Page 46 of Greek's Temporary Cinderella

Her gaze lingered on him a moment, eyes veiled, as if she was self-conscious suddenly, and then she reached for her wine glass. They had eaten a leisurely dinner, and had been finishing off the luscious dessert wine since they’d repaired to the sofa. The mood that had prevailed since their outing to Giverny still held, and Eliana was glad of it. Yet a sadness of sorts plucked at her. Leandros had wanted a different answer to the question he had put to her. Different from the one she had given him: that she would make the same choice again as she had six years ago.

I can’t undo the past.

His voice echoed in her head. ‘Things change, Eliana.’

But the past did not change. What had been true then was still true. And her feelings too. Feelings she could never smother or deny, though they would only bring her yet more heartache in the end.

So be content with this—with what is here and now.

‘Fancy watching anything else?’ Leandros asked in an easy tone.

She gave a shake of her head, finishing the last of her sweet wine and getting to her feet.

‘Time for bed,’ she said lightly.

Did something flicker in his eyes? If it did, she discounted it. ‘Separate bedrooms’ he had said, and she knew he had said it out of concern for her, after the debacle of the night before. But that would not be. That would not be at all.

She gave a secret smile, but poignant. The past was gone. The future was impossible. Only the present was hers.

And that was what she would claim and give to him.

Give to us both.

And she would hold it in her heart against the long, empty years ahead, when Paris was over and done with and this precious time with Leandros would be nothing more than a memory...

Leandros clicked off the TV, his gaze following Eliana as she retreated to her bedroom. He did not want her to do so, but he had given his word.

Memory came. Tormentingly. He sought to hold it back. He would not—must not—recall the night before...recall the feel of her naked body beneath his, her eager mouth, the sensual white-out of his instantly inflamed passion, his desire...

The bedroom door shut behind her, and he got to his feet. Sitting beside her as they’d watched the ancient Hollywood film had been both good...and bad. Good to be so close to her—bad to be so close to her. She’d sat curled up, relaxed, her hair falling from its chignon, the soft drape of her dress shaping her breasts...

It had been hard to focus on the swashbuckling going on onscreen. Hard to think of her now, in her bedroom, removing her dress, loosening her hair...

He snatched up the coffee tray and the wine glasses, taking them through into the kitchen. Busying himself, he washed them up to give him something to do—something to stop him thinking about the rashness of promising Eliana ‘separate bedrooms’, even though that had been the only decent thing to do after the debacle of the previous night.

Leaving the cups and glasses on the draining board, he headed to his own room. He would take a shower—tonight he definitely would.

He did so, turning the temperature as low as was necessary—which was very low. He endured it as much as he could—it was a cure, but a punishing one. He stepped out of the cubicle, seized a towel, wrapping it around his hips, grateful for its warmth. He grabbed another one, patting his chest and shoulders dry, then reached for his toothbrush.

As he brushed his teeth he felt the same heaviness fill him that had assailed him on the balcony, when she’d told him what he knew with bitter truth he had wanted her not to say.

I wanted her to say she regretted marrying as she did...regretted rejecting me as she did. That she would never do so given a second chance. I wanted her to tell me that if she got that second chance she would choose me this time...

But she had said none of that.

He frowned at his own reflection. His jawline was darkening, his hair damp from the shower. His gaze at himself was interrogating.

But that was the past—and it is the present we have now.

His own words sounded again in his head. ‘Things change—they can change again.’

Could they?

And would I want them to?

And Eliana? Would she want them to? Last night she had come to him, just as he had told her he wanted her to, in passion and desire, answering his for her. Last night he had thought that enough—thought it all that he wanted of her. But now...?

His promise to her of ‘separate bedrooms’, of making no more demands of her, setting no expectations on her, had negated the very reason he had brought her here to Paris with him. Negated hers for being here.

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