The sun was her enemy. It burned through her eyes making her corneas sting. Her mouth was thick with fur and tasted of dirty socks. When she sat up and pushed her hair from her face, her brain gave an unparalleled screech of complaint.

“Ugh,” she moaned, blinking one eye shut as she scanned the room and tried to remember what the hell had happened in the last twenty-four hours.

And then, piece by piece, it began to hammer into her consciousness. Anita and Jordan. Her beautiful best friend and her stunning husband making love in Saphire’s picture-perfect room, destroying her picture-perfect, no-good marriage.

Then what? She’d got a cab to the airport and decided to come to … to come to … Greece! It had been the first flight she could get onto. A first class ticket had been available on a plane bound for Athens that had been leaving almost immediately and she had been desperate to get as far away from her staid life in Notting Hill as possible.

And then?

Mr Konstanides, her brain taunted, and she lifted a hand to her breast to feel the nipple that he’d tormented on the flight. It drifted higher, to her lips. He’d kissed them until she’d thought she might pass out from the strength of sensation.

Mr Konstanides.

She looked down at her body. She was still wearing the black dress. Which meant they hadn’t slept together after all, didn’t it?

His side of the bed was unrumpled. In fact, her shoes and her body were the only signs of life in this incredibly luxurious hotel suite. She stood up gingerly.

No.

They hadn’t slept together.

Saphire could tell that having sex with a man like Mr Konstanides would have been an invasion of all of her senses. It would be life-altering, yet she felt very much as she had yesterday, except for the throbbing headache. And as that was self-inflicted, she refused to allow that to cower her back to bed.

No, her body had only ever known one lover, and he had, she was beginning to suspect, treated her with kid gloves. Why? Had she bored him? Had she given him some silent, unknowing impression that she couldn’t handle being treated like a red-blooded, adult woman?

Flashes of their calm, missionary sex-life made her face pale now. She pushed them aside.

Possibly the sexiest man Saphire had ever met had wanted to sleep with her. And even if she couldn’t go through with it in broad daylight, his interest still meant something.

Hell, she could never go through with it, broad daylight or not. She’d be a huge disappointment to someone like him. He might have thought she was ready to jump into any willing man’s bed, but the truth was, she had no damned idea what to do when she got there.

Enormous windows behind her framed a stunning view of the beach. Saphire squinted past her pain to give it a slow appraisal. Despite the pounding headache, she couldn’t help but marvel at the pristine ocean and crisp white shore. The sand stretched for about the same distance in both directions, forming a sweeping cove. There were pale-cultured rocks at the cliff-face, and spiky green plants bursting from them. There was no sign of other guests, though far, far in the distance she could make out the stately silhouette of an enormous cruise ship.

Where the heck in Athens was she? She tried to remember where they’d gone after the airport but it was mostly a blank. She had a brief impression of a stunning hotel. A boat? No. Surely not. It must have been a fast car. And she remembered being cradled against his broad, strong chest; almost asleep but awake enough to register how capable he was, and how safe she felt.

She lifted her forefingers to her temples and pressed against them, willing her head to stop bleating noisily at her.

“How do you feel?”

She startled and spun around far faster than was wise for someone in her fragile state.

Mr Kostanides was reclined with easy relaxation against the door jamb. He wasn’t wearing anything except a pair of black underpants. Saphire’s heart was pounding hard into her rib cage. He was so much better in the flesh than she’d dared to dream. His cinnamon-coloured tan was all-over. The previous evening his body had been concealed by a corporate shirt and pants. Now? Everything was on display. From the broad shoulders, to the rippling chest and strong, masculine legs. But most importantly, a certain part of his anatomy that she was trying her hardest not to stare at. Yet it was there and her cheeks flushed with a school-girl coyness.

“Oh, God,” she said softly and gripped the wall behind her. How had she ended up here?

“Just what I was thinking,” he murmured, his eyes doing an appraisal of their own.

Saphire shook her head, ignoring the sharp pain behind her eyes. “You’re hardly wearing anything.”

His smile was hot lava. “I’ve been for a run. And a swim. I’ve checked on you three times but you were snoring your little heart out.”

Her face paled. “Snoring!?” It was mortifying. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. Her thirst was extreme.

“Beautiful, perfect snores that made your beautiful, perfect breasts lift and fall in a way that made me ache to wake you with far more than a kiss.”

Butterflies flipped her stomach on its side. “Mr Konstanides …”

He laughed. “This is what you would like to call me?”

Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze. “I didn’t catch your name.”

There was something so incredibly sexy about her formal address that he didn’t supply it. “How do you feel?” He repeated his initial question and strolled with a lithe athleticism towards her.

“Crap,” she said honestly. “Like I drank a bar.”

“Not quite,” he consoled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “Though not for want of trying.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she whispered, dropping those eyes so her long, fan-like lashes once again caressed her soft cheeks.

“Of what?” He prompted.

“I don’t usually, um, drink like that. Or talk to men. Men like you. Any men.” She furrowed her brow and a crinkle formed in the middle of her forehead. “Did you book this room for me?”

His smile told her nothing. He stared at her, and her tummy continued to flip and flop from side to side until she thought she was going to be sick.

“Because I don’t remember giving my card over.” A hot sweat broke over her skin. She had booked her ticket using the emergency credit card her parents had provided her with when she’d started at university. Saphire had intended to keep all expenditure out of the bank accounts she shared with Jordan. All the better for him to have no freaking clue where she was.

“You didn’t,” he assured her. “You were in no condition to do any such business.”

Her face blanched. “Please don’t remind me. I’m so ashamed. I was … I was stupid yesterday.”

“You were running from something.”

Her eyes widened. “Did I say that?”

He had been right! The satisfaction was dwarfed by curiosity. He dropped his hand from her cheek to her waist. “You did not need to. It was obvious to me.”

She swallowed. His fingers were burning through her dress. “I was upset,” she said factually. “But that’s no excuse. You could have … I mean … we didn’t …”

“Have sex?” He prompted, a smile tickling the corners of his lips.

She nodded jerkily.

“No.” The word was dragged from deep within his soul. “We didn’t sleep together.” He dropped his lips and pressed them to her neck. She startled and then moaned. It felt so good. It was so wrong, but so right. “Not yet, anyway.”

Pleasure was a fire bursting just beneath her skin. She lifted a hand to his chest, intending to push him aside, but her fingers splayed wide and then her other hand wrapped around his waist to grip his back. He was so warm, and so firm.

“I don’t know if I can,” she whimpered, but her body was weakening against his and they both knew that there was no denial she was capable nor inclined to give.

“Saphire,” he murmured, lifting his lips to take her earlobe between his teeth. He stroked it with his tongue and she felt her insides turn to a huge puddle of passion. “You can. I think you will. But today, you should recover.”

“Recover?” Her heart turned over again. How much had she revealed to him?

“You had a fair amount to drink last night. I didn’t see you eat on the flight. You are in no state to enjoy what I’d like to do with you.”

Pleasurable anticipation warred with disappointment. He was completely right. She felt dreadful. And yet … she suspected he could obliterate all of that.

“The thing is,” she murmured, boldly running her hands down his back and slipping them into the waistband of what she now realized was his swimmers. “I think I’m still just a tiny bit drunk.” Her eyes were heavy with desire when they clicked with his. “Not so drunk that you need to worry you’re taking advantage of me. But drunk enough to have the confidence to say … to say something I wouldn’t normally.” She swallowed. “I want to sleep with you.”

I need to sleep with you.

It was a blinding stroke of comprehension for Saphire. Jordan had slept with Anita and God only knew how many times, and for how long, the affair had been going on. Since before they’d married? Saphire wasn’t sure she’d ever forgive either of them, but she did know that it would be impossible unless she did something similarly treacherous to her husband.

Jordan, always with a fragile ego, would never cope with the knowledge that his wife had been with a guy like this. Some handsome, Mediterranean hunk.

It went beyond a petty desire to hurt Jordan though. It was a need to level the playing field so that maybe, just maybe, she could think about forgiving and forgetting. After all, ten years of happiness shouldn’t be obliterated by a few stupid decisions. Right?

“I want this.” Her voice was husky. Her fingers curled around the curves of his ass. He was so firm and muscular. She shivered as she pulled him closer to her.

“There is no rush,” he assured her, but his fingers were pushing at the straps of her dress, slipping it lower over her body. He removed her bra at the same time. Those breasts had been calling to him since the moment she’d stormed onto the plane as though heaven and hell were nipping at her heels.

She nodded, but her hands pushed her dress down the rest of the way, then her underwear.

He stepped back, his eyes glowing as they appraised her painfully slowly. Her skin was a pearlescent white, like the petals of the fairest tulip. Her nipples were pink, like candy. Her stomach was flat and waist neat. “You should never wear clothes,” he said thickly, as he pulled on her wrist to bring her hard against his body.

“Okay,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and earning a laugh from him.

“I want to kiss you all over,” he growled, making good on his promise by dropping his mouth to her breasts and taking a taut nipple into his mouth. She buckled hard against him in sensual awareness. His tongue wrapped around it and she felt her legs begin to shake.

“Mr Konstanides …”

He laughed again, a sound that she realized she could become addicted to just as much as his looks and his touch. Out of nowhere, she thought of Jordan and guilt weakened her desire. But she pushed her unfaithful bastard of a husband aside.

In a weird, sick way, she was doing this for him. For their marriage.

He dragged his mouth to her other breast and subjected that nipple to the same treatment while his fingers began to roll the first, reassuring it that more pleasure would follow. He brought his mouth to hers, and his kiss was hard and demanding. The pressure pushed her head back against the wall and his body pinned her there, demanding, firm, insistent.

“You want this?” He murmured, separating her legs with his hand and rolling his hips forward so that she could feel his erection deliciously close to her feminine heart.

She nodded. She did. Partly to earn revenge on Jordan, but also just because she did. It had never been like this for Saphire. She and Jordan had started dating when she was in high school. They’d been kids. She’d never got to explore like this. And exploration, she was realizing, promised to be all kinds of fun.

“Me too,” he promised throatily, running his fingers over the entrance to her body. He teased her, lightly touching her warm, throbbing womanhood, before sliding a single finger deep inside her.

“Oh, crap!” She bucked her hips forward and gripped his shoulders. He was powerless to do anything but watch as waves of sensual pleasure began to swirl through her. He brought his other hand to her clitoris and pressed against it. Her cheeks were flushed. She bit down on her lower lip to stop from screaming; he understood.

Something wild was happening to her. Something she hadn’t expected.

He dropped his lips to her breast; it was too much. Her self-control snapped.

It was the most intense orgasm she’d ever felt. It hit her like a tidal wave. She embraced it. She cried out. She shook. She shuddered. And her fingernails dug deep into his tanned, warm shoulders.

Sanity was somewhere on the fringes of what she was feeling but Saphire kept it at bay. What was the need for sanity when there was such wonder to behold?

Had she ever felt anything like it before?

Slowly, he stepped away from her body. And strangely, Saphire didn’t feel embarrassed. Her smile was magical. Her eyes were filled with awe and invitation. Her hangover had evaporated on a cloud of sensation.

He stared at her as though she was an angel brought to earth. “I look forward to this, Saphire.”

She nodded. Jordan would cope. Or he wouldn’t. She knew she needed this. To feel like a woman and to feel worthy. Betrayal was scored deep in her heart and only being made love to by someone like Mr Konstanides would unravel it.

“Me too.” She bit down on her lip. “I was just about to shower.”

He traced his finger around her breasts and then down over her stomach. “Shower fast.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “I organized fruit for breakfast. Would you like something else?”

“Coffee,” she supplied instantly, without a beat’s hesitation.

He grinned. “A woman after my own heart.”

“Hey,” she called after his retreating back. “I don’t have any clothes.”

He looked over his shoulder. “I’ll bring something for you.”

“Where’s the restaurant?”

“Restaurant?”

“Yeah. I presume the hotel has a restaurant?”

His smile was sensual. “It’s straight downstairs. Can’t miss it.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Saphire intended to shower quickly, but the water was so divine against her flushed skin that she leant against the tiles and enjoyed the sensation of being needled by the jets.

When she emerged, there was a crisp white tee shirt and a pair of grey shorts on the bed. Both were far too big for her but they were modest and clean; beyond that, she didn’t really care.

She pinched her cheeks to bring some color to them and then slipped her feet into the only shoes she had – slightly painful Louboutin pumps. Saphire Arana had no idea what she was getting into but she felt strangely excited given the mess she’d left at home.

 

* * *

 

“Thad, you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” Rocco’s tone was heavy with concern, just as it had been at the funeral the day before.

“I’m fine,” Thaddeus reclined against the railing of the balcony.

“Your grandfather – a man who raised you as his own child – just died unexpectedly. You buried him only yesterday. I was there, remember? You are not fine.”

Thad pressed his lips together. “He was ninety. It was hardly a surprise.”

“Are you kidding? Aristotle Konstanides was so stubborn everyone thought he’d live forever. You included.”

Thad stared out at the glistening ocean, his handsome face grim. “Yes. And yet that’s life, isn’t it?”

Far away, Rocco nodded. “Si, forse. You can’t live forever.”

“But you can make every day count.” He thought of Saphire and his chest compressed in response. They’d only just met, and yet already he knew that she made him feel … alive. She made him feel completely alive when death was all around him.

“So how long are you on the island for?”

Thad frowned. “A week? Maybe two.” How long would she stay? How long could he have the pleasure of her company and her body? She was the perfect answer to him at this time in his life. An angel sent from heaven; or a very sexy distraction sent by his grandfather, who had the sickest sense of humor he’d ever come across. It brought a smile to his lips.

“I’m in Rome. I can come to you any time.”

“No.” Thad’s answer was swift and definitive. “No,” he softened the tone of his voice. “You’re busy. So am I. I … I will tell you, Rocco, if I need you.” He paused. Gratitude, though he felt it deeply, did not translate to words easily. “I appreciate your concern.”

Far in the distance he could see a fishing trawler pulling its nets in. It was late in the day; too late to be catching. Perhaps they’d hit an unexpected clutch of scampi.

“What’s it like?”

“What?” Thad didn’t immediately understand his friend.

“Being on the island without him.”

His breath was a long, slow contemplation. “Strange,” he admitted for the first time. “Aristotle is everywhere I look.” He shifted, so that his back was to the beach and his eyes could roam the mansion. “He is in the trees I used to climb; the ocean I used to swim in; the steps I used to run. I lived with him here for sixteen years. How can I be back and accept …” He shook his head decisively. “But he is gone.”

Rocco nodded. He understood his friend’s pain. “You had your reasons for staying away.”

Thaddeus squeezed his eyes shut. “Such good reasons,” he agreed with a chill tone to his voice. “Until he died. And then I was left wondering why I let stubborn pride waste so much of our time?”

“Stubborn pride?” Rocco repeated. “There was no stubborn pride in your rift.”

“There was no rift in my rift,” Thad corrected angrily. “Aristotle would have made his peace with me at any time I chose. But no; I was determined. He had cut my father out. My mother too. And he had raised me in ignorance of that.” He shook his head. “If it had not been for my father’s will, I would never have known …”

“And you would have continued to love Aristotle as a father.”

Thad sighed. “I do love him as a father. Anger does not negate love.” He dragged a hand through his hair and tugged at its black ends until it hurt. “He loved me and so he erred. He feared losing me and so he lied. He forgot his scruples because he found his heart.” Thad shrugged. “I would not make those mistakes, and yet I understand them.”

Rocco stared at his laptop screen without seeing. “What a waste.”

He noticed her first from the periphery of his vision. Saphire emerged, wearing casual clothes and spiked heels, her shining dark hair shimmering about her shoulders, and her lips a bright, cherry red. The color, then, was natural too, like her curves, her hair, her thick black lashes.

He wanted to forget Aristotle, and here she was. His perfect vehicle for memory lapse; the one single woman who had managed to obliterate his ever-active consciousness and plunge him into a state of ‘present’ living.

“I’ll have to call you back,” he muttered, disconnecting the call to his oldest friend without a second thought. He straightened and slipped his phone into his back pocket. “Something much more important has come up.”