Page 55 of Hold Me Today

Of course she knows it fromJeopardy.

When she pulls at her wrist again, I unleash my hold with a flex of my fingers. Her back collides with the wall behind her, and I can’t even imagine how many splinters are baring their splintery teeth, ready to sink into her soft skin.Don’t touch her, and for the love of God, don’t set her off again.My hands ball into fists at my sides. “Back to the conversation, how exactly was I being condescending?”

Her arms fold over her small chest. “It’s all in the tone.Gynaíka, fold the laundry.Gynaíka,is dinner done yet?” Her tone turns snide. “If I count the number of times my father has turned to my mom and said that word, I’ll run out of the world’s lamb population.”

Trust it to Mina Pappas to make me want to laugh when she’s chomping at the bit for a fight. I give in, just in the off chance I can make her smile. “That’s a hell of a lot of lamb.”

The fire in her honey eyes banks to a slow roast. “I’d save every one if I could. No more lamb on the spit for Easter or finding a head bobbing in a steaming pot in the kitchen.”

“That happened to you too?” I ask, messing with her. Every Greek kid has been traumatized by smelling something amazing drifting from the stove, only to open the pot’s lid and come face to face with . . . well, yeah. Like I said, traumatizing. “Also, probably not the wisest move to keep Greeks everywhere loving you.”

Her nostrils flare at that, and she averts her gaze once again. “The Greeks aren’t always the end-all-be-all.”

“Don’t let my grandmother hear you say that.”

“Good thing I wouldn’t say it in Greek for her to understand.”

My lips twitch at her savagery. She’s entertaining as all hell when she’s spitting fire like this. “So, nogynaíkathen.” I give a curt chin dip. “That’s fine with me. God knows I’m not trying to have you punch me again.”

“The punch wasn’t for that.”

“Fully aware of that,Ermione.” I face her fully, balancing one foot on the rung above us. As much as I want to plant my hands on the wall behind her head, splinters be damned, I’ve got no interest in validating her assumption from downstairs. So I keep my hands down by my sides when I say, “Sex is not part of the deal. Not the original deal, notanydeal.” I duck my head, eclipsing some of the height difference, so I can look her in the eye. “You know me. I mean, your nickname for me is Saint—”

“Nick,” she cuts in, her expression unreadable. “I know.”

She won’t meet my gaze, and for one of the first times in my life, I react on impulse.

Softly, I catch her chin between my thumb and forefinger, the lightest touch I’ve ever given to another person. “Look at me,koukla.”

The words emerge raspy, the Greek endearment rolling off my tongue before I can even question its very existence—but it does the trick. Mina looks at me. Full-on. Zeroed in. And it rocks me to my fucking soul.

Honey rimmed with amber.

The smallest mole on the slope of her nose. Last night, it was too dark out for me to notice its existence but I do now. I take in my fill, studying every aspect of her face like I do a job site before I begin the restoration process. In my day-to-day life, I handle the finest antiques, the most fragile buildings that I bring back to life for another generation to enjoy.

I’ve never touched anything—or anyone—more important than I am right now.

Her chin trembles beneath the roughened pads of my fingers, and I finally give in by planting one hand above her head on the wall. This stairwell is cramped and not well-spaced—hardly any nineteenth-century brownstones are—and I breathe in her scent. Citrus. A hint of something sweet, like rose or lavender. Vulnerability.

The latter cloaks the air around us.

“I don’t blame you for jumping the gun, but I wasn’t thinking of sex when I offered to take on the hydrotherapy room at full cost.”

Mina’s tongue flicks out to touch her bottom lip. “You were staring at my mouth.”

My cock, traitorous bastard that he is, perks up. I shift my hips back, away from temptation. It’d be all too easy to haul her up into my arms and grind my erection into her. But that defeats the purpose of this conversation in the first place.

Thinkofyiayia!Count lambs, man! Just think of anything buther lips.

Unfortunately, lying has never been one of my strong suits.

I stare down at her and hear the words of damnation echo in the stairwell: “I wanted to kiss you.” When her brows shoot up in surprise, I hastily add, “Not that it matters. Whatdoesmatter is that I wanted to do the room foryou. Not as a favor, not in pity, but because I know how it feels to want something so badly you can taste it, and yet—because of circumstances out of your control—that fate no longer belongs to you.”

She visibly swallows and maybe I’m absorbing some of her reckless habits because my fingers leave her chin to trace her jawline, then swoop down. The heel of my palm rests against her collarbone as my fingers curl around the nape of her neck.More, the new, reckless part of me begs, and I nurture the demand by pressing my forehead to hers.

Voice low, I urge, “Say something.”

Another swallow, and this one I feel under my hand like a secondary pulse. “I appreciate the gesture, Nick.”

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