Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит

cured him of all this duty nonsense in your bed, pethi mou.”

      A curse flew from the deceptively calm Stavros.

      “You’re his wife?” Jasmine said to the blushing Leah, realizing she had spoken out loud when Dmitri looked at her.

      “Who did you think she was?”

      Challenge. Dare. Belligerence. All of it wrapped in a smooth tone.

      With three sets of eyes resting on her, Jasmine flushed but refused to let him embarrass her. She poured defiance into her tone. “Your current squeeze.

      “I’m sorry.” She said this to Leah, who was shaking her head at both men.

      “Don’t be.” Leah smiled. “Dmitri is being his usual beastly self. I’m Leah Sporades. Giannis, their godfather, was my grandfather.”

      Jasmine stood awkwardly as Stavros and Leah argued with Dmitri with an obvious familiarity while he threw outrageous remarks at them.

      I knew him before you did.

      The errant thought dropped into her head and she sent a startled glance toward Dmitri.

      His gaze stayed on her, intense and brooding, as if he would like nothing but to skin her alive with his words. Seconds piled on as that same awareness locked them in their own little world. What would happen when his friends left?

      Running a hand over her forehead, she looked away. The faster she got out of here the better.

      She grabbed the kit from the unsuspecting Stavros and turned to Dmitri. “Stop with the macho posturing and sit down. The cut is on the far left side and you’re left-handed.”

      His grin vanishing, Dmitri looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted two heads.

      She sighed. That mutinous, wary expression in his eyes… That she remembered.

      “Strip, Dmitri.”

      “Usually I’m filled with uncontainable anticipation at that command from a woman,” he said with an exaggerated leer, “but give back the kit to Stavros, Jasmine.”

      Unbuttoning his shirt, Dmitri pulled it off his wound. Only a jerk of his mouth betrayed his pain. Ridges of leanly sculpted muscles defined his broad chest, only a smattering of dark hair dotting the olive-toned skin.

      Her cheeks instantly tightened, her mouth dry as Jasmine tried to not stare. She took a step toward him, determined to act normal. “I’ll make it fast.”

      Dmitri glared at her. “I’d rather you not touch me at all.”

      “Why not? I’ve sewed up so many of Andrew’s wounds growing up that I—”

      “Like Stavros pointed out so well, we don’t know where you and your hands have been. And yes, you are supertough to have made it all on your own for so many years… But we both know that you are a little fragile right now, ne? You were crawling all over me on the bike and—”

      “Because you were driving like a maniac,” she yelled, her face heating up.

      “—and a minute ago, you got upset at the sight of the small gash. I’d rather you not look at me with those sad, puppy eyes while you tend to me as if this was some grand reunion that we both have been breathlessly waiting for for years. My generosity toward you is fast disappearing and the cut burns like hell.”

      The kit fell from her fingers, thudding like a drum in the silence.

      There were so many offensive things in there that for a second, she couldn’t even sift through them all. Only stood weightless while the cruelty in his words carved through her.

      Then the slow, merciful burn of humiliation spread across her throat and cheeks, merciful because anything was better than that hollow ache, her ribs squeezing her lungs tighter and tighter.

      His words should not have touched her. He was nothing to her. She had hated him for years on principle. And yet his words knocked the breath out of her.

      Was it because she had never been so literally saved from a situation before? Because, for most of her life, she had only depended on herself, and seeing a man like Dmitri come to her aid was warping her sense of reality?

      Or was she just like her mum after all? One kind word from a man and she was ready to fall over herself and into his arms?

      She struggled to hold his gaze but she did, pouring all the hatred, for him and for herself, into that look.

      “You’re right. I’m not myself…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “And you… You’re not…”

      His face was a tight mask over his angular features, his eyes suddenly hauntingly vulnerable. “Do not assume to know me, Jasmine.”

      She shook her head, feeling immensely weary. “No, I don’t, do I? Have your cut looked at or let it fester and rot you, for all I care. I need a little more of your precious time and then I want out of here.”

      Holding her shoulders rigidly, she turned.

      The sympathy in Leah’s eyes was much too real, and Jasmine steeled herself against it. Stumbling through the lounge, she ducked into the first room and closed the door behind her and then walked into the en-suite bathroom.

      A sea of white marble greeted her. With a tub long and wide enough for her to swim in, with gleaming gold taps, cold porcelain tiles and thick, fluffy towels, it was her version of paradise.

      Tempted as she was to soak in the bath, she stripped and headed for the shower, needing to wash off the fear and grime of the past two days. If only she could so easily wash off the stink of her life…

      The moment the water hit her, something in her unraveled. With a deep breath, Jasmine let the tears that had been threatening all night, out.

      Only once, Jas, she warned herself.

      She would cry just this once, without caring what it meant. She would let herself be weak just this one time. And then she would walk out and not look back.

      She had been right in rejecting his offer of money when Andrew had died.

      With the hatred of a thousand suns, she promised herself she would never set eyes on Dmitri Karegas again after tonight.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      DMITRI HISSED OUT a sharp breath as Stavros dabbed his wound with an alcohol wipe. Yet the burn of it over the open flesh was nothing compared to the burn in his gut.

      The image of Jas’s face, her mouth trembling, her wide eyes stricken with hurt, would haunt him for the rest of his life. Along with a hundred other images of her.

      Jas, looking at him with a toothless smile, Jas, at nine, sitting by him in companionable silence while he nursed a broken nose, Jas, her tears overflowing onto her cheeks as he said goodbye to her and Andrew…

      Jas, as she glared at him with bristling hatred and fury at Andrew’s funeral five years ago…

      And now this Jas, who saw through his veneer to the real him, who had melted into his arms with such vulnerability in her eyes…

      Who had looked at him as if he was everything…

      A furious cascade of such hunger churned in his gut that he had to grasp the handrest to anchor himself. Just the torrent of emotions that had deluged him ever since she had come at him with that knife was proof enough.

      No! That look had been nothing but a result of shock.

      He didn’t want her to look at him like that, as if he was her hero and knight wrapped in one.

      He was no one’s hero, and definitely not hers. He shattered women’s silly romantic notions of him on a