Bought ForThe Greek's Bed

by Julia James

  And fled.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MEMORY twisted inside her like a garrotte around her throat. She gazed now, down the length of the table, at the man who was going to wreak his revenge on her for what she had allegedly done to him.

  Gone from his bed into another man’s arms.

  She’d had no idea—none—that she had been photographed with Jem at the airport where she’d met him, or that she had been trailed leaving with him as she fled. No idea at all until, three days later, knowing she could put it off no longer, she had returned to the Theakis mansion.

  To be eviscerated by Theo’s savage fury and thrown from her marriage in bloodied rags.

  Never to be spoken to again, never to have her existence acknowledged—until now. When he had decided it was time for a little exercise in revenge…

  Her eyes darkened. Revenge for her having committed the greatest crime of all, in his eyes—preferring another man to him.

  That was all it was…

  All it could possibly be. Their marriage had not been real, had been a sham, simply for show, so how could there even be a question of adultery?

  No one even saw those photos! Only him!

  So how could he have grounds for anger? Her mouth twisted. Was it just about the money it had cost him to buy them from the photographer who had, so Theo had hurled at her in that nightmare exchange, thought he could make more money by selling them to him rather than the newspapers? Well, so what? Theo Theakis had more money than he knew what to do with, and she wasn’t responsible for the ludicrous interest the press took in him and his affairs!

  He shouldn’t have so damn many himself if he doesn’t want the press all over him!

  Well, she thought balefully, no one was going to find out about the ‘affair’ he was having right now, that was for certain.

  With his own ex-wife.

  She gazed down the table again, reaching automatically for her glass of wine. She wished she could pass out cold. Wished she could simply shut her mind, completely and totally, to what was going to happen. But she couldn’t. She felt her stomach tighten. She had to do his. For Theo, it might be about revenge for his injured conceit about himself, but for her, oh, for her it was for a quite different reason.

  Her eyes rested on him with tight deliberation, and she set down the glass again. She felt the wine wind into her bloodstream like a slow coil of satin, gliding over her nerve-ends subtly, so subtly, easing into the cells of her body. With the fringes of her mind she knew it was taking effect.

  She looked about her, eyes drifting around the dining room. It was opulent, like the rest of the house, decorated in that same rich, uniform style—a setting, nothing more, for the true purpose of the house: to provide a discreet, luxurious place where sexual congress could take place with absolute privacy.

  It was a house that had seen a great deal of such activity…

  A pinched look haunted her eyes for a moment. Then she dispelled it. Her gaze went on drifting around, looking anywhere, everywhere, but at the man sitting at the head of the table.

  Yet she could sense his presence as if it were solid. It was impossible not to. She was quiveringly, pulsingly aware of him with every beat of her blood. Finally, she lifted her eyes to do what she had refused to do all through the endless meal. Look down the long table to the man who wanted to take his revenge on her. A vengeance she had no choice but to let him take. No choice at all.

  Starting right now.

  In slow motion her gaze slid through the space between them and locked to his.

  It was instant. Tangible. Physical. His eyes held hers as surely as if his hands had caught her. It was like being speared, caught and held, like a fish on a line. For a fraction of a second she wanted to pull away, but he would not relinquish her, and even as she tensed she felt the dissolution in her veins as she gave herself up to the leash on which she was being held. He had felt her moment of yielding. She could see it in the minutest relaxation of his face. He knew that she would not break the gaze between them, knew that he could go on holding her eyes with his, making her the recipient of the slow, probing exploration of his look. She saw the lines around his mouth begin to deepen into a smile—a smile of satisfaction.

  Anticipation.

  She got to her feet. Still without unlocking her gaze, she picked up her wineglass and took one last mouthful. Slowly she lowered the glass, but kept it between her fingers. Then, with the same slow movement, she turned away and walked towards the door.

  Her hips were swaying, she could feel it through the line of her legs, her feet in their high heels. She could feel the fall of her hair rustle over her bare shoulder.

  Feel his eyes follow her every step.

  At the door she did not pause or turn. One of the staff was there before her, opening the door for her, but she did not acknowledge it. This was not the moment for other people. This was the moment only for her—and the man who would any moment now push back his chair and follow her.

  She crossed the hall, her footsteps loud on the marble, and began to ascend the stairs. The wineglass was still in her hand and she paused halfway. She didn’t need this now. She could feel its power already creaming in her veins like a silken veil.

  As she moved she felt the sleek material of her dress move against her body, like a whispered caress over her skin. She could feel her body, feel its contours, feel the heat flushing slowly through her flesh as she made her swaying ascent. She paused at the landing, and then made her languorous way to the bedroom. The master bedroom.

  The mistress bedroom.

  Well, that was, after all, exactly what she was about to become. One of Theo Theakis’s mistresses. One of so many. Enjoying with him an affair that was sensual, sophisticated and entirely pleasurable.

  Just right for a mistress.

  And therefore, with immaculate logic, entirely appropriate for her now…

  So, now that she was to become Theo Theakis’s mistress, she must do only what a mistress would do in these circumstances. Be only what a mistress would be.

  Feel only what a mistress would feel.

  Pleasure. Nothing but pleasure. Sensual and sophisticated and above all untainted by emotion. Quite, quite untainted by anything so completely unnecessary…

  As she walked in, still with the same slow, undulating walk, she left the bedroom door open behind her. Moving towards the vast bed, she drew back the pristine counterpane and pressed the light switch to illuminate the room with a soft, flattering light. Then she slipped off her sandals and lowered herself down on to the bed. She posed herself carefully, languidly, one arm stretched out over her head, which lifted her breasts, the other hand splayed on her thigh, her legs slightly crooked. She could feel the hem of her dress, taut and high across her upper legs, feel the mounds of her breasts strain against the silky material covering them so skimpily.

  She felt ripe and wanton.

  And quite, quite alien.

  But that was good. It was fine.

  More than fine.

  Necessary.

  I can do this—I must…

  The last echo of her mantra sounded in her head, then faded away, quite away.

  She did not need the mantra any more. The ripe, wine-laden wantonness of her body was all she needed.

  Right now, at this moment, as she lay arranged in her deliberate, knowing pose, her breasts full, her skin warmed and lustrous, deep within the slow heat building, it was all she wanted…

  There was a shadow by the door—a dark presence electrifying her senses.

  He was there. Coming towards her. His gait steady, purposeful. His features taut. His eyes—

  Dark, so dark. Intense.

  Intent, so very, very clear, on one purpose only…

  She felt her breath catch, felt the shiver of what she knew—welcomed and rejoiced—was raw sexual excitement. The wine that filled her veins was had been replaced by this new feeling, and she could feel it absorbing into her consciousness. Nothing mat
tered except this moment, this sensuous, voluptuous now. The now that filled her, possessed her—changed her.

  He came up to her. He was still formally dressed, and the sight of him in his business suit, with his broad shoulders moulded by the superb tailoring, the glimpse of the grey silk lining of his jacket, the pristine whiteness of his shirt stretched across his chest, slashed by the expensive discreet silk of his tie, made her feel, with a shiver of that same raw, sexual excitement, the full frisson of his power.

  For a long moment he looked down on her, and she was what he saw—a woman displayed for him—beautiful, willing, and waiting for him. A mistress…

  Some last, frail shadow of herself haunted the recesses of her mind, but it died away. She simply lay there, her sensuous pose displaying her, as his eyes worked leisurely along the languorous length of her supine body.

  He sat down beside her, and she felt the mattress dip beneath his weight. He contemplated her one moment longer, without touching her. He said nothing, and nor did she. There were no words to say. This was not about words. This was about the fire in her blood, making her someone quite, quite different.

  A mistress. The woman he wanted her to be.

  The woman she now was for him.

  And she would be that woman, willingly, wantonly, letting him, as he did now, reach a hand towards her face, letting his thumb graze sensuously along the lushness of her lip. His touch dissolved into her, and with a movement she could not stop she bit slowly, softly, into the hard pad of his grazing thumb, letting her tongue ease along it.

  She saw the deep flare in his eyes, fathomless eyes, framed with long, impenetrable lashes. She bit softly again.

  His thumb left her mouth, travelled slowly down the curve of her jaw, the line of her throat, pausing in the hollow at its base to feel the pulse with its slow, insistent beat. His hand moved on, palming over her bare flesh, fingers dipping into her cleavage, and then, with a considered, leisurely movement, he drew down the bodice of her dress to display her breasts to him.

  Heat pooled between her legs. Her breath caught in her throat. She lay, breasts bared, while he drifted the tips of his fingers across them. He did not look at her, only at her breasts, and she felt them engorge and fill, their peaks flowering like exquisitely sensitive buds. The touch of his nails on them, so light, so devastating, dissolved her spine.

  For a little while he continued to caress her breasts, almost in an exploratory way, seeing what his touch would do to them. She felt her fingers clench as sensation after sensation shot through her.

  She could not think; she could only feel. She was only this—an exquisite net of sensation, playing through her body. Tiny shoots of fire laced from her nipples through the taut swell of her breasts, racing down, down the length of her abdomen, to feed the heat pooling between the vee of her legs.

  Her lips parted and she gave a low, soft moan.

  As if it were a signal, he moved with sudden swiftness, sliding one hand beneath her shoulder and turning her over with effortless strength, before she even realised what he was doing. The room swirled and settled, and then, with another, deeper shiver of excitement, she felt his hands smooth along the silk of her short skirt, riding up over her thighs. He smoothed the material upwards, ruching it towards the small of her back.

  Exposing the bare mounds of her bottom.

  She wore no panties. What would have been the point? They would only have had to be removed.

  She felt him still. He had not expected that, for her to be so naked. She knew it deep inside her, where the heat was pooling, and the knowledge made her feel even more wanton. Her cheek was pressed against a pillow, her hands reaching up above her, fingers pressing into the edge, while the taut silk of her dress cut across the bared flesh of her bottom, displayed for his view.

  Sensation surged through her. She felt arousal—full-on, incredibly erotic—flood her. Instinctively she stretched her spine, indenting her body into the mattress, her thighs falling very slightly apart.

  ‘Don’t move.’

  The instruction was a low rasp, and she felt the mattress tilt again as he stood up. He was stripping his clothes off, she could tell, hearing the sound of rapidly discarded garments. Then there was the sound of a drawer in the bedside unit being pulled roughly open. There was a pause. She did not look. She knew what he was doing.

  What he was preparing for.

  She felt her heart rate increase, flushing through her veins, heating her yet more. Then, abruptly, the bed dipped again, but now the balance was different. Now she felt strong, muscled thighs either side of hers.

  He was caging her, kneeling over her legs as she lay, displayed and semi-naked for him. She pressed her groin into the bedding again, feeling that incredible surge of erotic sensation, knowing what he was seeing. Her hands kneaded at the pillow.

  Hunger filled her. Hunger and need. Displaying herself was not enough. She wanted more…much, much more. She stretched her spine again, minutely lifting her half-bared bottom to him. Inviting him.

  He took the invitation. Hands curved hard over her, and pleasure flooded her. The tips of his fingers were beneath the silk hem of her dress, and his thumbs—his thumbs were dipping into the cleavage between the mounds of her bottom. Dipping and dragging, down, down, into the hidden valley between her thighs.

  It was unbearable, incredible, so fantastically arousing that she lifted her head and shoulders, straining the curve of her spine.

  A moan broke from her, and from him a soft, satisfied laugh.

  For countless blissful moments he toyed with her, and then, in another sudden movement, his hands were at the zip of her dress. He unzipped it, hoisted her off the bed with a single sweep of one strong forearm around her waist, and peeled the dress off her completely, shucking it away down her legs and discarding it on the floor.

  She was completely naked.

  He flipped her over.

  Her eyes went to his instantly, her hair tumbled around her face, lips parted. Her nipples were swollen aching peaks, her hands helpless and limp beside her head.

  He caged his body over hers, his fingers sliding between hers, holding her, holding her exactly where he wanted her to be. Which, right now, was the only place in the entire universe where she wanted to be.

  For a moment, a brief, slicing moment, disbelief consumed her. Then it was gone, gone completely, like a drop of cool water on a sizzling hotplate. Heat flared in her, excitement and arousal. There was only this—now, here. Lying aroused and pleasured, caged and waiting—waiting for what she wanted now, right now, right now…

  Her eyes locked to his, challenging him, inviting him.

  His body was so powerful, the bare muscled chest honed and sleek, every plane and muscle taut—and she wanted it. She wanted to feel its hard weight pressing her down, feel its strength, its rampant, urgent desire for hers. Wanted to feel that long, strong shaft fill her, thrust up into her, again and again and again, and she didn’t want to wait—she didn’t want to wait one moment more.

  Her spine arched, and she strained her hands against his grip.His thighs were pressing against hers, and she strained against them, lifting her hips to him.

  ‘What are you waiting for, Theo?’ she said, and her voice was a challenge, a husk, her eyes twining with his, writhing like twisting ropes. ‘This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s what I’m here for, isn’t it? To finish what you started—’

  She lifted her hips again, her breasts rising, thrusting forward as she moved. Raw, urgent excitement, erotic and sensual, overrode everything, blotting out everything else.

  It was just her body and his. And she wanted only one thing. She wanted it so, so badly…

  He gave it to her.

  With slow, taunting control he lowered himself down, sliding into her in one single, fluid movement.

  She gasped, and threw her head back, sensation exploding in her. Oh, God, it was good! It was so, so good! She lifted to meet him, lifted against his thrust, wanting him t
o thrust again, right up to the very neck of her womb, as her muscles tightened around him. She was on fire, urgent, hungry, as hungry as a vampire scenting blood.

  He thrust again, hard and hot, and she cried out, a sharp, high sound. Her fingers wound in his, every muscle clenched tightly in her body as she arched up to meet his scything downstrokes. Her spine sweated, her body was jerking, as the hard, relentless thrusts came again and again. Her body was melting, melting all around him, as if it was turning into something else, something that was hot, liquid metal, searing with heat, glistening with absolute, total arousal.

  She could see his face and it was taut, intense. He was caught up in his own consuming pleasure as he scythed into her, hard, insistent, over and over again. And with every thrust the hot, metallic liquid that was her body came closer and closer and closer still to the moment she was gasping for with every urgent rasp in her straining throat. The moment that was almost, almost there, with every hard stroke against the inflamed, distended flesh inside her, that incredible spot she had heard about but never, never…

  Sensation sheeted through her, a pleasure so powerful she could not believe it, crying out with a high, unearthly sound as every cell in her body fused into molten silver. And as they fused she seemed to feel his arms tighten convulsively around her, holding her so close against him that she could feel the hectic beating of his heart against hers. Something seemed to take her over, flooding through her, something that was nothing to do with the intensity of physical pleasure consuming her. Something that seemed to take her out of her own pulsing body, soaring upwards, higher and higher. An emotion so powerful that she could feel her arms wrap around the body in her arms as if it were the most precious thing in the universe…

  No! The cry was silent, anguished. Theo wasn’t precious to her—he was just a highly skilled sexual partner exerting his formidable expertise to ensure she got the maximum pleasure from his body.

  That was all he was.

  All this was.

  Desperately her body arched and bucked, and she jerked her hips upwards, again and again, to keep that incredible pleasure going. Because she never, never wanted to lose it. She wanted to keep it, ride it, hot and greedy, wanting more and more and more of it. Because it was essential—essential she did not lose it, that she clung to it, fused with it, became one with it. Because if it started to fade, if it started to ebb, it would be, it would be…