that all this is to you?’ he asked, a surprising edge to his voice. ‘Sex?’
‘Isn’t that all it is to you?’ she asked right back, momentarily confused.
He was quiet for a moment, before laughing. ‘You’re right—what we are sharing is just sex. I admit I find it disconcerting to hear that coming from a woman, and even more disconcerting to actually believe it.’
‘Do all your lovers say it’s just sex?’
‘I set out the ground rules from the beginning. I make it clear I only want a physical relationship and they all agree.’ He pulled a mocking face. ‘It never takes them long to change their minds and think they can be the one to tame me.’
‘I don’t think anyone could tame you,’ she commented idly, and swallowed away the strange acrid taste that had formed in her throat. It was no secret he’d enjoyed numerous lovers before her, and would enjoy more when she returned to Paris in little more than a week. ‘You’re as tameable as a fully grown wolf with territory problems.’
Now his laughter came in great booming ricochets. ‘I enjoy my life. I have no wish to be tamed.’
She eyed him shrewdly, wondering why she didn’t quite believe him. She believed his words, but there was a part of Talos he kept closed off. Physically, he was the most generous and giving lover she could have dreamt of, but he had demons inside him she couldn’t reach—demons she caught glimpses of when he would shout out in his sleep, cries in Greek she didn’t understand.
She’d asked him about it and he’d affected ignorance, saying he didn’t remember his dreams. She didn’t believe him but hadn’t pushed the subject. If he wanted to open up to her, he would. And, really, she was hardly in a position to demand to learn all his secrets when their whole relationship was based on sex and getting her performance-ready for the gala.
‘So you’ve never had a relationship of any kind?’ he asked.
‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she corrected him, ‘Quite a few of them.’
‘And they didn’t try to get you into bed? Were they gay?’
She gave a bark of surprised laughter. ‘I suppose it’s possible, but the relationships weren’t like that. It was more about a meeting of minds than physical chemistry.’
‘Isn’t that what normal friends are for?’
‘Probably.’ She swallowed. ‘We would kiss... But my boyfriends were the type of men who were happier to spend an evening discussing Mozart’s eccentricities and how it affected his music rather than trying to get me into bed.’
He flashed her a grin. ‘I don’t pretend to know anything about Mozart, but if I did I can assure you I would be happy to discuss him with you—provided I could be stripping you naked at the same time.’
‘But that’s what I was hiding from,’ she confessed.
‘You liked those men because they made you feel safe?’ he asked.
For such a physically imposing man Talos was incredibly perceptive—something she was coming to understand more on a daily basis.
‘I...’ She stopped to gather her thoughts. ‘Yes. You’re right. After my parents divorced my mother fell head over heels for so many different men that I lost count, but she couldn’t hold on to any of them. Her heart was broken so many times it was painful for me to watch.’
‘Why couldn’t she hold on to them?’
She shook her head and inhaled deeply. ‘I don’t know. I think it was because my father spoilt her during their marriage. He adored her, you see—worshipped her. He treated her like his queen for fifteen years. It was what she was used to and what she expected. And I think it’s what pushed her lovers away—they would fall for her beauty and fame, but as soon as they found the needy woman inside they would run a mile. It hurt her very badly. She would smile and sing to the world, pretend nothing was wrong, but behind closed doors she would wail like a child.’
‘And you witnessed this?’
She nodded.
‘I can understand why that must have been painful for you,’ he said quietly.
Hadn’t he witnessed his own mother’s pain enough times to know how damaging it could be? Especially to a child? The helplessness of being too small and insignificant to offer any protection—either an emotional or a physical sort.
‘I know you must think my mother is a brat, and she is. But she’s also funny and loving and I adore her,’ she added with defiance.
‘I can tell,’ he said wryly, turning the car into the road marking the start of Kalliakis land. ‘But you have to admit that it isn’t fair of her to place all her emotional problems on your shoulders.’
‘She can’t help the way she is. And, fair or not, it’s no less than I deserve.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
She didn’t answer, turning her face away from him to look out of the window.
‘Amalie?’
She placed a hand to her throat, her words coming out in a whisper. ‘Her misery is all my fault. If it wasn’t for me, my father would never have divorced her.’
A lump formed in his throat at the raw emotion behind her words. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute.’ How could a child influence its parents’ marriage? ‘But I am surprised to learn that your father divorced her. From what you’ve said, I assumed your mother had divorced him.’
‘My father worshipped the ground she walked on but to protect me from her ego he divorced her when I was twelve.’
The pieces were coming together. ‘Which was around the time you were pulled from the spotlight. I assume the two things are connected?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted hoarsely, before closing her mouth with a snap.
He brought the car to a stop outside her cottage and reached out to stroke the beautiful hair that felt like silk between his fingers. He wanted to gather her in his arms, not just to devour her body but to give her comfort. It was a feeling so alien to him that the lump in his throat solidified.
Giving comfort implied a form of caring, and if there was one thing Talos avoided with the zeal of a medic avoiding the plague it was caring. Sex wasn’t meant to be anything but fun; it was an itch to be scratched. Nothing more.
Before he could withdraw she turned her face back to him and raised her hand to palm his cheek. Helpless to resist, he brought his mouth down to hers and breathed her in, his heart thundering as he felt her own inhalation and knew she was breathing him in in turn.
Being with her was like living in a fugue of desire—a