by Sarah Morgan
But, then again, maybe it would.
The look on Garry’s face came back—the revulsion, the contorted features of his face, as he realised what he’d just had sex with, when he realised she wasn’t what he’d expected. And all the good feeling about the success of her latest treatment, all the joy at finally being able to lift up her head in Yarrabee, the excitement of even finding a boy willing to be her partner for the senior dance—all of it had evaporated in one bitter moment.
She’d realised in that instant, and confirmed in the tears she’d shed into her pillow that night, that she would never be like other women.
She knew she should tell Loukas. She should warn him. But she couldn’t. At least not until afterwards when, no matter what his reaction, at least she would have experienced the magic of one time with him. Was it wrong to want that? Was it wrong to just want one magical time?
Because there was no doubt it would be a world away from what she’d experienced that one fractured summer back in Yarrabee.
So she didn’t say a word. She just kissed him back with all the feelings welling up inside her that came so naturally now, with all the sensations that he’d unleashed within her. And before she knew it he’d scooped her up into his arms and, still kissing her, carried her inside the house.
There’d never been a moment she’d felt so alive. Her senses were buzzing with so many different emotions, so many different needs, and all of them were directly sparked by one man and directed to one outcome.
She felt herself being lowered onto a bed, and he knelt down almost reverentially alongside her, his body a dark silhouette against the dull yellow glow from the lamps filtering in from the hallway.
‘I’ve wanted to make love to you since the moment I first saw you,’ he whispered, his voice husky and thick.
‘I know,’ she said, because she knew it was the truth. ‘I’ve felt it too.’
He reached a hand over to a side-table and she caught his intent.
‘No!’ She caught his arm with her hand, stopping him before he hit the switch. And then, in case he read too much into the urgency in her voice, she whispered, ‘Please?’
‘I understand,’ he said, moving away from the lamp. ‘We’ll take it slowly.’
And he did. Take her slowly. Bit by bit, achingly slowly, he peeled the clothes from them both, running his hands over her skin as each garment came off, setting her flesh alight. And in the darkness she knew she was safe. In the darkness she knew she could give herself up to the pleasure she was feeling, the pleasure he was giving her.
And she had never experienced such pleasure! Wherever his hands went his hot mouth followed closely behind. Such simple gestures—the liquid sweep of lips against skin, the hypnotic swirl of tongue against flesh, the gentle rasp of teeth—such simple movements, and yet so arousing, so breathtakingly erotic.
Lost in awe and wonder, and given up to sensations far out of her experience, she let his mouth go wherever he wanted. She let his lips dance around her navel, let him flick the tip of his tongue inside, tickling and exploring and foreshadowing the act that was to come. She let him do whatever he wanted because of how he made her feel, so that when his mouth descended over the peak of her scarred breast she reacted with little more than a panicked hitch to her breath—and even that soon evaporated in the heat of a scorching bliss the likes of which she’d never known.
But when he insinuated a knee between her legs and dipped his head lower she knew she wasn’t just going beyond her experience, he was taking her beyond reason. Her back arched as he found her core, his tongue making lazy circles around her most sensitive flesh, lapping at her, teasing her entrance, so that she called out for him to end the torture, to end the search for culmination.
Her hands curled tightly into the bedclothes, her shoulders twisted as she wriggled to escape, but his arms held tight on her thighs, anchoring her to him so that she had no hope but to ride the wild waves that were building inside her—no hope but to go with them, higher and higher. Until his mouth gave one final teasing suckle to her tender flesh and the waves crashed down, spilling her over the edge, tossing her like balsa into the foaming wash of her passion.
He clung to her as the final waves moved through her, turning to ripples and disappearing like the tide slipping out, and then he moved to her side, pulling her in close, hugging her to him as she gasped her way back to something approximating normality.
But she knew she would never be normal again. He’d shattered every preconceived notion she’d had about sex in one cataclysmic act. She’d always thought it should be good, known it ought to be good, but never had she realised how good it could be. And still she hadn’t felt the power of him inside her. How much better would that be?
She nuzzled into his shoulder, already tingling at the prospect, relishing the musky scent of him and the feel of his body, still fully charged, wrapped around hers. His hands were skimming the side of her body from shoulder to mid-thigh and back again, movements that escalated her desire all over again.
‘I thought you said you were going to take things slowly,’ she whispered.
He laughed, a low, deep rumble that she felt to her toes. ‘One thing at a time,’ he answered, rolling her once more onto her back, his mouth coming down hard on hers.
This time she was more aware. This time she was able to hold him, to explore the skinscape of his broad shoulders and the well-defined surface of his back, tapering as if sculpted into his firm waist before rising again into the taut swell of his buttocks.
He groaned as her hands pressed down on him, her thumbs finding the sweat-slickened hollows of his lower back, her fingers curling into his flesh as she felt the press of his erection, proof of his own unanswered need, hard against her.
And in that moment she understood how much he’d given her already. He hadn’t just slaked his need on her in an instant—as he could have done, as she would have let him. He hadn’t just taken what he could have. Instead he’d bestowed pleasure upon her first. He’d given her the chance to find her own paradise without greedily seeking his own.
Whatever came after this, whatever followed—whether it was his censure or his pity—she would never regret this night. Whatever happened, however foolhardy her love proved to be, she would always love him for what he had just given her.
He rolled away for a moment, retrieved something from the bedside table that quickly made good sense, and then he was back, lifting himself higher over her, and she knew with an innate woman sense what he wanted. Because it was what she wanted too. And then he was between her thighs, poised, waiting.
The electric charge of first contact ripped a gasp from her throat that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with exquisitely intense sensation. Every muscle inside her clamped down, trying to capture him, to draw him inside.
He growled, low and rough, as he answered her with more of him, then eased back before stretching her further.
It was torture.
It was bliss.
She tilted her hips, welcoming his length, encouraging him further, and when she gasped again it was in wonder at his sheer size, stretching her limits, filling her so completely that their bodies met, their union complete.
For a moment he stilled, a moment that shone in time with brilliant clarity, as if she was teetering on the edge. And if she thought that what he’d done before had changed her life, then what he was doing now was something so profound and meaningful that she felt her entire world changing. Then he moved, slowly, teasingly withdrawing, and she felt air rush into her lungs as if to fill the void.
Then he lunged, filling her completely once more, leaving no space for anything but him. Slowly at first he built the rhythm, taking her with him as he moved inside her, as he built the pace. And she went with him, matching him, taking his lead, feeling the pressure building inexorably inside her yet again, the urgency, the desperate race for completion.
Until his surging thrusts sent her spinning for a secon
d time, light and weightless, as the wave of shimmering ecstasy lifted her out of herself to a place where nothing was important, nothing mattered, other than her blissful acceptance of his own shuddering, pumping release.
They lay together, their limbs entwined, their breathing raggedly steadying, bodies slick and spent.
Loukas stared blankly up towards the darkened ceiling, mentally congratulating himself on his unexpected progress. She’d fallen in with his plans much more quickly than he’d anticipated. How much longer should he wait before he could start asking her questions?
He turned his head to where he could just make out her profile in the darkened room, just see the line of her closed eyes, her slightly parted lips, as she replenished her oxygen-depleted lungs. New questions sprang to mind—new questions that had nothing to do with the reason why she was here.
What was she hiding?
How could someone who looked like her be so inexperienced? Why would she be so shy? None of it made sense.
He’d scarcely believed her claim on the deck to be nervous, and yet she was an ingénue, and her performance had proved her near-innocence. She hadn’t lied to him—she’d been no virgin—though she had been deliciously tight and so responsive. She’d accepted his caresses with genuine enthusiasm, and yet made no attempt to reciprocate or take control. She’d made no attempt to explore his body beyond his chest and back. She’d made no attempt take him in her hand.
His body hummed at the thought, already anticipating that act. He’d like to feel her soft fingers curl around him, maybe even…He felt a sudden rush of blood at the prospect. No, she might not be a virgin but she was the next best thing. It would be more than gratifying to teach her more, to have her learn more of what he liked.
And why shouldn’t he make the most of this opportunity? It had been a long time since he’d been interested in a woman.
It had been a long time since Zoë.
His breathing stilled, before softly expelling the air in his lungs on a sigh as he curled one hand behind his head. Four years it would be, come December. Four years since her vivacious green eyes had danced for him, and he’d wound her long dark hair around his hands and tugged her laughing mouth closer to his.
But then, it was probably longer still than that. It might be coming up to four years since she’d died, but they’d not made love for months before her death. He’d accepted her claims of illness or inconvenience for far too long, not realising that under her clothes her five-foot-ten-inch frame had been reduced to little more than a walking skeleton. And yet still she’d complained of being fat, exercising herself until she’d collapsed.
She’d never been fat, even when they’d first met, and he’d had no inkling of the insecurities lurking below her glamorous exterior. But even before she’d become so ill, so obsessed with the body beautiful and how cosmetic surgery could lend a hand, he’d never found on her the lush curves he’d enjoyed so much tonight.
He expelled a burst of air, guilt seeping into his consciousness. No, it had been too long if he was starting to compare the likes of this woman with Zoë.
Zoë didn’t deserve it.
Still, that needn’t stop him from pursuing his plan. He had the time now. The latest from his father said that Olympia was leaving on a shopping trip to Paris in the morning, meaning she was safe from Della-Bosca’s witchcraft for a few days at least.
Which gave him the perfect opportunity to take his time with Jade.
He’d get the information he wanted. There was no doubt of that. Already he could sense her attitude warming to him, her once prickly defences coming down. A few more days of this and she would be his to control. She’d tell him everything he wanted to know and more. She wouldn’t stand a chance.
But first he’d make the most of her refreshingly innocent body. He’d teach her how to pleasure a man. He’d teach her how to pleasure him. And then he’d take as much of her as he had time for.
He turned fully to her, running his hand along her sensual side-on curves and stirring her provocatively back into wakefulness.
There was no time like the present to begin.
CHAPTER SIX
‘LOUKAS? It’s Con.’ His father’s strident tones boomed down the landline. ‘Olympia is back in the States.’
Loukas reeled and checked the chronometer on his watch. Not already! ‘Are you certain?’
‘I told you she was only going for three to four days! She called her mother today when she got back. Stella dropped that she’s going in for some “home improvements” this week. So, what have you found out?’
‘I’m…working on it,’ Loukas managed, trying to work out where in God’s name three days had gone.
‘What? I thought you had that girl eating out of your hand? What the hell have you been doing?’
Loukas took a desperate gasp for oxygen. Eating out of his hand. He might have used those exact words himself the last time he’d called his father, but eating out of his hand wasn’t the direction his thoughts had been going in just lately. Not the way his student had been so skilfully progressing. ‘It’s—more complicated than I thought.’
‘No way!’
‘Listen, Con, about Jade—she’s not what we assumed. It’s taking more time to get what I want.’
‘There is no more time! You know what those paparazzi are like. I’m trying to run on a family ticket and I haven’t got time right now to come over and sort Olympia out. The papers will make a meal out of me if they snap her coming out of a place like that. So you need to find her first. You have to find out when she’s scheduled for surgery and you have to keep her out of there.’
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to.’
‘Then try harder. Have you tried calling her lately?’
‘You know she won’t take my calls—not after what happened before. Chasing her halfway across the country to stop her from making the mistake of her life and marrying Kurt sure hasn’t helped me out in the big brother stakes. She’s not likely to talk to me any time soon, Con.’
‘Then use that woman of yours more effectively. She knows something. If she’s in with Della-Bosca then she has to. Find out what it is and stop her.’
Loukas raked his fingers through his hair as he looked skyward. Yeah, what his father said all made sense, but…Just lately he’d been beginning to think he’d made a mistake. For all the things he’d thought so fake about Jade, she seemed so real in his arms. And she felt damned real in his bed.
‘Loukas!’
‘I’m here.’
‘This is more important than ever. You can’t let Olympia get dragged through the papers. Not now. It’s crucial you stop her.’
‘I know. I’ll sort it out for her. She’s my sister, after all. I’m not going to let anything happen to her.’
‘She’s not your sister.’
‘Well, half-sister, then. It’s the same thing isn’t it? She’s family.’
‘Listen to me, Loukas. Very carefully. She’s not your sister. Not by blood, at any rate.’
The silence hung between them, a dank and heavy curtain that smothered conversation for several seconds.
‘What are you saying? I thought that was why you married Stella—because she was having your baby.’
‘That’s what I thought too. And, even though her colouring was all wrong, I was too besotted with your stepmother back then to think anything of the baby’s blonde hair. All I cared about was that ten years after your mother had died I’d been lucky enough to find another beautiful wife and father another child. It never occurred to me then that Olympia might not be mine.’
‘So she’s not my sister—at all?’ No wonder they’d never connected—on any level. It wasn’t just half a generation and attitudes that separated them, it was their parentage as well.
‘Unless your father was a Scandinavian prince—no.’ He hesitated. ‘Which is why nobody wants this getting out to the press. Not a sniff. Everything has to stay locked down—until after the prim
aries at least.’
‘How long have you known?’ Loukas asked.
He could hear his father’s irritated exhalation all those miles away. The older man was still angry about it. ‘It started to bug me when she was growing up—let’s face it, she hardly looked like a Demakis! But it was only about eight months ago that Stella finally confirmed it—that I didn’t father Olympia.’
‘Eight months ago?’ echoed Loukas, nodding as another piece of the puzzle slotted into place. ‘Just before she suddenly took off with the brat-pack and married Kurt.’
‘Well, I sure as hell didn’t tell her!’ his father said. ‘It was Stella. She thought she had a right to know.’
It all made sense to Loukas. No wonder she’d gone so far off the rails. She’d always fought against all things Demakis—news like that would have been the last straw. And he could see why his father didn’t want the press involved. If the scandal sheets got hold of a story like this before the elections they’d have a field day.
‘Can’t Stella help you get through to her now?’
‘Pia won’t listen to her—not now she’s got that bum Kurt telling her what to do. She only calls her mother up now to irritate the hell out of her. She says her mother betrayed her, should never have married me. Now she feels vindicated for hating me all these years, and it’s payback time for Stella.’ He hauled in a long burst of air.
‘But Olympia has to be stopped, and you’re the only one who can reach her. Nobody knows better than you what this Della-Bosca woman is capable of. You have to get her out of there, Loukas, no matter what it takes!’
Tonight was the night. For three days now she’d lived a life of bliss, being whisked away by Loukas to the Malibu Beach house and made love to late into the night. Life had never been so good. Life had never been so happy.
Only guilt threatened to cloud her joy—the guilt that she hadn’t been honest with him.
Jade finished writing up the notes from her last patient for the day and closed down her computer. Loukas would be collecting her soon, and already her blood fizzed in anticipation. But this time more than ever it was anticipation tinged with foreboding.