by Lucy Monroe
She lay there, a boneless heap, and thought at least this time she hadn’t passed out.
He wasn’t finished with her yet, though. In fact, from the rigid hardness pressing against her, he was a long way off from it.
He started touching her again—this time his hands going between her legs, his fingertip slipping inside her, pressing massaging…making her ache all over again. He added another finger to the first as he started speaking to her, telling her how beautiful she was, how much she excited him, how different it was with her than any other woman he had been with, how she was made for him.
She didn’t think he knew what he was saying…she’d heard of sex talk…but she liked it. She didn’t care if he didn’t mean it. Hearing those things while he touched her so intimately made the experience absolutely right.
He built the ecstasy again, slowly but inexorably, until she was shaking underneath him and begging him with little whimpers to complete his possession of her body. When he did it, there was a stinging pain that made her cry out and try to push him off her.
But he didn’t move. At all. He just waited, talking in that low, seductive voice right in her ear. Telling her it would get better, that the pain was natural, inevitable in one so innocent. And he was right…it did get better. She made an experimental wiggle and an arc of enjoyment shot through her.
He began to move, and she realized the pain wasn’t gone completely, but pleasure was there too. And it was so special, so incredibly intimate to have him inside her, that she would not wish him anywhere else.
He reached between them, carefully touching the bud of her pleasure as he continued to talk to her between kisses, coaxing her body into the response he wanted. And when he climaxed with a shout, the pulse of warmth, the swell of his flesh inside her at the last moment, sent her over the edge again. This time she collapsed back onto the lounger, just barely with it enough to notice the sting as he withdrew slowly.
“Does it hurt every time?” she asked.
“No. But we need to let you heal before we repeat this experience.”
“Oh.” Healing sounded good. The experience had been awesome, putting all her fears about him not being truly attracted to her at rest, but she was going to be feeling it for a while, she could tell.
He cuddled her for a long time, before bathing with her, keeping constant physical contact, but he wouldn’t let her spend the night because it would upset her parents, he said.
His insistence that she leave heightened her certainty that she had to go through with the proposal for him and her father she had been working out in her head over the past twenty-four hours. She was pretty confident of their physical relationship, but there were still some assurances she needed.
They made plans to meet in her father’s office the next afternoon, and then she drove herself home, sure that if he loved her she wouldn’t be spending the night alone—not after they had made love the first time.
Spiros watched Phoebe come into the room with a foreign hunger. It was more than simply being turned on by her presence. He was hungry for her, not just her body. He’d missed her over the past weeks, and last night had only brought into sharp relief how much.
He’d hated sending her home after their time of intimacy. But he would not be responsible for her parents getting angry with her or denigrating her actions.
In some ways he understood her need to test their compatibility. He’d done too good a job of convincing her that their first kiss had meant nothing to him. And he had hurt her. Something he would not easily forgive himself for and a reality he would do his best to make up for.
He had never reacted to a woman so strongly. On any level. At first he had believed the difference was their close friendship, but he was beginning to wonder if there wasn’t more to it. Love.
Could he have fallen after spending a lifetime determined to avoid the emotion?
“Good afternoon, Father. Spiros.” Phoebe did not smile, and she was dressed as if they should be in a boardroom.
Although, looking around the older man’s office, Spiros considered that perhaps discussing their upcoming wedding here was little better. It was why he’d taken the contracts to the Leonides home the first night. For him, this was not merely a business proposal.
“Good afternoon, Phoebe,” Aristotle said. “I called your office earlier, but you were not there.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
The older man frowned at the non-answer.
Spiros stepped forward and gave Phoebe a traditional greeting. She was stiff in his arms, but she did not reject him. Was she shy now, in front of her father? Worried he would know what they had done?
Aristotle indicated a seating area surrounding a low table over by the window. “Let’s sit over there. Though I still think we should have at least met at a restaurant.”
“Why?” Phoebe asked as she moved across the plush carpet in her Italian heels. “This is a business meeting—business I prefer will have no chance of being overheard by a passing waiter or fellow eater.”
“You have a point,” the older man said heavily.
Phoebe sat down in a chair, leaving either end of the couch for Spiros and her father. Both men sat.
“I take it you are now willing to agree to the marriage?” Aristotle asked.
Fully expecting an unqualified agreement after their activities of the previous night, Spiros was struck dumb by Phoebe’s next words.
“If certain conditions are met, yes. But there are stipulations I will not be moved on, and I don’t know how open either of you will be to fulfilling them.”
It was a good thing he couldn’t speak, or the words whirling furiously in Spiros’s mind would have revealed his and Phoebe’s secret in no uncertain terms.
Her father was not so impeded. “What are you talking about? What kind of conditions? You think to hold me hostage with my company’s well-being?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve already done with me?” Phoebe asked, without a tremor of emotion in her voice.
Aristotle flinched as if struck. “That was not my intention.”
“But it is the reality. So let’s dispense with false protestations and get down to establishing bargaining positions. The way I see it is this—Spiros wants to redeem his family’s honor.”
Spiros nodded. That much he could do at least—though she was certainly oversimplifying his reasoning.
“Father wants to save his company.”
Aristotle nodded.
“Neither of you would feel your needs were met simply by a large loan being tendered by Spiros.”
“No,” the two men said in unison.
While he had offered that option, he had also told Phoebe he needed her. Did she remember that?
“That is what I thought. The family merger being via marriage is almost as important as the other issues.”
Again the two men spoke in accord. “Yes.”
“I too want to see the company saved, and for Spiros to be at peace with his brother—which I don’t think will happen unless he is given an opportunity to right the wrongs he perceives.”
“Yes,” Spiros agreed.
“The only thing hanging in the balance is the rest of my life.”
“Mine too,” Spiros said.
“Yes,” Phoebe acknowledged.
“You said you had requirements for the marriage to take place?”
“I do.” She handed a sheaf of papers to each man and kept one for herself.
Spiros looked down at his. The top page was a simple contract—not legal so much as a formal acknowledgment of certain things. Things that she should not feel the need to spell out. He flipped to the second page before he let the growl of irritation past his lips.
The following pages were a formal contract that guaranteed Phoebe two things to do with the company. The first was a seat on the Leonides board of directors. The second was half of whatever interest in the company was granted to Spiros because of his investment. Again, that should go w
ithout saying. She was to be his wife. Half of all he had would be hers.
Funnily enough, there was no prenuptial agreement spelling that particular truth out.
Aristotle was silent until he got to the last page of the documents, and then he started to splutter.
Phoebe clasped her hands in her lap and stared at both men. “I do not think my stipulations are unreasonable.”
“You want to sit on the board of directors? You are not even twenty-five yet.”
“It’s my life being sacrificed to save the company, I believe that gives me a place regardless of my age or experience.”
“These other requirements…they are an insult.”
“I presume you are discussing my contract with Spiros?”
“You know that I am.”
“So you think it insulting that I retain a real and material interest in the company?”
Aristotle just glared. “It is not necessary.”
“In your opinion.”
“I am your father.”
Phoebe said nothing, but the look in her eyes said an important facet of father-daughter trust had been lost between them. And the stubborn tilt of her chin said she wasn’t budging, regardless.
“I have no problem with the contract you want me to sign, but I agree that the terms are insulting to me,” Spiros said.
“I am sorry it offends you, Spiros. Truly.” And her expression was as sincere as her words. “But I have my reasons.”
“They are not reasons you will discuss in front of me,” her father slotted in, faster than Spiros could take a breath.
“I will not agree to the marriage until he signs the contract,” Phoebe said with intransigence.
“I will sign.” But he would make her explain her so-called reasons to him later.
“Good.” She turned to Aristotle. “And you, Father? Will you sign your contract?”
“It requires both my signature and Spiros’.”
“I am aware of it. But he has already said he will sign.”
The older man sighed, looking every one of his years. “Yes, I will agree to your terms.”
“Perfect. Then I think we can go out to lunch to celebrate,” Phoebe said, as if a business negotiation had gone well.
Aristotle shook his head as he signed all three copies of the contract relating to the company. “I need to go home and speak to your mother. Informing her of stipulations three and five on Spiros’s personal contract is not something that should be done over the phone.”
“You aren’t going to make me break the news to her?” Phoebe asked, sounding shocked.
“It is the least I can do,” her father replied gruffly.
Phoebe stood and gave an impulsive hug to her father, which he returned with a great deal of strength—a Greek man obviously bordering on emotion he was hoping not to show. Not that Greek men were as afraid of showing their feelings as some, but men like Aristotle would never be comfortable with that sort of thing. Regardless of their heritage.
Phoebe waited for Spiros to bring up the contract over lunch, but he seemed content to chat about inconsequential topics.
Her nervousness grew with each minute that went by without the subject being raised, until finally she blurted, “I’m surprised you signed the contract without argument.”
“Would you have compromised on any of the points?”
“No.”
“Then I made the right call.”
“But you didn’t even try.”
“Your father did not want to know your reasoning, and I knew to do so would be an exercise in futility. So I opted not to waste any of our time.”
“How could you know?”
“Do I really need to answer that?”
“You think you know me inside and out.”
“I do. Just as you know me.”
“There are still things neither of us know…about feelings, memories we don’t share and haven’t discussed.”
“Naturally. But you knew that even if I did argue, I would sign that damned contract—just as I knew you would not compromise on the elements.”
“You’re not happy about it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“You tell me.”
“No.”
He sighed. “Fine. I’m angry you felt the need for the contract at all.”
“Your pride has been offended?”
“Yes.”
Looking into his golden-brown eyes, she saw something else. “You’re hurt too.”
He didn’t answer, but his lack of denial was enough.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a low voice, feeling her own emotions roil. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“I know that.”
“You don’t know everything.” Sometimes he could be so exasperating.
“Nor do you, it would seem.” He took a sip of the champagne they had ordered with their celebratory lunch.
Before she could ask what he meant, their gazes caught.
“You did not need to ask for any of those things.”
“Right. Like you were planning on proposing,” she said, mentioning the first requirement on her list.
“You are so sure I was not?”
“Dimitri didn’t.”
“I am not Dimitri.”
“Thank goodness. I didn’t want to marry him.”
“But you do want to marry me?”
“I’ll take the fifth.”
“That’s an American Constitutional provision, not a Greek one.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
“And you seriously expect me to believe you were going to agree to a small wedding?” The man was Greek, and it would have been his grandfather in total cahoots with her mother over a wedding that would never be now.
“I want to save you further censure in the public eye, not cause it. And I know you were not looking forward to all the hoopla our families had planned. You are far too introverted for that.”
“So we are agreed on a civil ceremony?”
“I did not say that.”
“I do not want a blessed ceremony.”
She’d managed to shock him with that one. “Why not?”
“To say vows before God means making promises we don’t mean and cannot break.”
“This marriage is for life.”
“You say that now, but you might fall in love…I might want out someday. I don’t want us to promise love when we don’t mean it.” By we she meant him, but she wasn’t going to say so and lay her heart bare.
He was silent for several seconds, and she wished she’d been more specific on stipulation five. His eyes narrowed in thought and he said, “Leave it to me.”
She took that as acquiescence, just glad he hadn’t dug further into her reasoning. “So, you really are okay with all my requirements?”
He sighed. “I can see we will not have peace until we have discussed each one. One, yes, I will propose—but when will be at my discretion. Two, I have no problem with you having a career. I cannot imagine you not using the education you fought so hard to attain. But I would prefer you take a job with my company rather than your father’s,” he said, ticking each point off on his fingers as he went.
“Agreed.” Her father’s willingness to sell her life for his company would take a long time getting past. She didn’t particularly want to work for him any longer.
“Three, no children for five years. You realize I will be jealous of my brother’s fortune until you agree to share that joy with me, but I will not push.”
She nodded, a lump forming in her throat so she could not speak. She’d put that stipulation in so that if they did divorce down the road no children would be affected. And she didn’t want to work full-time once she had a baby. However, she had a feeling she would be craving a child with him long before her stipulated time restraint was over.
Lucky for her that she was not in the fertile part of her cycle, because they had not used prot
ection the night before.
He smiled, reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “All will be well, byba. You must trust me on this.”
She wanted to blurt her love out right then. He was looking at her with such tender care—like so many times in the past. “You are a good man,” she said instead.
His smile was brilliant. “Thank you. Shall we continue?”
“You’ve already covered the lack of a big wedding.”
“But I did not mention number four.”
The promise for total fidelity.
“I…You…” She felt the need to explain, but words were deserting her.
He waited patiently, his expression unreadable.
“You said you’d been with a lot of women. That you hadn’t married any of them.”
“I said I’d kissed many women I did not end up married to.”
“But I knew what you meant.”
“And you assumed I would continue?”
“No, I thought you might get bored,” she said, all in a rush.
“After last night, you thought this?” He shook his head, his expression only too easy to decipher now. Total disbelief marked his handsome features. “Impossible!”
“It’s not. It can’t always be that good.”
“You are right.”
She swallowed another lump of emotion.
“It will be better,” he said with absolute conviction. “I want no other woman but you. I have not since I kissed you the first time.”
“Is that true?”
“I do not make it a habit to lie.”
“Only when you are trying to protect yourself from betraying your honor,” she said in wonder.
“Yes. But it did not help and I will never do it again.”
“Good.”
“So we are in agreement?”
“Yes.”
They toasted their fully discussed deal with a glass of champagne.
He proposed that night, over a candlelight dinner in his apartment. Then he made love to her again, and he had been right. It was better.