by Julia Devlin
“I wanted to lay you out on the bed and make you crave me as much as I crave you.”
Was he crazy? How could I crave him any more than I already did?
His palms ran down my arms and over my hips before resting on my legs. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”
Reality snapped back and I stiffened. Vehement in my rejection of that idea, I shook my head.
“Yes, Juliet.”
It was odd—the way he spoke—he didn’t raise his voice or turn arrogant or smug. Instead, his tone was a matter-of-fact obey me. And somehow, I wanted to listen.
I let him lift me off the floor, and the next thing I knew, my ankles were locked at his waist. I muttered, “If you get a hernia, it’s your own fault.”
“Duly noted,” he said with a chuckle. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Upstairs, second door on the right.”
He carried me, bounding up the stairs as though I weighed nothing.
When we got to the bedroom, he laid me out on top of my crimson comforter as though I were fine, breakable china. As if I were his most precious, most cherished possession. He kissed me, soft and sweet, before sitting on the edge of the bed. “I knew it.”
Confused, I asked, “Knew what?”
“That behind the ice queen lurked a woman whose bedroom looked like this.” He swept a hand over the decadent gothic headboard with its intricate iron scrolls, the deep red velvet of my comforter, the dark-chocolate-covered walls with an accent wall that matched my bed. It was a cave. My sanctuary. A place that held all of my most secret desires. One very few people had ever entered.
Of course Christos looked exactly right here—all dark and sensual, a sensory delight. Befitting since he was my most secret desire.
He pointed at a photo. A black-and-white garden filled to overflowing with flowers as far as the eye could see. Only one flower was in color, a close-up of a single, blood-red rose open in full bloom. Each delicate petal velvet-soft, touched with morning dew. It was one of my favorites, and it took up a huge expanse of one wall.
Indulgent, maybe, but here I could allow myself to be.
He smoothed his hand down my bare stomach. “Another of yours, I see.”
Feeling exposed and vulnerable, I discreetly shifted to cover my bare breasts with the tattered shreds of my blouse. He caught my wrists and held them tight. “No. Don’t do that. I want to see you.”
He let me go and ran his fingers over the silk, pushing the fabric away to reveal my naked body. I tried my best not to think about how I looked, compare myself to those sure-to-be twenty-somethings in his past. I should be proud—I looked like a real woman—but that’s the problem, I am still a woman.
I worry about the sag of my breasts, the curve of my belly, the spread of my hips, and like most women, concluded that the tautness of youth was more desirable. My head rejected the notion as absurd and embraced all the feminist war cries, but in my heart, I worry.
Despite my fears, I didn’t fidget as his gaze swept over my thirty-five-year-old body. I cared what he thought, I saw how women looked at him, knew he had his pick. Part of me was terrified, part of me expectant. Now that I’d given him what he’d wanted, what if he no longer picked me?
He traced the lines of my collarbones, down between the swells of my breasts, my nipples beading despite my trepidation. A surprised giggle escaped my throat when he circled my bellybutton and his gaze met mine. “Ticklish?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“You are beautiful, Juliet.” He shifted, stretching out next to me.
That broad, bare chest beckoned. My fingers twitched and tightened into fists. I was afraid to touch him. Afraid of what it would mean, of what he’d think if I did. Missing nothing, he took my clenched hands and pried them open, revealing the half-moon crescents I’d made in my palm. He leaned down and kissed each one, my heart skipped a beat as the strands of his hair shifted over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist.
He lifted his head and looked at me. Heat and desire glimmering in his clear green eyes. “My heart stops just looking at you.”
I flushed all the way down to my toes and stammered, “I’d never have taken you for a romantic.”
“I’m Greek,” he said with a smile, as though that explained everything. “And it’s the truth.” He brushed his lips against my mouth. “I’m crazy for you, Juliet.” Another brush. “Mad with desire.” His tongue licked. “Hot with lust.” He met my eyes. “Completely devoted.”
I searched his expression, frantic in my almost desperate hope to find the subterfuge, to spot the deception—and found nothing but acceptance. Fear pricked at my skin, I wanted so badly to believe him, and I was so sure I’d be wrong.
“Tell me, why do you have such a hard time believing?” He stroked my jaw.
My throat closed over and I slammed my lids shut to keep the tears in.
I could not cry. Would not cry.
He grasped my chin, his grip strong and sure. “I know it’s hard for you, but I need you to let me in.”
“Why?” I asked on a strangled whisper.
“If you don’t, how can I prove that you can trust me?” He released my chin, caressed the line of my jaw and down the cords of my neck until I was no longer squeezing my eyes. “Open up, Juliet.”
My lashes fluttered open, and he gave me the most brilliant smile. “It’s one of life’s little ironies.”
Mesmerized, I drank in the lines of his face, his straight nose and full lips, those strong features combining to make him so captivating. As if he’d been designed with me in mind—he possessed all my favorite traits, appealed to all my tastes and senses. “What’s that?”
“You have to take the leap of faith in order to get the proof. I can’t prove I won’t hurt you unless you allow yourself to be in the position to be hurt. Unless you let me in, there’s no way to trust I won’t leave.” He trailed a path over my belly, and I was thankful the light from the day had dulled to a muted gray.
He was right of course, but I didn’t want to admit it. No longer in danger of bursting into tears at the first syllable, I said, “I have faith.”
One dark brow rose up his forehead. “Why do I have a bad feeling?”
I shrugged. He wouldn’t like it, but in this I could tell the truth.
“What do you have faith in, my lovely Juliet?”
“I have faith that you’ll get bored and leave.”
Like a sudden summer thunderstorm, his face clouded over. He pounced. Rolling over on top of me and straddling me in a way that made my breath come fast. Before I could blink, he’d manacled my wrists above my head and hovered over with me with such menace all I could do was melt under him.
The response shocked me. I wasn’t that type of woman, but with his legs squeezing me tight, his fingers like a vise grip, I was ashamed it thrilled me. Desire zinged along my nerve endings as heat pooled between my thighs and my cunt started that incessant pulsing again.
Way deep down, I could admit this was one of the things I loved about him. This ability of his to be gentle, romantic and brutal in equal measure.
He put his face close to mine so we were mere inches apart. “You know, you could be the one to leave.”
I scoffed. The sound escaping before I could bite it back.
“You don’t think so?”
The idea was absurd. Couldn’t he see I had no power to resist him? But instead of revealing this, I asked a question of my own. “Why would I fight this hard?”
“Exactly, Juliet.” And then his mouth claimed mine.
He stripped me of my clothes and of my defenses as he kissed me with that possession I loved and desired.
He’s mine. Mine, mine, mine. My heart chanted the words like the beating of some ancient drum.
I sank my fingers into his hair, in this, I could surrender. Weeks ago, this too would have been impossible, but now he’d been inside me, and my body welcomed him, craved him.
His lips swept down the line of my jaw
, to the valley of my throat, and I pushed all the questions and fears niggling around the edges of my mind away.
In this moment, I chose him. In this minute, I’d savor him.
Lids drifting closed, I moaned when his teeth scraped over the pulse pounding in my throat. He soothed the spot with his tongue then sealed it with his lips before moving to my collarbone.
I let my fingers wander, stroking over his neck and shoulders, marveling when the muscles bunched beneath my touch. I traced a path over his biceps, across his chest. Thumb brushing over his flat, brown nipple, I was rewarded with a harsh hiss of breath followed by a low growl so deep it vibrated the cords of my throat.
“Juliet,” he said my name like a reverent prayer. “My Juliet.”
The sound of his desire, his longing for me, so much like my own desperation it resonated deep inside me. As his mouth brushed over the curve of my breast, sweeping over the heated skin, I remembered what he’d said to me in the bathroom—We match.
Two halves of the same whole, that’s how it felt. His touch, his whispered voice, the care, the look in his eyes, the fast beat of his heart under my palm forced the first pieces of belief to lock into place. Hope bloomed inside me like the blood-red rose in the picture I took, exposing the soft vulnerable center I’d always kept protected.
The fear rushed in. I didn’t want it, didn’t welcome it—but I couldn’t stop it any more than I could stop any force of nature.
As though sensing the change, he lifted his head and his gaze met mine. I expected frustration to shine there, but that wasn’t what I saw at all. Instead I saw the soft glow of understanding. He expelled a long breath of air, shifting up my body to stroke a long finger over the line of my jaw. “It’s all right, Juliet.”
I clenched my teeth so hard my jaw ached, and let the tightness in my throat ease before I spoke. “You’re too good to be true.”
“No, Juliet, I’m not. I’m flawed, just like you.”
“But…” To my horror my chin quivered.
“But nothing.” He kissed me, soft and tender and heartbreaking. “I’ll tell you what, tomorrow night my family is having a birthday party for my niece. Come with me, my mom and sisters will be happy to give you a list of my shortcomings.”
I shook my head. No, that was too much, way too much. Too fast, too soon. “No, I can’t intrude.”
“Are you kidding? They’ll be thrilled.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes. “I suspect they were beginning to think I was gay.”
The idea was so preposterous, so crazy and absurd, I laughed, and it edged the fear back where it belonged. “Why on earth would they think that?”
The twinkle faded and his expression turned serious. “Because I’m forty-one and never brought a woman home.”
“Oh.” My pulse fluttered and my belly dipped. “And you want to bring me?”
“Yes, Juliet.” He kissed me again, his fingers playing over the rapid beat in my throat. “Only you.”
“But why?”
“Because I want you in my life, a part of it, sharing it with me.” He smiled. “I’m keeping you, it doesn’t matter if you believe, I have enough faith for the two of us.”
My heart galloped in my chest like a thoroughbred.
His grip tightened on my neck, and the sensation made my nipples pull into tight buds. “You like that. My keeping you. Don’t you?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
Desire darkened his eyes to evergreen. “You like my hand on your neck.”
I swallowed hard, feeling his fingers there. “Yes.”
“Why?” His cock pressed against my thigh, thick and insistent. A reminder that he would be inside me soon.
The hard demand of lust sped through my system, flooding my cunt with heat, making my nipples ache. Making me crave him. I licked my dry lips, and he watched the movement before repeating, “Tell me why.”
Did I know? Yes. Deep down, I did. I was afraid to give voice to the reason. Afraid of what it would say about me. Afraid of what he’d think, of the power it would give him when he already had so much.
But strangely, I was unable to deny him an honest answer. “I… It feels possessive.” My breath came faster. “Like ownership. Like your touch is a brand.”
“And you like that?” He fingers pressed into my rapid pulse, a warning that my body was already telling him the truth. Was already surrendering to him and his desires.
Our eyes met and locked together. An unspoken mutual agreement passed between us. I whispered, “Yes.”
“You are mine, Juliet.”
Yes, Christos. The words pressed against the back of my teeth, but I couldn’t spit them out. I wanted them to be true. But even more, I wasn’t sure I could stop the qualification right after them. For now.
I didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“I want to know.” His fingers were still wrapped around my neck, not hard, but with enough pressure I wouldn’t forget the message. “Why?”
I knew what he was asking. Why was I like this? What was I so afraid of? Why couldn’t I trust him? He wanted a specific event, and the truth was there wasn’t one. I sucked in a breath and his grip immediately gentled.
I tried to give him the best answer I could. “I wish I knew. I wish I could point to a tortured childhood and say, oh, right here is the reason, but I can’t.”
He waited, raising a brow, staring at me, not allowing me the easy answer.
I lowered my gaze, focusing on a smaller photograph I’d done in the same garden. Another rose. “I like to be in control. It’s easier. Safer. I don’t like to be emotionally messy. No one made me this way, I just am. I opened my own business because I wanted to be in control. I married my ex-husband because he was a good, safe choice. I didn’t make a conscious decision to block him out, I just did. This is the way I’m built.”
Beside me, Christos released his hold around my neck and slid his hand down my body to wrap around my waist. He pulled me close and kissed my temple. “Go on.”
“This is the way I like my life. Neat. In control. Safe. Everything in its place. Nothing happened to make me this way—this is how I feel,” I searched for the right word, “comfortable.”
I stopped talking and bit the inside of my cheek. That was the easy part to explain, the next was harder. Tension seeped into my previously relaxed muscles and I wished for something to cover my bare breasts.
He squeezed me tighter then rolled onto his back, taking me with him so I was draped over him. Covered. Able to conceal my face.
“How do you do that?” I blurted, unaware I was even going to speak before the words were out.
“Do what?” He ran a hand over my back, the silk, warmed by the heat of his palm, slid over my skin.
“Always know what I’m thinking, addressing my comfort before I’ve even spoken? It’s disconcerting.”
He kissed the top of my head, and I felt him smile against my temple as he continued his long strokes up and down my spine as if I were a cat. “I pay attention. Obviously you’re not use to people who do. All this time, I’ve been watching you. Drinking you in, learning your nuances from afar. I see what you do.”
“What do you mean? What I do?” Agitation seeped into the sensuous mood, and I didn’t like it. Couldn’t I have one night to appreciate him?
“I see how you don’t talk about yourself. When people ask you personal questions you deflect and charm them into not noticing that you’re not telling them a damn thing.”
I hated that he noticed, that he saw me. “Because talking about myself is boring. Those people aren’t asking because they want to know me, they’re asking to be polite. I deflect, not because I’m hiding but to let them off the hook.”
“I believe that’s what you tell yourself,” he said, still sweeping up and down my back, but it had stopped feeling good, instead it felt as if he were pacifying me.
I shot up, scooting away from him and wrapping my ripped blouse around myself. “Don’t think you know me, Christo
s.”
This time agitation flashed in his eyes and I was happy to see it, I didn’t want to be the only one. He slowly sat up, grabbed a pillow and rested it against the iron headboard before propping himself against it. “I know you better than you want to admit, and that’s why I scare you.”
Rationally, I saw the fault in my logic. Seconds before, I’d been asking myself how he knew me so well, but when fear takes over, logic doesn’t really matter. “You want me to be who you’ve built in your mind, but that’s not me.”
“Wrong, Juliet.” He sat forward, closing the distance between us. “I see you clearly. I’m the first person to see past all your bullshit. You like to pretend that you’re cool and in control, but that’s your façade. All your neat order, the only person you’re hiding from is yourself.”
“That’s what you want.” I raised my voice, welcoming the anger as the only form of protection I had. “You want me to be this ball of fire under the layer of ice, but all that’s there is another layer of cold.”
To my shock, he laughed, shaking his head as if he couldn’t fathom how ridiculous I was. I dug my nails into my palms and resisted the urge to chuck a pillow at his head. Finally, I asked, “What the hell is so funny?”
“You.” He looked at me, and despite his amusement, his green eyes gleamed with some hidden knowledge that instantly put me on high alert. “My darling girl, you are the furthest thing from cold. You surround yourself with all this neat control for one reason only, to protect yourself from all the fierce emotion you do feel. Underneath the ice, you’re raw, emotional and scared to death. Hell, you’re not a fireball, you’re an explosion waiting to detonate.”
I scrambled off the bed, the tears already forming in my eyes. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t stay here, I needed distance.
“Don’t think you’ll run away from me.” A warning.
I ignored him, walking as fast as I could without running to the door, desperate to escape. I needed time to collect my thoughts. Get myself back together.
I felt him at my back before I heard him move, his heat burning my skin. He grabbed my waist and pulled me tight against him, slamming the door of my bedroom shut, closing off my escape route.