The Kalliakis Crown. Michelle Smart

grin that didn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I did win every amateur heavyweight boxing award going, though, including an international heavyweight title.’

      ‘No!’ she gasped. ‘Really?’

      ‘It was six years ago.’

      ‘That is incredible.’

      ‘It was the best day of my life,’ he admitted. ‘Receiving the winner’s belt with the Agon National Anthem playing... Yes, the best day of my life.’

      She shook her head in awe, a thrill running through her as she saw a vision of Talos, standing in the centre of a boxing ring, perspiration dripping from his magnificent body, the epitome of masculinity...

      ‘Truly, that’s incredible. Do you still compete?’

      ‘I haven’t boxed in a competitive match since. I knew if I couldn’t fight professionally I wanted to retire on a high.’

      ‘You must miss it, though.’

      She tried to imagine having to stop playing her violin and felt nothing but coldness. Her earliest concrete memory was receiving her first violin at the age of four. Yes, it had partly been forced on her, but she’d loved it, had adored making the same kind of music as her papa, revelled in her parents’ excitement when she’d taken to it with such an affinity that they couldn’t resist showing her off to the world. She’d loved pleasing her parents but before she’d reached double digits the resulting attention from the outside world had turned into her personal horror story. She might have inherited her parents’ musicality, but their showmanship had skipped a generation.

      He shrugged. ‘I still spar regularly, but in truth I knew it was time to focus my attention on the business my brothers and I founded. Theseus had gone off on his sabbatical, so Helios was running it almost single-handedly along with dealing with his royal duties. It wasn’t fair on him.’

      ‘I don’t understand why you all put so much into the business when you have so much wealth.’

      He eyed her meditatively. ‘How much do you think it costs to run a palace this size? The running costs, the maintenance, the staff?’

      ‘A lot?’

      ‘Yes. A lot. And that’s just for one palace. Factor in the rest of our estates—my villa, for example—travelling costs, security...’

      ‘I can imagine,’ she cut in, feeling slightly dizzy now he was explaining it.

      ‘My family has always had personal wealth,’ Talos explained, ‘but a considerable portion of our income came from taxes.’

       ‘Came?’

      He nodded. ‘My brothers and I were determined to make our family self-sufficient, and three years ago we succeeded. Our islanders no longer pay a cent towards our upkeep. I might not compete any more, but I get all the intellectual stimulation I need.’

      Amalie swallowed, guilt replacing the dizziness. She’d been so dismissive of his wealth.

      Talos Kalliakis might be unscrupulous at getting his own way but he had a flip side—a side that was loyal, decent and thoughtful. He clearly loved his island and his people.

      ‘What about the physical stimulation you got from competitive boxing?’ she asked. ‘Have you found a replacement for that?’

      His eyes glistened, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. ‘There is a physical pastime I partake in regularly that I find very stimulating...’

      The breath in her lungs rushed out in a whoosh.

      When he looked at her like that and spoke in that meaningful tone all her senses seemed to collide, making her tongue-tied, unable to come up with any riposte—witty or otherwise.

      For the first time she asked herself why she should. Why make a joke out of something that made her blood and belly feel as warm and thick as melted chocolate? Why continue to deny herself something that could take her places she’d locked away?

      Hadn’t she punished herself enough?

      That thought seemed to come from nowhere, making her blink sharply.

       Punished herself enough?

      But there was something in that. Her fear was wrapped in so many layers, with her guilt over her role in her parents’ divorce bound tightly in the middle of it.

      Talos had confronted his fears and mastered them. Wasn’t it time she allowed herself the same? She didn’t have to suppress her basic biological needs and be a virgin for ever out of fear. Or guilt.

      She wasn’t her mother. Allowing herself to be with Talos and experience the pleasure she just knew she would receive at his willing giant hands wouldn’t be a prelude to falling in love. A man holding one hundred musicians’ livelihoods to ransom for the sake of a gala could pose no risk to her heart.

      She cleared her throat and dropped her voice to a murmur. ‘Would you care to elucidate on this stimulation you speak of?’

      She would swear his eyes darkened to match the melting chocolate in her veins.

      He leaned his head forward and spoke into her exposed ear. ‘I can do much better than that...’

      The chocolate heated and pooled down low, right in the apex of her thighs...the feeling powerful enough to make her lips part and a silent moan escape her throat.

      Just when she was certain he was going to kiss her—or, worse, she was going to kiss him—activity around them brought her to her senses.

      They were in the Banquet Room of the royal palace, surrounded by almost two hundred people, the heir to the throne sitting only six seats to her right. And she was bubbling up with lust.

      During the rest of the banquet she made a studious effort to speak to the gentleman on her right, a prince from the UK. Through it all, though, her mind, her senses, her everything were consumed by Talos, deep in conversation with the woman to his left, a duchess from Spain.

      Somehow their chairs had edged closer so his thigh brushed against hers, and when their dessert of loukoumades—a delicious Greek doughnut, drizzled with honey, cinnamon and walnuts—was cleared away, and they were awaiting the final course of fresh fruit, a shock ran through her when his hand came to rest on her thigh.

      She wished she’d tried to talk Natalia into a different material for the dress; something lighter. The heavy fabric suited the theatricality of the dress beautifully, but while she could feel the weight of Talos’s hand there was none of the heat her body craved.

      It wasn’t enough.

      She wanted to feel him.

      Sucking in a sharp breath to tame the thundering of her heart, she casually straightened, then moved her hand under the table to rest on his. As she threaded her fingers through his he gave the gentlest of squeezes, and that one simple action sent tiny darts of sensation rippling through her abdomen.

      Strong coffee and glasses of port were poured, whilst the British Prince chattered on about one of the charities he was patron of. Amalie tried hard to keep her attention fixed on him, smiling in all the right places, laughing when appropriate, all the while wishing every guest there would magically disappear and leave her alone with Talos.

      She hadn’t drunk much wine—a couple of glasses at most—but felt as if she’d finished a whole bottle, because at that moment she felt giddily out of control.

      Talos still had hold of her thigh, his thumb making circular motions on the material so torturously barricading him from her skin.

      She had no idea where her nerve came from—maybe her fingers had a life of their own, because they moved away from his hand to tentatively brush his thigh. He stiffened at her touch, his own hand tightening its hold on her.

      The British Prince chattered on, clearly oblivious to the undercurrents playing