by Trish Morey
Only when he released her lip one final time did she open her eyes. He sighed then, almost as if he was reluctantly giving himself over to something he didn’t quite understand, but there was no time to ponder his expression once he uttered his next words.
‘Then come to bed.’
And, just like his caresses, his lovemaking was slow and languid, his movements designed to extract every last drop of pleasure from the act. His hands explored her skin, rounding over her curves, dipping into her hollows, taking his time as if he was reading her through his fingertips. And all the while his mouth worshipped her, tasting her, laving her.
Slow, exquisite torture. The pace suited her mood, matched her needs. And gave her the time to drink in his body, to memorise the lines of his sculpted torso. Because she would tell him tonight—in the lush afterglow of sex, when the memory of their lovemaking might mellow his response. And then finally there would be no lies between them, no deception.
But that would be later. Right now she accepted each tender kiss, each gentle caress, mentally documenting them along with every taste, every different texture of his skin, storing them away as if they might be her last opportunity.
And even when they finally came together—their bodies so slick as if oiled, their breathing coming fast—even then he controlled the pace, driving into her purposefully, lending his entire length to her, then resting subtly before withdrawing, achingly slowly, tormenting her, driving her crazy before thrusting into her again. And in this way, slowly, steadily, inexorably, she felt it building, an overwhelming force that lifted her higher and higher as he continued his relentless drive into her until there was nowhere left to go, nowhere left to climb.
She sensed his body still, accepted one more surging thrust, and with a cry she came apart, clutching at the bedclothes, clutching for him, clutching to keep a hold on a universe that was coming to pieces all around her. He shuddered into her, prolonging her release, sending her spinning even further out of control with his own pulsing energy to a place beyond reason, beyond experience.
She lay in his arms gasping for air as the last waves rocked through her, gradually subsiding. His heartbeat was like a drum, rock steady, pulling her back to normality. It had never been this good. It had never felt that powerful. And there was no question that she’d been wrong.
It wasn’t over between them. No way could you make love like that with a person who meant nothing to you. Even with her limited experience of relationships, that much at least seemed obvious. Loukas must feel something for her. Even if it in no way matched the heart-swelling surge of this new love she felt for him, he had to feel something.
And that knowledge gave her courage. She would tell him. This didn’t have to be a repeat of that night in Yarrabee. Garry had never cared about her. Both of them had wanted different things that night. She’d wanted to finally know what it was like to have a boy interested in you—a boy who thought you were pretty enough to take out and make feel special. But all Garry had wanted was a quick lay.
She shoved the bitter memories back to the past where they belonged. Loukas wouldn’t react the same way—couldn’t react the same way—not after what they’d shared together. And if he did? Her heart rate jerked up a notch. When he discovered she was imperfect, that she was scarred, that she was not the woman he’d thought her to be, would he really accept her then?
She swallowed back her fears. It made no difference now. The time had come.
‘Loukas?’ she murmured, unable to resist the temptation of running her fingers over his muscular chest, through the wiry spring of the dark hairs, around the firm nub of his nipple for what might well end up being the last time.
His hand snared hers, stilling her movements, holding her captive. The suddenness of his action startled her, as did the rough way he abruptly discarded her hand and twisted away, almost wrenching his arm out from underneath her.
‘What is it?’
His voice sounded strangely harsh, as if he’d returned to that dark mood he’d been in earlier, and she felt her courage waver. The way he’d left her side, turning his back on her—so much for taking advantage of the warm afterglow of love. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. She couldn’t keep this secret for ever. And the longer she tried, the more difficult it would become, the more dangerous the possible repercussions.
‘Loukas,’ she repeated softly, steeling herself for the inevitable shock that would follow her revelation. ‘T-turn on the light. I’ve got something to tell you.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HE ROSE from the bed, bile burning in the back of his throat, the passions of the last half-hour obliterated in the knowledge that he had to act soon if he had any chance of saving his sister.
‘I hope so,’ he tossed in reply, without turning. ‘It’s time someone shed some light on things around here.’ He threw her robe across to the bed automatically, as he’d learned to do the last few nights, acceding to the bizarre code of embarrassment she lived by.
Without looking back he zipped himself into a pair of jeans, and then he stood at the window, watching the reflection from the moon light a path across the water.
He’d known it would come to this since the first moment they’d met. There was no way for them ever to be more than enemies—not in the long run—not with what he had to do. And now, after what his father had told him, now there was no way around it. So why was he hesitating? Why now was he finding it so difficult to do that about which he had no choice?
Because you’re going to hurt her.
He pushed the thought back to where it had sprung from. That shouldn’t be a consideration—it was inevitable that she would be upset, but it had never factored into the equation before. So why now?
‘Loukas?’
He gazed out over the bay, watching the water shimmer under the path of the moonlight while everywhere beyond was black. Zoë had loved the sea. She’d once shone as brilliantly as that slash of light bisecting the water, making everyone and everything around her fade into amorphous shades of grey.
But she didn’t shine any more. She would never shine again. Grace Della-Bosca and her cronies had extinguished the spark that had been Zoë, preying on her insecurities, feeding her own self-doubts, and ultimately destroying her with a drug-crazed hand.
And he’d be damned if Della-Bosca was going to get a chance to do the same to his sister!
He swung around, facing the bed and its sole occupant, both little more than dull shapes in the dark room.
‘Tell me what you know about my sister, Olympia.’
Silence followed his question. He saw the outline that was Jade move to sit up, reaching for what he took to be her robe.
‘I didn’t even know you had a sister. You’ve never mentioned her.’
He laughed out loud. As if he’d have to mention it! He knew Olympia was a client. She’d told her mother she was booked in—there was no mistake. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to believe that?’
‘You can believe what you like, but it’s the truth. As far as I know I’ve never met your sister. What makes you think I have?’
‘Come on! Is that what she tells you to say whenever someone starts asking difficult questions?’
‘What who tells me to say?’
Her voice had dropped the defensive attitude and taken on a more argumentative tone. Good! Maybe he might get somewhere yet. He watched her silhouette rise from the bed, saw movement as she thrust her arms into the robe.
‘Who do you think? That woman you work for. Della-Bosca.’
‘You’re talking about Dr Della-Bosca, I take it?’
She rounded the bed, snapping a switch as she reached the door, and suddenly everything moved from the shadows and was bathed in colour and light.
He looked at her, at the dishevelled hair flying untamed around her colour-tinged cheeks, her accusing eyes, the peacock-blue robe cinched tightly around her waist and her arms crossed firmly over her chest, and he realised all too soon his m
istake.
So much for the softly-softly approach he’d intended! Instead he’d gone in all guns blazing, and now it was too late to pull back. Especially when all her continued denials achieved was to further fuel his anger.
‘Why bother to call her a doctor at all?’ he sniped. ‘Witch doctor would be more appropriate!’
Her gasp told him he’d punched the air right out of her lungs, and her features were masked with shock. Thank God. She needed to hear the truth, even if she didn’t like it. She had to face up to the kind of woman she was working for—the kind of woman she herself was no doubt becoming, if she wasn’t already there. Why else would she defend her so stridently?
‘What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden?’ she demanded, unfolding her arms only to plant her hands defiantly on her hips. ‘Grace is doing work that’s world-renowned. You know that. Who are you to criticise her? What is your problem?’
‘I expected you to defend her.’
‘Of course I’m going to defend her! Somebody needs to, given she’s not here to defend herself. Who the hell are you to attack her this way?’
‘Who am I? Just someone who knows what she’s really like. Someone who has seen what that monster can do and think she can get away with it. And someone who’s going to make damn sure she doesn’t get a chance to destroy my sister’s life!’
By the time he’d finished his outburst he was shouting, his chest heaving, one hand curled into a fist, ramming against the air with every point he made.
This was madness. Her mind reeled under the force of his tirade, the force of his hatred. But she had to stay calm—stay calm, breathe deeply, and then get the hell out of there!
‘I told you before, and I’m telling you now, I don’t know and have never heard of your sister.’ Her voice surprised her with its even quality. Thank God. Someone had to keep control here. She took another lungful of air, praying that her tone would have some soothing effect on Loukas’s mood. ‘Come and search our database if you don’t believe me. There is no Olympia Demakis on our files anywhere.’
‘She’s married.’ He spat the words out impatiently, as if she should have known. ‘Her name is Kovac now.’
‘Kovac?’ The cogs in her mind freewheeled before crunching to a grinding halt before a petite blonde-haired girl with massive insecurities. Surely not. But the first name—she could have shortened it…
‘Are you telling me that Pia Kovac is your sister?’
‘Pia.’ He sniffed as his eyes lit up with a ferocious gleam. Of course. He should have known she’d erase anything from her life that reminded her of her Greek father. ‘So you do know her. You’ve known of her all along.’
‘I had no idea she was your sister. You two look nothing alike.’
That’s because she’s not my sister, he thought with a dose of bitterness, still getting used to the idea. Instead he said, ‘Olympia is the child of my father’s second wife.’
Who was obviously not of Greek descent, Jade thought, scratching to find any similarities between Loukas and Pia in either looks or personality that might have warned her the two were related. What had happened to his mother? She knew nothing about his family though she’d told him so much of her own. Why was that?
‘So when is she scheduled for surgery? I will come and collect her from the clinic before it.’
Loukas’s question broke into her thoughts, his assumption that he could just walk in and take control of his sister clashing violently with everything she knew about doctor-patient ethics.
‘Now, hang on! I can’t discuss that with you. Matters between a patient and her doctor are confidential.’
‘But you will talk to her about this surgery. Tell her not to go ahead!’
‘I’ve already spoken to her, and she wants to go ahead with the procedures.’ She didn’t have to tell him that she’d already tried to talk the girl out of the breast augmentation operation. Jade wasn’t comfortable with the extent of the surgery, or the way that Grace seemed almost too eager to accede to her requests. ‘And while I can advise her, ultimately it’s Pia’s choice—not mine, and most definitely not yours. Like it or not, you just have to respect that.’
‘You can’t let her do this. You have to stop her!’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t see how I can stop her. I don’t understand why I should even try.’
‘She will not be operated on by that woman! I won’t allow it.’
‘Then why don’t you tell her that? She’s your sister after all. Why don’t you just go and stop her yourself?’
He spun around and faced the window, looking out to sea. He was like a storm cloud in the otherwise clear night sky. He was crashing waves and dangerous reefs and she’d been well and truly shipwrecked. And she’d all but steered a course for those rocks herself, ensuring she’d be smashed to smithereens.
But maybe she wasn’t his only victim. Maybe she wasn’t all he’d wrecked.
‘I get it now,’ she said to the strong lines of his back. ‘You two don’t get along.’
‘She’s not talking to me at the moment. That’s all.’
‘So little sister doesn’t like being bossed around and bullied by big brother?’
‘It’s not like that,’ he said, facing her. ‘I was trying to stop her doing something stupid. I tried to stop her marrying that celebrity disaster, but she wouldn’t listen to me—and now she’s stuck with him.’
‘So it is like that! I can believe it. Well, I’ve got news for you. I don’t like being pushed around either! Whatever this communication problem you have with your sister, you work it out. Don’t expect me to do your dirty work.’
She turned and let her eyes scour the floor, looking to pick up her scattered clothes. His hand closed around her arm like an iron manacle.
‘I won’t have her so much as touched by that woman!’
She wrenched back on her arm, but it was stuck firm in his grip. ‘You’re mad,’ she sneered through bared teeth. ‘I don’t understand what your problem is with plastic surgery in general or with Grace in particular, but you’re wrong—you’re way off base.’
‘Am I? So the drug-taking, her operating stoned, the scarring she’s caused—the deaths!—all of that is off base too?’
‘What?’
‘You can’t pretend you don’t know. You can’t pretend you haven’t heard the stories—the botched surgeries, the hushed-up case histories.’
‘None of what you’re saying is true—none of it.’
‘Forget it, Jade. You don’t have to defend her now. I’m giving you the chance to come clean and tell the real story. Get it off your conscience.’
‘Okay. I do know the real story. I work with the woman. I live with her! And what I know is that you shouldn’t believe every piece of dirt you hear about a person. So you’ve heard rumours—they’re nothing more. How do you think Grace could keep operating if any of those stories were true?’
‘No!’ He let go his grip on her arm and slammed his open palm down on the dressing table. ‘You don’t get out of this with that rumour crap. I know those stories are real. I know what she’s like—what she’s done.’
‘And how do you know? What the hell is she supposed to have done that could be so damning? And don’t give me any more rumours or hearsay—I want to hear what you think you know. Just what has Grace done that is so damned bad?’
He loomed over her, looking larger and more dominating right now than she’d ever seen him. She saw the spark of fire in his eyes, saw his lips peel back from his teeth. He reminded her of a wild animal going in for the strike—and for the first time tonight she felt truly afraid.
‘You want to hear what she did? You really want to know? Then listen to this—because it’s no rumour. Your whiter-than-snow doctor murdered my fiancée.’
The room spun and whirled—or was it just her mind, overcome with Loukas’s crazy claims? She had to get away—he was too close, too imposing. The way his eyes flashed with something that looked l
ike triumph—it had to be a form of madness, whatever was eating him up, and she was much too close to his madness here. She veered away, seeking distance from his wild eyes, putting the bed between them.
‘Do you realise what you’re saying? You’ve just accused Grace of murder. You can’t be serious.’
‘I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life. She did it. She murdered Zoë. And I’m going to make damned sure she doesn’t get the same opportunity with Olympia.’
His chest heaved under his dark and dangerous visage, his broad naked chest expanding rapidly with each sharp intake of air, emphasising the width of his shoulders and the power of his muscular torso all over, all the way down, down to where the skin disappeared beneath the denim. She swallowed.
Even now, even while he was accusing someone she looked up to more than anyone else in the world, even despite all that, she could hardly tear her eyes away. He looked like some supremely powerful predator, ready to spring, ready for the kill.
She battled to drag her eyes higher, refusing to think about what lay under that worn denim, what they’d been doing before the craziness had begun. Because if he was the hunter, then she was the prey—and he’d already feasted tonight. She’d as good as served herself up to him.
And yet, from what his words revealed, it had never been about her. Everything had been about Grace from the start! He’d been at the Gala not to meet Jade, as he’d said, but to feed some sick vendetta.
And she’d been caught up in his madness, had fallen victim to his rich magnetism, letting him keep her in his bed, letting him make love to her all those times.
Sickness pressed urgently in her throat—a vile taste that rebuked her for her own naïveté. How could she ever have believed she was falling in love with him? She’d been so gullible, so pathetically flattered by this man’s interest. Just like before. Just like the last time. And this time she’d even managed to convince herself that he cared for her too.