Free Bound to the Greek by Kate Hewitt Page A

her, and his head emptied of thoughts. She stood by the window, surveying the party scene with a preoccupied air, and yet despite the tiny frown between her brows she looked lovely. Breathtaking in a shimmery dress that moved like liquid silver, encasing a slender body Jace remembered and knew so well. His palms suddenly itched to slide along that silky material and find the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. To pull her towards him, to have her come to him, unresisting, unrepentant.
    To feel Ellie in his arms again.
    ‘Eleanor!’
    Eleanor turned, nerves fluttering low in her belly as she saw Jace coming towards her. It was a feeling that was both familiar and strange, for the nerves were not caused byanxiety, but anticipation. Even though they’d parted on such harsh terms last night, her body still leapt when she saw him. Almost as if she were
glad
to see him. Even though she shouldn’t be.
    He stopped in front of her, reaching out with both hands to clasp hers. Eleanor accepted his touch—his hands were warm, dry, and strong, his fingers folding over hers—without even thinking about what she was doing. Part of her brain knew she should step back, smile coolly, and remain safely distant. Yet that part of her had fallen silent and still. She did nothing.
    He was smiling at her with warm admiration, his gaze sweeping her from the top of her elegant chignon to the tips of her rhinestone-encrusted stiletto sandals, and it did something rather pleasant and shivery to her insides. It also kept her from forming a single coherent thought.
    ‘You look magnificent.’
    ‘So do you,’ Eleanor blurted, and then blushed. But he did, she couldn’t deny it. He wore a dark grey silk suit, his crimson tie a festive splash of colour, the expensive material emphasising his powerful frame, a body she knew and remembered. A body she had once loved.
    ‘And this party is wonderful,’ Jace continued in that same warm voice, a voice she also remembered, low and honeyed, sliding over her senses.
    ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and slipped her hands from his. Her brain was reminding her why this wasn’t a good idea. Why she needed to remain poised, polished. Professional.
    ‘Very unique.’
    ‘That’s what you wanted.’ She realised she sounded a little sharp; she felt sharp, as if she were nothing but edges. She softened her words with a smile even as she took a step away. ‘Everyone is about to sit down for dinner, so I should go see to a few things—’
    Jace nodded his acceptance. ‘I’m sorry I was late.’
    ‘You can be late to your own party if you want.’ Damn, she still sounded defensive. Why did Jace still affect her inso many ways? Her hands tingled from his touch. Her heart hurt. And the fact that he had been late hurt too. It shouldn’t matter. She shouldn’t care. She’d spent ten years making sure she didn’t care.
    Yet apparently she still did.
    ‘I’d better go,’ she said, and turned quickly away before Jace could say anything more.
    A minor dilemma in the kitchen—a shortage of vegan meals—kept her occupied for the next while, and she managed to avoid Jace as she moved around the room, making sure everyone was happy and fed. Yet even so her gaze kept sliding to him of its own accord. He was seated at the head table, his head bent as he chatted and laughed with the guest on his right, a curvaceous brunette poured into an emerald-green cocktail dress. She was, Eleanor knew from the guest list, Leandro Atrikides’s daughter, Kristina. She looked as if she wanted to gobble up Jace in one delicious bite.
    And, Eleanor told herself, so what if she did? She was
not
jealous. Jealousy would be both pointless and absurd. She didn’t
care
what Jace did, or with whom he did it. She couldn’t. Eleanor turned away, smiled and chatted with a young couple five tables away from Jace and made sure not to look at him again.
    At the end of the meal, just before Eleanor was about to cue the music for dancing,