As if she could do anything else.
They rode the board in together, and it was the first time Ally had surfed in ten years. It was magical—the swoop and the speed of the board on the wave, the excitement and the thrill of the ride and—most of all, the touch of PJ’s fingers against her back.
And the audience of Antonides family members who had come down to the beach weren’t scandalized at all. They cheered and applauded at the end of the ride as they came out of the water, PJ hoisting the board under one arm while he slung the other over Ally’s shoulders.
Yiayia smiled approvingly after they had dried off on the deck and came into the kitchen. She looked up from her rocking chair and nodded and winked at PJ. “A little kissing, ne? I told you so.”
PJ grinned broadly. “My grandmother is a know-it-all.” He bent and gave her a kiss too.
She beamed and sighed with satisfaction. “Ne. A grandmother knows.”
Wouldn’t you know?
He’d suffered through, if not the night from hell—which would have been spending it in bed with Ally without so much as a kiss—at least a very miserable night of purgatory during which he’d walked the beach until dawn.
He should have known better, he’d told himself. He’d pushed it, glibly telling her he was sharing the room—and the bed—with her. He could have handled it differently, not been quite so blithely confrontational, backing her into a corner that way.
But hell’s bells, why shouldn’t he? he’d thought. She was his wife!
But when she’d simply accepted sleeping with him—in a nonbiblical sense—all the while insisting on “no kissing,” he’d stalked out. He had enough control. That wasn’t what he was worried about. But he was damned if he was going to lie there chastely beside his wife who didn’t want him and was preserving her intimacies for another man.
He’d been furious—and hours of pounding the sand had left him exhausted but no less angry. He’d gone surfing at first light because if anything would calm him and allow him to regain control of his badly frayed composure, it was time alone, just he and his board and the waves.
The ocean was strong, far more powerful than he was, and could be erratic and unpredictable. He didn’t control it, but he understood it. He didn’t understand Ally.
The time he’d spent in the water had settled him somewhat. He’d had to focus, to get in sync with the waves, to stop thinking about her and what her coming back into his life was making him want. And as time passed, he found his balance again, settled, steadied.
And then he’d spotted her walking toward him on the beach.
The fury had come back, swamping him. And it was all he could do to sit there and ignore her. He’d have preferred paddling to Tierra del Fuego.
She hadn’t gone away. She’d stood there waiting. And he’d thought to himself, she could wait till kingdom come. He was damned well not going to catch a wave and ride in to her.
He’d been shocked when she’d swum out to him.
But that had been only half the shock he’d felt when she’d apologized!
What did it mean? He didn’t know. And from what she said, she didn’t know, either. But there was a light in her eyes now that made him even hungrier for her than he’d been last night. There was an eagerness in her that matched his own.
And of course he could do nothing about it. Not now.
He couldn’t haul her off to bed in the middle of the morning. Not with all his family and what seemed like half of the world turning up for one of his mother’s legendary brunches.
His father and Elias and Ari Cristopolous wanted him for a foursome on the golf course. PJ was a reluctant golfer at the best of times.
“I don’t play,” he told his brother, hoping to get out of it.
“It’s not play. It’s work,” Elias replied, then added archly. “Besides, you can’t do what you want to do anyway, so you might as well give in gracefully.”
PJ shot him a startled look, aware that his ears were reddening. “How do you know what I want to do?” he grumbled.
Elias just shook his head and grinned. “Been there, done that.”
PJ doubted it. But he remembered that Elias’s courtship had not been exactly smooth, even though it had at least taken place on the right side of the wedding, unlike PJ’s own. “All right. Fine.”
And it might have been if Ally hadn’t decided to come, too. “Only to watch,” she said. “Not to play.”
But having her right there, sitting next to him in the car, her thigh alongside his, her hair blowing in his face, the scent of her shampoo tantalizing him on the way to the golf course did nothing for his mental preparation. He couldn’t even remember which club to use.
“It’s called a driver for a reason,” Elias pointed out mildly once or twice.
But PJ was oblivious to everyone and everything except Ally. He lost badly. He didn’t care. He looked at Ally and smiled, and had won enough when she smiled back at him.
He was eager to get off the course, to get back to the house. To the bedroom. To the bed.
But of course, that didn’t happen. When they got back to the house, Mark and Cristina and Alex had arrived. Then Elias and Tallie’s friends, the Costanideses, all showed up. So did the Alexakises.
“Why didn’t you just invite everybody in Greece?” he grumbled.
His father smiled with beatific unconcern. “We did.”
Probably they hadn’t. It just seemed like it. And there was nothing he could do but smile at them, talk to them, introduce them to Ally.
He made sure he introduced them to Ally. And they were all as charmed as he was.
Cristina wanted to haul her off to the sewing room to talk art. Martha was eager to continue yesterday’s conversation. It turned out that Connie Cristopolous was a mosaic artist as well. They were all eager to chat.
“Another time,” PJ said gruffly. He had his fingers manacled around Ally’s wrist and he wasn’t letting go. He was afraid of what might happen, of a possible change in heart, if he let her out of his sight.
“You could come, too,” Ally suggested, eyes twinkling.
“Nah. I’d rather play with the kids on the beach.” He looked at her. “Wouldn’t you?”
He’d have let her go. Really, he would have. And he might even have gone with her if that was what she really wanted. But his spirits soared even higher when she smiled and nodded. “Yes. We can talk about this later,” she said to Cristina and Connie and Martha. “Let’s play with the kids.”
They played with the kids. Besides the nephews, there were several little Costanides boys and the Alexakises had a boy and three girls. There were others, too, belonging to cousins and friends of his parents.
PJ couldn’t keep them all straight and didn’t try. What he noticed was Ally. The Ally he remembered had always been quiet, almost inhibited, a girl who rarely let go and played. But this Ally came alive with the children in a way he’d never seen before.
She got totally involved in building a sand castle with the little kids. And when he and Lukas and some of the bigger boys splashed them playfully with water—which of course turned into a water fight—she took great joy in dousing him. She was also the one who suggested “burying Uncle PJ in the sand” would be a grand game.
“Whoa, hang on,” he’d protested.
But to no avail. Not when Elias and Lukas and even his mother agreed and helped dig the hole. At least she’d dug him out after and spent an inordinate amount of time brushing sand off him.
He’d loved every minute of that. Too much, in fact, and he’d finally had to head straight into the ocean before he scandalized his entire family.
When he came back it was to discover she had yet another idea—they should make face paint.
He stared at her. “Face paint?”
She grinned impishly. “Chicken?”
“Of course not,” he said, affronted. “But how…?” Face paint was totally out of his area of expertise.
“We’l
l be right back,” she promised the kids and, grabbing him by the hand, she led him into the house.
It was not the mystery he imagined it would be—not the mystery that Ally herself was. Cornstarch, cold cream, a few drops of water and food coloring and they were in business. He regarded the colorful tubs a bit warily.
Ally giggled. “Here,” and in an instant she dabbed his nose with blob of green. “How handsome you are.”
“Am I?” PJ growled and, dipping his fingers in the blue, set off after her while she dodged away, laughing, nearly colliding with his mother and falling over Yiayia in her rocking chair.
“Out!” His mother flapped her hands at both of them, shaking her head as well. “You’re terrible! Who’d have thought PJ would marry a woman as crazy as he is?”
Ally stopped dead, looking stricken, all laughter gone. “Am I?”
“As crazy as he is?” PJ’s mother looked surprised at how serious Ally seemed. Then, as if realizing Ally needed reassurance, she smiled and gave her daughter-in-law a hug. “Yes, I think you are.” Then she stroked a motherly hand over Ally’s silken midnight hair. “But that’s a good thing, you understand?”
Ally looked from his mother to PJ himself, and he saw that her eyes were wide with something that looked like wonder. Then she smiled with a joy PJ had rarely seen as she gave his mother a hard hug in return. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
PJ, watching them, felt for the first time that the tide might really actually have turned. “Ally?”
She looked his way, eyes still glowing.
Grinning, he reached out a hand and stroked blue face paint across her cheeks.
CHAPTER NINE
TONIGHT she was going to make love with PJ Antonides.
She’d been waiting for it all day.
No, not really waiting, because that seemed somehow to imply that she’d done nothing else. And she’d done a lot, enjoyed a lot.
It had been a magical day.
Not a day. The whole weekend had been magical. In all of it—with the exception of the horrible sleepless night she’d spent last night which was, let’s face it, her own fault—Ally had discovered the happiest two days of her life.
The weekend she’d faced with trepidation and anxiety had turned into one of joy and good feeling. With their easy smiles and eager embrace, PJ’s family had given her the warmth and sense of belonging she’d always wanted. Completely unexpectedly, under distinctly dubious circumstances, they had opened their arms to her, taken her in, made her their own.
And PJ?
She was about to let him make her his own as well.
She wasn’t standing on the precipice any longer, torn between the man she’d conveniently and desperately married and the future she’d envisioned with Jon.
On the contrary, with her apology, she’d taken a step, made a move. And she was free-falling now, inexorably pulled by the attraction she’d felt from the first time she’d met PJ Antonides, an attraction that, unbelievably, hadn’t diminished over the past ten years.
But it was more than simple physical attraction. And it was more than the camaraderie of old friendship renewed.
She was very much afraid it was love. Real love. A love that had begun all those years ago and had endured despite their separation, and that had only needed proximity to rekindle, to spark to life again.
At least, it was doing so for her.
She still didn’t know how PJ felt. She knew he wanted to continue their marriage—for the moment at least. He’d made that much clear.
But it was also clear that being married was convenient for him. And he’d offered no declarations of love. In fact, he’d agreed that day in his office that he couldn’t possibly love her.
And yet…
She hoped. She remembered the way he looked at her sometimes…the way he touched her…the way he’d kissed…
And so she had to find out.
What she’d had with PJ that single night ten years ago—and what they’d shared so far this weekend—both felt so different, so much more authentic than what she’d determinedly tried to construct with Jon, that she couldn’t just turn her back and walk away.
And so when, at long last, night fell and the party broke up and PJ came with her to their bedroom, she didn’t demur, she didn’t act coy, she didn’t protest. On the contrary, this time she was the one who grasped his wrist and drew him in with her, then shut the door.
One of PJ’s dark brows lifted quizzically. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded now, slumberous almost. Bedroom eyes. It was an expression Ally had never understood before. Now she did—and didn’t need an explanation, either. She had only to look at the man whose lips were scant inches from her own, whose breath she could feel against her heated skin, whose lips she wanted to taste.
She drew an anticipatory breath, then ran her tongue over her own lips.
PJ groaned.
“What’s wrong?” she demanded. “Are you sick?” With the amount of food his mother and grandmother and aunts had been making and PJ and his brothers had been eating, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
But he was smiling as he shook his head. “Not unless you say ‘No kissing.’ You’re not gonna say that, are you?”
And then she smiled, too, and went up on her toes to brush her mouth against his. “What do you think?”
His lips curved against her own, the merest yet most tantalizing graze of flesh against flesh. His words seemed to vibrate through her as he murmured, “I think that’s an even better idea than the face paint, Mrs. Antonides.”
And then he took over. His mouth closed over hers, softly at first, gently almost, but with a hunger that built quickly because she had been waiting for it, hoping for it, all day. Maybe, in fact, she’d been waiting for it since their wedding night. The brief quick hungry kisses they’d shared in the past few days were mere appetizers in the face of the feast that PJ was making of this.
It was definitely a kiss worth waiting for.
Ally forgot all about her worries, her nerves, her confusion. She could only respond to the sweet persuasiveness of his lips, his tongue, could only open to him, welcome him, meet his hunger with her own.
But even though he was clearly as desperate for it as she was, his kiss was deliberately slow and leisurely, as if he was a man about to partake of a feast and for whom slow meticulous preparation was every bit as important as the meal he was about to enjoy.
And Ally enjoyed it, too.
She relished the taste of him, all salt and sea spray with, somehow, a hint of lime. In his hair she caught the scent of wood smoke from the evening fire. She drew it in, savored it, even as she savored the silky softness of it threading through her fingers. Then she turned her face to enjoy the scrape of rough whiskers against the softness of her cheek.
He slid his hands up under her shirt, then tugged it effortlessly over her head. The night air through the open window cooled her own heated flesh, but didn’t cool her ardor. She snagged the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it up and over his head.
“Mmm.” He murmured and backed her toward the bed.
It was the bed in which she’d lain sleepless virtually all night, last night. It was the bed that had seemed as vast and cold as an arctic wasteland when she had spent hours in it alone. But tonight, as PJ bore her back down on it, it seemed a warm and welcome cocoon for the two of them to share.
“Do you want to leave the light on?” he asked. “Or off?”
She hesitated. A part of her would prefer to leave it on, to see PJ strip off and bare the splendor of his naked body. A part of her imagined that he would enjoy the same view of her.
Maybe it was self-consciousness that had her whisper, “Off?” almost as if it were a question. Or self-preservation. Or maybe it was an almost unconscious desire to re-create the intimacy of their wedding night. Then they had embraced in the darkness with only the rising moon to light the room.
Now as PJ flicked off the lamp, she found that there was indee
d the same soft silver of moonglow bathing the room. She just prayed that this time the love they shared would last beyond the dawn.
If PJ had similar memories, he didn’t say. He didn’t speak at all. His hands, his lips, his body spoke for him. He pressed her back onto the bed and made slow sweet love to her.
His touches made her quiver with longing. His fingers trailing down over her ribs and then up the length of her legs made her bite her lip with frustration. But at the same time, she gave herself over to enjoying their touch, reveling in the fact that she was in PJ’s arms, in his bed, where she’d never imagined being again.
And then his fingers finally found her, touching her where she most needed his touch, stroking her, opening her. And she sucked in a sharp breath at the sweetness of it, even as she twisted on the sheets and reached out to touch him as well.
Very quickly the rest of their clothes slipped away—and for a second she regretted not having more light to see him. But sight wasn’t the only sense she had. Even in the near darkness she could feel his firmly muscled body, his heated flesh, his hair-roughened skin. She could trail her fingers down his abdomen, could run a single one along the proud jut of his erection, making him tense and shudder.
“Ally!” He groaned her name.
She smiled and pressed kisses into his chest, his belly, his—
“Ally!” He hauled her up and pressed her into the sheets. “You’re going to kill me, doing that.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to kill you,” she whispered. “I have a much better idea.” And she wrapped her hands across his back pulling him closer so that their bodies fit together completely.
His knee nudged between hers and she shifted to accommodate. It had been so long, and yet in another way it felt as if no time had passed, as if the memories of that night melded into this one, just as their separate movements meshed and melded into one, as if her body knew what she had not known—that she was his and always had been.
He moved against her, pressed in, and she wrapped her legs around him, her fingers digging into his back as they rocked together, eager, hungry, desperate as the sensation built.
Antonides' Forbidden Wife Page 14