Modern Romance May 2019: Books 5-8

by Cathy Williams

  Mutual attraction was simple and straightforward. She just had to remain clear-headed. Never again would she make the mistake of imagining there was love between them.

  ‘So,’ he murmured, ‘If you like me and I like you...’ That roving hand palmed her bottom and tugged her flush against him. Emma’s breath snagged as his rigid length slid up against that needy spot between her legs. Automatically she curved closer, seeking more.

  ‘Then maybe,’ she finished for him, ‘we should spend more time together.’ On the final word he nudged so close, she felt her flesh part to accommodate him.

  Emma’s eyes widened at how easy it was and how very, very good. She was just wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to pull even herself closer when Christo shook his head, a grimace, as if of pain, tugging at his mouth.

  ‘Wait.’

  Then he was gone, turning away for a condom, leaving her shocked to the core that she hadn’t thought about protection. Giving herself to her husband was becoming the easiest thing in the world.

  Emma chewed on that fact, wondering what heartache that boded for the future.

  It wasn’t just heat building inside her. She told herself it was arousal, hunger for the magic he’d shared with her last night. Emma blocked her mind to the possibility it might be anything more.

  Then Christo was back, wrapping her close, meeting her eyes with a blazing look that banished all doubts. It was, she decided, time to quit worrying and go with the flow.

  He smiled and it was like a light going on in the darkness. The radiance mesmerised her.

  ‘Now, about spending more time together. I have a plan to bring us very close together.’

  ‘You do?’ Her voice was breathless. For his hand was already skimming her thigh, urging her to lift her knee higher over his waist.

  The action spread her open against his groin where furnace-like heat beckoned. Emma shuffled closer and the friction of their bodies aligning sent a zap of energy to every sense receptor. He bumped his hips forward and her breath stopped.

  ‘That feels so good.’

  ‘We haven’t even started yet.’ The devil was in his eyes as he rubbed against her. Then he claimed her mouth in a slow, sultry, seductive kiss that led to a world of bliss. And from there to a whole morning spent in his arms and a haze of delicious wellbeing.

  The haze lingered.

  For four days they stayed in Athens, satisfying the public hunger for sightings of Greece’s favourite billionaire and his new bride.

  It wasn’t as difficult as Emma had expected. Christo made everything easy, diverting her when she felt nervous, introducing her to people who were genuinely pleasant and interesting. Never leaving her side. She grew accustomed to the weight of his arm around her waist, or his long fingers threaded through hers, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  As if her husband enjoyed touching her as much as she delighted in his touch.

  They mingled with the rich and famous at exclusive restaurants, a gala gallery opening and a couple of parties. They had cocktails on the luxury yacht of an Italian billionaire who was interested in Christo’s Athens redevelopment plan. Instead of leaving her to talk business with their host, Christo drew her in and mentioned that the property in question had been owned by her family for years. That she had a commercial interest in it. Emma had been stunned by the acknowledgement, feeling a flush of satisfaction and pride that her Papou’s far-sighted purchase was now to be the centrepiece of a significant development.

  She felt almost sophisticated in a daring designer outfit of white silk trousers and a vibrant red top with a deeply slashed V down the back that Christo couldn’t resist. As they stood talking to their host, Christo kept running his fingers down her bare skin, making her tingle all over.

  A week earlier she’d have thought he was doing it for the benefit of the paparazzi who were settled in small boats with telephoto lenses trained on the cruiser.

  Now she knew better. For if Christo was attentive in public it was nothing to what he was like when they were alone. He was always touching her, always close, always finding new ways to bring her pleasure. She spent all night in his arms. They showered together, ate together, yet the urgent hunger between them grew more, not less, intense.

  It was as if, that first night in Athens, they’d pulled down the barriers to reveal a need that couldn’t be assuaged. Each day it increased. As if this were a proper marriage and they really were honeymooners.

  When Emma let slip that despite her stop-overs in Athens she’d never visited the Acropolis, Christo arranged a special tour. One of the site’s archaeological experts guided them around the ancient hilltop on their final afternoon. It was a wonderful experience. Even the throng of tourists, some of whom were as interested in her and Christo as in the marble temples, didn’t detract from it.

  Standing at the perimeter wall—watching the sunset wash the city apricot, gold then finally deep violet, as their guide told them tales of long ago—Christo pulled her back against his powerful frame, arms wrapped around her, his breath stroking her hair.

  Emma felt such contentment, such joy, that for a moment it frightened her. Until she remembered she was taking one day at a time. That what they shared was based on desire, not love, and as such it couldn’t last.

  Strange that the knowledge wasn’t as comforting as before.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THREE WEEKS AFTER their time together in Athens and things were excellent. Satisfaction filled Christo as he strode from the car park towards the old part of Corfu Town.

  Anthea was growing into a happy kid instead of an apprehensive one. She adored Emma who, far from keeping her distance with a stranger’s child, gave her all the warmth and encouragement she craved. Pleasure filled him, thinking of the pair together. He couldn’t have asked for more.

  The nanny’s recent resignation on the grounds that life at the villa was too quiet was a relief. Her play for his attention still rankled. Now he had to secure a new carer but meanwhile Dora’s niece filled the role admirably.

  There’d been no more innuendo in the world’s press about a runaway bride. Instead he and Emma had been dubbed the world’s most besotted newlyweds.

  Business proceeded on schedule with none of the expected negative fallout. Actually, there was more potential investor interest in his latest project than before, thanks to the Athens publicity. His bride had been a massive hit.

  And the fireworks between him and Emma were now only of the sexual sort. No more flare-ups of indignation or accusation.

  Heat smote his belly. Emma was so passionate, so eager.

  The one thing that surprised him was how their intimacy wasn’t confined to sex. It simmered between them, as if some invisible filament bound them together—their bodies but also their minds, their thoughts, even their amusement at the same things.

  Christo slung his jacket over his shoulder and quickened his step through the late-afternoon throng. Emma wasn’t expecting him and he looked forward to her welcome. Sex was phenomenal with his virgin bride, a quick learner who drove him to the brink with a mere touch. But just as alluring was the way her hazel eyes widened with delight whenever she saw him. Then they glittered more green than brown, a sign, he’d learned, that she was excited or happy.

  Making Emma happy was fast becoming one of his favourite things.

  He strode along the Liston, the wide, marble-paved pedestrian street edging the old town. On one side graceful colonnaded buildings lined the road, housing restaurants. On the other, the restaurants’ shady outdoor seating gave onto the park with its unexpected cricket pitch, a quirk dating from the years of British rule. There was an elegance to the beautiful street, now full of promenading visitors, locals and waiters hurrying past with loaded trays. But he didn’t have time to linger. He was here to find his wife.

  As usual the word ‘wife’ stirred a zap of anticipation.

  He’d left Athens a day early, arriving in Corfu on Thursday, because af
ter four days of long hours in Athens he wanted Emma.

  Once the idea of rearranging his schedule to be with a woman would have perturbed him. Now he viewed it as a perk of marriage. He had a desirable wife. Why wouldn’t he spend time with her? He was CEO, after all. Careful planning, a couple of extra-long days and a little delegation meant everything was under control.

  He turned left into one of the narrow lanes that snaked between tall Venetian-style buildings with their pastel colours and long shutters. Small shops did a brisk trade and he dodged souvenir hunters and families with ice-creams, delighted at the anonymity he found so hard to achieve in Athens.

  Since his youth Christo’s actions had been reported and scrutinised. He’d spent his life carrying the weight of expectation, first of his demanding father, then of the business world and, latterly, the public with its unending appetite for gossip about the rich and famous.

  Maybe that was why he liked this island so much. With a few precautions he was generally free to do as he liked.

  Right now he liked the idea of surprising his wife.

  Consulting his phone, he took a turning, then another, passing a small square with a tiny church and a vibrant burst of pink bougainvillea shading patrons at a café. Another turn and...

  Christo pulled up mid-stride.

  His breath hissed between his teeth as a phantom fist landed a punch to his gut. He rocked back then found his balance in the wide-set stance of a man ready to defend what was his.

  For there was Emma, hair high in an elegant style that left her slender, sexy neck bare. She wore one of her new outfits, cream trousers that clung to the curves of her rump and hips before falling loosely to jewelled sandals that exactly matched the amber of her sleeveless top.

  She looked delicious enough to sink his teeth into. But Christo’s attention zeroed in on the man with her. The man standing too close, his hand on her arm, his smiling face bent towards her.

  Emma didn’t mind. She smiled and nodded, listening as he leaned in to murmur in her ear.

  Christo surged forward, ignoring the strange sensation, as if both his lungs and his throat constricted.

  A bevy of chattering teenagers came in from a side-street, impeding his progress. By the time he reached the doorway where Emma had stood, the guy was gone and she was a glow of colour further ahead.

  Impatient, he strode to catch up with her, his hand curling around her elbow.

  ‘Christo! What are you doing here?’

  Watching the excited green spark in her eyes, basking in the warmth of her smile, the fierce blaze in his belly dimmed and he found himself smiling back.

  ‘Looking for you.’ Her soft skin felt so good. Her lush honey scent was rich as nectar.

  Christo’s chest filled with a wild riot of feelings. He recognised pleasure and relief and refused to go further. Yet even a man committed to avoiding extreme emotion registered the depth of his relief.

  Had he been scared Emma was more interested in the stranger than him? It didn’t take a psychologist to read the scars of his mother’s behaviour there.

  To Emma he’d implied he hadn’t known about his mother’s betrayal till the end. Actually, he’d known most of his life. It was only when he’d found her with a teenager from his own high school, just two years older than himself, that Christo had finally cracked. There’d been no hiding from his father the smashed furniture or his bruised knuckles as he’d taken the other guy down. His mother had hated him for that and his father had withdrawn even further.

  Christo had learned not to trust women, even when they came at a high price. Not to expect love or even companionship. He’d thought of a wife only as an asset, a commodity.

  Looking into Emma’s open features and the genuine smile curling her lips, Christo had a revelation.

  He didn’t want it to be that way.

  The chains of the past were too restrictive. He wanted...

  The idea of what he wanted stunned him.

  * * *

  ‘Where are we going?’ Emma couldn’t suppress the smile that kept breaking out. She’d missed Christo ever since he’d left for Athens on Monday morning. Here he was, back early.

  For her? A shiver of excitement tugged through her belly and she strove to suppress it.

  ‘Somewhere we can talk.’ He threaded a way through the maze of alleys, emerging on the road behind the neoclassical Palace of St Michael and St George. Minutes later they descended a ramp built into the city walls to the tiny Faleraki beach.

  It was one of her favourite places. Quiet and cut off from the bustle, the little bay looked across the water to the city ramparts, the towering Old Fortress, and beneath it the marina packed with yachts. Further down the beach a ramshackle pier provided a platform for local kids who were fooling around and jumping into the depths.

  Christo led her to the point at the end of the small beach and the outdoor café. Unsurprisingly, a waiter emerged instantly, leading them to a shaded spot apart from other tables. It was the sort of thing that happened all the time with Christo, whether because they recognised his face or read him as a man who expected and happily paid for the best.

  Instead of a table, they were installed on a comfortable couch under a wide umbrella. Their cool drinks and a platter of food arrived minutes later, set on the glass coffee table beyond which the aquamarine shallows gave way to deeper water the colour of lapis lazuli.

  Emma sighed and sank back into the cushioned seat. She could get used to this.

  Just as she’d grown used to the warmth of Christo’s hand enfolding hers and the buzz of delight she got when he looked at her as if she were special. Those eyes...

  Her heartbeat stuttered and seemed to pause before stumbling back into rhythm.

  No. She wouldn’t allow flights of fancy. This charge of excitement, like his heated expression, was about desire, attraction and physical pleasure. Nothing more.

  ‘What brought you back from Athens?’ He shrugged, those powerful shoulders riding high. Still he held her hand and it struck her that his expression was different, more guarded than she’d seen it in weeks. ‘Is everything all right? Are you okay?’

  She sensed something had changed. Something important.

  His response proved her too fanciful. ‘Everything’s perfect. Just as it should be.’ He leaned across to add ice to his ouzo, watching it cloud. ‘I simply felt like taking a long weekend.’

  Christo turned, lifting his glass. Automatically Emma raised her glass of tangy local ginger beer.

  ‘Yia mas.’ To us. A traditional toast, but when Christo leaned near, with that blazing look in his eyes, Emma felt...

  She blanked that thought, wishing she’d ordered a shot of fiery ouzo instead of a soft drink. Something to jerk her out of useless imaginings.

  ‘Who was that man?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The man you were with.’ Emma caught the echo of something hard in Christo’s tone, like steel hidden beneath velvet. For a moment she wondered if it could be jealousy. The possibility made something foolish within her swell.

  ‘A local businessman.’

  Christo sipped his drink then put it down and turned more fully towards her.

  ‘And his business with you?’ There it was again, a hint of sharpness.

  Emma was torn between delight and disappointment. Just because Christo was possessive didn’t mean anything. She was, for now, his wife. She’d seen how far he’d go to protect the public image of a happy couple.

  The bubbling happiness she’d felt since the moment he’d sought her out in the old town faded.

  ‘Emma?’ Concern coloured his voice as he took her drink from her fingers then captured that hand too. ‘What’s wrong? What did he—?’

  ‘Nothing! Nothing’s wrong. He didn’t do anything.’ With a deep breath she pushed aside that silly sense of dissatisfaction and smiled. ‘He runs a business decorating and catering for weddings. He interviewed me for a job.’

  ‘A job?’ She mig
ht have said she was flying to the moon, given his expression of blank surprise.

  ‘Something to use my skills.’ And earn an income. She needed funds to get her business off the ground. She didn’t want to wait ten months till they went their separate ways and she received money from the Athens project.

  ‘You’re bored?’

  Emma tilted her head, surveying him. ‘I need to work, Christo. The villa is lovely and I have exciting plans to turn it into an exclusive resort. But that’s longer term.’ At least till she could get money to seed the first stages.

  ‘This man—he offered you a job?’

  Emma saw the tight angle of Christo’s jaw and hesitated. ‘He’s consulting his partner first, but he was very positive.’

  In fact, his enthusiasm had given Emma pause. The work had sounded good, despite the commuting time from the villa, but he’d been a little too friendly, his personal interest in her obvious. She hadn’t really felt comfortable, had already decided...

  ‘I don’t want you working for him.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘He’s not trustworthy.’

  ‘You know him?’ Christo was a stranger to the area.

  ‘I know his type. It wasn’t business he had in mind.’

  Exactly what Emma had thought. Yet Christo’s assertion, implying he had the final say over her actions, stirred indignation. She tugged a hand from his and picked up her glass, taking a long swallow, then putting it down with a click on the table.

  ‘I will decide whether or not to take the job.’

  The glint in his eyes told her he wanted to disagree. ‘You’re my wife. You don’t need to work.’

  Emma arched her eyebrows. ‘You’re worried what people will think?’ She could just about forgive his attempted intervention, given her own concerns about the guy who’d interviewed her. But to be told she couldn’t work because of Christo’s image...

  Christo shook his head. ‘I’m not trying to trap you at home. I have nothing against you having a job. I’ll help you find one, if you like. I just don’t want someone trying to take advantage of you.’