by Sarah Morgan
Silence stretched out between them, long and strained.
Finally she breathed in deeply, her face tilting apologetically, though signs of strain still clung to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. Way too much information.’
‘No,’ he insisted, realising his feelings of compassion were surprisingly genuine. He reached out a hand, loosening hers from the side of her glass, squeezing her fingers within his. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘It’s okay. Really,’ she said, making no effort to remove her hand. He let his thumb stroke her fingers, a gentle massage that reminded him of how good she felt in his arms and made him realise how much he was looking forward to holding her again.
‘So now you have no family?’
She dipped her head—a silent assent. ‘But I’ve been lucky too,’ she said. ‘Grace has been very good to me—taking me on board, inviting me to share her house. She’s the closest thing I have to family now.’
Everything inside him shut down. His thumb ceased its stroking as resentment simmered to the surface at the mention of that name. Any compassion he had felt for a young girl who had suffered the loss of both her mother and her father in tragic circumstances dissolved in the acid burn of his hatred for all things Della-Bosca.
This woman sitting opposite him was no innocent. She was part of Della-Bosca’s evil web. She was part of the problem and he had better not forget it.
‘Loukas?’
Her blue eyes held concern—concern for him. It was ironic. She wouldn’t look that way if she knew what he had planned for her precious Dr Della-Bosca. But first he needed her help. First he needed hard evidence. And, above all, he needed to ensure the safety of his half-sister.
He smiled then, as he forced the rancid ball of his hatred deep down inside himself again. ‘But that’s not all, Jade,’ he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Now you have me too.’
Something had changed between them tonight. As they strolled hand in hand down the length of the pier, neither of them talking, Jade knew that whatever relationship they shared had moved to a new level. And it had nothing whatsoever to do with his promise of a one-million-dollar donation.
Her body hummed with awareness, every brush of his shirt sending frissons of sensation into her flesh where they multiplied and fanned out through her body, so that every part of her was acutely aware of his proximity and his every tiny touch, his every passing glance. Every part of her seemed exquisitely poised, balanced on a knife-edge, as if waiting for something to happen.
Wanting it to happen.
She drew in air that seemed charged with life, shimmering inside her as the truth of her physical wanting hit home.
He’d told her it that he wouldn’t press her, that it would be her decision if they made love. Now more than ever she knew that that was what she wanted. Yet it was a different need that drove her now, compared to that she’d felt at the Gala.
There she’d been swept completely away by his sheer impact, by the physical magnetism he exuded. There she’d forgotten about the risk she was taking and the revelation that would have him recoiling in revulsion. Because his power had plugged a direct line into her needs, making her forget about everything else but wanting him and being wanted by him, reeling her in like a fish on a hook.
But tonight was different. He was different. He’d talked about his family’s business and his role as director, and how it gave him the involvement he wanted and the freedom to pursue his own interests. And he’d listened to her and made her feel that there was more to whatever there was between them than sheer lust. The desire was still there between them, tangible and brooding and waiting, only now it was overlaid by a sense of the man.
And the bottom line was that she liked what she saw.
From politics to the differences between countries, they’d discussed a broad range of topics—even arguing amicably over gridiron versus Australian Rules Football, and laughing when they couldn’t agree about which code made the most sense. And then he’d listened when she’d told him about her family. And apart from one fearful moment, when he’d almost gone rigid with white-hot anger—what had she said to cause that?—he’d been so understanding.
Had he meant it when he’d told her that she now had him? His words had been like a balm to her soul. They’d touched her deep down, in a place where loss and pain were much more frequent visitors. She could trust him, this man. Even though she knew so little about him really, even though they’d met but on two occasions, she felt the invisible bonds between them. She could sense it.
It was rare to feel someone getting under her guard. So far only Grace had made it into her inner circle, and Grace was a hard act to follow. But the more she knew of Loukas, the more she knew that he too was special.
She could trust him with her secret. If he liked her, as it seemed that he did, then maybe he could accept her the way she was. Maybe Grace was wrong. Maybe Loukas was special enough that it wouldn’t matter to him.
She leaned her head into his shoulder as they walked and he looked down, smiling, before wrapping his arm around her and tucking her in close.
She breathed in his magic man-scent, feeling it warm her spirits like a drug. And somewhere in her mind it occurred to her that this must be exactly what it felt like to fall in love.
Fall in love?
Her steps should have faltered on the boardwalk, her breath should have caught. And yet amazingly the concept didn’t scare her half as much as she thought it should. It seemed so natural, the way she was feeling, that she couldn’t be scared. And, even more than natural, the idea of falling in love with Loukas seemed so inevitable.
But love didn’t develop so quickly—did it? She wished she knew more. Her experience with boys and men was painfully limited, painfully inadequate. But maybe this was how it started—with an attraction, with a desire to get to know more about him.
She hugged these new sensations and her musings to herself like a precious gift as they walked along the park lining the shore to his car. It might be crazy, it might be irrational, but her heart told her that maybe she was right—that maybe Loukas was right for her.
They stopped at the car and he dropped his arm from her shoulders momentarily while he turned her towards him. He looked down at her, his eyes darker then ever away from the pier lighting.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her voice unusually husky. ‘I enjoyed dinner—very much.’
One side of his mouth turned up. ‘It’s me who should be thanking you. I’m glad you agreed to come out with me.’
‘One million dollars for the foundation was a powerful incentive,’ she admitted with a laugh, acknowledging to herself that even without the money the evening had been more than a success as far as she was concerned.
‘I hope that wasn’t the only attraction,’ he said, and he tilted his head fractionally so that a glimmer of light from the closest streetlamp skated over his dark eyes and disappeared under their lids as his mouth descended over hers.
Her next intake of air was full of him—his scent, his taste, the very feel of him pressed against her. He tasted of the richness of coffee and the wildness of tequila, of strength and barely contained passion, and of a need echoing hers.
His hands maintained the gentle pressure on her shoulders, anchoring her to him, but with his mouth weaving magic against hers she wasn’t going anywhere. Her lips opened under his and he accepted her invitation readily, his tongue seeking entry, fusing them closer and closer together.
Her body responded in the only way it could—openly—welcoming his kiss as drought-stricken land welcomed the rain. His kiss gave her heat and life. His kiss rocked her soul. And his kiss promised so much more. She felt her breasts firm and peak, she felt her bones melt, and she knew she was lost.
‘I should take you home,’ he said, his slight stubble grazing hers, his breathing sounding surprisingly ragged and edgy before his mouth found hers once more.
Boldness shaped her response. Boldness
and a power driven by her need and the knowledge that it was reciprocated.
She edged her face to one side. ‘Don’t we have some unfinished business to take care of first?’
‘You’ll have your cheque first thing in the morning. I’ll take care of it personally.’
She felt rather than saw the hardening of his features, the grim line of his mouth, and knew he’d misunderstood. But she refused to take offence—not when the last thing she wanted to do was start an argument between them. Not when she had a completely different purpose in mind.
She raised an arm and drew the tips of the fingers of one hand down the side of his face, circling the outer line of his ear. He swallowed then, and she followed the movement with her fingers, down the strong column of his neck, right to where it disappeared into the fine cotton of his shirt.
He looked at her quizzically, his eyes narrowing as the flat of her hand continued to stroke purposefully over his chest, resting provocatively, teasingly, over the firm nub of one nipple.
‘I have a confession to make,’ she said, hoping to God that now she’d finally plucked up the courage to say what she wanted she wasn’t about to make a total fool of herself.
‘When I referred to “unfinished business”, I wasn’t talking about the money.’
CHAPTER FIVE
AS CONFESSIONS went it hadn’t been particularly guilt-laden, but that didn’t seem to worry Loukas in the least. Quite the contrary. His eyes had blazed with passion and heat in response to her words, and within half an hour he was sliding open and ushering her through the doors that led onto the balcony of his Malibu Beach house.
They stood side by side on the timber deck, staring out over the dark ocean and watching the frosted edge of the sea swoosh rhythmically in and out along the shore. The gentle summer night breeze tugged at the ends of her hair and she relished the tang of the salty sea air and tried to relax.
But she’d had thirty minutes in his car to anticipate what was to come. Thirty minutes to congratulate herself for finally being brave enough to travel a road she’d been too scared to travel in years.
Thirty minutes to panic.
What if she’d been wrong and he wasn’t the man she was so desperate for him to be? And what if Grace’s cold, hard words had been right? She’d never forgive herself if he changed his mind about making the donation because of what she was underneath her clothes.
Her heartbeat jumped up a gear. Suddenly this wasn’t just about her own feelings. She couldn’t let him know about the marks on her skin—not if it imperilled the foundation.
He interrupted her thoughts without saying a word, bringing her shoulders around to face him as he leaned against the balustrade, running his hands down her arms, taking her hands in his.
She looked up, meeting his gaze with relief. At least for now rejection was the last thing she saw in his eyes. The low light washing out over them from the living room lamps was sufficient for her to read their brown depths, and without a doubt what they told her was that he wanted her. And even in her inexperience she could tell instinctively that his want had nothing in common with the teenage testosterone-crazed mistake called Garry that marked her first sexual encounter, or even with the intense heat that had marked her first meeting with Loukas at the Gala. This time his need was accompanied by a rich bloom of tenderness that warmed her from the inside out.
And she knew in that instant that falling in love with this man wasn’t just a danger. It was a fact. And if he rejected her now for any reason…
She trembled as the fear rippled through her. This time there was more at stake than merely trampling on her self-worth. There was even more at stake than the financial security of the foundation. This time it could be her heart that was battered.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
She shook her head, surprised that he’d so quickly picked up on her feelings of discomfiture. ‘No, it’s not that.’
‘Then what…?’
She could feel the heat rising in her face as she struggled to answer, already regretting her quick denial. It would have been easier to agree that she was cold. How could she possibly admit that she was afraid without telling him everything?
She could so easily imagine the type of women he was used to dating. They would be sophisticated and poised, with the confidence that came from being surrounded from birth with money and opportunity—hardly the type to feel uncertain about their place in the world. That was what he was probably expecting with her. As a successful doctor, with a growing and successful clientele, that was exactly how she should be—how she would be, if it weren’t for the scars.
He was looking down at her, waiting, expecting her to say something. And she knew she had to find some words to try to explain something of what she was feeling.
‘I warn you now, I’m not very good at this,’ she admitted at last, with a weak smile forced out briefly around gritted teeth. ‘I’m actually—a bit nervous.’
His eyes narrowed and he angled his head closer to his shoulder, almost as if weighing up her words. What was he thinking? She held her breath, wondering what it meant for their budding relationship if even that tiny admission was making him reconsider his plans for the night.
‘Are you telling me that you’re a virgin?’
She blinked, momentarily taken aback that she’d so totally misinterpreted his look. But wasn’t that exactly how she’d sounded? Like some timorous virgin?
‘Heavens, no!’ she protested. Garry had well and truly taken care of that, before discovering her secret and throwing her out of the car. Then, because she thought she’d made it sound as if there was something wrong with being a virgin, and because losing her virginity wasn’t something she was particularly proud of given the inglorious circumstances, she dropped her head and added, ‘Well, just no, really.’
His fingers found her chin, encouraging her with gentle pressure to lift her gaze once more to his. Her lungs clamped down, the gentle lap of the waves against the shore drowned out by the drumbeat of her pulse as she searched his face. His eyes looked almost doubtful.
He must be having second thoughts this time. Her inexperience was bound to be a turn-off for a man like Loukas. He’d be used to partners who could give as good as they got—partners who could provide pleasure even as they were accepting it. There hadn’t been too much of that in her experience. Quick sex in the back seat of a car didn’t leave too much time for covering much more than the basic mechanics.
He moved his hand then, so that her chin rested against his palm and his long fingers cupped her cheek. ‘How about we take things slowly, then?’
She could have kissed him then and there—if only because at least now she could breathe again. As it was, she didn’t need to go to the effort, because his lips were upon hers, slanting in a series of passes that had her wanting to catch his mouth and hold it prisoner against hers for ever.
His hand slipped behind her head, his fingers tangling in her hair and unwinding the casual knot she’d tied it into so that the length of it tumbled over her shoulders. He growled and pulled her closer, and yet his touch was still tender, unhurried, as he continued his exploration of her back, skimming the fabric of her silk blouse with a touch that was gentle and yet devastating in impact. His hands swooped lower, capturing her behind, and his arms moulded to the shape of her, so she could feel him all around her, feel his heat feeding into her, feel him pressing her closer against his hardness. And all the while he used his lips to woo her.
It would be all right.
His message was relayed to her in his kiss, in the touch of his mouth to her throat, and in the warm, mellifluous world he’d transported her to.
There was no panic, there was no hurried rush, there was no frantic desperation in his movements. There was only a languid inevitability about his exploration of her mouth and her body.
She steeled herself for his first contact with her breast, knowing it would come, forcing herself in the warm blanket of his attent
ions not to be scared, not to panic. It didn’t have to be like before.
They could make love.
He didn’t have to know.
He didn’t have to see.
And then his large hands were there, scooping under the curve of her breasts, leaving her breathless as ecstasy melded with fear. His thumbs flicked over her nipples and she felt them harden under his touch as sensation drove exquisitely downwards. His mouth at her throat, she tried to maintain her breathing. She tried to take control over the unfamiliar feelings of some tissues firming, others plumping and slickening. But she had no power to haul herself back—not when he dropped to his knees and placed his mouth over one breast.
She shuddered in his arms. Even though the silk of her blouse and the layer of satin beneath, the tropical heat of his mouth made her gasp and arch her back. Her hands clung to his head, losing their fingers in his thick dark waves as his teeth tugged on her nipple and his hands dipped to the backs of her knees.
The shock of his hands against the bare skin of her legs, circling upwards, threatened to melt her bones. She swayed, clinging to Loukas with one arm for support, reaching out to find the balustrade with the other, knowing even in the fog of her desire that she needed to hang on to something more grounded if she wasn’t to topple right over.
He seemed to sense their precarious position, his hands ceasing their ascent of her thighs as he removed his mouth from her breast, trailing kisses up her throat until she was in his arms again and she could let go her hold on the balustrade with Loukas to anchor her.
‘You’re so beautiful,’ he said, before his mouth descended on hers again.
It was meant as a compliment, but it hit her like an accusation. She wasn’t beautiful. He wouldn’t say that if he knew.
And he didn’t know because she wasn’t being honest with him. If she were, she would tell him before-hand—and just maybe he’d understand. Maybe he wouldn’t think she was a freak. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything.