Page 41 of Taming Achilles

“That’s very interesting.” I wasn’t sure how to digest this information.

“I’m telling you as a warning, because while I have every indication this man is in love with Miss Fox,” Athanya continued to not use Pippa’s title, which made me chuckle. “It seems that he has nothing but hatred for you, George.”

“Are you worried about me, Athanya?” Oh, I was definitely flirting, rounding on my heel to walk back to Pippa’s door. I was serving her an opening. It was a developed reaction, not because I desired them, but it soothed my soul to know that there were women in the world who wanted me.

When your childhood sweetheart burns you, other women’s attention is a suitable salve to calm your raw skin. And today, Pippa was distant. Cold. Not that our relationship had been warm by any measure since Callum’s wedding, but we had gone from frigid to downright arctic this morning. I just wanted a hint of warmth, even if it came from another woman.

Maybe that made me weak. But it helped me cope.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted.

“Aye, well, I’m flattered,” I admitted, leaning back on the wall by Pippa’s door.

“Don’t be,” she said casually. “My interest in you is shallow, at best.”

I laughed, “I’ll take what I can get. Thank you for the information.”

We hung up after a quick goodbye, and I placed the phone in my pocket. I looked to Pippa’s door, which had opened while I had been on the phone. Shit.

Ray Ricoda, in his flamboyant, orange button-down was leaning on the doorframe, his arms crossed, one brow raised. He regarded me, not with attraction, but malice. He looked at me like I had just strangled his cat.

“Mm-hmm,” he said, pushing off the doorframe. He gave me one contemptuous glance, then walked away.

“What?” I asked, plastering a friendly smile on my lips. I was starting to suspect that the two fashionistas had been having a little heart to heart. What secrets had she allowed to spill to her new friend? Secrets she hadn’t shared with me?

“I hope she drags you.” He called to me over his shoulder.

Well, shit. How much had been heard? When had the door opened?

Whatever the answer, I knew I was in for it. If she threw a lamp at my head, it was well-deserved. I’d even invite it. Because her anger was warm, passionate. It was more inviting than her cold indifference.

But I was dead wrong. The moment I walked in there, I swear, my breath came out as steam.

She sat at the vanity, the lights surrounding her face in the mirror. She languidly applied a powder to her cheeks, not giving me a hint that she knew I was there.

“Pippa?” I said, coming to her. She didn’t acknowledge me. I watched us in the mirror. I approached her the way you might come up on a delicate landmine that was primed to explode.

She pulled out a white tube of lotion, and she put some on her hands. The scent of lilies invaded my senses again, and my knees weakened.

I placed the brown bag containing the croissant on the vanity, near her elbow. I gently placed the tea beside it as well. She didn’t react, continuing to rub her hands together so the moisturiser seeped into her skin.

“You haven’t eaten all day.” I ached to run my hands through her hair. To touch her bare shoulder. To bridge the space between us.

She finally paused her movements, her grass green eyes turning to the mirror. She smiled. A fake, perfect smile. The same one she used on photographers. It came on too quickly, and never reached her eyes.

Who knew that a smile could burn me, too?

“As I said,” her tone was clipped and cruel in its high-pitched friendliness. “I don’t eat or drink before I … how did you put it?” A small wrinkle formed between her brows as she pretended to think. “Before I am monstrously overpaid to put on clothes and walk in a bloody straight line.”

She tossed my own words back to me, and I was rightly chagrined.

“Princess,” I placed my hands in my pockets. Before I could continue, she stood, her eyes turned in that cold fury.

“Don’t call me that. Not now. Not ever.” She bumped my shoulder as she walked past me, and I was surprised at her strength. She was cutting me away, pushing me further from her, and I was desperate, like a man at sea seeking the buoyancy of her life raft.

I grabbed her bicep, pulling her close to me. That was a mistake, because her scent, her warmth, her presence enveloped me and I was suddenly just a man, desiring a woman.

“Don’t do that.” I commanded.

---