Page 23 of Husband for the Holidays

“Don’tcry.” Konstantin’s eyes widened in alarm. “I thought you would like it. Youaskedme to tell you that.”

“I do like it. But I miss him so much sometimes.” Her voice cracked. “And I can’t talk to Mom about him because—that’s another reason I haven’t tried to see her. And why I didn’t mind at first when Antoine was there. It’s so stressful when we’re together. We both want Ilias to be there, but he’s not. And when we talk about h-him—” Her breaths grew jagged as she tried to push words around the sobs that were elbowing the inside of her rib cage, fighting to be released. “It’s such a raw nerve, even after all this time.” She used her napkin to wipe at her cheeks, but the tears kept rolling down them.

“Stop. Eloise, stop.” He rose to drag her into his arms. “I’llbe there,” he said gruffly, practically smothering her face against his chest as he squeezed her in his strong arms. “It will be fine. Stop crying.”

This embrace was what she had wanted from him for so long that her tears sharpened. Her stomach cramped with her effort to hold back, but she was shuddering with pent-up anxiety and despair.

“Shush,” he insisted as he petted her hair. “It’s going to be okay, Eloise. I’m going to make it okay.Pleasestop crying.”

How was she supposed to stop when he was being sonice?

She gave in to impulse and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging while trying, really trying, to stem the flow, but she was shaking and...

Wait. Was he also shaking?

She was so surprised she tilted her head back to see he was about to drop a kiss on her hair.

They both froze for several pulse beats. It was the garden after the funeral all over again. Their noses were almost touching, their lips an inch from meeting.

He drew in a sharp breath and his hand slid down her back, ironing her into him while making every cell in her body come alive.

Her toes pushed into the floor on instinct. She arched, feeling him hardening against her abdomen. As tingles of excitement raced through her blood, she offered her mouth, gaze on his parted lips, wanting—

He jerked his head up and set her back a step, exactly as he had those other times.

“Go have your bath,” he said grittily. He picked up his wine and stepped onto the balcony, allowing a damp December wind to gust in.

What the hell was wrong with him? Pressing a weeping woman to his growing erection was just wrong.

He’d pushed her away and was letting the fine mist off the Mediterranean cool his ardor, but it wasn’t doing a very good job. He could still feel the press of her modest breast and the curve of her lower back. He could smell her hair and—most erotic of all—had seen the way she reacted to him.

It had all percolated a rush of arousal into his groin and he shouldn’t have even touched her. He wouldn’t have, if she hadn’t started crying. He didn’t even know why he’d shared that corny memory. Absolutely everything about the past turned like knives inside him, but she had looked so entreating when she asked him to share something about Ilias. He had wanted her to know why her brother had meant so much to him and that he missed Ilias, too.

Maybe he had even thought talking about her brother would defuse the sexual tension between them and remind him why he needed to act honorably with Eloise.

He was doing a stellar job at that, wasn’t he?

She had started to cry, though. He couldn’tbeara woman’s tears. It put him into a fight-or-flight response from childhood, when he had heard his mother crying. He’d felt so helpless then, trying to console her, listening to her promise she would find them a way to escape, to be safe.

It had ended in despair for both of them, every time.

Thankfully, as an adult, he rarely heard a woman cry. Once he’d come across an employee in a stairwell and once a lover had lost her dog. He’d distracted the first with a year of paid leave and the other with a generous donation to an animal rescue center.

Eloise was different. Her sorrow had gone straight under his skin, stirring up his own grief, layers and layers of it. It was disturbing enough that his first thought was to fire up his jet and head to the Maldives.

But he couldn’t. He’d not only promised her that he would be with her tomorrow, but he was still furious she was living, as she called it, so far below his standards. He took it as a personal failure on his part.

He should have been looking out for her all this time. When he thought of the number of men who had tried to take advantage of her, he could hardly contain his fury. And the idea of her holing up in a dorm room, unable to get herself to class, ground like a heel against his conscience. Of course, she would have been too devastated to get on with life. He should haveknownthat. He should have done something far sooner than this.

He shouldn’t have left it until she was living his worst nightmare: struggling and going hungry, unable to think of the future because today was so uncertain.

Shedidneed someone looking out for her.

At the same time, he understood why she would rather struggle on her own terms than be beholden to a man like Antoine. If Konstantin had been older when his grandfather had come into his life, he might have rejected him and made his own way, too. He’d resented needing to rely on the old man, especially because his grandfather’s “generosity” had come with its own costs and obligations.

He didn’t want Eloise to think she owed him anything for his help so he had resisted the urge to crush her mouth with his, even though the plump, soft pout of her lips had been nearly irresistible.

When his grip on the iron rail of the balcony began radiating ice up his forearms, he stepped back inside the room. He was immediately assaulted by the fragrance of whatever beads she’d poured into the tub. As he topped up his glass of wine, the water shut off. He heard the ripple of water and the squeak of her naked body against the porcelain.

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