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“Well, youdid.” She yanked her arm free, crushed and mortified with herself for that moment of— Oh, she didn’t want to dwell on how adolescent her rush of hope was, wishing impossible things. “Leave me alone.” She offered one final glare of rancid fury, then hurried away.
Did she feel like a coward for her retreat? Not really. Some fights weren’t worth having. Sometimes running away was all you had.
She had worked hard to become someone who could get through a confrontation gracefully, though. That altercation had not been her best moment.
Usually, she was dealing with a guest who didn’t really affect her on a personal level, though. Atlas was the opposite. As aggrieved as she’d been all these years, he was also the man against whom she continued to measure all others.
Which made no sense. He wasn’tthatspecial. She met rich, handsome men every day. Some even flirted with her. Why did this particular man stick in her memory like a burr? Had she been so young when she met him that she had imprinted on him or something? Because she had grown up a lot since then. She’d dated and kissed and…
Okay, that was it, because all those later kisses and fondles had left her cold. No one had ever made her blood simmer the way standing in the snow, in the street, arguing with Atlas Voudouris did.
She didn’t want him stirring her up again! She’d already spent too many hours looking him up and wondering and wishing and dreaming…
That way lay madness.
But against her will, pins and needles were jabbing all over her, as though she was thawing from that long walk home without gloves or socks when her hair had been wet and her self-esteem thin as a tissue.
It was painful. Distressing.
Her father had always warned her against lust and boys and fooling around. Sure enough, when her hormones had awakened under Atlas’s kiss five years ago, her attraction toward him had gotten her fired and she’d lost her home. She’d tried to seek him out the next day, but he’d been gone, leaving her floundering.
The entire experience had left her cautious about her body’s natural reaction. She didn’t really think it was a sin to feel passion, but she had been glad on some level that her interest in sex had grown muted, allowing her to believe she was safe from suffering lust-related disasters again.
Other times, though, she had wondered if Atlas had left her a little bit broken. Which was deeply unfair, because she didn’t know how to mend that sort of damage.
Now she knew he was here in Zermatt and all her stupid longings were reawakening, ones that not only wanted him to rescue her from this rocky journey called life, but even more, she wanted him to touch her. Kiss her. Would it feel the same? She was dying to find out.
She cringed at herself, running through every single word that had passed between them, picking it apart, trying to be happy that she’d told him to leave her alone.
Which he would, because he had said he wished he had.
What a horrible thing to say! She never wanted to see him again in her life.
* * *
“Why don’t we have an early dinner?” Iris said when Atlas joined her for a drink in the sitting room between their two bedrooms.
He’d just spent an hour swimming laps so he was hungry, but she was putting more than a meal on the table. With her engagement ring on order, he had a green light for lovemaking.
No, thanks.
He flinched inwardly at his distinct lack of interest, especially because he definitely wanted sex. He was frustrated as hell. That’s why he’d swum himself into exhaustion, but his libido was fixated on plaid trousers and a belligerent chin and electric-blue eyes.
He poured himself a scotch, trying to work out how to tell Iris,I can’t. Not tonight. Maybe never.
It was a sobering thought, one he needed to look at from all angles before he pushed the button that would detonate everything he’d spent months—years really—putting into place.
And for what? A woman who justifiably hated him?
I only went into your room because you invited me. I didn’t mean for anything to happen.
Neither had he. He’d arrived into the chaos of the party in time to see her yanked into the tub. Her uniform had been soaked and clinging to her generous curves, but it had been a uniform. He had averted his eyes from the thrust of her nipples and the way the fabric had adhered to the notch in her thighs. He didn’t prey on the help and he didn’t let anyone else do it, either.
But fifteen minutes later, she had walked in on him changing. She’d been wearing his clothes and they’d looked damn cute on her. He remembered trying to exercise some restraint, but she’d stepped into his kiss and…
He closed his eyes against the memory. He’d relived it too many times for it not to spring forth in vivid detail, though. Heat. Softness. The fit of her breasts against his front. The smell of his body wash on her skin. The brush of her tongue against his own.
Somehow, they’d fallen onto the bed. Her passion had fed his and he suspected they would have gone all the way if they hadn’t been interrupted. He’d never been carried away so quickly or completely. Not before or since.