Page 22 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

She swallowed.

She had to say something. Of course she did. But her throat was as narrow as a crushed straw.

She swallowed again, halted halfway across the room.

Leandros let his magazine drop, his lasering eyes never leaving her. Saying nothing.

So she spoke instead—she had to. With an effort, she managed to get the words out, past the deafening thudding of her heart, the blood drumming in her ears. She felt hot and cold all at the same time, weak and faint, forcing herself to stay upright.

‘Leandros...’ She said his name, faint and hesitant. ‘I... I...’

It was all she could manage. Something changed in his face. His expression was edged...became guarded and loaded at the same time.

‘Yes?’ The edge was in his voice too.

She took another halting step forward, half lifted a hand, then let it drop again.

‘Leandros.’ She got his name out again, less hesitant now, but with a husk in it that even she could hear. She swallowed once more, took another step forward, lifted her hand again.

Was she imploring him? And if so, for what?

‘Eliana.’

He echoed her style of address, his voice flat now. The edge was still in his face, and in his voice.

‘What is it that you want?’

It was a polite inquiry—or could have been. But she knew it wasn’t. She felt herself flush again and made herself speak. He obviously wasn’t going to help her out.

She took a larger breath, lifted her chin—looked straight at him. ‘You brought me here to Paris for one reason only, so—’ she took yet another breath ‘—here I am.’

She let her hand drop, knowing she was just standing there, wearing her ankle-length nightgown, a few metres from the end of his bed. And he was sitting there, propped up by his pillows, his bare torso exposed, looking at her.

Like a pasha waiting for his chosen female from the harem to approach him...

Dark stories from the grim centuries of the Ottoman conquest and occupation of Greece were in her head. Was that what she was? One of those hapless females procured to serve...to service...their imperial masters?

Her face tightened. No, she was not.

I’m here by my own choice—because I choose to be here.

And whatever the tangled and tormenting reasons for doing what she had done—coming here to Paris with Leandros, coming into his bedroom now—they were her reasons.

She pressed her lips together a moment, then spoke again. Firmer now, more resolute, though the blood was still thudding in her ears.

‘You said you wanted the honeymoon I denied you. So now I...’ she took a breath, knowing it was ragged, knowing her heart was still beating audibly in her chest ‘...I give it to you.’

It was all she could say. She wanted to say so much—but that was impossible. All she could do was take another step forward, and then another, as if drawn towards him. At the foot of the bed she stopped. She was so close...so very close. She felt her heart rate quicken...emotion quicken. But which emotion? She didn’t know—there were too many inside her...

Something was wrong. His expression had changed and she could see the planes of his cheekbones, taut beneath the skin. A sudden shaft of dismay struck her.

‘Ah, I see—the sacrificial maiden.’

His words dropped into the silence between them, into the yawning gulf between them.

He shifted position suddenly, flexing his sinewed shoulders. The metallic glint in his eye was steel. And there was steel in his voice as he spoke.

‘Well, as it happens, Eliana, I don’t require a sacrificial maiden—not that you qualify as a maiden any longer. I don’t want a sacrifice at all—and least of all...’ the steel was a blade now ‘...do I want one who thinks she can assuage her wrongdoing by making such a virtuous sacrifice...’

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