Page 23 of Greek's Temporary "I Do"

But then the music that had been full of wild beats and chaotic chords had changed and morphed into something deeper, with a bass line that rolled over the skin and senses like a promise. The track poured sibilance into the air like a thousand whispers and the hyperawareness of earlier became almost painful.

Helena looked up at him uncertainly. She looked at him like he was Leo Liassidis, not his brother. And it was a smile he didn’t want anyone else to see. He led her deeper into the dance floor to find just a little anonymity, a little breathing space, he told himself. He wanted to explain himself to Helena, why he’d brought them to the dance floor, but when he turned he realised his mistake.

Swaying to the beat of the music, she unfurled beneath the dim blue lights throbbing from above. She reached up to sweep her hair from her neck, eyes closed, her rapture was all her own and it was the most erotic thing he’d seen. Even after the gallery exhibition.

As she shifted from foot to foot, the hemline of her dress, that had been barely decent before, became nothing but temptation, sliding across thighs that he wanted to grip and pull against him. Hot pinpricks of desire broke out across his shoulders and the base of his spine. His breath was staccato in his chest.

This wasn’t some artful moment of manipulation. There was no intent or thought for anyone else, he could tell. Not because she just wasn’t that type of person but because her focus, one he could feel almost instinctively, was on herself. Her pure enjoyment of the moment.

Just at that moment she opened her eyes, unerringly finding him without having to search, and all the blood rushed from his head. The crowd on the dance floor grew bigger and someone jostled him, but he still couldn’t look away. Just as the music built to a crescendo, the girl behind Helena careened into her from behind and Helena was thrust forward, Leo only having enough time to reach for her as she crashed against him.

Suddenly, his hands were full of soft, hot skin and sequins. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hands, one palm to his heart, the other clinging to the lapel of his linen jacket. His breath left his lungs, and instinct took over. He pulled her more firmly against him, his fingers flexing against her body. Neither of them moved, a breath held, shared between them. Helena leaned back and this time when she looked at him there was something beneath the trepidation: want.

He was jostled again and the moment was cut short when she pulled out of his arms and laughed a little, perhaps at herself, perhaps at him. But whatever it was that had passed between them was over. And he couldn’t work out whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Helena left the dance floor without looking to see if Leo was following her. She needed some time and space to sort through what had just happened. Or at least what she had just wanted to happen. She pressed the back of her hand against her flushed cheek and turned towards the table when a hand caught her wrist.

Leo looked at her with no trace of a reaction to what had just taken place on the dance floor.

‘Travi wanted us in the VIP section?’

She nodded reluctantly. She wanted to go home. Not just to the villa, but home home. To England. But even that was no longer the refuge it had once been, everything tainted by Gregory’s theft and Kate’s soon-to-be absence.

She wanted to hide from everything that she was feeling, but instead she followed Leo past the suited bouncer who unhooked a red velvet twisted rope, up the stairs and over towards a red velvet sofa.

They had barely sat down when a waiter appeared with a silver bucket, a bottle of champagne and two flutes.

‘With the host’s congratulations on your recent nuptials.’

The flourish was so extravagant she bit back a laugh and allowed the distraction to smooth over the tension from the dance floor. Leo graciously accepted as Leander and the waiter disappeared, but he looked strangely disappointed.

‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.

He scratched his chin and winced. ‘I was hoping to buy the entire club a round of drinks. On Leander’s tab, of course.’

Helena smiled. ‘It would be the least he deserves. I mean the least you could do,’ she hastily corrected.

Leo poured them each a glass and offered her one.

‘A toast.’

‘To?’ she enquired.

He paused, looking at her a little too intently. ‘To new beginnings.’

She grasped it like a lifeline but, clinking her glass to his, she couldn’t hold his gaze for long. She looked down over the crowded club and wondered what that might look like.

New beginnings.

Unable to stifle her curiosity, she turned back to him, the question in her eyes finding its way to her mouth.

‘What would that look like? To you?’

The hand holding his glass paused halfway to his lips, his gaze locked on hers, until it refocused on something—someone—over her shoulder.

Leo cursed.

‘So, “Leander the Lothario” finally settles down?’ the woman said when she arrived at their table.

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