Page 12 of Husband for the Holidays

He didn’t dislike her, but the invitation reeked of sentimentality. He had never celebrated any winter holiday, not beyond a quiet meal with his grandfather who had been gone for three years by then.

Nevertheless, out of respect for his friend and the enormous financial favor Ilias had done him, Konstantin had stuck around.

He barely recognized Eloise when he saw her. She had never looked much like her brother. They had different fathers, but she was no longer a child. She was seventeen and looking chic in snug jeans and a turtleneck. Her hair had been cut as short as his own, revealing her ears and nape. Her green-gold eyes and wide mouth dominated her otherwise delicate face.

Konstantin hadn’t known what to say to her, but the siblings had bantered enough that it wasn’t noticed. As Ilias started to pour drinks, they had argued over who had finished the last of the eggnog and who would pick up more. Ilias refused to let her go.

“I’d like a rum and eggnog today, thank you. If you go, you’ll be gone for hours, chatting with everyone in the store. I don’t need to know the bodega operator’s hobbies or how many kittens the neighbor’s cat had. No. You asked for a tree. You stay here and decorate it.” He pointed at the fragrant evergreen.

“This from the man who can’t get a coffee without getting a number,” she lobbed back.

“Good luck with this one.” Ilias thumbed over his shoulder with mock disgust on his way out the door. “I may or may not come back.”

Konstantin had tried to ignore Eloise, but she did like to chat. Before he’d known it, she had corralled him into helping decorate the tree. As they’d stood close and their fingers had brushed and she looked up at him, he’d been struck by the woman she was on her way to becoming. He’dseenher.

And he’d wanted her.

That sudden rush of masculine energy had been so far offside he’d steppedwayback. So far back he’d left the apartment and flown to Athens that night.

Ilias had been surprised by his abrupt departure and Konstantin had blamed Eloise’s childhood case of hero worship, which had never actually bothered him, always seeming harmless. In those moments beside the tree, however, he’d seen her attraction to him. He wasn’t flattering himself. He was a healthy, wealthy man. Women had been noticing him for years. He damned well knew what mutual attraction was and feeling it with her had sent him into a mental fishtail.

So he left, and Konstantin had never seen Ilias in person again. He hadn’t seen Eloise until the news had reached him that Ilias had been killed in a small plane crash.

He never looked back if he could avoid it and didn’t let himself dwell on those nightmarish days now. He had done what he could for Ilias and his family, but it had been pure hell. The funeral service, the eulogy, had been like driving his car into a brick wall at full speed. He had made himself do it, but the impact had nearly destroyed him. Especially when he looked at Eloise.

The agony in her eyes had nearly broken him in two. He hadn’t known what to say, how to mitigate the vastness of loss she was experiencing. He would fall into it himself if he tried. He’d had a near irresistible urge to take her away from all of this. To somehow pull her behind the wall he used to buffer himself from pain.

Don’t feel anything, he silently urged her.Don’tsuffer.

She had been glued to her mother’s side, steel to Lilja’s shattered glass. There had been people everywhere, all wanting to approach mother and sister, to condole with them. Ilias had always been popular.

It had been winter again. An Athens winter, but still cold. At the reception after the service, Konstantin had stood outside in the bite of weather, done with old faces from school who he’d never liked in the first place. Done with small talk. Done with the sheer brutality of life.

But he couldn’t make himself leave.

Then, as the light faded, Eloise had found him in the garden. She’d been a shadow of herself. Her black dress had made her look shapeless and washed out. She’d struck him as translucent. Brittle as a sculpture made of ice.

He remembered wanting to warm her.Needingto hold her. Then, somehow, his mouth was on hers and light burst forth inside him, gusting into a furnace of heat. She had tasted like salvation. Like purpose and hope and the future.

She hadn’t pushed him away. Her arm had curled tighter behind his neck.

That was small comfort. What kind of mandidthat to a grieving woman? Especially one who was still too young for him?

He had pushed her away and he pushed from the table now, stalking across the room to get away from a kiss that had only happened because his self-discipline had been smashed by loss. He’d been too disgusted with himself afterward to reach out to her.

He had told her to contact him if she needed anything, but he hadn’t been surprised when she never did. She and her mother had been surrounded by support that day. That’s how it had looked, anyway.

Now he had to wonder.

Everything in him was wondering about her. Wondering in that way that went well beyond polite interest in an old friend’s kid sister.

She wasn’t a kid any longer. She was at least twenty-four. Her blush of awareness when he had asked if she wanted a bath, and the way her lashes had flickered as her gaze swept over him, had signaled she was still attracted to him.

An answering interest was gripping him, sharp and barbed.

He tightened his hand around his glass, resisting this involuntary reaction. It was carnal and human, but still misplaced. She was Ilias’s little sister. She was on her back foot and needed help.

She was still off-limits.

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