Gorgeous Greeks: Seductive Secrets

Jace’s hand pressed against her back, steering her through the crowd to a spare space on the dance floor. Eleanor turned to face him, firm smile in place. Jace smiled lazily back—as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, that she was simply trying to prove something. Just as he was.

‘Shall we?’ Eleanor asked brightly and Jace reached for her hand, his fingers threading through hers.

‘Oh, yes.’

He pulled her to him, and when Eleanor resisted that sensual tug he murmured so only she could hear, ‘Come on, Eleanor. We’re dancing.’

‘Right.’ She let him draw her closer, knowing it was dangerous, feeling that awful desire leap in her belly as she inhaled the woodsy musk of his cologne.

‘You’re dancing like a twelve-year-old boy,’ he chided as Eleanor started an awkward box-step. ‘And you’re leading.’

‘I can’t help it,’ Eleanor said, laughing reluctantly.

Jace placed his hand on her waist, his fingers splayed across her hip, and drew her close enough so she could feel the heat of him. ‘This is how you do it,’ he said mock sternly, and began to move her around the dance floor in a lively jitterbug.

Eleanor wasn’t sure how she did it. Somehow Jace put enough pressure on her waist to guide her along, twisting and whirling her with such a natural ease that Eleanor was left breathless, amazed at her own gracefulness.

The other dancers had cleared a space around them, and several couples had stopped to watch, clapping their hands in time to the music.

‘You’re making a scene,’ Eleanor hissed when she came close enough to Jace to have him hear. His arm slid along the length of hers before he grabbed her hand and whirled her in a neat, fast circle so her dress spun out around her in a silver arc.

‘Isn’t that the point?’ he challenged with a wicked smile, and Eleanor felt her insides melt.

This was so dangerous. This was the Jace she’d once known, the Jace she’d fallen in love with. The Jace who had broken her heart. She preferred the harsh, hard man she’d met in her office; there had been no danger of falling in love with him.

‘Where did you learn to dance?’ she asked breathlessly as Jace spun her around yet again.

‘I have five older sisters. How could I not learn how to dance?’

‘Five?’ she repeated in surprise. She’d had no idea.

‘Now for the finale,’ Jace said and Eleanor stiffened in alarm.

‘I can’t—’

‘Yes,’ he told her as he pulled her closer, ‘you can.’

And before Eleanor knew what he was doing he’d flipped her right over so her legs had gone over her head until she was on her feet again, dazed and incredulous. Around them people clapped and cheered.

‘Jace!’

‘Wasn’t that fun?’

‘That doesn’t matter—’she blustered. How many people had seen her underwear?

‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured, drawing her close again, ‘no one saw anything.’

‘How did you—’ She didn’t finish that question and shook her head. It had been fun, yet she couldn’t quite keep herself from still acting annoyed and defensive; those postures were her armour. They kept her safe. She wasn’t ready to unbend entirely.

The song had ended, replaced by a slow jazz number. Distantly Eleanor recognised the sexy, mournful wail of a single saxophone as Jace lazily pulled her even closer so their hips collided and his hands slid down to her lower back, his fingers splayed across the curve of her bottom.

‘Jace—’ Eleanor hissed, trying to move out of the all-too-close contact. Around them couples swayed to the music.

‘Relax. It’s a slow dance.’

Relax? How on earth was she supposed to relax with her body pressed against Jace’s, his hands moving lazily up and down her spine? She was conscious of how thin her dress was, how little separated their bodies—

Eleanor clamped down on that thought. Fine. She could endure this. She could still walk away with her head held high—except, there was no enduring about it. It was far, far too pleasant to let her body relax into Jace’s, to enjoy the feel of his hand on her back, his fingers burning her through the thin material of her dress. Too wonderful to let him pull her closer, to lean her head against his chest so her lips hovered less than an inch from the warm skin of his neck.

They’d never danced before. There had been no opportunities. Their love affair had been conducted in the café where she’d worked, walks in the park, and the big double bed in Jace’s apartment. Eleanor hadn’t even known Jace could dance just as she hadn’t known he had five older sisters. He’d never told her, just as he’d never told her so many things. She’d been in love with him, yet in some ways she’d barely known him. It made her wonder if you even could be in love with someone you hardly knew. Had it simply been infatuation?

‘See how easy this is?’ Jace murmured. His lips brushed her hair and his breath tickled her cheek. Eleanor closed her eyes.

Yes, it was easy. Far, far too easy. She’d wanted to cling to the knowledge that they were two different people now, that even if she could forgive and forget what had happened between them—which she didn’t even know if she could—a relationship was impossible. Unwanted on both sides.

Yet in Jace’s arms all those resolutions fell away, as insubstantial as smoke, or the snow that had already started to melt into slushy puddles. In Jace’s arms, she was conscious only of how everything felt so wonderfully, painfully the same.

The song ended and they remained swaying for a heartbeat before Eleanor found the strength to break away. Her face was flushed and she could feel a rather large strand of hair against her cheek, falling down from her professional, sleek chignon. Her image was falling apart. She was falling apart.

‘I need to go. There are things to do.’

‘Okay.’ She risked looking up, saw how shuttered Jace’s eyes looked, his jaw taut. This dance had cost him something too. Why were they doing this? Flirting with the past? Flirting with each other? Surely it could only lead to heartache… for both of them.

‘Thank you for the dance,’ she said, and hurried away without waiting for Jace’s reply.

Jace watched Eleanor weave her way through the crowd. His body tingled where he’d touched her. He felt alive, more alive than he had in years, and yet restless and edgy as well.

What was he doing? What was he trying to prove? Dancing with Eleanor was dangerous. There could be nothing for them now, not with the past still lying so heavily between them. Not when he was leaving in less than a week. He didn’t even want there to be anything between them; he wasn’t interested in love, and learning he might actually be fertile couldn’t change that.

Could it?

The best thing—the wisest and safest—would be to leave Eleanor alone. To walk away right now, and let them both get on with their lives. Yet even as he made this resolution, Jace realised he was still looking for her. Waiting for her.

Wanting her. Eleanor avoided Jace for the rest of the night, feeling ridiculous as she skulked in the corners of rooms, hurried down hallways, and kept an eagle eye out for his appearance. Yet avoiding Jace had become necessary for her sanity, her safety. That dance had broken down the barriers she’d erected between them, barriers between the past and the present. Barriers she needed. She didn’t want to get close to Jace, couldn’t let herself love him or be infatuated with him. Whatever it was—had been—she had no desire to feel it again. Not with a man she still couldn’t trust. Not with Jace.

Still, she couldn’t avoid him for ever. He found her after the party had finished, the last guests trickling out into the night, and the staff starting to clear the party’s debris.

‘Always busy,’ he murmured.

Eleanor didn’t turn around, though she could feel him behind her. ‘I have a lot to do. It’s a party to you, Jace, but for me it’s work.’

He propped one shoulder against the wall of the Lake Room where she’d been going over her list of rented equipment on one of the cleared tables. ‘It was a great party. And great work.’

‘Thank you.’ Needlessly she ticked an item off on her list. One of the staff hoisted a tray of dirty wine glasses and left the room, making Eleanor tinglingly aware of how alone she and Jace were. The last guests had gone into the park and the darkness, and, now that the room was cleared, all the staff seemed to have vanished. She ticked another item off on her list, eyes fixed firmly upon it.

‘I’m leaving for Greece in three days,’ he said quietly. He sounded sad. Eleanor tensed.

‘I see.’

‘I’d like to think…’ He paused, clearing his throat. Eleanor looked up, surprised by the naked vulnerability in Jace’s eyes. The list fell from her hand, forgotten. ‘I’d like,’ Jace started again, ‘to return home knowing things are—resolved—between us.’

Resolved. The word echoed through her. What did that mean? How did you find resolution, that oft-touted closure? Eleanor wished she knew. ‘Fine,’ she said after a moment. ‘Consider us resolved.’ She picked up her list again and stared at it blindly.

‘Eleanor—’

‘I don’t know what you want, Jace. Whatever it is, I don’t think I can give it to you.’ She swallowed, stared at her list. ‘I’m sorry.’ She might have danced with him, had even wanted to dance with him, but it meant nothing. She knew that, she felt it now. Her body might betray her again and again, but her mind and heart remembered just what Jace had done. Her mind and heart wouldn’t forget. Couldn’t forgive. She slipped her list into her bag and met Jace’s troubled gaze. Even now her body reacted to his nearness, both with wanting and remembrance. Even now she remembered how she’d felt in his arms, both an hour ago and a lifetime ago. From somewhere she summoned the strength to move past him, making sure they didn’t even brush shoulders. ‘Goodnight, Jace.’

She walked out of the room without looking back, fumbling for her coat by the front door. She usually stayed for longer after a party, making absolutely sure everything was cleaned up and taken care of. But she couldn’t tonight, couldn’t handle another moment of being near Jace, of enduring the temptation of being near him.

She hated that her body was so weak, that she still desired the man who had betrayed her. At least she’d been strong enough to walk away.

Jace stood alone in the Lake Room, everything empty and silent around him. In the distance he heard the door click open and shut. Eleanor had gone.

He let out a long, slow breath. It was better this way. It really was. It had to be. Yet even so, the restlessness didn’t leave him; the regret still weighed heavily on his heart.

It might be better this way, but it didn’t feel like it. Too many things still lay between them, words unspoken that needed to be said.

Consider us resolved.

He didn’t.

His body taut with grim purpose, Jace strode from the room.

Outside the park was dark, the last guests already long gone. Eleanor dug her hands deep into the pockets of her coat and walked resolutely towards Fifth Avenue. There should be plenty of cabs there, even at this hour.

She’d only been walking a few minutes, skirting the edge of the Sailboat Pond, afloat with model boats in the spring and summer but now drained and empty, when she heard footsteps behind her. Eleanor’s heart stilled even as she quickened her pace. The park was generally safe at night these days, but this was New York and she knew to be careful.

‘Eleanor, I’m sorry.’

It was Jace. Eleanor’s heart resumed its normal thump for only a second before it began beating all the faster. It was Jace. She slowed her pace and turned around.

‘What did you say?’

‘I’m sorry.’ She could barely see him in the darkness; the only light was from a high, thin crescent of moon just emerging from behind the clouds. She couldn’t make out the expression on his face, but she could hear the contrition and regret tearing his voice and it startled her.

She hitched her bag higher up on her shoulder. ‘What for?’

‘For hurting you so badly.’ Jace took a step closer to her, and now the moon cast a pale, silvery glow over his features, etched in regret. Eleanor’s breath dried in her throat. ‘For walking away so utterly. For not being there when you must have been going through a very difficult time.’

‘Don’t—’Eleanor whispered. He had no idea just how difficult a time she’d been through. He had no idea how much she’d needed to hear these words, and yet how afraid she was to hear them, because an apology required a response. It meant things would change. She would have to change.

‘Don’t say sorry?’ Jace smiled, that wonderful crooked smile Eleanor knew and had once loved. ‘But I have to. For my sake, as well as your own. We can’t be—resolved—until I say it. I know that.’

‘I don’t need—’ Eleanor began, roughly, for her throat was already clogged and tight. Yet she couldn’t even finish the sentence. It was a lie. She did need. She needed Jace to apologise. She needed to be able to forgive him. For ten years she’d managed to move on without it, but her heart had stayed in the same place. She hadn’t realised just how much until Jace had come back into her life.

He was right in front of her now, so close she could reach out and touch him if she wanted to. She didn’t move. ‘Will you forgive me, Eleanor?’ Jace asked softly. ‘For hurting you so much?’

Eleanor wanted to shake her head. She wanted to cry. She wanted to tell him she wouldn’t, because she was still angry and hurt and afraid, and yet she wanted to say she would because she needed the closure, the redemption. She nodded jerkily, unable to offer him more.

It didn’t matter. Jace closed the small space between them, pulling her into his arms. She felt the soft wool of his coat against her cold cheek as she remained in the circle of his embrace, unresisting, unable to move or push away as she surely should do. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, his voice rough with emotion, and the shell around Eleanor’s hardened heart finally cracked and broke.

‘I forgive you,’ she whispered, the words barely more than a breath of sound. Her throat was so tight. She tilted her head up to look at him, meaning only to offer absolution, yet there must have been too much yearning in her eyes—too much desire—for Jace’s own expression darkened and after a second’s hesitation—a second that seemed to last for ever—he lowered his mouth to hers.

The first brush of his lips against hers was a shock, electrifying her from the tips of her fingers to the very centre of her soul.

Then her senses sweetly sang to life as both body and mind and even heart remembered this, remembered Jace. How he felt. How he tasted. How right she’d always been in his arms and under his touch.

Her lips yielded to his, parting, inviting, and Jace took full advantage, deepening the kiss so Eleanor felt that plunging sensation of helpless desire deep in her belly, so she craved more, and more, her hands sliding over his coat, across his shoulders, down his back, bringing her closer to him.

She didn’t know how long the kiss went on. And it was more than a kiss. Jace’s hands had slipped under her coat, under her dress, cold against her skin and yet still enflaming her with his touch so that both their breathing was ragged and Eleanor’s mind was as hazy and high as a cloud.

Her head dropped back, her back arching, a moan escaping her lips as his hands roved over her body and his mouth moved on hers. It had been so long. It had been ten years.

She couldn’t think past this moment, couldn’t register anything but the onslaught of her senses… until she heard two teenagers’ raucous laughter from across the pond, the ugly sound jolting her out of that desire-induced haze and right out of Jace’s arms. She jerked away, her chest rising and falling in shock, in shame, while she stared at him with dazed, disbelieving eyes. He looked back at her, his expression just as stunned. Neither of them spoke.

Eleanor could hardly believe what she’d just allowed. What she’d done. He said sorry and she melted into his arms? She’d practically begged him to touch her, take her? Jace looked as if he hadn’t even meant to kiss her, and maybe he hadn’t. Maybe she’d kissed him without realising—

‘Eleanor—’

‘No.’ She couldn’t hear what he was going to say, no matter what it was. Anything Jace said now was sure to break her. ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’

‘I know.’ Those two sorry words almost made her cry. Somehow she didn’t want him to admit it was a mistake, even though she knew it was. ‘Even so—’

‘No,’ Eleanor said again. There was no even so. There couldn’t be. She shook her head, backing away, and then with a stifled cry she fled into the night.

Jace watched Eleanor run through the darkness as if the very demons of hell were on her heels. Perhaps she felt they were. She had clearly been shocked by that kiss, and frankly so had he.

He’d meant only to say sorry, to make up for the past, and instead he’d reopened it, ripped the scabs off their scars. His heart ached with remembered pain. His body ached with unfulfilled desire.

What was he doing? Why couldn’t he just leave Eleanor Langley alone? Jace realised he was still walking towards Fifth Avenue, following her fleeing footsteps. He slowed his stride.

Ever since Eleanor had come back into his life—ever since he’d discovered she’d been telling the truth—he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her. Thinking about the what ifs, wondering if life could give them a second chance.

Jace stopped in his tracks. A second chance at what? At love?

Did he really want that?

The last ten years he’d been hardening his heart against love, against any messy emotion. He’d focused on his business, building an empire instead of a dynasty.

And yet now… now he wanted more. He wanted Eleanor.

Ellie.

He wanted to reawaken the woman he’d lost when he’d walked out ten years ago. He wanted Ellie to find herself again, her true self, the self whom he’d loved and who had loved him. He wasn’t even sure why; he didn’t know what he even wanted with that woman. He’d lost her once, and he’d spent the intervening years making sure he never lost—anything or anyone—again.

Did he really want that change? That risk?

Did Ellie?

And how the hell could any of it happen, when he was leaving in a few days?

Jace stopped walking. The past was better buried. He knew that, felt it. No matter how these if onlys and what ifs might torment him, he knew they were only that. Possibilities, not realities. Not even hopes.

Distantly he heard the teenagers move off, still laughing raucously, and the laboured chug of the Fifth Avenue bus as it headed downtown. Letting out a long, slow breath, Jace slowly turned around and walked in the other direction.

CHAPTER SIX

ELEANOR didn’t go back to her apartment. She didn’t want to be alone, so she took a cab to the West Village, where her best friend Allie had a studio on the top floor of a brownstone. They’d both been interns at Premier Planning nine years ago. Allie had lasted two weeks. Eleanor had stayed for ever.

Even though it was now after midnight, she knew she could trust Allie to welcome her with open arms—and an open heart.

Still, she had to press the buzzer for a good thirty seconds before Allie came to the intercom.

‘Who is it?’ she demanded in a voice that sounded both sleepy and irritated.

Too emotional and fragile to explain, Eleanor just said, ‘Me.’

Allie pressed the buzzer.

She was waiting outside the door in her pyjamas, hugging herself in the cold of the corridor, as Eleanor made her way up the six narrow flights of stairs.

‘Eleanor, what on earth happened? You look terrible.’

‘Thanks,’ Eleanor managed wryly, and Allie shrugged this aside, taking in Eleanor’s up-do and silvery dress.

‘Actually, you look fantastic. You sound terrible. What’s wrong?’

‘Everything, it feels like,’ Eleanor replied, her words wobbly. Now that she was finally here with Allie, safe, loved, the reality of her confrontation with Jace—and that wonderful, awful, confusing kiss—was slamming into her, leaving her more than shaken. Leaving her shattered.

Allie ushered her inside the cosy apartment, plonking the kettle on the stove before Eleanor had even asked.

‘You want to talk about it? Didn’t you have an event tonight?’

Eleanor sank onto the worn futon and kicked off her heels, nodding wearily. Allie’s apartment was so different from her own modishly sterile condo; it was colourful and cluttered and shabby, and Eleanor loved it. Now it made her ache just a little bit for the kind of apartment she’d once had, the kind of life she’d once had. The kind of person she’d once been.

You’re the kind of person you never wanted to be.

Eleanor pushed the thought away. Allie sank onto the futon across from Eleanor, flicked her long braid over one shoulder and propped her chin on her fist. ‘So?’

‘He came back.’

Allie’s eyes widened, her breath coming out in a slow hiss. Eleanor knew she didn’t need to explain who he was. One night long ago, when they’d both had too much wine, she’d told Allie her whole sordid story. Or most of it, anyway. She’d left out some of the heartache, the consuming loss that was too private to share.

‘He did?’ Allie finally said. ‘How—?’

Eleanor didn’t want to explain it. She didn’t have the strength or will. ‘Party,’ she said simply, and Allie nodded. It was enough.

‘What happened? Did the bastard finally apologise, I hope?’

Eleanor let out a choked laugh. ‘Yes,’ she managed, and covered her face with her hands.

‘And isn’t that a good thing?’ Allie asked cautiously. Eleanor was prevented from answering by the shrill whistle of the kettle. Allie got up to make their tea, and Eleanor sagged against the futon. It was a good thing. At least, she’d always thought it would be. Yet when someone asked for forgiveness, you were meant to give it; you were meant to let go. And Eleanor wasn’t sure she could. She might have told Jace she forgave him, but those were only words. Could she forgive him? What would happen if she did?

Allie returned, handing Eleanor a mug of tea before settling back onto the futon. ‘So it doesn’t seem like a good thing,’ she remarked wryly. ‘Why not?’

Eleanor let out a hiccuppy laugh. ‘Well, I suppose it’s not so much the apology, as the kiss that came after it.’

There was a second’s silence and then Allie nodded. ‘Ah.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘Was it nice?’

Eleanor burst out laughing, nearly spluttering her tea. It felt good to laugh, despite the pain and regret still tearing at her. ‘That was the last thing I expected you to say.’

Allie shrugged. ‘For all the apparent heartache it’s causing you, I hope it was.’

‘Very nice,’ Eleanor admitted after a moment. She gazed down into the milky depths of her tea. ‘Very nice,’ she repeated quietly. Even now she could remember how good Jace had felt, how right, which was ridiculous because there had been nothing right about it all. It had been very, very wrong.

‘So why exactly did he kiss you?’ Allie asked after a moment. She tucked her knees up to her chest and looked at Eleanor over the rim of her mug. ‘Was he just caught up in the moment?’

‘I don’t know,’ Eleanor said slowly. Why had Jace kissed her? Had it been a spontaneous gesture, as Allie had said? He had seemed so surprised, as stunned as she had… yet she could hardly believe that Jace would be so out of control. Had he been proving to her that she was still attracted to him? Had it been a mere amusement? Or worse—far worse—a pity kiss?

‘Eleanor, stop whatever you’re thinking. You’re looking way too freaked out.’