by Robyn Donald
When she coloured his smile turned feral, almost wolfish, but to her mounting—and bewildered—frustration he took a step back, so he could survey her with half-closed eyes.
From a safer distance, she thought, tantalised beyond endurance. He wanted her—she could see that he wanted her—so what was preventing him from following through?
Short of blurting, Take me, I’m yours, like an ingénue in a melodrama, she couldn’t make her need any plainer without humiliating herself. All her fears rushed back, pooling in a cold mass beneath her ribs.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ he said.
‘It’s lovely.’ Her voice was wooden and before he could see her disappointment she turned and said stiffly, ‘Can you undo it, please? I’ll wear it when we get married.’
She waited, and felt her skin prickle at the light touch of his fingers as he unclasped the necklace.
And then he said in a tense, goaded voice, ‘I shall look forward to that. But at the moment all I can think of is making love to you while you are wearing it—and nothing else.’
So what’s stopping you?
She turned her head to look up into a face drawn and dark with hunger. Her breath came quick and fierce, her temperature soared into the stratosphere, and the keen desire became a torrent, a force she couldn’t deny.
‘Iona,’ he said, on a hard, fast note.
At long last he bent his black head and kissed her, plunging deep into her mouth with no finesse, a driving imperative that swept her into something perilously close to ecstasy. Like a conqueror, he took what he wanted in a kiss so ravishing she moaned into his mouth.
His head jerked up; he scanned her face, then gave a long jagged sigh and swivelled her around, his arms closing about her in a grip that revealed his arousal. Iona shuddered, and his grip relaxed, but she tightened the arms around his shoulders, shamelessly pressing against him and rotating her hips in slight, seductive movements.
His thick, impeded voice muttered something in Greek before he demanded, ‘How the hell can I withstand such temptation?’
‘Why do you want to?’ she flung back at him.
He moved lightning fast, pinning her hips against his loins so she could feel their strength and the urgent hunger that possessed him. Her pulses rocketed even higher and her lashes drooped in sultry, involuntary invitation.
Luke slid his hands into her hair and tilted her head so he could stare into her eyes. Almost formally he said, ‘I want two different things, and the wanting is tearing me apart. I wish to show you respect—that I value you, and am not merely using you to fulfil my own purposes. Perhaps I misjudged, but I thought making love should wait until after our wedding.’
Joy ricocheted through her, setting off small explosions of pleasure and delight. She said huskily, ‘You did misjudge! I hope you’re not one of those men who believe a bride is somehow too pure to want or enjoy sex?’
‘No!’ he said explosively, and laughed, his eyes glittering with appreciation. ‘How is it that I never know what you’re going to say next?’
‘Because you don’t understand women very well?’
Something hard moved in the tawny depths of his eyes, and his tone had a ring of aloofness to it. ‘I have no problems with most women—it’s just you who continually surprises me.’ He bent a little further, so that his lips just grazed hers. Against them he said, ‘I want you so very, very much. But if we make love now I will be cheating you of the wedding night you deserve…’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t feel cheated whatever we do,’ she said shakily, adding with a hint of bite in her words, ‘But if you come over all noble on me now I’m going to be seriously frustrated.’
His laughter came from deep in his throat, and he startled her by sweeping her up in his arms. ‘I like it that you are so honest about your need for me,’ he said, looking down into her face. His arms tightened around her as he headed towards the bedroom wing.
He carried her along the wide, shady terrace, through the scents of the night, the silvery light of the moon, into his room.
‘Do you mind?’ he asked, setting her down on her feet.
She looked around, remembering other nights here in this tropical ambience, all cool wood and white paint with touches of blue. ‘What about Chloe?’
‘I have another baby monitor in here, just in case she wakes—which she rarely does.’ And then he set her down on her feet and said in a voice that came close to a growl, ‘I want to ravish you, and you make the most erotic soft cries when that happens. Possibly that might wake her if we go to your room.’
Colour burned up through her skin as her blood leapt at the need that smouldered in his eyes, the dangerous note in his words. Fighting a desperate desire, she slid her hands up beneath his shirt. His skin was hot and smooth against her seeking palms, his heart thundering into her palms with a rapid, primal beat that echoed within her.
She said huskily, ‘Do I?’
‘Don’t you remember?’ he purred, and eased away so he could strip off his shirt.
It was amazing to realise what details had imprinted themselves on her mind. Powerfully muscled, with the dusting of dark hair across his wide chest adding to his virile impact, he was all male.
Next to him she felt small and fragile, yet unafraid. ‘I remember,’ she whispered, and leaned up to kiss his shoulder, allowing her tongue to drift sensuously over the smooth, taut skin.
He tasted slightly salty, a flavour that was dark and delicious and entirely his own. And that simple caress made him shiver, contracted the lean muscles against her into hard, heady potency.
Excitement thrilled through Iona, voluptuous and addictive, setting her alight with a fire that had never been truly extinguished. Her breasts tightened in ardent anticipation, the nipples pressing against the fabric of her camisole, urgent and pleading.
Luke looked down. ‘Yes,’ he drawled wickedly, ‘I can see that you do.’
He caught her close and kissed her again, mouth exploring as he tried to remove the only barrier between them.
After a few shattering seconds he tore his mouth loose and demanded, ‘Is this some sort of corset? Don’t tell me they’re coming back into fashion?’
‘No.’ It was all she could think of to say; waves of shattering pleasure were tossing her higher and higher.
‘Hmm, perhaps it’s a pity. This is hard enough to take off and a corset would be worse, but I can imagine you in something ribboned and laced, alluring as hell and damned dangerous…’
His fingers eased the reluctant fabric upwards. ‘When I saw you again in the apartment, all alabaster skin and sweet curves, I wondered why the hell I’d let you go.’
‘You didn’t let me go,’ she managed, holding up her arms so that the garment could come over her head. ‘I left.’
His hands closed for a sensuous second around her breasts before she was free of the camisole. And this time he kissed her without interruption, slowly backing her across the room until her legs met the side of the bed, and only his arms held her up. His mouth travelled the length of her throat, stopping at the intensely sensitive junction of shoulder and neck. Gently, carnally, he bit the skin there.
Adrenalin rushed through Iona, so mingled with eagerness and anticipation that she gasped and turned her head into his shoulder. Those tiny nibbling kisses gave no quarter; he had remembered the exact location of each hidden pleasure point, and set them on fire with his deliberately tormenting lips.
Astonishingly, before that too-knowing mouth had journeyed anywhere near her breasts, the preliminary signs of ecstasy sent a molten tension zinging across every nerve and cell in her body.
‘What is it?’ he asked against her skin, and when she shivered under an inrush of clamouring pleasure, he murmured in a voice that held both amusement and passion, ‘Ah, I remember this also…’ and resumed his ruthless seduction.
The ravishing tension became too much; resist as she did, she felt it ride her like a whirlwind, until the climax h
it her and she collapsed, still locked in his arms.
He laughed softly and said, ‘Do you know how that makes me feel?’
‘Ch-cheated?’ she muttered, her bones refusing to hold her upright.
‘Far from it. I like…no, I revel in the knowledge that I can do that to you. It makes me feel ten feet tall…’
He kissed her hard then, without finesse, a fiery kiss that let her know more than any words could just how much he wanted her, then tumbled her backwards onto the bed, skilfully removing her trousers, and with them the briefs she wore beneath, so that she lay fully exposed to his heated, desirous gaze.
In a thickened voice he said, ‘I suspect I am not going to be able to last long enough to give you the second round of pleasure you deserve for making me feel like that.’
‘It won’t matter,’ she whispered, adoring him with her gaze, her lashes drooping so heavily at the stunning impact of all that untrammelled masculinity that she had to blink several times before she could lift them.
He tore off the rest of his clothes, revealing his muscled elegance, sleekly powerful, as he came down beside her. Tanned skin gleaming in the shafts of moonlight across the floor, he bent his head and kissed the peak of one flushed breast, his mouth closing over the tight, pleading nipple.
Iona’s back arched off the bed, and the delicious sensations that had ebbed slightly surged back, pulsating through her as he gave his full attention to the other breast.
‘You taste like honey and roses,’ he said, and turned his head so that his roughened cheek swept across one over-sensitive nipple.
Iona shuddered, and he said urgently, ‘I’m sorry—’
‘No,’ she breathed, and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. ‘It felt wonderful. Don’t stop…’
‘Your skin is so delicate,’ he said, and kissed the track his cheek had taken, then moved down to loop a chain of kisses around her waist.
Iona tensed, her senses tuned so exquisitely she shuddered. He took her throat, then lifted one hand, tracing from her mouth down the centre line of her body, delicately caressing the tiny hollow beneath her waist, and edging further until those knowledgeable fingers found the most sensitive part of her body.
That acute awareness gave way to a flood of heated anticipation, wine-sweet with promise; holding her breath, taut with desire, she waited.
Instead he lifted his head and said, ‘You’re sure?’
‘So sure I might just do something drastic if you don’t keep going.’ Her voice was hoarse, the words coming in short gasps as her spine arched again, pushing into his hand in a silent plea.
‘One of these days,’ he said, wicked glints in his eyes, ‘I shall find out just what you threaten me with, but for now I cannot…cannot…’
His voice died away as his fingers slid inside her. Iona stiffened at the enormous surge of molten pleasure his touch summoned, her lashes fluttering down to shut out his dark intent face.
‘It’s too much,’ she said hoarsely.
‘Look at me,’ he said in a thick, goaded voice. ‘Look at me.’
His thumb brushed across her, and she arced at the bursting sweetness from the slight pressure while tiny shivers chased each other through her, each more reckless than the last.
Eyes suddenly dark, he said, ‘No—not yet, Iona. Not yet. Wait for me.’ And he settled his lean body over her, supporting himself on his elbows so she wasn’t crushed by his weight.
Tormented by erotic craving, she felt every nerve in her body tense under a rushing overload of voluptuous sensation.
‘Take me now,’ Luke said on a raw, dangerous note, and thrust, making himself master of her reactions in one strong movement.
Voluptuous sensation rocketed through her, piercing her with a delight so powerful she almost fainted. Locking her arms around his powerful, sweat-slicked back, she met his fierce sexual drive as fiercely, tightening around him with demanding internal muscles.
Easily, naturally, they established a soaring rhythm, blocking out everything but the desperate, sensuous craving in each that fed off the other. Deep within Iona a divine anticipation built and built, pushing her ever closer to the mindlessness of rapture.
And then it came, a starburst of ecstasy in every cell, banishing everything but an addictive intoxication that sang through her. Luke flung back his head and she forced open her eyes, watching the starkly drawn contours of his face as he joined her in their private sensual paradise.
Slowly, slowly, she came down, his beloved weight anchoring her, safe as she hadn’t been since the last time she’d been in Luke’s bed, in his arms.
Without realising it she’d longed for this, and not just the torrid surrender to desire, but the comfort and security of his arms. Eighteen months ago in this bed she’d returned to the world of the senses, able to enjoy the taste of food, the scents she’d ignored, the colours and hues of life, the feel of the sea on her skin, the sounds of laughter and music and birdsong.
Now she ached to yield herself entirely to him, yet didn’t dare. The sex had been mind-blowing before, but recognising her love had added an extra richness to it. She opened her eyes a slit. Luke was watching her, his mouth oddly grim, although it softened when he caught her peeping at him.
‘Stop looking so guilty,’ he said.
Colour burned along her cheeks. ‘I’ve just broken the first commandment of all employees,’ she replied, trying to sound bright and in control.
‘Don’t sleep with the boss?’
‘That’s the one.’
His brows lifted. ‘If sleeping with the boss is forbidden, what’s the commandment about marrying him?’
‘I don’t think that’s covered in the lexicon,’ she said primly, tensing as his hand drifted down to curve around one breast. Trying to ignore the little tingles of response, she went on, ‘Luke, I’d better get back to my own bed. Chloe—’
‘We’ll hear her.’ He nodded at the baby monitor. As if in answer a small snuffle emerged from it, dying into silence.
Iona said, ‘I want to go back to my own room.’ When he frowned she said, ‘It’s all been a bit too much. I need time.’
‘What for?’ He didn’t sound angry, but he wasn’t letting her go, either.
She took a deep breath. ‘To regroup, I suppose,’ she said honestly. ‘I don’t really know. Everything’s happened so quickly. You overwhelm me. I’ll probably get used to it, but right now I feel as though I’ve been dragged into a raging torrent, and although what’s happened was magnificent, I need—well, to use a cliché, I need a bit of space.’
‘Magnificent?’ His golden eyes narrowed. ‘I’m flattered.’ Unembarrassed, he dropped his hand, sat up on the side of the big bed and switched on the lamp before stretching, lean muscles coiling and flexing beneath the sleek satin skin she’d marked, she noticed with another onrush of colour, with both her nails and her teeth.
He followed the direction of her shocked gaze, and drawled, ‘Don’t look shocked. These are honourable scars.’
She laughed and picked up a pillow, only to put it down again when the gleam in his eyes turned distinctly predatory.
Back in her room, she showered and slipped into pyjamas before checking Chloe.
She felt pleasantly exhausted, but once she’d got into her own bed she lay awake for a while, listening to the low rumble of ocean combers on the distant reef, and wished she’d stayed with Luke.
Her skin heated as she recalled his frank, sensuous appreciation of their lovemaking. He’d made her feel she was beautiful, that he found infinite pleasure in her body—but he hadn’t told her he loved her.
Whereas she’d had to bite the words back several times.
So although he had been honest with her she’d not been—entirely—honest with him. And even though it hurt fiercely she had to bear the consequences of loving without having it reciprocated.
She could do it, she thought. She could. She’d keep her forbidden love hidden, and she’d make Chloe happy and bear his ch
ildren, giving him what he wanted from her without counting the cost.
Yet as she finally slid into sleep she wondered if the price might perhaps prove too high…
That fear came back to her the next morning, when she watched Chloe on the beach, face intent and serious, while she built a magnificent sandcastle and decorated it with tiny bright shells and some long drifts of seaweed.
‘Iona, who is that man?’ Chloe asked, looking past her to the coconut palms behind.
Iona turned around, and one glance at the man who stood a few paces behind them told her immediately who he was. Once he too would have been as sinfully good-looking as his son, but the years had blurred his features, and he leaned heavily on a stick.
Aristo Michelakis—Luke’s father.
And half an hour ago Luke had gone into the nearest town to make the final arrangements for their wedding…
Where, Iona thought as she stood up and tried to control the sick panic that kicked her in her stomach, is the bodyguard?
Chapter Eleven
IONA’S first instinct was one of sheer terror—she had to stop herself from snatching up Chloe and running. That lasted only a moment, because Luke’s father was alone.
Heart still pounding in her ears, she fought for control. How had he got there?
She’d have seen him much sooner if he’d walked along the beach, and to reach them from the road meant negotiating a perimeter with a sophisticated security system.
She could worry about that later; right now she needed to speak first, so she could take control of the situation.
‘Hello, Mr Michelakis,’ she said smoothly. ‘Luke isn’t here, I’m afraid.’
Chloe left her sandcastle and came up to her, slipping her hand into Iona’s, her gaze fixed on the man who had fathered her.
Iona bent down and said to her, ‘Chloe, I can see Moana up by the house. Run up to her and tell her I said you need to stay with her until Luke comes back.’
Aristo Michelakis made no attempt to detain the child, not even noticing that she carefully steered well clear of him on her way up the beach. Silently Iona kept her eyes on her, until the housekeeper took Chloe’s hand and drew her inside.