Bound to the Greek by Kate Hewitt

he still wanted her to plan his wretched party, what he hoped to gain or prove. Or was the past nothing more than a finished chapter of a sad story? Could he actually move on so quickly,
minutes
after she’d told him the truth? She made herself not care. She’d done that before, plenty of times, starting when she was a littlegirl and her mother had worked late again and again, missing plays and soccer matches and anything important. When Jace had walked away, when she’d lost her little girl, when life had seemed empty and endless and without hope—she’d survived by making herself not care. By blanking her mind to any thought—any possibility—that was too painful. Too hard. And she could keep doing it. Keep surviving. Keep not caring.
    Eleanor smiled coolly. ‘Fine, Jace. I’ll plan your party. Satisfied?’
    ‘Getting there.’
    ‘And it’s late. I’d like to go to bed.’ Too late she realised how laced those words were with innuendo—and remembrance. And so did Jace. She saw it in the subtle flaring of his eyes, the way they turned to sleepy silver. And before she could stop herself, her mind flashed images from a lifetime ago—a lifetime with Jace. Lying in his arms, tracing circles on the bare, bronze skin of his chest. Laughing, stretching like a cat, sleepy and secure. Sated. Loving every moment of being with him, because she’d been young and naive enough to think it was real and that it would never end.
    Eleanor swallowed. ‘I’m tired,’ she said as an explanation, but it came out in a whisper. Jace smiled.
    ‘So am I.’
    Was she imagining the current that suddenly seemed to run between them, alive and electric? She must be, because surely,
surely
there was nothing between them. After everything that had happened—after everything she had endured—there could be nothing between them now.
    Yet that didn’t stop her from remembering just how good it had once been.
    ‘Goodnight, Jace,’ Eleanor said, and her voice, to her relief, sounded flat and final and almost cold. Jace ignored her.
    He took a step towards her. Eleanor held her breath. She didn’t speak, didn’t move. Didn’t protest. Another step, and he was only inches away. He lifted his hand and she bracedherself for his touch, welcomed it even, wondering what it would feel like after all these years. What he would feel like.
    And even as she stood there, still and silent,
waiting
for him to touch her, he dropped his hand, smiling almost sadly. ‘Goodnight, Ellie,’ he said, and this time Eleanor didn’t try to correct him.
    She watched him leave, not realising until the door had shut that she was still holding her breath. She let it out in a long, shuddery rush.
    She could do this. She had to.
    Jace strode from Eleanor’s apartment, his body filled with a restless energy, his mind teeming with both possibility and fury. He was angry at himself, at fate, at life itself.
    So much waste. So much wrong.
    Guilt rushed into the corners of his mind, the empty spaces in his heart. He could hardly bear to think what Eleanor must have felt, what she’d endured alone.
    If only—
    Two desperate and dangerous words.
    If only he’d known. If only he’d waited and said something, asked her—
    If only. If only.
    There was no such thing as
if only.
There was only regret.
    And hope.
    Jace shook his head in silent disbelief. Hope had long since become an unfamiliar concept. What on earth could he hope for? Love, family, children—he’d turned his back on them all. Was he now actually thinking that he could change that? Change himself? It would not be so easy.
    For years work had been his only respite, his only comfort. He’d come to New York as a favour to Leandro Atrikides, and as a favour to his father. He’d clean up the family mess and then he’d go home to Greece.
    And forget about Eleanor Langley… just as he had once before.
    Except he’d never forgotten her, not really. She’d always lurked on the fringes of his