Modern Romance December 2016 Books 1-4. Кейт Хьюит

hurried to her own bedroom, where she prayed she could shut out this awful storm.

      Two hours later Talia was contemplating taking the sleeping pills. She lay on her bed, a pillow clutched to her stomach, her body drenched in icy sweat as the storm swirled and raged around the house. The lightning was coming every thirty seconds or so, a savage crack and then a blinding light that lit up the room like a disco and made Talia whimper as memories streaked through her.

      Cowering in the corner, her arms wrapped around herself, wondering if this would be her last night on earth. The rain thundering on the tin roof over her, the thunder shaking the shed’s flimsy sides, the sound of raised voices right outside the door, and then the door opening...

      She whimpered again and closed her eyes, her whole body trembling with a terror as elemental as the storm outside.

      She could take a shower again, and let the noise drown out the sounds of the storm, but at this point Talia wasn’t sure she could get off her bed. She felt paralyzed by her own fear, her mind a terrible blank, and it took all her strength simply to lie there and survive. Surely it would be over soon. Surely this nightmare would end...

      Just as it had ended before. She tried to cling to that, to the memory of her salvation, but the thunder boomed again and lightning streaked through the cracks in the shutters and all she could think about, all she could feel, was the icy, overwhelming terror at being locked in a tiny room while the storm raged ahead and her life hung by a single, precarious thread.

      * * *

      Angelos closed his laptop, unable to concentrate on work with the storm raging outside. Although if he were honest, it wasn’t the rain and wind outside that was distracting him; it was the storm inside himself.

      He’d been feeling restless and uneasy all day, ever since he’d gone on the picnic with Talia and Sofia. Ever since he’d told Talia a little bit about his childhood, cracked open the firmly closed door to his soul. And, he admitted reluctantly, ever since he’d felt her soft, pliant body against his, had seen her breasts rise and fall with agitated breaths, had absorbed the impact of the desire lighting those golden-green eyes...

      Groaning, Angelos rose from his desk. No more work tonight. He’d settle for a cold shower and a sleepless night, and perhaps tomorrow he would return to Athens.

      Except he didn’t want to go to Athens. Despite the restlessness surging through him, he’d enjoyed his time with Sofia today.

      And Talia. You enjoyed your time with her too.

      For Sofia’s sake he would stay. It was her birthday in a few days and he tried to be present for that at least. Tried to be the kind of father he knew he never really could be, not when it had mattered.

      Angelos headed upstairs, the house dark all around him, the beams and shutters creaking from the force of the wind. He’d just crossed the landing when he heard a sound he first mistook for the wind, a low moaning. He stilled, frowning, and then he heard it again. An animal sound, one of pain or fear.

      Frowning, Angelos went down the hallway, his heart rate kicking up at the thought that Sofia might be distressed by the storm. Then he recognised the sound was not coming from his daughter’s room at the end of the hall, but from behind the closed door right in front of him. Talia’s room.

      Again he heard the moan. ‘Talia?’ he called softly, knocking on the door. No answer. Angelos cocked his head, his brow furrowed as he strained to hear. All was silent, but unease prickled along his spine. What if Talia was ill? She’d been terribly quiet at dinner, but Angelos had put it down to all the sun and sea, plus the fact that she didn’t like storms. She’d still been attentive and loving to Sofia, and he hadn’t been able to fault her. He’d just been sorry when she’d gone, as if a light had left the room, energy draining from it.

      He heard the moaning again and, rapping sharply first, Angelos opened the door.

      He stopped on the threshold, appalled at the sight before him. Talia was curled in a foetal position on the bed, a pillow clutched to her chest. Her hair was damp with sweat, her face sickly white with a greenish tinge.

      Angelos swore under his breath before he strode towards her. ‘Talia, what has happened, are you ill...?’

      She barely seemed aware of him as he crouched next to her and peered anxiously into her face. He touched his hand to her forehead, sucking in a hard breath as his palm came in contact with the iciness of her skin. He’d been expecting her to be hot with fever, but she was terribly, terrifyingly cold.

      ‘Talia...’ he murmured, and brushed her damp hair away from her forehead. She barely looked at him, her eyes glassy, her gaze unfocused. Her whole body was rigid.

      Realisation slammed into Angelos with breathless force. She wasn’t ill; she was scared. Utterly and completely terrified. He’d seen how she’d been nervous about the storm, but he’d had no idea she had a full-fledged phobia.

      ‘Talia, it’s all right,’ he murmured as he continued to stroke her damp hair away from her face. She didn’t look at him, hardly seemed aware of him. ‘It’s all right,’ he said again, uselessly, because he could see that it wasn’t all right at all.

      A shudder ran through her body, wracking her slender frame, and her eyes closed in what seemed like surrender to the fear that gripped her.

      ‘Come on,’ Angelos said, and he put one arm around her shoulders, sliding the other under her body. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up at least.’ She was incredibly light and fragile in his arms, even as a dead weight, although after a few seconds she curled into him, resting her cheek against his chest, her legs tucked up, her arms around his neck.

      Angelos’s heart stumbled and for a moment he just stood there, conscious of the closeness of her, the way she trusted him completely.

      Then he moved into the en-suite bathroom, reaching out with one hand to turn on the shower before he gently put her back down on her feet, supporting her with one arm.

      ‘Can you undress?’ he asked, and she just looked at him, her eyes still wide and glassily blank.

      He hesitated only for a second before he stripped the roomy T-shirt and men’s boxers she’d been wearing as pyjamas from her body. He kept his movements efficient yet gentle, but even so he couldn’t keep his insides from tightening at the sight of her body, golden, lithe and perfect. Small, high breasts sprinkled with freckles. A tiny waist and endless legs. He jerked his gaze back up to her face, ashamed that he’d been staring, but she wasn’t even looking at him. Her whole body had started to tremble, her teeth chattering.

      ‘Come on,’ Angelos said, and helped her into the shower. She stood under the warm spray, her eyes closed, and then she leaned against the shower wall and slowly sank to the floor, her legs crumpling underneath her.

      Muttering a curse Angelos went to her, mindless of the water that streamed over his clothed body, and pulled her into his arms.

      She clung to him, her naked body curling into his, and after a while—Angelos didn’t know how long—she stopped trembling.

      Eventually she came to, like someone coming out of a trance. She moved away from him, water streaming down her naked body and slicking back her hair, appalled realisation swamping her eyes.

      She opened her mouth but no words come out and Angelos knew she was beyond embarrassed. And yet he was not, even though he’d been sitting in the shower fully dressed, cradling a naked woman, for the better part of an hour.

      Calmly he reached up and turned off the taps. The bathroom was plunged suddenly into steamy silence; Angelos rose, conscious of the way his shirt stuck to his body and his hair was plastered to his head.

      ‘Let me get you a towel,’ he said. Talia didn’t answer. He reached for one of the big fluffy towels piled on a shelf and she rose from the shower on unsteady legs, one arm braced against the wall as she stepped out of the shower.

      ‘I...’ she began, her voice wobbling all over the place.

      ‘Don’t,’