Crowned For The Drakon Legacy. Tara Pammi

       CHAPTER TWO

      DROPLETS OF WATER dripped from the ends of her still-wet hair, dampening the thin cotton of the oversize T-shirt that fell to her thighs. Shivering, Mia twisted the damp ends with her palm and squeezed the water onto the towel. She rubbed her hair one more time and threw the towel in the hamper.

      Drying her hair seemed to need more energy than she had. Which was funny because she had just swum for an hour, running away as if from the very devil.

      I wanted you for myself...

      For hours on end, she found herself going back over every interaction they had had over the years, and like he said, God, they’d known each other for a decade. So many memories to sift through, so many interactions that she now viewed afresh.

      How she wished she could cling to disbelief, to the outrageous hope that he had said that because he’d felt sorry for her. But the fire in his eyes—as if she were the next challenge he was contemplating.

      She had no idea how she’d turned away from him and returned to the car, or what she’d even said when he’d brought her here. When he’d pointed it out, she’d fled into a bedroom and then, like clockwork, to the pool when it had struck midnight.

      The corridor stretched now into the endless marble-floored open lounge with incredible views of Biscayne Bay’s spectacular skyline on one side and Miami Beach on the other side. Tall palm trees and beach views told Mia she was in Miami and yet a world apart.

      She wandered the penthouse, far too wired after the disastrous day she’d had.

      There was a custom wine cellar, outdoor terrace, an indoor pool and an outdoor infinity pool, and four hot tubs with a bath deck overlooking the spectacular Brickell skyline.

      Her feet sank deep into thick dark carpet as she walked into the media room. Colorful images moved soundlessly on the huge screen, and cast flashes of lightning into the vast, dome-like theater.

      It was a recording of one of her own games—the championship game from three years ago when her team had won the World Cup.

      A deep, shuddering ache went through her.

      Heart steadily climbing, she found Nikandros seated on a step in the aisle. Arms leaning on his knees, his T-shirt highlighted the fluid line of his spine. Jet-black hair glinted with wetness every time the pictures moved on the giant screen. A half-empty, or rather a half-finished, bottle stood precariously on the carpet next to him, the liquid gleaming gold in it.

      As if on cue came her powerful kick from the left field and the ball zoomed toward the net and past the flailing hands of the goalkeeper. The sound was on Mute, yet the applause roared in Mia’s ears as if she were standing there on the field, the Spanish sun kissing her face.

      The camera zoomed on her, sweaty and delirious with joy, her grin splitting her mouth into a wide curve.

      A spark of joy lit up within Mia now, a quiet jolt as if she were being kicked back into life. On the screen, she did the victory lap around the perimeter of the ground and then that stupidly ridiculous dance, shaking her bum...

      And the screen stilled on that image.

      Nikandros was watching the game with an intensity that spoke of madness, obsession. It didn’t matter that the Prince was known to be a hard-core fan of the sport, that it was the game that could have arrested his attention.

      But no, he was watching her.

      She walked down the few steps, heart pounding in her chest. “Turn off the game.”

      His body bent at an angle, he looked up. Long lashes cast crescent shadows on his cheekbones. But even those envy-inducing lashes couldn’t hide the thorough way he stared at her, all the way from her wet hair to her bare feet. That same devilish half-amusement lingered around his mouth. “Don’t tell me it’s another eccentricity of yours, not watching yourself play?”

      “Another one?”

      “The midnight swim?” he added, gaze focused on the wet ends of her hair. “The isolation before a big game?”

      Mia shrugged, the knowledge of how keenly he was aware of her every eccentricity touching a fragile, buried part of her. His interest in her soccer career, in her, was extremely addictive. And was going straight to her head and other parts. “Only in the last few months have I been able to accept that I’ll never play again.” She looked up at the screen, an ache that never went away settling deep into her. “That part of my life is over.”

      Up the steps and into the corridor she went, something uncoiling within her.

      Something had changed tonight, even in the past few minutes maybe—a line had been crossed, a line between existing and living. The numbness that had descended on her seemed to crack. A steely grip on her arm halted her.

      “I did not realize—” a restless kind of energy seemed to radiate from him and it touched Mia like a spark to dry tinder “—what you have gone through this past year.”

      Her back to him, she pressed her forehead against the wall, unable to catch her breath. Every inch of her trembled from the small contact, every muscle locked painfully against the impulse that was coursing through her. “I hate it when you put it like that,” she said into the wall. “Like I was a victim. Of fate first, and then Brian. I find this...that feeling unbearable. As if nothing was in my control.

      “For a year, I wallowed in that self-pity. With Brian’s affairs coming out—” a bitter laugh escaped her “—strangely, I seem to have found myself again. I refuse to be still anymore, refuse to be a victim.”

      The grip released on her arm. Now his fingers teased her skin with soft strokes. “You astound me, Mia.” His words were deep and low, with a longing that resonated with her own.

      But he still didn’t make a move on her.

      Mia was terrified that he would and desolate that he wouldn’t.

      “I’m grateful that you were there today, Nikandros,” she said, uncaring at this point that her voice betrayed her. “I didn’t realize until now how much I needed a...familiar face.”

      Barely had her breath settled when she felt his hands slide to her shoulders. Her front was pressed against the wall, and at her back, he was a wall of warmth and want. With gentleness that undid her, he pushed her hair to the front and kneaded the hard knots on her shoulders.

      His thumbs traced the sensitive skin at her nape. Breathing became a shallow exercise, a cavern of longing opening up within her. And then, just like that, he released her. “I will say good-night...and good-bye then.”

      She turned around fast.

      Dark stubble gave him a grungy, roguish look. His swarthy skin, as always, contrasted with the glittering blue of his eyes, making the man knee-meltingly gorgeous. Blue shadows cradled his eyes. He looked different somehow.

      Charm and looks had been a common enough combination in some of the male athletes Mia had known in her career. But all of it was