Greek's Last Redemption

“What does it matter if we’re in the same city?” she asked, more bravado than anything else, and she threw in a little scoffing sound, just to maintain the brittle facade a few minutes more. “We’re not staying together. We’re not even staying in the same hotel.”

That surprised him. Holly could see it in a brief flash of something before he shuttered that dark gaze of his, and that made her decision to stay in The Harrington, a luxurious boutique hotel in Barcelona’s famous Gothic Quarter, seem that much smarter. As if she was getting good at handling him, after all.

After so many years apart, perhaps she’d finally learned something.

“I’ll repeat—what do you want?” Theo’s voice was clipped, his gaze when it met hers again uncompromisingly direct. “It was obviously important to you that we do this. Here we are. You have three seconds to tell me what your agenda is.”

“Or what?”

Holly made her voice a taunt, though the truth was, she didn’t recognize this version of Theo, and that was making her feel far more uneasy than she’d imagined she would. He wasn’t the lazy, sun-drunk lover she remembered, and even though she’d read enough about him over the course of these past few years to have expected that on some level, the reality was much different. He had an edge now. He wasn’t remotely tame. Back then, he’d reminded her of nothing so much as a great, lazy cat—tonight, he was all claws and fangs. Maybe that was why she was drawing this out instead of coming clean immediately.

Or maybe she was still too afraid. That he wouldn’t believe her.

That he would.

“What can you possibly do to me that you haven’t already done?” she asked instead.

“Excellent,” he said silkily. “We’ve moved on to the blame portion of this conversation. And so quickly. Are you truly prepared to pretend that I carry any of it?” He laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound. It rushed over her, making her skin prickle and feel too tight. It was as dangerous as he was. “I’ll admit, I’m looking forward to the performance. Please, Holly. Tell me how I betrayed you.”

She couldn’t breathe. His gaze was too hot and too condemning, his mouth too grim. It was as if he’d chained her to her seat with the force of his fury alone, and she felt a dangerous weakness steal over her. As if she could simply surrender, right here...

But she knew better.

“I’m prepared to talk about our marriage,” she said then, when she’d battled herself back from that cliff, down to something resembling calm. Or, at least, a good facsimile of it that might propel her through these last, crucial moments. “Are you? Because the way I remember it, the last time we broached the subject there was nothing but yelling and punching walls.”

And then that wild, insane thing that had exploded between them, nothing as simple as mere sex—but she didn’t say that. Neither did Theo. But it was between them all the same, the terrible heat and the violent blast of it as intense as if it had only just happened. That indelible claiming. Holly could hear the sound of his shirt tearing beneath her hands, could feel his skin beneath her teeth, the rage and the fire, the betrayal and the thick, twisted emotion like a hundred sobs pent up inside them both, and then that slick, perfect thrust of him deep into her, rough and complicated, their own painful little poetry. Their own goodbye.