Wedding Night with a Stranger

by Anna Cleary

  He doubted if he had that look. He’d never been a very emotional guy, despite what his family seemed to think.

  Anyway, today was a day for celebration. He could hardly wait to assemble his employees and break the news.

  A cheer went up at the meeting when he told them. If he’d been a different kind of boss they might have dared to pop a few champagne corks, but they restricted themselves to grinning, back-slapping and general loony happiness.

  By mid-morning, it was clear not much work was likely to be done this day. And with his own obsessive need to luxuriate in recollections of the night, he could hardly hold it against his workforce. He could have spent the day watching Celestrial’s share price zoom on the stock market, but he kept wondering what Ariadne was doing. Cooking? He grinned to himself. That perky little vase filled with pretty leaves came back to him. He resisted as long as he could—it wouldn’t be kind to give her any false ideas—but then he sprang up suddenly and grabbed his jacket.

  ‘I’m leaving for the day,’ he told a startled Jenny on his way out. ‘Oh, and…hey, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?’

  He wasn’t a romantic guy, by any means, but flowers should have a presence on other occasions too, not just funerals.

  He stopped off at a couple of places on the way home. Searching for his wallet to pay the florist, he came upon Ariadne’s passport in the inside pocket of his jacket. He patted it. At least he could definitely certify she was still in the country.

  Agnes had phoned to say she didn’t feel well enough to come in. Ariadne had the villa all to herself.

  Feeling lethargic after her late night, she took Sebastian’s laptop up to bed with her, propped herself up on some pillows, and composed a letter to her old university requesting a reissue of her degree certificates. Then she spent some time scrolling the ads on one of the major Sydney job network sites. Perhaps once she’d assembled her testimonials, she could find employment in Sydney. If she could find a flat not too far away, perhaps she and Sebastian would stay in touch. He might take her out some time, to dinner, or a movie. They might meet for coffee, or…

  Her heart panged. What a fool she was. As if people who’d been lovers ever met for coffee.

  Sounds from downstairs startled her, and before she could shelve the laptop she heard the familiar footsteps bounding up the stairs.

  ‘Oh, there you are.’ Sebastian’s tall form appeared in the doorway and her heart leaped up in surprise when she saw he seemed to be laden with flowers and packages.

  ‘What are you doing?’ He deposited his armful on the floor and sprawled on the bed beside her.

  ‘Job hunting. What are you doing?’ She craned to see the flowers. Roses interspersed with white alyssum. ‘Are they for me?’

  ‘For the house.’ His thick black lashes swept down and screened his gaze. ‘It’s such a shemozzle at work I’ve taken the day off. Here, let me see that.’ He peered over her shoulder at the screen at the advertisement she’d been investigating. ‘Ah. Have you done this sort of thing before?’

  She nodded. ‘In Athens. And I’ve done a bit of study and training in antiquities. I could work in a museum.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t have much trouble finding something you like. I’d give you a job. Like that.’

  She smiled and raised her brows flirtily. ‘What as?’

  He kissed her neck. ‘I’d think of something. That reminds me.’ He glanced appreciatively around the room. ‘I’ve been meaning to say, everything looks—fantastic. In fact, last night I could have sworn my mother had been here, though I don’t think even she makes the walls sparkle. Agnes must have been inspired.’

  She nodded without speaking, and he continued to hold her in his dark, smiling gaze. ‘It wasn’t Agnes, though, was it?’

  ‘Some of it,’ she said with a shrug. ‘I just gave her a helping hand. She isn’t very well, you know. Her asthma’s pretty bad at the moment. It’s a large villa for one elderly woman to clean on her own.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He frowned, and let out a sigh. ‘I should have thought. I s’pose it’s too much for her. I did notice she wasn’t performing up to scratch.’

  ‘You did?’ She widened her eyes in mock astonishment.

  He laughed and gave her a little shake. ‘Yes, I did, but I didn’t want to sack her. I think she relies on the money, and…well, you know, Esther was fond of her.’

  There was a beat of silence. ‘Esther. Your wife.’

  He met her gaze, then lowered his thick, black lashes. ‘Yeah.’

  She screwed up her courage to say carefully, ‘What happened with Esther? Did—she die?’

  His face smoothed to become expressionless. ‘Cancer. Three years ago.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had the sensation of walking on extremely fragile eggshells. ‘That must have been—awful for you.’

  ‘It was awful for Esther.’

  ‘Oh, of course it was, of course.’ She could see talking about it was painful for him, but wasn’t sure how to back out of the topic gracefully. ‘You—you must have suffered a lot too.’

  He shot her a glance, then lowered his gaze and said harshly, ‘I was absolutely fine. Esther was the one who suffered. I was the selfish bastard who survived.’

  ‘Oh, oh.’ Her heart clenched. She stared at him in distress, urgent to think of some soothing thing to alleviate the excruciating moment. In her desperation she risked touching him, and stroked his arms, relieved when he didn’t draw away. ‘Someone—someone has to survive to tell the story.’ He didn’t answer, and, still stroking him, she babbled on to fill the silence, ‘The story of Esther, I mean. Who she was, and what she was like.’

  She held her breath. Had she said the wrong thing?

  He glanced up at her then with a shrug, and his grim expression relaxed. ‘That’s truer than you know. But let’s not worry about it right now. See what I’ve brought you.’

  He reached for the roses and put them in her arms, then piled a wide, slim black box on top.

  ‘Oh, thank you. They’re heavenly,’ she breathed, inhaling their sweet heady fragrance. ‘And wow. Not chocolates! Wicked. Look at the size of this box. Theos, these are my downfall. How did you know?’ She lay the roses down beside her and lifted the chocolates to smell the box.

  He smiled, a sexy, sinful smile, his dark eyes flickering over her with a hungry, wolfish look. ‘Well, I am a genius. You said so yourself.’

  She laughed and he took her in his arms and kissed her, rolling her onto her back, oblivious of the gifts they were crushing in an embrace that grew hotter and steamier by the second. Desire flared in her again with an almost scary readiness as he undid the buttons on her top for an urgent and delicious exploration of her breasts.

  The more she had of him, it seemed to her, hungrily releasing his shirt buttons, the more she had to have of him. After a long, writhing, mindless time she grew conscious of things sticking into her side, and broke from his arms, gasping in air.

  ‘Oh, no,’ she said when she could. ‘The chocolates. They’ll be crushed.’

  He reached for the roses and lifted them to safety. The box wasn’t too badly squashed, apart from the corners.

  She examined it. ‘I think it’s only the box that’s damaged.’

  They surveyed each other, shirts hanging open, pleasure still tingling in her veins, desire shimmering in the air, unappeased.

  She smiled. ‘Hungry?’

  His eyes gleamed. ‘Not for chocolate.’

  She flicked him a glance from beneath her lashes, then tore off the cellophane wrapper. ‘Oh,’ she sighed, opening the box and viewing the sumptuous array. She closed her eyes to inhale the intoxicating aroma. ‘I’m so glad you’ve taken the day off.’

  ‘The whole weekend. First time in—ages. Feel like doing a little sightseeing tomorrow?’ He leaned forward and planted a sexy little kiss on her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah! That’d be great.’ She smiled, pretending to consider the chocolates, enjoying the play as he dela
yed the moment of pouncing on her with a little conversational chit-chat.

  ‘What would you like to see?’

  Aware of his fingers stroking a shivery path down her spine, she murmured hazily, ‘The Katherine Gorge.’

  His brows twitched. ‘How about the Opera House?’

  ‘Seen it.’

  The chocolates looked a little on the soft side, but were silky and succulent notwithstanding. She bent her head to study the key to the varieties. ‘Nougat, almond or strawberry liqueur?’ She glanced up at him. ‘What I’d really like, if you had the time, would be to see my parents’ cottage.’

  He was watching her with a sensual gleam in his eyes, but when she said that his brows lifted. ‘Great. Do you know the address?’

  She popped a cherry liqueur into her mouth, closing her eyes as its deliciousness melted on her tongue and mingled with her mouth juices. After a blissful second she said, ‘Off by heart. It’s in wobbly writing in all my old story books.’

  ‘You’ve never been back since, have you?’ A dark flame smouldered in his eyes.

  ‘No. I’ve often longed to see it again. I’m quite excited.’

  His lids were heavy and slumberous. ‘Are you?’ He ran his finger from her mouth to her shorts’ zip and said huskily, ‘Well, I’m very excited.’

  She could see by the bulge in his groin that he wasn’t exaggerating.

  Excitement was infectious. It turned her voice to a throaty purr. ‘Sure you won’t join me in a little Cheri Suisse?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I intend.’

  He bent and slipped his tongue into her mouth at the same time as his rough, urgent hands finished unbuttoning her top, and slid around her back to unfasten her bra.

  She felt her blood ignite. A hot, sexy kiss mingled with chocolate was almost too much pleasure to endure at one time. While his clever tongue tickled her sensitive mouth, her hungry hands convulsively enjoyed the textures and contours of his bronzed chest and washboard-hard abdominals.

  ‘Delicious,’ he said after another steamy while, drawing away from her.

  She bent to lick off a chocolatey smear she’d left on his right nipple, causing his skin to shiver and the flat little bead to perk up. ‘Ooh,’ she said, savouring the flavours of chocolate and raw salty man. ‘Your nipple likes chocolate.’

  ‘You’re a little tease,’ he rumbled, his voice a deep, sultry murmur. She made a move to take another chocolate but he swiftly grabbed her hand and held it still. ‘My turn.’ He reached for the box, and his long, tanned fingers hung poised over the selection. ‘Ah. What else but raspberry?’

  He held his selection between his palms for a second, his eyes gleaming wickedly. ‘Now let’s see what happens.’

  In a rapid movement he smeared the chocolate over her breasts, then, with a laugh that was halfway a growl, bent to suck each of her nipples. She shivered with delight as lightning raced along her nerve endings, tightening the tingling points and igniting them with an explosive hunger.

  Her shorts came off in the sexy tussle. When his marauding tongue and ruthless, ravaging hands had turned her blood to wildfire and she’d cried and moaned her pleasure, it became her turn again.

  Perhaps she was running a fever, because in a surge of reckless daring she sat up and placed her hands on his belt buckle, and purred, ‘Let’s see what we have here.’

  With hands that trembled at their own unaccustomed boldness, she released the button and eased down his zip. He watched her face, sensual amusement dancing in his aroused eyes like searing points of flame. He lifted his lean hips a little to assist her in dragging off the confining clothes, then kicked them away altogether.

  ‘Oh, my goodness,’ was her sincere reaction.

  His erection sprang thick and proud and virile, swelling and pulsing before her wide eyes. She stared, not missing the full and violent impact of its message.

  Daunted, almost unconsciously she licked her lips.

  Politely, but with a wicked grin, Sebastian offered her the chocolate box. She blinked. In truth, for a cowardly instant she nearly blenched at the challenge.

  But what was she? An inexperienced virgin, or a married woman able to give and receive pleasure in the privacy of her husband’s bedroom? The bravest woman he’d ever met? With grave care she selected a couple of chocolate caramels, then, with a long glance at him from beneath her lashes, melted the rich creamy beauties between her hands.

  It took her a while to come to terms with what she was about to try, so she held the smouldering guy in suspense for seconds, letting her eyes flicker to his rampant penis, rubbing her hands together while she slicked the gooey, sensuous chocolate over her palms.

  Her playmate waited, immobile apart from the barely perceptible rise and fall of his bronzed chest, his black eyes glittering with fever, and the air in the room seemed to tauten to a dangerous pitch.

  As she eyed his virile length a tiny, expectant drop of pure masculine essence pearled on the tip, and she felt her mouth water and her folds moisten in helpless excitement. Then, just before the tension reached flashpoint, she smeared her mouth voluptuously with chocolate, then gripped his rosy rod and held him tight, sliding her hands up and down the throbbing shaft.

  Sebastian let out a small groan, and to her intense satisfaction she felt him swell and become even harder in her grasp. Sympathetically, her nipples, her breasts, her sweet tender place all swelled too and yearned with desire.

  Shudders of pleasure roiled through Sebastian’s big frame, and though he held himself quite still she noticed a seductive line of sweat appear on his upper lip. Not to be called a coward, she knelt down then and stroked his amazing length from base to velvet tip with her tongue, smoothing the chocolate off as she went.

  She felt so unbelievably hot and sexy and reckless, she was revelling in her brave exploration of the situation, but at that point things escalated beyond her control.

  As though all at once driven crazy by her ministrations to his throbbing rod, Sebastian suddenly grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. He scrabbled at the side of the bed for the condom packet, ripped one open with his teeth, then with swift hands rolled the sheath on.

  For a suspenseful, exhilarating second the hungry, hard, rapidly breathing guy softly combed her curls with his lean, smooth fingers, his dark eyes devouring her chocolate-smeared nudity like molten fire while he magically tickled her already moist delta into a state of electric wildness.

  Then with a possessive little growl he covered her with his gorgeous lean body and plunged himself into her willing flesh.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ARIADNE cooked dinner that night and made Sebastian her kitchenaide. She had no doubt he surprised himself with his ability to wash herbs, to peel, chop and dice to her rigorous standards, but she wasn’t surprised. She’d had experience of the guy’s artful fingers.

  The preparation of dinner was really a pleasant extension of the bedroom and the subsequent bath, in which she’d learned so much more about giving and receiving. And the meal didn’t suffer from the flirty camaraderie that had seemed to spring from their intimate adventures.

  ‘There’s something so sexy about watching a woman cook,’ her husband said, kissing her neck as she stood at the sink.

  ‘What’s really sexy is a man helping a woman to cook,’ she threw over her shoulder.

  She’d decided on the simple, nourishing peasant food Thea believed every Greek husband thrived on, from the humble fisherman to the shipping magnate. When Sebastian had performed his part of the chopping, he perched on a kitchen stool and watched her toss some delicate calamari rings in the pan for their first course, in the absence of retsina sipping a glass of chilled white wine. She placed a little platter of nibbles at his elbow, plump olives and rice-stuffed dolmades that he dipped into a tzatziki she’d whipped up with some yoghurt, cucumber and lemon juice.

  She could feel Sebastian’s curious gaze appraising her in her pretty skirt and top, watching her reach for thing
s, pause and check things, open the oven door to inspect the progress of the moussaka. He was still surprised, she guessed. He hadn’t expected his mail-order bride to know her way around a kitchen. And he seemed warmly receptive to her ideas, including the one of hiring more staff to assist Agnes.

  It gave her a surge of hope. He clearly enjoyed seeing his home glowing and comfortable and cared for. Perhaps he would start to see how lovely it could be to have a woman always here at the heart of things. Someone to keep the love fires burning.

  On Saturday he drove her to her old street, as promised, but the cottage she dimly remembered from her early childhood had been replaced by an apartment block. Still, she took some photos of the street sign, and a tree she convinced herself had been there all along. Disappointed, she asked Sebastian if he would mind taking her to see the place where her parents were buried.

  Something flickered in his eyes at her request, as though he felt taken aback, then he agreed readily enough. They took a little time to find the location on the Internet, then drove to Waverley, which she was surprised to see was very close to Bronte.

  The modest headstones they sought were on a cliff, stalwart against the ocean breeze, if a little stained by the weather. Ariadne read the sad little inscriptions, shaken by the peaceful solemnity of the place, and laid some purple flowers at their base. Here were her roots, in this earth, this grass, this sacred ground.

  When would she feel she belonged?

  She saw Sebastian’s watchful gaze flicker from her to her surroundings, and had the uncanny notion he’d read her mind.

  He observed, ‘Your father must have loved Australia to choose to be buried here.’

  ‘He was dead,’ she snapped. ‘He had no choice.’