Bound to the Greek

Bound to the Greek Kate Hewitt New bride at Blackwood Manor? Having spent her childhood in care, Ashley Jones has no one. She desperately needs her new live-in job as an author’s assistant. But she is filled with trepidation when she arrives at isolated Blackwood Manor and meets the formidable Jack Marchant.Ashley thinks she is just a drab nobody…but her heart goes out to anguished, tortured Jack. She has no idea what troubles him. But one day a private kiss becomes a passionate affair…an affair that is as secret as it is forbidden…The Powerful and the Pure When Beauty tames the brooding Beast… 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? Ever since Eleanor had come back into his life—ever since he’d realised she was 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. About the Author KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon® romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories, and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling, and learning to knit. After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years, and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children, and the possibility of one day getting a dog. Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com BOUND TO THE GREEK KATE HEWITT www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) To all the lost little ones, including mine. CHAPTER ONE ‘COME right this way, Mr Zervas. You’re going to meet with Eleanor, our top planner.’ Jace Zervas stilled his stride for no more than a second as the word reverberated through him. Eleanor. He hadn’t heard that name in ten years, hadn’t let himself think it. Of course, it had to be a coincidence. There were certainly more Eleanors in the United States—in New York City—than the one who had broken his heart. The assistant who had led him through the elegantly sparse lobby with its designer sofas and modern art now stopped in front of a door of tinted glass, gave a perfunctory knock, then pushed it open. ‘Eleanor? I’d like to introduce you to—’ Jace didn’t hear the rest. For as the woman in the office swung round to face him, his mind buzzed, blanked. It was Eleanor. His Eleanor. Ellie. He knew she was as surprised as he was that he was here, that they were here, face to face. Although her expression didn’t really change, he was aware of the slight widening of her eyes, the parting of her lips. Then she drew herself up, gave him a professional smile that managed to irritate him with its coolness, and said, ‘Thank you, Jill. That will be all.’ The assistant, surely aware of the current that crackled through the air, glanced speculatively between them. Jace ignored her, his gaze fixed on Eleanor Langley, so utterly, appallingly different from the Ellie he’d once known. ‘Shall I bring coffee?’ A tiny pause. ‘Certainly. Thank you.’ The assistant left, the door clicked shut, and Jace’s mind kicked back into gear. Of course he should have expected this might happen. He’d known Ellie was from New York, and her mother was an event planner. Why shouldn’t she have followed the same career path? Because the Ellie you knew hated her mother’s career, her mother’s world. The Ellie you knew—or at least thought you knew—wanted to open a bakery. Clearly much had happened in the last ten years. ‘You’ve changed.’ He didn’t mean to say it, yet it was impossible not to notice it. The Ellie he’d known ten years ago had looked nothing like the shiny, polished woman in front of him. His Ellie had been relaxed, natural, fun, so different from this woman with her tailored black power suit, her highlighted hair barely brushing her cheekbones in an elegant chestnut bob. Her hazel eyes, once warm and golden, now seemed darker, sharper, and were narrowed into assessing slits. As she moved back around to her desk Jace saw her shoes: black three-inch stilettos. His Ellie had never worn heels. His Ellie had never worn black. Yet why was he even thinking this way? His Ellie hadn’t been his at all. He’d realised that all too terribly when he’d last seen her… when she’d lied to him in the worst way possible. When he’d walked away without another word. Eleanor Langley stared down at the burnished surface of her desk and took a deep breath. She needed the moment to regain her poise and control. She’d never expected this moment to happen, although she’d fantasised about it many times over the last decade. Coming face to face with Jace Zervas. Telling him just what she thought of him and his cowardly creeping away. She’d envisioned herself slapping his face, telling him to go to hell, or, in her more dignified moments, sweeping him with one simple, disdainful glance. She had not pictured herself trembling, both inside and out, unable to think of a single thing to say. Stop. She’d worked too hard for too long to let this moment defeat her. Taking another breath, Eleanor lifted her head and settled her gaze coolly on the man in front of her. ‘Of course I’ve changed. It’s been ten years.’ She paused, letting her gaze sweep over him, although she had a feeling it wasn’t as disdainful as she might have wished. ‘You’ve changed too, Jace.’ It felt strange to have his name on her lips. She never spoke of him. She tried not to think of him. He had changed; his ink-black hair was now streaked with grey at the temples and his face looked leaner, longer. Harder. Eleanor noticed new lines from nose to mouth, and the faint fanning of crow’s feet by his eyes. Somehow those lines didn’t age him so much as give him an air of dignity and experience. They even emphasised the steely grey of his eyes with their silvery glints. And his body hadn’t changed at all, it seemed: still long, lithe, and powerful. The grey silk suit he wore only emphasised his muscular shoulders and trim hips; he wore it, as he had the cashmere sweatshirts and faded jeans of his college days, with ease and grace. He looked, she thought a bit resentfully, great. But then, she reminded herself, so did she. She spent a lot of time and effort making sure she looked great; in her job a professional and even glamorous appearance was a must. She was grateful for it now. The last thing she wanted was to be at a disadvantage. She straightened, smiled even, and flicked her hair back from her face in one quick movement. ‘So you’re my two o’clock.’ Jace smiled back, faintly, but his eyes were hard. He looked almost angry. Eleanor had no idea what he had to be angry about; he was the one who had left. If anyone should be angry—She stopped that thought before her resentful mind gave it wings. She wasn’t angry. She was over it. Over him. She no longer cared any more, at all, about Jace Zervas. She turned to her planner, still open on her desk, and trailed one glossily manicured finger down the day’s appointments. ‘You’re here on behalf of Atrikides Holdings?’ she asked. ‘It says Leandro Atrikides was supposed to have been coming.’ She looked up, eyebrows arched. ‘Change of plans?’ ‘Something like that,’ Jace agreed, his voice taut. He sat down in one of the leather armchairs in front of her desk and crossed one leg over the other. ‘Well.’ She made herself smile and sat down behind her desk, hands neatly folded. ‘How can I help?’ Jace’s lips tightened, and Eleanor wondered if that was going to be it. Ten years of anger, bitterness, and overwhelming heartache reduced to nothing in a single sentence. How can I help? Yet what other choice was there? She didn’t want to rake over the past; it would be messy and uncomfortable and far too painful. She wanted to pretend the past didn’t exist, and so she would. She’d treat Jace Zervas like a regular client, even though he was far from one, and she hardly wanted to help him. She didn’t even want to talk to the man for another second. The sane thing, of course, would be to respectfully request a colleague to take Jace as her client, and step away from what could only be an explosive situation. Or if not explosive, then at least angrily simmering. She could see it in the hard steel of his eyes. She could feel it bubbling in herself. Yet Eleanor knew she wouldn’t do that. Her boss wouldn’t be pleased; Lily Stevens didn’t like changes. Messes. And Eleanor could certainly do without the gossip. Besides, there was another, greater reason why she’d face Jace down in her own office. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making her run away. As he had. ‘Well,’ Jace replied after a moment, ‘obviously I’m here because I need you to plan an event.’ ‘Obviously,’ Eleanor agreed, and heard the answering sharpness in her tone. This was not going well. Every little exchange was going to be pointed under the politeness, and she didn’t think she could take the tension. The trouble was, she didn’t know what else to do. Talking about the past was akin to ripping the bandages off old wounds, inflaming the scars that still remained on her heart. Her body. Even remembering it hurt. She clamped her mind down on that thought. Jace Zervas was just another client, she told herself again. Just a regular client. She let her breath out slowly and tried to smile. ‘What I meant,’ she said evenly, ‘was what kind of event are you hosting?’ She gritted her teeth as she added, ‘Some details would help.’ ‘Isn’t there some form that’s been filled out? I’m quite sure my assistant did this all on the telephone.’ Eleanor glanced through the slim file she had on Atrikides Holdings. ‘A Christmas party,’ she read from the memo one of the secretaries had taken. ‘That’s all I have, I’m afraid.’ A knock sounded on the door, and Jill came in with a tray of coffee. Eleanor rose to take it from her. She didn’t want her assistant picking up on the tension that thrummed angrily through the room. God knew how she’d try to use it; Jill had been jockeying for her position since she arrived, fresh from college, two years ago. ‘Thanks, Jill. I’ll take it from here.’ Surprised, Jill backed off, the door closing once more, and Eleanor set the tray on her desk, her back to Jace. She still heard his lazy murmur. ‘You didn’t used to drink coffee. I always thought it was so funny, a girl who wanted to open a coffee shop and yet didn’t drink coffee herself.’ Eleanor tensed. So he was going to go there. She’d been hoping they could get through this awkward meeting without referencing the past at all, but now Jace was going to talk about these silly, student memories, as if they shared some happy past. As if they shared anything at all. A single streak of anger, white-hot, blazed through her. Her hands shook as she poured the coffee. How dared he? How dared he act as if he hadn’t walked—run—away from her, the minute things got too much? How dared he pretend they’d parted amicably, or even parted at all? Instead of her going to his apartment building, only to find he’d left. Left the building, left the city, left the country. All without telling her. Coward. ‘Actually, I think it was enterprising,’ she told him coolly, her back still to him. Her hands no longer trembled. ‘I saw the market, and I wanted to meet it.’ She handed him his coffee: black, two sugars, the way he’d always taken it. She still remembered. Still remembered brewing him a singleserve caf?ti?re in her student apartment while she plied him with the pastries and cakes she was going to sell in her little bakery. While she told him her dreams. He’d said everything was delicious. But of course he would. He’d lied about so many things, like when he’d said he loved her. If he’d loved her, he wouldn’t have left. Eleanor poured her own coffee. She took it black now, and drank at least three cups a day. Her best friend Allie said so much caffeine wasn’t good for her, but Eleanor needed the kick. Especially now. She turned back to Jace. He still held his mug, his long, brown fingers wrapped around the handle, his expression brooding and a little dark. ‘That’s not how I remember it.’ Disconcerted, Eleanor took too large a sip of coffee and burned her tongue. ‘What?’ Jace leaned forward. ‘You weren’t interested in meeting a market. You weren’t even interested in business. Don’t you remember, Ellie?’ His voice came out in a soft hiss. ‘You just wanted to have a place where people could relax and be happy.’ He spoke it like a sneer, and Eleanor could only think of when—and where—she had said that. In Jace’s bed, after they’d made love for the first time. She’d shared so many pitiful, pathetic secrets with him. Poured out her life and heart and every schoolgirl dream she’d ever cherished, and he’d given her—what? Nothing. Less than nothing. ‘I’m sure we remember quite a few things differently, Jace,’ she said coolly. ‘And I go by Eleanor now.’ ‘You told me you hated your name.’ She let out an impatient breath. ‘It’s been ten years, Jace. Ten years. I’ve changed. You’ve changed. Get over it.’ His eyes narrowed, the colour flaring to silver. ‘Oh, I’m over it, Eleanor,’ he said softly. ‘I’m definitely over it.’ But he didn’t sound over it. He sounded angry, and that made Eleanor even angrier despite all her intentions to stay cool, not to care. He had no right, no right at all, even to be the tiniest bit furious. Yet here he was, acting as if she’d been the one to do something wrong. Of course she had done something wrong, in Jace’s eyes. She’d made the classic, naive mistake of accidentally getting pregnant. Jace stared at her, felt the fury rise up in him before he choked it all down again. There was no use in being angry. It was ten years too late. He didn’t want to feel angry; the emotion shamed him now. Yet even so he realised he wanted to know. He needed to know what had happened to Eleanor in the last ten years. Had she kept the baby? Had she married the father? Had she suffered even a moment’s regret for trying to dupe him so damnably? Because she didn’t look as if she had. She looked as if she was angry with him, which was ridiculous. She was the guilty one, the lying one. He’d simply found out. ‘So.’ She sat down again, behind the desk, so it served as a barrier between them. Not that they needed one. Time was enough. Putting her coffee carefully to one side, she pulled out a pen and pad of paper. Jace watched the way her hair swung down in a smooth, dark curtain as she bent her head. Everything about her was so different from the Ellie he had known, the Ellie he remembered. The woman in front of him was no more than a polished, empty shell. She gave nothing away. She looked up, her hazel eyes narrowing, her mouth curving into a false smile. ‘Can you give me a few details about this party?’ Damn the party. Jace leaned forward. ‘Did you have a boy or a girl?’ God only knew why he wanted to ask that question. Why he even wanted to know. Surely there were a dozen—a hundred—more relevant questions he could have asked. When did you cheat on me? Why? Who was he? Did he love you like I did? No, he wasn’t about to ask any of those questions. They all revealed too much. He had no intention of letting Eleanor Langley ever know how much she’d hurt him. His voice was no more than a predatory hiss, an accusation, yet Ellie’s expression didn’t change. If anything it became even more closed, more polished and professional. The woman was like ice. He could hardly credit it; the Ellie he’d known had reflected every emotion in her eyes. She’d cried at commercials. Now Ellie—Eleanor—simply pressed her lips together and gave her head a little shake. ‘Let’s not talk about the past, Jace. If we want to be professional—‘Her voice caught, finally, and he was glad. He’d almost thought she didn’t feel anything and God knew he felt too much. So this icy woman could thaw. A little. Underneath there was something, something true and maybe even broken, something real, and for now that was enough. He leaned back, satisfied. ‘Fine. Let’s be professional. I want to hold a Christmas party for the remaining employees of Atrikides Holdings.’ ‘Remaining?’ Ellie repeated a bit warily. ‘Yes, remaining. I bought the company last week, and there has been some unrest because of it.’ ‘A corporate takeover.’ She spoke the words distastefully. ‘Yes, exactly,’ Jace replied blandly. ‘I had to let some of the employees go when I brought in my own people. Now that there is a new workforce, I’d like to create a feeling of goodwill. A Christmas party is a means to that end.’ ‘I see.’ Yet Jace could see from the flicker of contempt in her eyes, the tightening of her mouth, that she didn’t see at all. She was summing him up and judging him up based on very little evidence—the evidence he’d given. Yet why should he care what she thought of him? And why should she judge at all? She’d been just as ruthless as he was, as enterprising and economical with the truth. And he’d judged her with far more damning information. Eleanor wrote a few cursory notes on the pad of paper on her desk. She wasn’t even aware of what she was writing. Her vision hazed, her mind blanked. Was it a boy or a girl? How could he ask such a question now, with such contempt? His child. He’d been asking about his child. She closed her mind on the thought like a trap, refusing to free the memory and sorrow. She couldn’t go there. Not now, not ever. She’d kept those emotions locked deep inside herself and even seeing Jace Zervas again wouldn’t free them. She wouldn’t let it. She drew in a deep breath and looked up. ‘So what kind of Christmas party are we talking about here? Cocktails, sit-down dinner? How many people do you anticipate coming?’ ‘There are only about fifty employees, and I’d like to invite families.’ Jace spoke tonelessly. ‘Quite a few have small children, so something family-friendly but elegant.’ ‘Family-friendly,’ Eleanor repeated woodenly. She felt her fingers clench around the pen she was holding. She could not do this. She could not pretend a moment longer, even though she’d been pretending for ten years— Was that all her life had been? Pretending? Pretence? And she hadn’t realised it until she’d come face to face with Jace Zervas. Stop, she told herself yet again. Stop thinking, feeling. Another breath. Somehow she made herself nod as she wrote another note on the pad of paper. ‘Very well. Now—’ ‘Look,’ Jace exhaled impatiently, ‘I don’t really have time to go over every detail. I came here as a favour, and I have a lot to do. I’m only in New York for a week.’ ‘A week—’ ‘I need the party to be this Friday,’ Jace cut her off. Eleanor’s mouth dropped open before she quickly closed it. That hadn’t been on the memo. ‘I’m afraid that’s impossible. Venues are booked, I have a complete client list—’ ‘Nothing is impossible if you throw enough money at it,’ Jace replied flatly. ‘And I chose your company because I was assured you could make it happen.’ His gaze, cold and contemptuous, raked over her. ‘I was told the top event planner would see to me personally. I suppose that’s you?’ Eleanor merely nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak. ‘Then email me a list of details to go over by tomorrow morning.’ Jace rose from his chair. ‘You’ve done very well for yourself, Ellie,’ he said softly. ‘I wonder how many people you had to climb over to get to this lovely little spot.’ He glanced out of the window at her view of Madison Square Park, the leafless trees stark against a grey winter sky. His comment was so blatantly unfair and unwarranted that Eleanor could only gasp. And fume. What right did he have to make such a judgment? If anyone should be judging— Jace headed for the door. ‘I don’t think I’ll need to see you before the party,’ he said, and somehow this bored dismissal stung her more than anything else had. He was going to leave, just like that, after raking up the old wounds, after asking about her baby—their baby— ‘It was a girl,’ she burst out, the words like staccato gunfire. Her chest burned, and so did her eyes. Her fingers clenched into a fist on her desk. Jace stilled, his hand on the door. ‘A girl,’ she repeated tonelessly. ‘Since you asked.’ He turned around slowly, lip curled in an unpleasant sneer. ‘So I did,’ he replied. ‘But actually I really don’t care.’ And then he was gone. CHAPTER TWO ‘ELEANOR? Did Jace Zervas just leave the office?’ Eleanor jerked her head up to see her boss, Lily Stevens, standing in her office doorway. Under her glossy black helmet of hair her eyebrows were drawn together sharply, her mouth a thin red line. The elegantly disapproving look reminded Eleanor of her mother, which was unsurprising since Lily and her mother had been business partners until five years ago. ‘Eleanor?’ Lily repeated, more sharply, and Eleanor rose from her desk, trying to smile. How long had she been lost in her own miserable reverie? ‘Yes. We just concluded our meeting.’ ‘That was fast.’ Eleanor moved around her desk to put Jace’s coffee cup—barely touched—back on the tray. ‘He’s a busy man.’ ‘Jill said things seemed tense when she came in here.’ Of course Jill would run to her boss, Eleanor thought with resentment. What a frenemy! This business could be cut-throat, and everyone was trying to claw a way in or up. She gave a little shrug. ‘Not really.’ ‘I don’t think I need to tell you,’ Lily said, her tone making it clear she thought she did, ‘that Jace Zervas is a very important client? His holdings are worth over a billion—’ ‘You don’t need to tell me.’ She didn’t need Lily telling her how rich and powerful Jace was. She’d known that already. When she’d met him as a twenty-two-year-old exchange student in Boston, he’d been from money. Rich, entitled, spoiled. Except he’d never seemed spoiled to her… until he’d left. Then he’d seemed rotten right through. ‘I want you to do everything in your power to make this party a success,’ Lily told her. ‘I’m releasing your other clients to Laura for the week.’ ‘What?’ Eleanor heard the outrage in her voice, and strove to temper it. She had several clients she’d been working with for months, and she knew Laura—another frenemy—would be eager to scoop up the contacts and run with them. Eleanor gritted her teeth. This business could be brutal. She’d toughened up a lot in the last ten years, but it still made her weary. She also knew there was nothing she could do about it. If Lily was going to make that kind of executive decision, so be it. He wasn’t worth her jeopardising her career; he wasn’t worth anything. She would work on Jace’s damn party for a week. And then she would forget—again—that she’d ever met him. Lily’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is that going to be a problem, Eleanor?’ Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. She hated that tone, that silky, dangerous, warning tone that her mother had always taken with her as a child. Funny, how she’d ended up in a job just like her mother’s, with a boss just like her mother. Except there was nothing remotely funny about it, or even coincidental. Every choice, every decision had been intentional, a way of distancing herself from everything she’d been or believed in. A way of reinventing herself. And it had worked. Now she turned to smile sweetly at her boss. ‘Of course not. I’m absolutely thrilled—and honoured, Lily—to be working with Mr Zervas. Getting his account is a coup for the agency.’ Lily nodded, seemingly satisfied. ‘So it is. Are you meeting with Zervas again?’ ‘I’ll email him the particulars tomorrow.’ Eleanor shuddered inwardly to think what that meant. She’d be tied up in begging calls for the rest of the day, recalling favours and currying some more so she could make this thing happen. The idea that she would have to slave away all for Jace burned in her gut, her heart. It was just wrong. But she wasn’t about to lose her job over this, or even her cool. And, Eleanor told herself, there could be some sweet, sweet satisfaction in showing Jace how he hadn’t hurt her at all. Even if he really had—and horribly at that. She spent the rest of the day immersed in work, planning Jace’s party while refusing to think of the man himself. A call to Atrikides Holdings yielded some interesting—and unsurprising—information. ‘It all happened so fast,’ gushed the staff member Eleanor had been connected to when she asked to speak to someone about details. Eleanor leaned back in her chair and prepared to hear some gossip. ‘One minute everything was fine—it’s a family business, you know—and the next he swooped in and took over. Fired half the people.’ The woman—Peggy— lowered her voice to an awed hush. ‘They had to leave that very day. Pack their stuff in boxes. Even Talos Atrikides—the CEO’s son!’ ‘Well, hopefully this party will go some way to smoothing things over,’ Eleanor replied. She could listen to the gossip, but she wouldn’t indulge in it herself. She knew better. Still, as she hung up the phone, the conversation left her a little shaken. She’d fallen in love with Jace Zervas when he’d been just twenty-two years old, charming, easy-going, carefree and careless. She hadn’t realised just how cold—and cold-hearted—he’d been until he’d walked away. And hearing about his actions with Atrikides Holdings today confirmed it. He really was that man. The other one—the one she’d fallen in love with—had been nothing more than a mirage. A lie. It was nearly midnight by the time Eleanor finally stumbled out of the office, exhausted and eyesore from scanning endless sheets of paper with their myriad details. Still, she had the basis of a party to propose to Jace—via email—tomorrow. Massaging her temples, she headed out into the street, the only cars visible a few off-duty cabs. It looked as if she would have to walk. It was only a few blocks to her apartment in a high-rise condo on the Hudson River, a gleaming testament to glass and steel. Eleanor didn’t particularly like the modern architecture, or the building’s fussy, high-maintenance residents, but she’d bought it because her mother had said it was a good investment. And she didn’t spend much time there anyway. Sighing, Eleanor nodded hello to the doorman on duty and then headed in the high-speed lift up to the thirtieth floor. Her apartment was, as always, dark and quiet. Eleanor dropped her keys on the hall table and flicked on the recessed lighting that bathed the living room with its modern sofa and teakwood coffee table in soft yellow light. Outside the Hudson River twinkled with lights. Her stomach rumbled and she realised she had skipped dinner. Again. Kicking off her heels, she went to the galley kitchen and peered in her near-empty fridge. It held half a carton of moo shoo pork and a yogurt that was—Eleanor peered closer—two weeks past its sell-by date. Neither looked appetising. Dispiritedly Eleanor closed the fridge. It was hard to believe she’d once baked cookies and muffins by the dozen, had dreamed of owning her own caf?. She’d been unbearably, determinedly domestic, and now she could barely feed herself. She grabbed a handful of rather stale crackers from the cupboard and went back to the living room. Funny, she hadn’t thought of her old caf? dream in years, yet when she’d known Jace she’d spent hours embroidering that daydream, how it would be a little bit of everything: coffee shop, bakery, bookstore, gallery. Warm, cosy, bright, and welcoming. The home she’d never felt she’d had. It—everything—had seemed so possible then, so bright and shiny. And now having Jace back in her life so suddenly, so surprisingly, brought it all back. The dreams, the disappointments. The despair. Eleanor thrust the thought away as she munched another cracker. Her stomach rumbled again. Perhaps sleep was better. She was exhausted anyway, and at least when she was asleep she wouldn’t feel hungry. Neither would she have to think—or remember. Dropping her uneaten crackers in the bin, Eleanor turned towards her bedroom. Yet as she lay in the darkness of her room, the duvet pulled up to her chest, sleep didn’t come. She was exhausted yet her eyes were wide open and gritty. And despite her best effort for them not to, the memories came, slipping into her mind, winding around her heart. Lying there in the dark, she could almost feel the late autumn sunshine slanting onto the wide-planked wooden floors of her college apartment. She saw herself, tousle-haired, young, laughing, holding out a cupcake to Jace. They weren’t lovers then; they hadn’t even kissed. Yet. He’d invited himself over to taste the treats she’d been telling him about when he’d come into the caf? where she worked for his morning latte. And high with anticipation, Eleanor had invited him in, revelling in the charged atmosphere as he took a bite of the cupcake right from her hand, and then, laughing, pulled her close for a kiss. It had been so easy, so right, and she’d gone without even considering another option, a different choice. He’d tasted like chocolate. She closed her eyes, her throat tight and aching. She didn’t want to resurrect these memories. She worked hard never to remember them. Yet they came anyway, so sweet and yet so bitter for what came afterward. The empty apartment. The disconnected cellphone. The bounced emails. The cold, cold despair when she’d realised just how alone she was. Groaning alone, Eleanor turned on her side, tucking her knees up to her chest, and clenched her eyes shut as if that could keep the memories from coming and consuming her. The blip of her baby on the monitor. The hard, sharp edge of the examining table, the cold slime of the gel on her tummy, and the endless silence of the technician, frowning, as she stared at the scan. What’s wrong? Eleanor bolted up in bed and went to the bathroom for a herbal sleeping pill. She might have faced down Jace today, but she couldn’t face the memories at night. They tormented her in a way even he never had. Their stark truth remained lodged in her gut, in her heart, like a stone. Nothing would remove it, or take away the bleak knowledge that she could never— Eleanor closed her eyes again, tightly, and to her relief she finally slipped into a sleep made sweet by its absence of memories or dreams. Despite her bad night, Eleanor was at her desk by eight o’clock in the morning. She saw Lily walk past her office door, nodding grimly, and she knew she’d been right to hurry to her desk that morning. She’d email the party plans to Jace, and then she’d put him out of her mind for ever. Or at least until he emailed back. It took her nearly an hour to compose the email; it was aggravatingly difficult to strike the right tone, professional yet personable. She didn’t want Jace to think for a second that she was affected by him. That she’d been hurt. Yet she hardly wanted to seem too friendly, either; that smacked of desperation. Too tired to tweak the email any more, Eleanor just ended up sending a rather boring list of details, explaining in dry terms the choice of venue, the seating plan, the floral arrangements, the menu. Then she determined ly pressed send. Two minutes later her phone rang. ‘This is completely unacceptable.’ Dumbly Eleanor stared at her computer screen, with its ‘your message has been sent’ confirmation still visible. It seemed impossible that in the approximately one hundred and twenty seconds since she’d pressed send, Jace had read her entire email and deemed it all unsuitable. Unacceptable, even. ‘Excuse me?’ Over the phone Eleanor heard Jace exhale impatiently. ‘This is all very standard, Ellie—’ ‘Don’t call me that,’ she said sharply. He ignored her. ‘If I wanted a run-of-the-mill upscale do, I could have gone elsewhere. I came to Premier Planning because I was told you’d give me something extraordinary.’ Eleanor closed her eyes and prayed for patience. For mercy. She counted to ten, all the while listening to Jace’s impatience, hearing it in those short little exhalations of breath, and then said coolly, ‘I assure you there will be nothing run-of-the-mill about this party.’ Jace made a sound of disbelief that came close to a snort. ‘Salmon p?t?? Gardenias? Champagne? Standard luxuries.’ ‘That’s an oxymoron, if ever I’ve heard one—’ ‘All of it is run-of-the-mill, Ellie.’ ‘I told you, don’t call me that,’ she snapped. ‘Then impress me.’ That was the last thing she wanted to do. Why would she want to impress the man who had treated her like dirt, who had ground her heart into dust? Was her job really worth that much, worth her own dignity and pride? Of course it was. It had to be. For the last ten years her job had been just about the only thing she had valued, the one thing she’d poured herself into. She wasn’t risking it for Jace. He’d already done enough damage in her life. ‘You gave me less than twenty-four hours to come up with an entire event,’ she finally ground out. ‘Of course I haven’t worked out all the details yet—’ ‘I expected better than this.’ ‘Funny, I said that ten years ago,’ Eleanor snapped. Then she closed her eyes. The last, the very last thing she wanted was to drag the past—their past—into this mess. And from the taut silence crackling along the phone lines, she had a feeling Jace felt the same. ‘You have no idea,’ he said coldly. ‘Meet me at my office building for lunch, twelve o’clock sharp.’ And then he hung up. Eleanor cursed aloud, just as Lily poked her head in her office door and smiled narrowly. ‘Everything all right, Eleanor?’ ‘Fine,’ Eleanor replied thinly. ‘I just got a paper cut, that’s all.’ Jace hung up the phone, massaging his knuckles as if he’d been in a fight. That terse conversation had not been a satisfactory outlet for his anger, for from the moment he’d walked into Eleanor Langley’s office and seen her cool little smile that was what he’d been feeling. Rage. He was furious that she seemed so unrepentant, that she’d attempted to foist another man’s baby on him and didn’t even possess the decency now to admit it or apologise. Yet what had he really expected of a woman who was willing to sink so low, to lie to someone she’d said she loved? He didn’t want to feel so angry, hated how it made the control he’d guarded carefully these last ten years slip away, so he hardly even knew what he was going to say or do. Or feel. He’d never expected to feel so angry. He’d thought he’d got over Eleanor Langley and her betrayal, had put it far, far behind him. Now it felt fresh and raw and that made him even angrier. He didn’t want Eleanor to affect him this much. He didn’t want her to affect him at all. Sighing impatiently, Jace turned back to the papers on his desk. Atrikides Holdings was a mess and he had plenty to occupy both his mind and his time. He didn’t need to waste either on Eleanor Langley, not even for a second. All he wanted from her was a party. That was the only reason he was inviting her to lunch, why he was even bothering to see her again. He’d make it clear just what kind of high standard of service he expected. He’d put her in her place. His lips curved in a humourless smile as his sense of calm return to cloak him in reassuring coldness. All he wanted from her was a party, and by God he’d get one. Three hours later Eleanor stood in front of the dark gleaming skyscraper that housed the offices of Atrikides Holdings. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then resolutely headed for the door. After she was cleared through security she took the lift to the building’s top floor and stepped out into a room of elegant, old-style luxury with a stunning view of Central Park. She stared at the yawning rectangle of green, surrounded by concrete, the trees stark and bare above, as the elderly assistant pursed her lips before pressing a button on her telephone. ‘Mr Zervas, I have Eleanor Langley for you.’ The reply was sharp, terse. ‘Send her in.’ ‘You may go in,’ the assistant said, nodding towards the wood-panelled double doors at the far end of the room. Eleanor nodded back, swallowing down the sudden flutter of nerves that had risen to flurry wildly in her throat. She hated that she was nervous, almost as if Jace scared her. She would not let herself be cowed by him, not when he had been in the wrong ten years ago, not when he had been the coward then. She certainly wouldn’t be the coward now. Squaring her shoulders, she knocked once, perfunctorily, before opening the doors and striding into the room. The office was elegant, huge, and clearly not his. In one quick glance Eleanor saw the portraits of several Atrikides men on the walls, a side table cluttered with family photos. Children. She averted her eyes from the pictures. This had to be the office of the former CEO of Atrikides Holdings, Eleanor surmised, whom Jace had ousted along with half of the company’s employees. A cold-blooded, corporate takeover. Should it really surprise her at all? Jace stood behind the desk, his back to her. He didn’t turn around even though he must have heard her come in. Faintly annoyed, Eleanor cleared her throat. He turned, and in that moment—a single second, no more—her breath dried and her heart beat fast and she remembered how good it had been between them, how she’d lain in his arms as the sun washed them in gold and he’d kissed her closed eyelids. She forced the memory—so sweet and painful—away and smiled coolly. ‘You’ve taken over the CEO’s office, I see.’ Jace waved a hand in dismissal. ‘For the time being. It’s convenient.’ ‘And he was fired along with most of the employees, I suppose?’ ‘Most is an exaggeration,’ Jace replied, his eyes narrowing, flashing steel. Eleanor wondered why she was asking. It was almost as if she was trying to pick a fight—and perhaps she was, for the anger and resentment still simmered beneath her surface, threatening to bubble forth. She wanted to hurt him, and yet she knew she wouldn’t succeed with these silly little jabs. She’d only hurt herself, by revealing her own vulnerability. The fact that she was making them at all spoke of how hurt she had been and still was. She drew in a steadying breath and managed a small smile. ‘You’d like to talk about the plans?’ Jace didn’t smile back. ‘I’m not sure they’re worth discussing.’ Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek. ‘Fine,’ she said when she could be sure her voice was level, ‘let’s discard them if you find them so unsuitable. But you could at least make an effort to be civil.’ To her surprise, Jace acknowledged the point with one terse nod. ‘Very well. Let’s have lunch.’ He led her to a table hidden in the alcove, a tiny little table set intimately for two. Eleanor swallowed hard. She didn’t know if she could do this. Every second she spent with Jace strained the composure she’d been working at maintaining for the last ten years, the air of professionalism that had become her armour. Just one sardonic look from those steely eyes—she remembered when they’d softened in pleasure, in love—made her calm fa?ade crack. It crumbled, and she was defenceless once more, the cracks in her armour letting in the memories and pain. She hated that she was so weak. Jace drew her chair for her, the epitome of politeness, and with a murmured thanks Eleanor sat down. Her hands trembled as she placed her napkin in her lap. Jace sat in the chair opposite, his fingers steepled under his chin, his dark eyebrows drawn together. He looked so much the same, Eleanor thought with a lurch of remembered feeling, and yet so different. His hair was cut closer now, sprinkled with grey, and his skin looked more weathered. That glint of laughter in his eyes was gone, vanished completely. Yet he still possessed the same compelling aura, like a magnetic field around him. He still drew her to him, even though she hated the thought. Even now she could feel her body’s traitorous reaction to his—the shaft of pleasure deep in her belly, the tingle of awareness as he reached for his own napkin, his fingers scant inches from hers. Eleanor made herself look away and a staff member came in to serve them. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’ Jace asked. ‘I don’t normally—’ ‘Half, then.’ He held up the bottle, one eyebrow arched in silent challenge, poised to pour. Jerkily Eleanor nodded. This felt like a battle of wills, a contest over who could be the most professional. And she’d win. She had to. If he was so unaffected, well, then, she could be too, or at least seem as if she were. Pretend. She could pretend to Jace and perhaps even to herself that the room didn’t seethe with memories, that her heart wasn’t splintering along its sewn-up seams. She could. It was the only way of getting out of here alive. ‘Thank you.’ She stared down at her salad, the leaves arranged artfully on a porcelain plate with an elegant little drizzle of vinaigrette. She had no appetite at all. Finally she stabbed a lettuce leaf with her fork and looked up. ‘So why don’t you tell me what kind of party you’d prefer?’ She strove to keep her voice reasonable. ‘If I have a few more details, we can brainstorm some ideas—’ ‘I thought that was your job. I already gave you a list of requirements—’ ‘You gave me less than twenty-four hours to mock up a plan,’ Eleanor returned, her voice edged with anger, ‘and a week to put it all together. Those are impossible conditions.’ Jace smiled thinly, his voice smooth and yet still conveying contempt. ‘Your boss assured me your company was up to the task.’ Eleanor looked away and silently counted to ten. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. ‘I assure you, I am up to the task. But since the original plans were so unsatisfactory, perhaps I need a little more information about what you’re looking for.’ She hated this, hated feeling as if she had to kowtow to Jace, hated knowing he was baiting her simply because he could. At this moment it was hard to believe that they’d ever felt anything for each other but bitterness and dislike. Jace exhaled impatiently. ‘I want something unique and elegant, that shows the employees of this company that they will be cared for.’ ‘Except for the ones who were fired, you mean,’ Eleanor retorted, then wished she could have held her tongue. Why was she so hung up on that? Who cared how Jace did business? She certainly couldn’t afford to. He arched one eyebrow, coldly disdainful. ‘Are you questioning my business practices?’ ‘No, I just object to the idea of a party that makes it look like you care about these people when you really don’t.’ Jace stilled, his face blanking, and too late Eleanor realised how she had betrayed herself. Who she’d really been talking about. Me. She let out a slow, shuddery breath and reached for her wine. ‘Just give me some details, Jace.’ Jace’s mouth tightened, his eyes narrowing. ‘I believe I mentioned yesterday that many of the employees here have families. The party needs to be family-friendly. Children will be invited.’ Eleanor’s hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass. She didn’t expect it to hurt so much to hear Jace talk of children. She realised, with a sudden laser-like dart of pain, that he could be married. Maybe he had children of his own. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted her children. The children she’d never have. She had to stop thinking like this. She’d got over Jace and his betrayal—unbearable as it had been—years ago. She had. She’d even accepted her own loss, the heartache that she’d always carry with her. She’d moved on with her life, had made plenty of friends, developed an exciting and successful career— ‘Family-friendly,’ she repeated, trying to keep her mind on track. She’d forgotten that rather crucial detail in her flurry of plans. Conveniently. She preferred not to think about families—children—at all. They no longer figured in her life. At all. They couldn’t. ‘Yes,’ Jace confirmed, and his voice held an edge now. ‘As I told you yesterday. Weren’t you taking notes?’ Finally goaded past her emotional endurance, Eleanor set her wine glass down with an undignified clatter. ‘Perhaps I just had trouble believing a man like you could be interested in anything family-friendly,’ she snapped. ‘The image doesn’t really fit.’ ‘Image?’ Jace repeated silkily. ‘What are you talking about, Eleanor?’ ‘You, Jace.’ The remembered pain and hurt was boiling up, seeping through the barely healed-over scars. She stood up from the table, surprised by this sudden, intense rush of feeling. Suddenly she didn’t want to keep her composure any more. She wanted it to slip, wanted Jace to see the turbulent river of emotions underneath. Even to know how much he’d hurt her. Perhaps she’d regret the impulse later, but now it was too overwhelming a need to ignore. ‘You’re not “family-friendly“.’ She held up her hands to make inverted commas, her fingers curling into claws. ‘You certainly weren’t when I knew you.’ Jace stood up too, his hip bumping the table, sloshing wine onto the pristine white tablecloth. With a jolt Eleanor realised he was just as angry—and emotional—as she was. Maybe even more so. ‘I wasn’t family-friendly?’ he repeated in a low voice that was nearly a growl. ‘And just how and when did you draw that ridiculous conclusion?’ Eleanor nearly choked in her fury and disbelief. ‘Maybe when you left your apartment, left the damn country when I told you I was pregnant!’ There was a buzzing in her ears and distantly she realised she was shouting. Loudly. Jace let out an ugly snarl of a laugh. ‘Oh, I see. How interesting, Ellie.’ On his lips her name was a sneer. ‘So I’m some monster that doesn’t like children simply because I didn’t want to take on another man’s bastard.’ Eleanor’s mouth dropped open. The buzzing in her ears intensified so she couldn’t hear anything. Surely she must have misheard him. ‘What did you say?’ she asked numbly, still slack-jawed. Jace’s lip curled in contempt. ‘You heard me. I knew that baby wasn’t mine.’ CHAPTER THREE THE room was silent save for the draw and tear of their own ragged breathing. Numbly Eleanor turned away from Jace, from the table with its jostled dishes and spilled wine, and walked on wooden legs to the window. Outside the sky was the ominous grey-white that promised a storm, the world below a winter palette of browns and greys. Another man’s bastard. Jace’s words echoed in his ears, over and over, so Eleanor could not frame another thought or even a word. Another man’s bastard. Bastard. Bastard. Bastard. She closed her eyes. ‘So you have nothing to say,’ Jace said coldly, and that too was an indictment. Eleanor shook her head. Her heart was thudding sickly and her knees nearly buckled. She’d never had such a physical reaction to a single piece of information, except when— Tell me what’s wrong. No. She wasn’t going to open up that Pandora’s box of memories. Not with Jace in the room, with his ugly words still reverberating through the air. And she wasn’t going to defend herself either. There was so clearly no point. Slowly she turned around. ‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘I have nothing to say.’ Jace nodded in grim acceptance, and Eleanor knew she’d just confirmed the worst he’d ever thought about her. Judged again. She hadn’t even realised, ever known, that she’d been judged in the first place. All these years she’d had no idea Jace had been thinking that. Believing the worst. And why? What reason had she ever given him? She walked back to the table and reached for the attach? case she’d propped against her chair. ‘I’m going to go now,’ she said steadily. She was grateful her voice didn’t tremble or break. ‘I’ll make sure Lily assigns someone else to your party.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ Jace demanded, and Eleanor almost laughed. Did he actually think she’d work with him now? Considering what had just happened—what he thought— She shook her head again. ‘Clearly, Jace, we can’t move on from the past, and it’s affecting our—our work relationship.’ What a ridiculous idea, as though they could have any relationship at all. ‘There’s no point continuing this way. Someone else will serve you better.’ ‘So you expect me just to forgive and forget,’ Jace surmised, his voice sharp with sarcasm. Now Eleanor did laugh, a short, humourless bark. ‘No. I’m the one who can’t. Forgive or forget.’ She hoisted her bag on her shoulder and gave him a grim little smile. ‘Goodbye, Jace.’ And somehow, somehow she managed to walk from the room with steady legs, her head held high. Jace watched Eleanor walk away from him in stunned disbelief. He heard the click of the door shutting, the surprised murmur of his PA, the whoosh of the lift doors. And he still didn’t move. I’m the one who can’t forgive or forget. What the hell had she been talking about? Muttering an angry oath, Jace whirled towards the window. What could Eleanor Langley possibly have to forgive? All right, perhaps he’d been ruthless in the way he’d cut her out of his life, leaving Boston—leaving her—so abruptly and absolutely. But he’d done it because the realisation that she’d been deceiving him all along had been too terrible to bear. He’d felt quite literally gutted, empty and aching inside. And meanwhile she—she had been trying to foist another man’s child on him. Living a lie all along. She’d never really loved him. Yet apparently Eleanor did think she had something to forget. To forgive. What? Impatiently Jace turned away from the window where a few random snowflakes had begun to drift down onto the asphalt. He felt restless, angry, uncertain. The last was what bothered him the most; he’d never felt doubt before. How could he? He’d known since he was fifteen years old that he was infertile. Sterile. Like a gelded bull, or a eunuch. As good as, according to his father. For what good was a son who couldn’t carry on the family name? Who had been unmanned before he’d even reached his manhood? What use was a son like that? Jace already knew the answer, had known the answer since his test results had come back and his father’s dreams of a dynasty had crumbled to dust. Nothing. A son like that—like him—was no use at all. He’d lived with that grim knowledge for half of his life. Felt it in every quietly despairing stare, every veiled criticism. His own infertility had consumed him before he’d even been ready to think of children, had dominated him as a boy and become part of his identity as a man. Without the ability to have children, he was useless. Worthless. And yet now, with Ellie’s words, doubt, both treacherous and strangely hopeful, crept into his mind and wound its tendrils of dangerous possibility around his thoughts. His heart. What did Ellie have to forget? To forgive? What had she been talking about? Half of him wanted to ignore what she had said, just move on. He’d get a different event planner, forget Eleanor Langley even existed. Never question what she said. Never wonder. Yet even as these thoughts raced through his brain, Jace knew he couldn’t do that. Didn’t even want to. Yes, it was saner, safer, but it was also aggravating as hell. He didn’t want to doubt. Couldn’t let himself wonder. He needed to know. Eleanor walked all the way back to Premier Planning’s office near Madison Square Garden, oblivious to the cold wind buffeting her face and numbing her cheeks. She was oblivious to everything, every annoyed pedestrian, cellphone clamped to an ear, who was forced to move around her as she sleepwalked the twenty-three blocks to her office. She felt numb, too numb to think, to consider just what Jace had said. What he’d thought all these years. She stood in front of the building, still numb, still reeling, and realised distantly that she couldn’t return to work. Lily would be waiting, anxious for a report—or worse. Perhaps Jace had already rung. Perhaps her job was already in jeopardy. Either way, she couldn’t face it. She turned her back on ten years of professionalism and went home. Back in the apartment she dropped her bag on the floor, kicked off her heels, and slumped into a chair, staring out into space. She didn’t know how long she stayed like that for, without moving, without thinking, but the sky darkened to violet and then indigo, and her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and that had been no more than half a bagel as she hurried to work. Yet she still couldn’t summon the energy to eat. To feel. Anything. She hadn’t felt this numb—the pain too consuming to allow herself to feel it—for a long time. For ten years. Finally she stirred and went to the bathroom. She turned both taps on full and stripped off her clothes, leaving her savvy suit crumpled on the floor. Who knew if she’d need it any more? Twenty minutes into a good soak she felt her mind start to thaw. So did her heart. So Jace assumed she’d been unfaithful, had been labouring under that unbelievable misapprehension for ten long years. No wonder he was so angry. Yet how could he be so wrong? How could he have thought that of her, considering what they’d been to one another? Even the logistics of infidelity were virtually impossible; she’d spent nearly every waking moment working, at school, or with him. Yet he’d believed it, and believed it so strongly that he’d judged her without trial, without even a conversation. He’d been so sure of her infidelity that he’d left her, left his entire life in the States, without even asking so much as a single question. Somehow it was so much worse than what she’d thought all these years: that he’d developed a case of cold feet. In her more compassionate moments, she could understand how a twenty-two-year-old man—boy—with his whole life in front of him might get a little panicked at the thought of fathering a child. She understood that; what she didn’t understand, had never understood, was the way he’d gone about it. Leaving so abruptly. Abandoning her without a word or even a way for him to contact him. Cellphone disconnected. No forwarding address. It hadn’t been merely a slap to the face, it had been a stab wound to the heart. And he’d done it not because of his own inadequacy, but because of hers. Infidelity. He actually assumed she’d cheated on him. The bath water was getting cold, and Eleanor rose from the tub. There was no point letting herself dwell on the recriminations, the regrets. If Jace Zervas had been able to believe something so atrocious and impossible about her so easily, obviously they’d never had much of a relationship at all. And that was a truth she’d lived with for ten years. She’d just slipped on her comfort pyjamas—soft, nubby fleece—when her doorbell rang. Eleanor stilled. She lived on the thirtieth floor in a building with two security personnel at the front door at all times, so no one made it to her door without her being alerted. The only option, she supposed, was a neighbour, although she’d never really got to know her neighbours. It wasn’t that kind of building, and she didn’t have that kind of life. Cautiously Eleanor went to the door. She peered through the eyehole and felt her heart stop for a second before beginning a new, frenetic beating. Jace stood there. ‘Eleanor?’ He sounded impatient, and it was no wonder. Eleanor realised she was hesitating for far too long. Resolutely she drew a breath and opened the door. ‘What are you doing here, Jace?’ ‘I need to talk to you.’ She folded her arms and didn’t move. She didn’t feel angry now so much as resigned. ‘I told you in your office I had nothing to say.’ ‘You may not, but I do.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Are you going to let me in?’ ‘How did you get my address?’ ‘Your boss gave it to me.’ Eleanor gave an exasperated sigh. Of course. Lily would do just about anything for a client, especially a rich one like Jace. ‘How did you get past security?’ ‘I sweet-talked him.’ Eleanor snorted. ‘You?’ ‘Andreas is manning the door tonight. He has six grandchildren back in Greece.’ Jace smiled thinly. ‘He showed me pictures.’ Eleanor slowly shook her head. She’d been on the end of Jace’s charm once; she knew how forceful it was. And how false. Sighing in defeat, she turned away from the door. ‘Fine. Come in.’ He entered, shutting the door carefully behind him. Eleanor moved to the window, her arms creeping around her body despite her effort to maintain a cool, composed air. She felt vulnerable, exposed somehow, as if from the stark modernity of her apartment Jace could somehow guess at the emotional barrenness of her life. Stop. She couldn’t think like that. She had a job, friends, a life— She just didn’t have what mattered. Love. Stop. ‘What do you want?’ Jace stood in the centre of her living room, seeming too big, too much for the space. He glanced around, and Eleanor saw him take in all the telltale signs of a single life. No jumble of shoes or coats, no piles of magazines or books. Just a single pair of heels discarded by the door. In the galley kitchen she saw her lone coffee cup from this morning rinsed and set by the sink. ‘You live here alone?’ She lifted one shoulder in a shrug that couldn’t help but seem defensive. ‘Yes.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘What about—the baby?’ He spoke awkwardly, the words sounding stilted. They felt stilted to Eleanor. She didn’t want him to ask. She didn’t want him to know. She didn’t want to tell. ‘What about the baby?’ she asked evenly. ‘He—or she, rather—doesn’t live with you?’ ‘No.’ ‘The father retained custody?’ She gave a short, abrupt laugh. The weariness was fading away and the anger was coming back. Along with the hurt. She was tired of feeling so much, so suddenly, after ten years of being comfortably numb. She dropped her arms to her sides. ‘What do you really want to talk about, Jace?’ ‘You said you were the one who couldn’t forgive or forget. And I want to know why.’ He spoke flatly, yet she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen in ten years, something that hadn’t been there yesterday or this morning. Need. Hunger. Why did he want to know? Why did he care? ‘Because you may have felt you had just cause, but the fact that you abandoned me the very day I told you I was pregnant was a hard thing to get over.’ She smiled thinly. ‘Surprisingly, it seems.’ Jace shook his head, the movement one of instinctive denial. ‘Ellie, you know that baby isn’t—wasn’t—mine.’ Anger, white-hot, lanced through her. ‘I know?’ she repeated, her voice rising in incredulity. ‘I know? I’ll tell you what I know, Jace, and that is that the only bastard I’ve ever met is you. First-class, A-plus, for thinking that.’ He took a step towards her in an action both menacing and urgent, his features twisted with what looked like pain. ‘Are you telling me,’ he demanded in a low voice, ‘that the baby was mine? Is that what you’re actually saying, Ellie?’ She lifted her chin. ‘That’s exactly what I’m saying, Jace. And the very fact that you could think for a moment—’ ‘Don’t.’ He held up one hand, and Eleanor saw to her shock that it trembled. ‘Don’t,’ he repeated rawly, ‘lie to me. Not now. Not again. Not about this.’ For a second Eleanor’s anger gave way to another powerful emotion: curiosity. Jace faced her, his expression open and hungry. She’d never see him look so… desperate. There was more going on here than she understood. ‘I’m not lying,’ she said quietly. ‘What makes you think I ever was?’ Jace didn’t speak for a moment. His gaze held hers, searching for a truth he seemed hell-bent on disbelieving. ‘Because,’ he finally said, his voice little more than a ragged whisper, ‘I can’t have children. I’ve known it since I was fifteen years old.’ He let out a long, slow breath before stating flatly, ‘I’m infertile. Sterile.’ Eleanor stared. I can’t have children. Such a stark and sorrowful phrase; she knew just how much. And yet coming from Jace… the words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t. Then in a sudden flash of remembrance she recalled the moment she’d told Jace she was pregnant, and how he’d stared at her so blankly, his jaw slackening, his eyes turning flat and then hard. She’d thought he’d been surprised; she’d had no idea just how stunned he must have been. Infertile. Impossible. It had to be. ‘You must be mistaken.’ ‘I assure you I’m not.’ Eleanor shook her head, speechless, disbelieving. ‘Well, neither am I,’ she finally said. ‘Mistaken, that is. I was a virgin when we got together, Jace, and I didn’t sleep with another man for—a long while.’ She swallowed. Years, in fact, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. ‘You were the only candidate.’ Jace smiled, the curving of his mouth utterly without humour. ‘The facts don’t add up, Ellie. Someone’s lying.’ ‘I’ve told you not to call me that.’ She turned away from him and stared blindly out at the Hudson River, its murky black surface just visible under the city lights. ‘Why does someone have to be lying, Jace? What if you’re mistaken?’ She turned around. ‘Did you ever—even once—think of that?’ ‘I’m not!’ The words came out in a roar, and she stilled, surprised by the savagery. ‘How can you be—?’ ‘Trust me,’ he cut her off, the two words flat and brutal. ‘I am. And if I can’t have children, there must be another—’ he paused, his mouth curving in an unpleasant smile ‘—candidate.’ Eleanor cocked her head, curiosity and anger warring within her. ‘Is it easier for you to believe that?’ ‘What the hell do you mean?’ She shrugged, a little unnerved by Jace’s anger but still refusing to be cowed. ‘You prefer believing I was unfaithful to you rather than the idea that you could be wrong, that it’s a mistake—’ ‘It’s not a mistake!’ Jace leaned forward, lowered his voice to a savage whisper. ‘It’s impossible! Eleanor blinked, discomfited by his intensity. ‘How did you find out you were infertile at such a young age?’ she asked slowly. ‘Most men don’t find out until they’re married and run into trouble with conceiving, don’t they—’ ‘I had mumps. A lingering infection, and it made me sterile.’ ‘And you were tested—?’ ‘Yes.’ He bit off the word, his lips pressed together in a hard line. ‘But…’ Eleanor shook her head, genuinely bewildered. ‘Why? Why would you be tested at such a young age?’ Jace turned away from her. He drove his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, the position one of defensive misery. ‘My father wanted to know,’ he said gruffly, his back still to her. ‘I’m an only son, as was he. The male line dies out with me.’ Eleanor didn’t reply. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say, for suddenly everything was making horrible sense. No wonder Jace was so sure he couldn’t be the father. No wonder he’d been so hurt. No wonder the whole idea of a pregnancy—a baby—that wasn’t his would be an affront, an abomination. The male line dies out with me. For a boy from a traditional Greek family, that had to be very hard indeed. Regret replaced anger, and it hurt far more. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. ‘Well, perhaps you should get yourself tested again. Because I assure you, Jace, the baby was yours. Why would I lie now? What point would there be?’ Jace was silent for a long, tense moment. ‘I don’t know,’ he finally said. ‘God help me, I don’t know.’ Eleanor stared at him, his back to her, his head bowed, and she wondered what he must be feeling now. Could he accept he wasn’t infertile, that he’d been living with an incorrect diagnosis for his entire adult life? Would he? It would be hope and tragedy mixed together, for what was lost, for what now could be— But not for her. Eleanor swallowed past the tightness in her throat, closing her eyes as if that could blot out the pain. The memory. Never for her. Jace drew in a ragged, desperate breath, his head still bowed, his back to Eleanor. He felt the rage course through him, consume him, and he didn’t trust himself to speak. The baby was his. Could be his. Except in his gut—perhaps even in his heart—Jace knew the truth. He saw it in Eleanor’s eyes, dark with remembered pain. The baby was his. He wasn’t infertile. And all he could feel was anger. All he could think of was the waste. His life, his family, his father. Everything had pointed to his failure as a son, as a man. He’d lived with it, let it cripple him, let it guide and restrain his choices, and for what? For a lie? A mistake! The realisation made him want to shout to the remorseless heavens, to hit something, to hurt something. Someone. It wasn’t fair. The cry of a child, and yet it bellowed up inside him, the need so great he clamped his lips together and drew another shuddering breath. Eleanor, he knew, would never understand. How could he explain how utterly sure he’d been of his own infertility, so that he’d been able to walk away without once considering that she’d been telling the truth? He’d always been so certain that even now he wondered. Doubted. It can’t be. And yet if it was… Too many repercussions, too many unspoken—un-thought—hopes and fears crowded his mind, his heart. He pushed them down, unable to deal with them now, to consider what they meant, what changes to both the present and future—and, God help him, the past—they would require. The baby was his. The baby was his. He had a child. Jace whirled around again, the movement so sudden and savage that Eleanor gasped aloud and took a step towards the window. He crossed the room in three long strides and grabbed her by the shoulders, his face thrust near hers. ‘Where is the baby? If it is my child—’ Eleanor closed her eyes. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want Jace here, stirring up memories, regrets, pain, and for what? Yet she knew he had a right to know. She swallowed again. Her throat was so very tight. ‘Was,’ she whispered. ‘It was.’ ‘What—what are you talking—?’ ‘It was your child,’ she explained very quietly, and the fierce light that had ignited in Jace’s eyes winked out, leaving them the colour of cold ash. ‘You mean…’ his hands tightened on her shoulders ‘… you had an abortion.’ ‘No!’ She jerked out of his grasp, glaring at him. ‘Why don’t you just leap to yet another offensive assumption, Jace? You’re good at that.’ He folded his arms, his expression still hard. ‘What are you saying, then?’ ‘I had a… a miscarriage.’ A bland, official-sounding word for such a heart-rending, life-changing event. She turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the naked pain on her face. She felt the thickness of tears in her throat. ‘I lost the baby.’ She swallowed. My little girl, she thought, my precious little girl. Jace was silent for a long moment. Eleanor stared blindly out of the window, trying not to remember. The screen, the silence, the emptiness within. ‘I’m sorry,’ he finally said, and she just shrugged. The silence ticked on, heavy, oppressive. ‘I’m sorry,’ Jace said again, the word raw, and Eleanor felt again the thickening of tears in her throat. She swallowed it down, reluctant to let Jace enter her sorrow. She didn’t want to rake it up again; she didn’t even want him sharing it. She was still angry. Still hurt. ‘I’ll still have to be tested,’ he continued, ‘to make sure—’ ‘That the baby was yours?’ Eleanor filled in. ‘You still don’t believe me?’ She shook her head in disbelief. ‘Just when would I have had this other affair, Jace? I spent every waking—and sleeping—moment with you for six months.’ ‘You don’t understand—’ Jace began in a low voice, but Eleanor didn’t want to hear. ‘No, I don’t. I don’t understand how you could think for a moment that I was unfaithful to you. But even if you did, because I suppose you must have had some kind of trust issue, I don’t understand how you could walk away without a word.’ Her voice shook; so did her body. ‘Without a single word.’ ‘Eleanor—’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to hear your explanations now. They don’t matter.’ She took a deep, shuddering breath and forced herself to sound calm. To feel it. ‘It’s ten years ago, Jace. Ten years. It really is time we both moved on.’ He was silent, and when she looked at him she saw how drawn and tired and sad he looked. Well, too bad. She hardened her heart, because she didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t want to feel anything; it hurt too much. ‘If only I’d known,’ he murmured, and she shook her head. ‘Don’t.’ She didn’t want him to open up the painful possibilities of what if, if only… No, they were too dangerous. Too hard even to think about now. ‘And it doesn’t even matter anyway,’ she continued, her voice sharp. ‘You didn’t trust me enough to tell me any of this, or give either of us a chance to explain. That’s what this was really about.’ Jace’s brows snapped together, his body tensing, and Eleanor knew he was poised to argue. Again. She couldn’t take any more, didn’t have the energy for another round. ‘Go get tested or whatever it is you need to do,’ she told him. ‘Satisfy your own curiosity. You don’t need to tell me about it.’ She paused, her voice sharpening again in spite of her best efforts to sound reasonable. ‘I know who the father was.’ Jace stared at Ellie’s hard face, derision in every line, her eyes dark with scorn. He felt a scalding sense of shame rush through him. This hard, polished woman, this glossy professional who lifted her chin and dared him to feel sympathy or compassion or dreaded pity, was a product of his own judgment. His own failure. If he’d stayed with Ellie… if he’d seen her through the miscarriage… would she be a different woman? Would she have stayed the same? It was a pointless question. As Eleanor herself had said, this was all ten years too late. They’d both moved on. They’d both changed. He certainly wasn’t the same foolish boy who’d let himself be besotted, who had eagerly fallen in love because the experience had been so intoxicating, so vital, so different from what he’d known. Who had a heart to be broken. No, he wasn’t that same man. He’d changed, hardened, and so had Ellie. Eleanor. They were different people now, and the only thing they had in common was loss. The loss of their baby. A sudden, new grief threatened to swamp him, and to his shock he felt the sting of tears in his eyes, the ache in the back of his throat. He forced the feeling down, refusing to give into such an emotion. He never cried. In the fifteen or so years since his life had changed for ever—or at least until now—he’d developed a foolproof way of dealing with his father’s disappointment. He never acted as if he cared. Whether it was a flat, emotionless response, or a carefree, laughing one, either way he kept his heart off-limits. He remained detached. He had, until Eleanor. Somehow Eleanor had slipped through the defences he’d erected—that charming, laughing exterior—and found the man underneath. He wondered if she even knew how much she’d affected him. And how had he affected her? In a sudden, painful burst of insight he pictured her in his apartment building, twenty years old and pregnant, realising he’d gone. He’d abandoned her utterly, and she’d been innocent. Innocent. He’d never, for a moment or even a second, considered that the child—their child—might have been his. This infertility was so much a part of him, a weight that had been shackled to him for so long, he’d never considered existing without it. He’d never even hoped for such a possibility. And yet now for it to be given to him, and taken away, virtually in the same breath was too much to consider. To accept. He was left speechless, his mind spinning in dizzying circles, his heart thudding as if he’d just finished a sprint. He didn’t know what to think. To feel. And he was afraid—yes, afraid—to open up the floodgates of his own heart and mind to all the possibilities, all the realisations, all the regret and guilt and hope and fear. They would consume him; he would have nothing left. Nothing he could count on or control. He couldn’t do that. Not yet, maybe not ever. He needed to get this situation back under control, Jace knew, and there was only one way to do that. ‘So,’ Jace said, and was glad to hear how even his voice sounded. ‘Let’s talk about this party.’ CHAPTER FOUR ‘WHAT?’ Eleanor heard the screech of her own voice and briefly closed her eyes. She opened them and shook her head. ‘No.’ Jace arched an eyebrow in challenge. ‘Why not? You didn’t seem to have a problem with planning the party before.’ ‘You can’t be serious. After everything—’ ‘We’re professionals, Eleanor.’ Jace’s voice was hard, and Eleanor saw a bleak darkness in his eyes. She felt its answer in herself, and she wondered if Jace was trying to prove something to himself, just as she was. The past is finished. It doesn’t matter. I’m not hurt. But she was. And she was so tired of pretending she wasn’t. Yet even so she couldn’t admit that to Jace. She felt exposed enough, considering all she’d already revealed. She wasn’t about to say anything more. ‘Of course we’re professionals, Jace. But I simply think it would be sensible—not to mention more productive—to have a colleague plan your event.’ ‘I don’t.’ Why was he doing this? She shook her head again. ‘I told you at your office—’ ‘That you were quitting? Lucky for you I didn’t communicate that to your boss. I don’t think she would have been pleased. And somehow I had a feeling you might change your mind.’ His mouth twisted sardonically, his eyes glinting. Eleanor didn’t answer. She knew just how displeased Lily would have been. She might have thrown her entire career away in a single, emotional moment, and Jace at least had had the presence of mind not to let her do it. She supposed she should be grateful. Eleanor walked slowly back to the window. It had become her place of retreat; either that or she was simply backed into a corner. ‘I don’t understand why you want to do this,’ she said quietly. ‘Or what can be gained—for either of us.’ Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/kate-hewitt/bound-to-the-greek/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.