LEO PACED THE length of his bedroom and willed the blood in his veins to stop surging with the furious demand to taste Margo again. To bury himself inside her.
He let out a shuddering breath and sank onto the bed, dropping his head into his hands. He’d come so close...
But then she’d frozen, and he’d felt her emotional if not her physical withdrawal. No matter how sizzling their chemistry had once been, Margo had still chosen to reject him. And the way she’d stilled beneath his touch had felt like another rejection.
His hands clenched in his hair and he considered opening the door between their bedrooms and demanding his marital rights. They were husband and wife, and he knew Margo desired him—whether she wanted to or not. She was feeling better and the pregnancy was healthy—why shouldn’t they enjoy each other?
But, no. He would not share Margo’s bed until she wanted him to be there. Utterly.
And yet the evening had started so promisingly. He’d loved seeing Margo at the party, looking bright and beautiful, as much her old self as ever, reminding him of how interesting and articulate and sophisticated she really was. And when she’d drawn his hand to her bump and he’d felt their child kick... It had been the most intimate thing Leo had ever experienced.
The kiss had felt like a natural extension of that intimacy. He couldn’t have kept himself from it if he’d tried—which he hadn’t.
So what had gone wrong? What had spooked Margo?
Then, with a wince, Leo remembered the toast he’d given at the party. ‘May you welcome her and come to love her as I do.’ He hadn’t thought of the words before he’d said them; they’d simply flowed out of him, sounding so very sincere. But he’d assured Margo he didn’t love her—just as she didn’t love him. Had his toast frightened her off?
Had he meant those words?
It was a question he strove to dismiss. Things had become muddied with Margo. Their business arrangement was morphing into something more amicable and pleasant. And yet...love?
No. No, he wouldn’t go there. He’d suffered enough rejection in his life—starting with his father’s determination to exclude his second son. He didn’t need more of it from a woman who had already made it clear what she wanted from this marriage.
The same thing he wanted. The only thing he’d let himself want. A safe, stable life for the child they had created.
* * *
The next morning Margo came into the breakfast room and hesitated in the doorway. Leo saw uncertainty flash across her features and forced himself to stay amicable, yet a little cool. They’d had breakfast together every morning since they’d been here and today would be no different.
‘Good morning.’ He rose from the table to pour the ginger tea he’d requested Maria to brew every breakfast time. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
Margo sat across from him and spread out her napkin on her lap. Leo thought she looked paler than usual, with dark smudges under her eyes.
She must have caught him looking for she smiled ruefully and said, ‘Actually, not really.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He handed her the tea and then returned to his seat before snapping open his newspaper. ‘It’s always hard to sleep after a party, I find.’
Such bland, meaningless conversation—and yet it provided a necessary kind of protection, a return to the way things needed to be.
‘It wasn’t because of the party, Leo,’ Margo said.
He glanced up from the paper and saw her give him a direct look that stripped away his stupidly bland attempts at conversation, saw right into his soul.
‘It was because of our kiss.’
Our kiss. Memories raced across his brain, jumpstarted his libido.
He took a sip of coffee and answered evenly. ‘Yet you were the one who stopped it.’
‘Actually, you were,’ she answered.
‘Semantics,’ he returned. ‘You were the one who stopped responding, Margo.’
‘I know.’ She looked down at her plate, her long, slender fingers toying with her fork, her face hidden.
‘Why did you, as a matter of interest?’ Leo asked, half amazed that he was asking the question. Did he really want to know the answer? ‘It wasn’t because you weren’t interested. I could feel your desire, Margo. You wanted me.’
‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘Whatever you think...whatever you believe...I’ve never stopped wanting you, Leo.’
‘Ah, yes, of course,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘It’s loving me you have a problem with.’ Damn it. He had not meant to say that.
She looked up, her gaze swift and searching. ‘But you don’t love me, either.’
‘No.’ So why did he feel so exposed, so hurt? He let out a short, impatient huff of breath. ‘I’m not sure why we’re even having this conversation.’
‘Because I think we’re both trying to navigate this relationship,’ Margo answered quietly. ‘This marriage. And I’m not sure I know how to be businesslike with my husband.’
‘You seem to be managing fine.’
‘Maybe, but when you came into my room last night...when you felt the baby kick...it made me realise that we’re actually going to be parents.’ She let out a self-conscious laugh and continued, ‘I knew it before, of course, but for a moment I had this image of us together with a child—giving it a bath, teaching it to ride a bike. Boy or girl, this baby is ours and we’ll both love him or her. I know that. And I don’t know where being businesslike fits in with that. With a family. The kind of family I want...that I’ve always wanted—’ She broke off, averting her face.
Leo stared at her. ‘Yet you’re the one who has said you don’t wish to be married, who viewed this marriage as a sacrifice,’ he reminded her. Reminded himself. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t get past that. The real feelings, or lack of them, that she’d shown when he had proposed.
‘I said that because I thought you’d hate me after what I said before,’ Margo said. ‘About there being someone else.’
‘And why did you say that?’ Leo challenged in a hard voice. ‘Why did you choose to lie in such an abominable way?’
‘I told you before. Because it was the only way I could think of to—to make you leave me.’
Everything in him had crystallised, gone brittle. ‘Yes, I remember. And why did you want me to leave you so much, Margo?’
She was silent—so terribly, damnably silent.
Leo reached for his fork and knife. ‘I see,’ he said quietly, and he was afraid he saw all too well. The brutal rejection of it, of him, was inescapable.
* * *
Margo had come to breakfast after a restless, sleepless night, determined to talk to Leo and, more than that, to come to an agreement. An arrangement. Even though the details remained vague in her head. She didn’t want to be businesslike any more—didn’t want this polite stepping around each other.
Yet what was the alternative? How did you engage your heart and mind and maybe even your soul without risking everything?
And she knew she wasn’t ready to do that. She hadn’t even been able to tell Leo that the real reason why she’d refused his marriage proposal was that she’d been so very afraid. Annelise... Her mother... The foster parents who had decided she wasn’t what they wanted... So many had turned away, and she knew she couldn’t take it if Leo did. Not if she’d given him her heart—fragile, trampled on thing that it was.
But her silence had led to this terrible strain, with Leo having turned back to his newspaper, his expression remote and shuttered.
‘What are you doing today?’ she blurted, and he looked up from the paper, not even a flicker of interest or emotion on those perfectly chiselled features.
‘Working in the office, as usual.’
‘I should probably arrange to go to Paris soon. I still need to finish things at Achat.’
‘If you feel well enough,’ he said, sounding uninterested. ‘I don’t see a problem with that.’
Margo stared at him, her heart sinking right down to her toes. She didn’t want this. She’d come down this morning wanting to try to make things better, and she’d only made them worse.
‘Leo, you gave me a tour of the villa, but I haven’t seen the rest of the estate or the olive groves. Do you think you’d have time today to show me?’
There. That was her peace offering—her attempt at building some kind of bridge. She just hoped Leo would take the first step onto its flimsy surface.
He gazed at her, his eyes narrowed, and then gave a brief nod and folded up his newspaper. ‘I suppose... I’ll come back to the villa after lunch.’
* * *
Margo spent as much time getting ready for her tour of the olive groves as if it were a first date. Not that she’d had many of those. Both her short-lived and frankly disappointing relationships prior to Leo had made her wonder if she was even capable of a real, loving relationship. She certainly didn’t have a lot of experience of them.
It was cold out, at just a little less than two weeks before Christmas, and Margo struggled to fit into her jeans. She couldn’t zip them all the way up, and the button was a lost cause. She wore a tunic top of aquamarine cashmere that fell nearly to her knees and fitted snugly round her bump while hiding the undone zip and buttons.
She left her hair loose, which she rarely did, and put on a bit of eyeliner and lipstick. She didn’t necessarily want to look as if she was trying too hard, but she definitely wanted Leo to notice.
Unfortunately he didn’t say a word when she met him in the foyer, and Margo suppressed the flicker of disappointment she felt at his silence. Had she really expected him to compliment her? She was wearing jeans, for heaven’s sake. Still, she noticed that Leo seemed terser than usual as they headed out into the bright, frosty afternoon.
‘There isn’t actually all that much to see in the olive groves at this time of year,’ he remarked as they walked along the gravel road that went past his office and led to a pair of wrought-iron gates. ‘The trees are bare, and they won’t begin to bud until March.’
‘I still want to see,’ Margo said, trying to keep her tone upbeat. ‘This is my home now, after all. I don’t know the first thing about olive trees or oil or any of it.’
‘You don’t need to learn.’
So he really was rebuffing her.
‘I want to learn, Leo. You told me you wanted me to be a part of things. That’s what I’m trying to do.’
He stared at her, as inscrutable as ever, and she decided to try a different tack.
‘Tell me about your childhood. Did you grow up playing hide-and-seek in these groves?’
They’d stepped through the gates and were now walking among the trees, the trunks twisted and gnarled, the branches stark and bare.
‘A bit,’ Leo answered. ‘I grew up here, certainly.’
‘Did you like it?’ she asked, for she sensed more than reticence in Leo’s reply, and wondered at his memories.
‘I loved the olive trees,’ he said after a moment. ‘The white waxy blossoms, the dusty scent in summer, the nuttiness of the oil...’ He shook his head. ‘I probably sound ridiculous, but I love it all. I always have.’
So why, Margo wondered, did he sound so regretful? So bitter?
‘It’s a good thing you’re in the olive oil business,’ she said, and Leo gave her a rather tight smile.
‘Yes.’
‘Why,’ Margo asked after a moment, as they walked between the bare trees, ‘do I feel as if you’re not telling me everything?’
‘What do you mean?’
She shrugged, half afraid to press, yet wanting to know more about him. Wanting to keep building this bridge, flimsy as it seemed. ‘When you talk about the trees, the business, you sound...tense.’ She hesitated and then added, ‘Almost angry.’
Leo was silent for a long moment, and the only sound was the wind soughing through the trees and making the branches rattle. ‘I suppose,’ he said finally, ‘that’s because I am. Or was, at least. I think I’m getting over it. I hope so, anyway.’
Leo’s face gave nothing away, and yet Margo knew instinctively this was a big admission for him to make. ‘Why, Leo?’ she asked quietly. ‘What happened?’
He sighed, shrugging and shaking his head at the same time. ‘Just complicated family politics.’
‘Tell me.’
He hesitated, then said, ‘My grandfather started the business from scratch. He was a dustman before he scraped together enough drachmas to buy a bit of property, and he built it from there. We’ve always been so proud of how we came from nothing. How we built this empire with our own hands. First my grandfather, and then my father...’
He trailed off, frowning, and Margo dared to fill in, ‘And now you?’
‘Yes. But it didn’t happen as seamlessly as that.’
‘Your brother...?’
‘Yes, my brother.’ His face tightened. ‘Antonios was my father’s favourite. The oldest child and his heir...I suppose it was understandable.’
‘It’s never understandable,’ Margo countered. ‘If we have more children I won’t favour one more than the other.’
He gave her a swift, blazing look. ‘Do you want more children, Margo?’
‘I...’ She swallowed hard. More children to love. More children to lose. And yet a proper family—the kind of family she’d always longed for but had been afraid to have. Was afraid she didn’t deserve. ‘I don’t know.’
He kept staring at her, his gaze searching and yet not seeming to find any answers, for eventually he looked away and resumed his story.
‘Well, understandable or not, Antonios was the favourite. I didn’t accept that, though. I tried—Theos—how I tried to make my father love me. Trust me—’
He broke off then, and Margo ached to comfort him. But she didn’t, because everything about Leo was brittle and tense, and she had a terrible feeling—a fear—that he would shake her off if she tried to hug him as she wanted to.
‘To make a long story short,’ he continued finally, his voice brusque, ‘he never did. He had a heart attack and he sent for Antonios—told him the truth about the business. He’d been involved in dodgy dealings for years, trying to make back the money he’d lost on bad investments. He was a hair’s breadth away from losing everything. He made Antonios swear not to tell anyone...not even me.’
‘And did he tell you?’ Margo asked.
Leo shook his head. ‘Not for ten years. Ten years of my not understanding, feeling cut off and kept in the dark. Well...’ he shrugged and then dug his hands into his pockets ‘...I don’t suppose I should have been very surprised. My father never trusted me with anything—why would he with the truth?’
‘But your brother...?’
‘Antonios didn’t either. Not until I pushed and pushed for him to say something—and then I think he only did because of Lindsay, his wife. She wanted an end to all the secrets, all the acrimony.’
‘And has there been an end to it?’ Margo asked.
‘I...I don’t know. We get along—more or less. Antonios resigned as CEO, as you know, and is happier working in investment management.’
‘Are you happy?’ Margo asked, and the question hung there, suspended, encompassing so much more than just the business.
‘I don’t know,’ Leo said again, and he turned to look at her, his face more open and honest and vulnerable than she’d ever seen it before—even when he’d asked her to marry him. ‘I don’t know,’ he said again, and it seemed like more than an admission. It seemed like a revelation...to both of them.
They started walking again, back towards the gates, neither of them speaking. This time, however, the silence didn’t feel strained, Margo thought, more expectant. Although what she—or Leo—was waiting for, she had no idea.
The gates loomed ahead of them and Margo had the strange sensation that once they passed through them things would change. The spell of intimacy and honesty that had been cast over them amidst the trees would be broken.
She turned to tell Leo something of this—something of herself—but before she could say anything her foot caught on a twisted root and she pitched forward. The moment felt as if it lasted for ever, and yet no time at all, no time to try to right herself, or even to break her fall with her hands.
She fell hard onto her front, her belly slamming into the ground, her face and hands and knees scraped and stinging.
‘Margo—’ Leo’s voice was sharp with alarm and even fear as he knelt at her side.
She got onto her hands and her knees, her heart thudding from the fall.
Leo put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Are you all right? Let me look at you.’
Slowly, wincing from the bruises and scrapes, she eased back into a sitting position, the ground hard and cold beneath her.
‘I think I’m okay,’ she said, and pressed one hand to her belly, her fingers curving around her bump, willing the baby to give a little comforting kick in response to the silent question her hand was asking.
Then she caught Leo staring at her; his face was pale, his eyes wide, and he leaned forward, grabbing her arm.
‘What—?’ she began, but Leo was already sliding his phone out of his pocket and dialling 112, which she knew was the number in Greece for the emergency medical services. ‘Leo, I’m okay,’ she said.
And that was when she felt a sticky wetness between her thighs, and when she looked down she saw blood spreading across the hard earth.