The Greek's Penniless Cinderella

by Julia James

  He caught at her senses.

  Xandros—the man she had married. Married that morning, making her his wife. A wife who was not a wife—not the way real wives were—for that was not why they had married. Not to sit here with him at this candlelit table, under fairy-lights that echoed the stars blazing in the heavens far above them, while soft waves lapped on the beach and a choir of cicadas chorused in the unseen vegetation beyond the little terrace. Not to see the eyes of the man she had married that morning resting on her with a gaze that was turning her slowly and unstoppably into liquid mush...

  He was getting to his feet. She heard the scrape of his chair on the stone paving, and then he was beside her.

  ‘Shall we skip coffee?’ he said.

  He was smiling down at her, a half-smile through half-closed eyes that were resting on her upturned face. The smile deepened, curving the edges of his mouth—his perfect, sculpted mouth—indenting lines around it that shadowed the planes of his face in the soft, low light. His eyes washed over her again, and in their depths she could see that dark gold seductive glint again. No hint of irony in it now...

  She felt the breath leave her body.

  ‘There’s an age-old custom I want to try out,’ he said, and his voice was husky again.

  She didn’t see it coming—was incapable of doing so. She could only give a breathless gasp as he scooped her bodily into his arms, striding with her into the villa.

  He gave a laugh of triumph and possession. ‘Carrying my bride over the threshold!’

  She could say nothing, do nothing, could only gasp again, her arm automatically hooking around his neck, feeling the strength of his shoulders, feeling her body cradled against his.

  ‘Xandros!’ she cried out, half in consternation, half in bewilderment.

  She was utterly overcome.

  Overcome by being in his arms, lifted by him, her body caught against his strong muscled torso, his grip encompassing her totally.

  He strode along the short length of the corridor, swept her into a bedroom.

  Not hers, but his.

  He laid her down upon his bed, flicked on the bedside light, came down beside her. Propped himself up to gaze down at her.

  She could not breathe...could not speak. Blood was drumming in her veins, her eyes, and she could only stare up at him, gaze helplessly. His eyes were pouring into hers, and now they were not half closed at all, but blazing with a gold that was not a glint but a molten pool.

  ‘I have been waiting for this moment all day,’ he said, and there was a rasp in his voice. ‘All day. Waiting...’ He took a ragged breath. ‘Waiting since I saw you sashay out of that restaurant in London before we flew out to Athens. And now, finally, my wait is over.’

  His head lowered, his mouth dipping to hers. And she was lost. Lost utterly in a bliss she could not stop because it was him kissing her. Xandros kissing her with a slow, feathered touch that was deepening all the time, parting her lips, reaching within, purposeful, tasting, seeking...finding. Melding.

  It was a kiss as devastating to her as the kiss he had given her last night at her hotel room doorway. A hundred times more devastating! A thousand—

  She could not stop him. Did not want to. Wanted only to let her eyes flutter shut and give herself to the exquisite feathering of his lips on hers, the soft, persuasive caress of his mouth as he eased hers open, deepening the kiss.

  Bliss took over—sheer, gorgeous, unalloyed, insistent bliss. Bliss that went on and on as his hands tightened on her, as his mouth drew from hers yet more response.

  A sense of sweeping oblivion overcame her as everything, in the entire universe ceased to exist except this moment, now, this moment that went on and on.

  Until, as if he were pulling away under the strongest duress, he lifted his mouth from hers. His gaze was a wash of desire that blazed from him like the sun.

  ‘Welcome to our wedding night,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ROSALIE STILLED. His words echoed, lifting her from the pool of sensual oblivion in which she had been drowning with his kiss.

  Confusion filled her. ‘I...I don’t understand.’ The words fell from her, summing up the whirlpool of confusion inside her.

  How could this be happening—how?

  Xandros’s brow furrowed as he drew back from her a little. ‘Don’t understand what?’

  Then his brow cleared, a smile starting to play about his mouth, and she could see even in the dim lamplight those deep flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow made her feel breathless all over again.

  ‘Isn’t it very simple?’ he asked.

  ‘But...’ She swallowed. ‘You said it was a mistake. Last night... That kiss... At my room in the hotel—’

  He stared down at her. Then a wry, rueful laugh broke from him. ‘Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to walk away from your room last night?’ he asked, and she could hear the husk beneath the rueful tone. ‘That was why kissing you was a mistake!’

  He took a ragged breath.

  ‘Do you have any idea how hard it has been to keep my hands off you this entire time? That first evening at the hotel...at least we were in public—but when you came to my apartment, looked into my bedroom at my bed...’

  Greek words broke from him, and then he was back to English.

  ‘I’ve been in torment! Waiting to have you here all to myself...’

  She gazed up at him, taking in his words. Taking in the implication of them. Something was soaring in her, taking flight, lifting her up and up and up...

  ‘But now... Ah, now...’ he went on, and his voice was husky again, with a sensual twist to it that set in motion inside her a vibration that seemed to be in every cell of her body. ‘Now the time is right. Now,’ he said, ‘the time is perfect...’

  He brushed his lips to hers again, softly, fleetingly. Arousingly. She gave herself to it, gave herself to him, to all that he was drawing from her, arousing in her—to the sense of wonder filling her, the wonderful, wondrous release of all that she had been trying so hard to keep in check, to stamp out of herself...

  And now—like a fantasy made real, a dream come true—she did not have to! Because she had been so wrong about him! The truth was wonderful, glorious, like the blaze of desire that she could see in his eyes, pouring into hers now as his mouth lifted from her.

  He wants me! He wants me as I have come to want him! And he can have everything he wants of me—everything...

  She could feel her heart start to slug in slow, heavy beats, a throbbing deep inside her. Her senses were dizzy, hyperaware and yet dazed and dreamlike. The wine sang in her blood, but she was not intoxicated...not by wine.

  He kissed her again, and now she was kissing him back, opening her mouth to his, letting him feast upon her as she did on him. She was taking his mouth with hers and then his mouth was lifting from hers again. And as he gazed down at her his dark eyes were pools of sensual desire that sent a thrill through her, a heady quickening of her pulse that was like nothing she had ever felt or known in all her life.

  His hand was moving along her hair like a soft caress, the tips of his fingers touching her cheek, drawing along the contour of her cheekbone, tracing her jaw, lingering over her mouth, shaping it with his touch. His eyes poured over her and she could see those gold flecks, the lush, smoky lashes dipping down as he explored her parting lips yet again with his delicate, sensual touch.

  His fingers trailed own the exposed column of her throat, slowly, deliberately. Oh, it was so achingly arousing. She could only gaze up at him, feeling every sense come vividly alive, twisting her fingers to catch at the soft pillow beneath her head.

  His hand smoothed lower and her breath caught. Though he said not a word she knew what he intended—oh, she knew with an ache inside her...

  ‘So very, very beautiful...’

  The husk i
n his voice was a rasp now, and as he murmured the words his hand rounded over the sweet swell of her breast. Beneath his palm, through the thin material of her dress, the lacy fabric of her bra, her breast engorged, its peak flowering at his enfolding touch.

  A groan broke from her, soft and low, and he gave an answering laugh, moving his mouth to take the place of his moulding palm. Another groan broke from her at this renewed and oh, so exquisitely delicious onslaught on her body. And even as his lips teased her through the thin fabric of her garments his hand was sliding the strap of the dress from her shoulder, taking with it her bra strap as well.

  She was hardly conscious of it, her whole focus only on the sensations he was arousing in her with his sensuous ministrations to her peaking breast. Only when his hand cupped her did she realise, with a startled little intake of breath, that her breast was now exposed to his view—and to his touch.

  Oh, his touch...!

  Wonder filled her, and a sense of amazement, and along with that a growing, irresistible sense of arousal, of a sensual sexual excitement that was firing within her like a slow-burning flame that suffused her whole body, making a sudden restlessness fill her, so that every nerve ending seemed hyper-aroused and she was ultra aware of her own body...ultra aware of a growing, insistent need...a need for the blissful, arousing touch of his hands, his mouth, to intensify, to be everywhere, to stroke and caress and explore...

  She felt her spine arching of its own accord, as if her body were inviting more of what his mouth and hand were doing at her breast. Another groan broke from her, in a kind of helpless surrender to what was happening to her—a surrender she was making with her own desire...

  For a new hunger was building in her now—a new need not just to lie there, her hands flexing in the pillow, her eyes fluttering shut at the exquisite sensations his ministrations to her bared, exposed and achingly cresting breasts. He had bared both now to his touch and his mouth, and his lips were laving her peaked nipple, his sensitive fingers skilfully squeezing and scissoring.

  This new hunger was moving her limbs restlessly, searchingly, and her seeking hand soon found what it wanted, snaking around the strong column of his neck, her fingers playing in his hair, while her other hand girdled the lean circuit of his waist, as if of its own volition pushing the material of his shirt free from his waistband, sliding across the warm, strong contours of his back.

  It felt glorious, wonderful, exhilarating! And then her legs were sliding sideways, for suddenly she was aching to feel the full length of his body on hers, wanting to feel his hips against hers, his thighs lying within the cradle of hers, to feel—with shock, and amazement, and a catching of her breath in realisation—just what the full weight of his body on hers entailed...

  Did he hear the revealing catching of her breath? He must have, for his mouth lifted from her breast and his eyes were pouring into hers now, those gold flecks burning to molten flame.

  ‘Do you not know how much I desire you?’ There was humour in his voice, but promise, too... His long eyelashes dipped over his molten gaze and his mouth lowered to hers. ‘How very, very much...’

  And suddenly the tenor of his embrace changed. Its slow sensuality quickened, and it was with an abrupt movement that he was pulling his shirt over his head, not bothering with anything so delaying as buttons, before coming down on her again, kissing her again, warmly, persuasively, ardently.

  Then, briskly, he had rolled her over on to her front and was smoothing the material of her dress upwards, lifting her hips and waist, ridding her of all that was not necessary as he turned her back to face him, her long hair tangling around her throat, cascading over her naked breasts.

  For a moment, endless and timeless, he gazed down at her. She heard Greek words breaking from him, and then English, as his gaze devoured her.

  ‘You are so beautiful. Perfect...’

  Then, with another sudden movement he stood up.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  His voice was a growl, and in the dim light he towered over her, his golden torso bronze in the light from the lamps as she gazed upon the perfection she had known that baring would reveal to her.

  And not just the perfection of his torso.

  With a widening of her eyes she realised why he had stood up, for with brisk haste he was casting aside his chinos and the last remaining barrier between them...

  She shut her eyes. It was instinctive, immediate, and even as she did it she heard him laugh. As if in triumph and satisfaction.

  And then she felt his weight beside her on the bed, lying beside her. Felt his hand smooth her hair from her face as she dared to open her eyes again.

  His gaze was pouring down on her once more, desire blazing...

  Then his mouth lowering to hers again. And with bemused wonder she gave herself to every exquisite, sensual caress—for what did she know of how a couple made love, except what she had read or fantasised about in the long, lonely, empty years of her youth?

  And now it was happening. Desire and growing passion were sweeping her away, unleashed kiss by kiss, touch by touch, caress by caress. Caresses that now, emboldened, she was seeking for herself, revelling in the muscled sinews and the warmth of his smooth skin, the contours and sculpting of his spine and hips and broad shoulders as an instinct as old as time urged her on.

  Her spine arched, her breasts pressed against the wall of his chest and her hips crushed his. And then came the shock, the wonder of his arousal for her, his blatant desire, and, oh, the quickening of her own flesh, so that the hunger within her was growing, and mounting.

  She wanted him—dear God, she wanted him... She wanted all of him, wanted his complete possession, wanted to give herself to him as a woman gave herself to a man...totally and all-consuming...

  Her urgency and her hunger were his, answering his. He was cupping her shoulders, rearing up over her only to swoop down on her mouth with one last arousing full-throated kiss...and then he was plunging deep, deep within her as her thighs parted to receive him and her body opened to him...

  Pain knifed through her and a piercing cry was torn from her throat. Her body froze.

  Greek broke from him. Disbelief was in his eyes as he pulled away from her, staring down at her.

  She could not move—could only feel the pain echoing still in her body...the body that was instinctively closing against him now. As it did so he was immediately freeing her, rolling sideways, lifting his weight from her.

  His head whipped towards her and there was still that stunned disbelief in his face. ‘Rosalie! Thee mou—why did you not tell me?’

  Her body had curled instinctively into a foetal position, her thighs pressed close together, her arms, without his body to hold, fallen slackly to her sides.

  She turned her head to him, her expression working, her body and her head a tumult. ‘I...I...’

  She could get no further. And suddenly, out of nowhere—out of the mountainous tower of her emotions and the overwhelming confusion of her mind and body over all that had swept over her—another tearing cry broke from her and she burst into tears. Tears for all that had happened...that had not happened.

  Immediately, with an oath, he brought his arms around her—arms that held her, drew her towards him, rocked her in his embrace, cradling her like a child.

  His voice was no longer shocked, but concerned—comforting. Cherishing. He spoke to her in Greek, soft and mellifluous, and she couldn’t understand a word, nor hear it properly either, through the muffled sobs she stifled on his chest as her face pressed against it, her shoulders convulsing with her tears, her body shaking.

  How long she wept, she didn’t know, but she felt the tears easing from her, felt a kind of washed-out, exhausted calm overcoming her. And still he talked to her, softly and gently, his hand smoothing her back, comforting and reassuring her, holding her close and closer still against him as her body cea
sed its shaking, started to slacken in his arms.

  Exhaustion washed over her, thickening the air, her breath. Her tear-filled eyes were stinging, her eyelids drooping. Her eyes were heavy, so very heavy...her breathing was slowing, easing...

  And then sleep—sweet, sweet sleep—folded over her.

  * * *

  Xandros stood by the sea’s edge, where the morning sun was bright on the water, his thoughts on the woman he had left sleeping in his bed—and not just any woman, not just one of his amours.

  My wife. My bride. My virgin bride...

  He felt his breath catch, felt the contours of his life changing, reshaping themselves. It felt strange. And strangely wonderful...

  Footsteps crunching on the pebbled beach behind him made him turn. His face lit with a warm smile.

  ‘Kalimera,’ he said softly.

  But his new wife—his bride—did not return his smile. Instead she paused in her hesitant approach towards him. He went to her, took her hands in his. She had put on a pair of turquoise shorts, a pink tee. Her hair was loose, she wore not a scrap of make-up—and she looked the most beautiful he had ever seen her...

  He felt something turn over inside him.

  But her expression was troubled.

  He pressed her hands with his, compunction filling him. ‘How are you?’ he asked, with concern in his voice. ‘I am so, so sorry if I... If I hurt you last night. But...’ he took a rueful breath ‘...I simply didn’t realise...’

  He saw colour fill her cheeks, flushing them, watched her gaze drop. Compunction smote him again. He drew her closer to him, dropped a kiss as light as a feather upon her forehead. Her eyes flew up to his again. Their expression was still troubled.

  ‘It’s me who should be apologising!’ The words broke from her. ‘For...for disappointing you!’

  Xandros could only stare at her. Could she really mean that? He kissed her again, on the mouth this time, swiftly, but without passion—only with reassurance.

  ‘Never think that,’ he said firmly. His eyes held hers, intent with meaning. ‘Never. From now on we will take things at the pace you set. And when the time is right—when you are ready—then everything will be all right.’ He smiled down at her, his expression warm, his voice husky as he spoke. ‘I promise you, my beautiful virgin bride, that when you cry out in my arms again it will only be from ecstasy...’