Page 25 of Vows of Revenge

His smile on her was warm.

‘It was a unique experience,’ she answered, her voice just as warm. ‘Thank you for taking me.’

‘It was,’ he assured her, ‘my pleasure.’

And that, he knew with certainty, was completely true.

She made the evening for me...

It was a thought to warm him—much more than thinking about Cosmo Palandrou or Yorgos Andrakis and all that went with them. He set that determinedly aside, turning instead to Kassia.

‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said.

He hadn’t bothered to order another car—the distance to his hotel was not far, and the college Kassia was staying at was next door.

At the entrance, he paused, looking down at her. She was wearing heels, but very low, and her shoes, he’d noticed with the same condemnation he’d reserved for the dress she was wearing, were serviceable rather than elegant. She was still a few inches shorter than he was, though, and she was looking up at him perforce.

In the dim light he thought he saw something move in her eyes. On impulse, he reached for her hand. He lifted it to his mouth, grazing her knuckles lightly...so lightly. He felt her hand tremble in his as he straightened. He smiled down at her. A warm, encompassing smile.

‘For me,’ he said, ‘it’s been a memorable evening—quite an experience! And a great day out seeing Blenheim too. Thank you for making both so special.’

He released her hand and looked down at her a moment longer. She was gazing up at him, lips slightly parted, and there was something in her eyes he had not seen till now. Something wide and wondering.

Almost, he started to lower his head to hers. Then he halted. Instead, he glanced through the entrance to the college where she was staying. The night porter was visible at his desk, clearly able to see them. Damos took a step back.

‘Goodnight, Kassia,’ he said, still holding her eyes. ‘Sleep well. And, again, thank you...’

He turned away, heading back down the road. He had the distinct feeling that Kassia had not moved. That she was watching him walk away from her. As if she did not want him to.

It was good to know. Very good. For reasons he did not entirely wish to acknowledge. Conflicting reasons...

He gave a shake of his head. But those reasons needn’t be conflicting—that was the beauty of it. He could want Kassia for herself and for the reason he had set out to want her in the first place.

There is no conflict between them.

He kept the words in his head, walking on back to his hotel. It was time to think of what his next step would be. It would be his home run...

Making Kassia his.

CHAPTER FIVE

KASSIALETHERSELFinto her room, still in a daze. On her bare hand she could still feel the light...oh, so light imprint of Damos taking it in his and kissing it. Such an old-fashioned gesture—and yet now she could understand why Victorian maidens had swooned over it.

For just a moment she let herself relive it, feel again the warm clasp of his hand, the cool touch of his lips...

She gave herself a mental shake. She had no business reacting like this, she told herself sternly. No business wanting to read anything into it.

Deliberately, she moved her eyes to the mirror over the chest of drawers, made herself look at her reflection. Really look.

No, she had not turned into some fairytale princess whose hand a man like Damos Kallinikos—God’s gift to women if any man was ever rated so!—would be kissing for any romantic purposes.

I’m still exactly the same as I always have been and always will be. Whether I’m in evening dress, or day wear, looking smart or looking casual, it makes no difference at all.

Whether her father told her brutally and viciously, or her mother sighingly and sympathetically, it did not—could not—alter what she was seeing in the mirror. What she had always seen...all her life.

She turned away, blinking a little. Damos Kallinikos had kissed her hand because he was beinggallant—that old-fashioned Continental term for old-fashioned courtesy. He would have done as much had she been an old lady of eighty.

She took another breath, steadying herself. There was no point yearning to be some imaginary glamorous beauty like the kind Damos Kallinikos usually hung out with, because she wasn’t. And that was that.

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